‘I trusted her,’ he said, lifting the bottle to his mouth. ‘Trusted her totally.’

‘’Course you did. Why wouldn’t you?’

‘I wish I hadn’t.’ He tugged at his tie and pulled it over his head, throwing it down on the table. ‘I might have seen this coming. Might have stopped it coming to this.’

‘You can’t go back and change what’s happened, Joe.’

He crushed his cigarette out. ‘The car was for her. I’d arranged for her to have driving lessons. It was going to be a surprise. I was hoping she’d pass her test before the baby came. And this is how she repays me.’

She reached her leg out under the table and rested her bare foot against his knee, holding it there until he was still. ‘You don’t deserve this,’ she said. ‘The way she’s treated you. It’s not right.’

For a moment he didn’t react. Mandy had never made a pass at a man in her life. If he rejected her she would die.

Slowly, he wrapped his good hand around her foot and pulled it into his lap. He moved his thumb between her toes. The pleasure of it passed through her. She gripped the chair.

‘Can I ask you something, Mandy?’

She swallowed. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you think she’s left me?’ He moved his thumb over her instep, up and down. ‘I mean, has she really left me? Or is she trying to hurt me?’

‘I don’t know.’ She moved to the edge of her seat to let him run his hand over her calf. ‘Both, maybe.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘You deserve better, Joe.’

He looked up at her. ‘Are you sure, Mandy? About this?’

She pulled her foot away. He reached across the table to hold her hand. He’d taken his wedding ring off, she noticed. A white stripe crossed his finger where it had been. ‘No one’s going to get hurt.’ She smiled at him and wondered if this was another lie; if this would be the lie that blew the whole thing apart.

He took both her hands and pulled her from her chair.

21

Ivanhoe, 1967

Steve’s back ached as he climbed out of the truck. He slammed the door and the kids down by the creek scattered, into the bush and gone, quick as rabbits. The dog was tied up this time, but it watched him, stretching its leash and snarling as he knocked on the door. He stared it down and it sat, bared its teeth.

‘You remember me, don’t you?’ he said to the dog. His voice sounded hollow. He hadn’t spoken all day. ‘You remember me,’ he repeated, and it growled from the base of its throat.

He was giving the dog stinkeye when the door opened. A young woman peered out from inside and he almost didn’t turn quick enough to stop her closing it in his face. He jammed his boot in the door. She pushed against him from the inside and rammed the door with her shoulder, calling him every name she could think of, telling him to go to hell, get off her property, leave her alone. The dog barked, pulling hard on its leash. Inside the house, the baby cried.