All about ella, p.3
All About Ella, page 3
‘Mrs Sinclair didn’t ever say or do anything that made you think she might harm herself?’
‘Good heavens, no! She’d never do anything like that. She loves her grandchildren too much. And her son’s having a granny flat built for her. Eventually.’
‘Do you have a contact number for your friend in Dubbo?’
‘Of course. Do you have a pen?’ Zach picked up a pen off the desk and jotted down the number as she reeled it off. ‘Should I be worried, sergeant?’
‘I honestly don’t know. She’s not answering her mobile phone and no one’s come forward to say they’ve seen her, not since she took off from her son’s place about four yesterday afternoon.’
‘I see. I’ll bet they argued about the money.’
Zach’s head started to pound. ‘What makes you think they argued?’
‘Ella’s daughter-in-law, Kirsten, is a, er, very forceful personality. Ella’s son Anthony, well, he doesn’t put up much of a fight, if you know what I mean.’
‘Are there other children?’
‘Yes, two others, but Julian lives in New York and Olivia’s in Darwin. Anthony’s the eldest.’
‘You said something about money?’
‘Ah, to Sam’s credit he left Ella well provided for, and then there’s the million and more dollars coming her way from the sale of their house in St Peters. Huge old home, beautifully renovated, on a double block. She didn’t want to sell up. Poor thing was knocked sideways by grief, and in my opinion, the children pounced when she was at her lowest ebb. But that’s only my opinion, Sergeant Cooper. I’m sure they’d tell it differently.’
‘Of course, Mrs Burgess.’ Zach used his free hand to massage the back of his neck. ‘Please let me know immediately if you hear from Mrs Sinclair, and if you think of anywhere else she might have gone.’
‘I most certainly will. My guess is she probably wanted some quiet time. She knows she’s welcome to come to me anytime. Although I did tell her the last time we talked that we’d be away, and for how long. She might have forgotten.’
They disconnected. Zach stared at nothing for a minute or two as he ruminated on dysfunction in families, and then he pocketed the phone. He locked the front door of the police station and walked around the corner to pick up the burger he’d ordered an hour ago. He’d been trying to have lunch since lunchtime and now it was almost dinnertime.
As he came around the corner he scanned the poorly lit and mostly deserted main street. No late-model white Toyota Corolla, the description given for Ella Sinclair’s car. There was only Reg Tilley’s rusted-out Chrysler and Tommy Smith’s ute, both parked in their usual spots in front of the pub. And a light-coloured Subaru wagon parked just past the takeaway shop. He noted the Queensland number plate. Tourist, he thought, and pushed open the door to the fish and chip shop, his mouth watering.
Peg, the proprietor, wouldn’t start on his burger until he fronted up. Lately, too much of his diet was takeaway food. So much so that Peg knew what he preferred and how erratic his mealtimes were. Once upon a time he’d liked to cook. Eat healthily. These days there wasn’t much joy in cooking for one. Most of the time he ignored the result: his six-pack obscured by an unattractive and unhealthy roll of flab.
When he came out of the shop fifteen minutes later with two fat paper bags, the wagon was still parked in the same spot. There hadn’t been any other customers in the takeaway and nothing else was open. Apart from the pub.
Taking a closer look at the car, he noticed someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Not moving. He peered in through the passenger-side window. It was a woman and she appeared to be asleep. Strange place to take a nap.
Zach went around the wagon and rapped on the driver’s window. The woman startled awake and her head jerked around to face him. He indicated for her to lower the window. Lights flashed on the dash when she turned on the ignition, and then the window whirred down.
‘Is something wrong?’ she said, blinking rapidly. In the low light he couldn’t make out definite features, only shadows and the silky fall of pale-coloured hair.
‘Nothing wrong. I just thought this was an unusual place to sleep and I wondered if everything was all right?’
‘Oh, all good, thanks,’ she said, and he caught a flash of white as she smiled. ‘I stuffed myself with junk food and was considering what I’d do next. I must have dozed off. I’ve been driving for most of the day.’
‘Where are you headed?’ Zach straightened, swapping the paper bags holding his cooling burger and chips to the other hand.
‘Perth.’
‘From?’
‘Cairns, as a matter of fact.’
‘Then you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,’ he said.
She arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m not in any hurry. And I had a sudden craving to see the coast. I went for a walk on the beach at Rocky Point.’
Zach nodded. ‘Nice spot,’ he said. He had no real reason to keep her talking except that he liked the sound of her voice. ‘Many people about out there?’
‘Not a soul on the beach, but there were a couple of cars in the carpark, an old Sigma and a ute with a boat trailer.’ She went on to tell him how on her drive into Cutlers Bay she’d passed the same sedan, seemingly abandoned on the side of the road.
‘What colour was the car?’
‘Gold, I think. It was getting dark.’
‘You didn’t happen to get a rego number?’
‘Nah, didn’t think of it. I figured they’d either broken down or run out of fuel.’
‘More than likely,’ he said. He’d take a drive out there in the morning and if the car was still there he’d follow up. He’d seen a vehicle around town matching that description. ‘You didn’t by any chance see a white Corolla sedan in your travels?’
She started shaking her head, and then stilled. ‘You know what, now you mention it, I did see a white car, and it could have been a Corolla. It was going towards Rocky Point as I was leaving. I thought whoever it was was driving out to watch the sunset.’
‘Who was driving? Was there more than one person in the car?’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t see who was driving, and I can’t say for certain if there was anyone else in the car. Both sun visors were down, because they were driving into the sun.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Zach said. ‘An elderly woman took off after an argument with her family, and now they’re worried. She’s driving a white Corolla sedan.’
‘Oh. I wish I had taken more notice.’
‘Don’t worry too much; she’ll turn up.’
‘All right, I won’t worry too much. You’d better eat your dinner before it goes completely cold,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, and smiled, stretching muscles dormant for a long time. ‘You take care, and find somewhere safer and more appropriate to camp.’
Angie laughed. ‘The pub across the street’s looking mighty fine from where I’m sitting.’
‘You could do worse,’ he said, backing away from the car.
Walking to the station, Zach started on the food. He knocked off at seven, forty minutes away. Time enough for a quick trip out to Rocky Point.
5
Ella
On the passenger seat, the mobile phone vibrated for the umpteenth time. If only I knew how to turn the damn thing off. Stefan had shown me what to do, but I’d forgotten. Surely the battery would die soon.
Anthony had called me seven times in the past two hours. I hadn’t answered any of the calls. They’d started when I’d been gone twenty-four hours, almost to the minute. In his first voicemail he’d sounded affronted. The second, angry, and throwing threats around. After that I’d stopped listening, and he’d stopped leaving messages.
My anger had come in waves, until I hadn’t the energy to be angry any more. Then came the sadness. A deep, helpless and hopeless grief. I felt hollow, adrift. Displaced from my life. No way was I ready to talk to him yet. After the horrible, hateful things he and Kirsten had said to me—and about me—yesterday afternoon, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be ready to talk to either of them again.
The phone went silent, and then the screen went black. Though I’d wanted it to stop, now that it had my tenuous connection to the outside world had broken. Never had I experienced such a sense of being alone.
I sat and stared blindly into the gloom. I couldn’t describe what sort of a sunset it’d been although it’d played out directly in front of me. A numb backside eventually got me moving, shifting in the seat to get the blood circulating again. Then everything started to hurt and I realised my head was thumping along with all the other aches and pains. I was thirsty. Several empty water bottles littered the passenger footwell. It took a few minutes for my fuzzy brain to recall when I’d last eaten, or drank anything other than water: lunchtime yesterday for food; coffee and stilted conversation with Anthony in the early afternoon, a prelude to the argument that followed.
If you could call it an argument. Anthony had talked at me and Kirsten had yelled. I’d sat in my son’s study, stunned and then cowed, abandoning any attempt to defend myself. Kirsten had sent me to my room like a naughty child, with instructions to think about the conversation we’d had.
On the journey back to the guest bedroom, a fleeting glimpse of Stefan’s distraught face had propelled me into action. I couldn’t allow my deteriorating relationship with Anthony and Kirsten to put a wedge between my grandchildren and their parents. We’d all be better off with me away from there. Out had come the suitcase.
Twenty minutes later, with a feeling of déjà vu, I’d stealthily navigated the patio’s obstacle course. Kirsten insisted I always park my modest sedan on the kerb, otherwise I’d block their access to the double carport and garage. All the way out to the car I’d braced myself for her screech, telling me to get back to my room, this very minute! Recalling my escape now, alone in the dark at some remote location on the Yorke Peninsula, had my stomach doing somersaults all over again.
When I’d driven away from Anthony’s, I’d headed north without conscious thought. I hadn’t stopped glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds, my hands with a death-grip on the steering wheel, until the Gepps Cross Hotel had disappeared from view.
At Port Wakefield I’d stopped at the first roadhouse I came to. Petrol for the car and bottled water for me. The smell of the fried food in the bain-marie had almost made me sick.
While I’d sat in the car and downed the water, I’d tapped out a text message for Stefan: I’m OK. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch when the dust settles. Love E.
A thumbs-up emoji had bounced back in seconds. That’d made me smile. Stefan was savvy enough not to tell his parents he’d heard from me. In the circumstances, I wasn’t averse to upsetting my son—far from it—but I saw no reason to further distress my grandson.
Driving out of Port Wakefield, I’d consciously acknowledged where I was heading: the Burgess farm, south of Cutlers Bay on the Yorke Peninsula. Yvonne and Frank would welcome me and willingly put me up for a few days, a few weeks; however long I needed. Yvonne was one of my dearest friends and she would have plenty of advice about what I should do. Frank’s quiet observations, when he finally got around to voicing them, would be helpful. The only downside was that their farm was the first place my son would look.
Precious energy had been wasted worrying about that, because when I’d arrived at the farm late Saturday evening, the place was in darkness and obviously deserted. Not even the dogs were there, and that’s when I’d remembered Yvonne and Frank were on holiday in sunny Queensland. Exhausted, I’d slept in my car in their garage.
Now here I was, after an uncomfortable night and a day spent driving aimlessly around the district, without a clue what I should do next. What I did know was that the petrol tank was perilously close to empty, I badly needed a shower and change of clothes, and I couldn’t spend the night in the Rocky Point carpark. Sleeping in the car in Frank and Yvonne’s garage for another night wasn’t much of an option either. Returning to Adelaide was even less attractive. Besides, my brain just wouldn’t process the steps I’d need to take to get back to the city and find somewhere to stay.
The smell of the sea rushed in when I cracked open the car door. I shivered. Committed now to stretching and easing out the kinks, I shoved the door fully open and climbed out. The sound of the waves as they slapped and swirled against the nearby rocks reminded me how far I’d travelled. I’d passed only one other car on the drive in from the main road. And a gold-coloured sedan, parked on the opposite side of the road. No one about. I hadn’t even considered stopping.
Now every joint and muscle protested with each lap around the car. Another night sleeping in that seat would cripple me. The wind whipped away my sigh.
I felt hungry. A positive sign, I supposed. Up until now I hadn’t felt the slightest bit like food, only nauseous all the time. Scooping up one of the empty water bottles from the floor of the car, I walked towards the amenities block in search of drinking water.
When the children had been old enough to fend for themselves, Sam and I had spent the occasional weekend with Yvonne and Frank, and they’d taken us out in their boat a time or two. Sam had loved it. It’d been rare to see him so relaxed. So while Rocky Point wasn’t familiar to me, it wasn’t completely unfamiliar either.
There was a rainwater tank at the far end of the breeze-block amenities building. A dim solar-powered overhead light gave direction and I easily found the tap. It took a bit of an effort to turn it on, and the water barely trickled out, but it smelled and tasted okay.
While I was filling the bottle I heard a vehicle seconds before headlights swept into the carpark. It was a light-coloured twin-cab ute, similar to the one Sam had used for his building business. This ute had some sort of structure on the back. My heart leaped into my throat when it veered directly towards my small, solitary sedan.
I couldn’t move as the dual-cab swung around and came to a standstill alongside the Corolla. The headlights dropped to low beam and a tall, solidly built man climbed out. Leaving the vehicle engine ticking over, he circled my car, shining a powerful torch beam across the number plate and then into the cabin.
When I began to feel light-headed, I realised I was holding my breath. I sucked in a lungful of air and my befuddled brain finally registered that it was a police ute and the man a policeman. With slippery wet hands, I turned off the tap and clutched the overflowing water bottle. My mouth was too dry to form any words, to call out that I was over here. That it was my car and everything was all right. Well, not really. Things hadn’t been all right for months now.
The shaft of torch light fell on me. Startled, the water bottle slipped through my fingers, hitting the ground with a thud. Water splashed onto my feet.
‘Are you Mrs Ella Sinclair?’ the policeman called, walking towards me.
‘Yes.’ When the word came out as a scratchy croak, I nodded vigorously.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ I repeated, clearing my throat. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I’m Sergeant Zach Cooper, the local copper. Your family are worried about you.’
‘Are they?’ These words came out like a harsh bark and the policeman loomed closer, the light from his torch dancing on the ground in front of me.
‘Worried enough to report you missing.’
‘Really,’ I said, and bent to retrieve the water bottle, grateful it hadn’t split open. I took a long swallow. What was left of the contents was blessedly cold. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and screwed on the lid, all the while becoming increasingly uncomfortable under his unwavering scrutiny.
‘You need to contact them,’ he said. ‘Let them know you’re all right, and what your immediate plans are.’
I coughed to clear the sudden and unexpected clog of tears in my throat. ‘I don’t have any immediate plans. Or any other plans, for that matter.’
‘The Burgesses are away,’ he said, ‘but I suppose you’ve already discovered that.’
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering vaguely what else he knew about my current circumstances. ‘Yvonne told me, but I’d forgotten. I stayed out at their place last night regardless, slept in my car in their garage. It wasn’t too bad …’
‘But you won’t want to do that again tonight,’ he said, no question mark.
‘No, I won’t.’
The wind rattled the tin roof on the amenities block and my teeth chattered, partly from cold and partly from the strain of the last days. And no food. My blood sugar was probably hideously low.
‘There’s a hotel in town. The rooms are affordable. Why don’t you stay there for the night? After a meal and a decent sleep you’ll be in a better position to make plans.’ He lifted the torch beam to the vehicles. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You can follow me into town. You look as if you’re about to topple over and I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital instead of the hotel. But first and foremost, you need to talk to your son.’
‘My phone battery is dead,’ I said, and I flicked him a glance. His expression was sceptical. I didn’t say another word.
Burrowing into his pocket, he pulled out a mobile phone and offered it to me. ‘Use mine,’ he said.
Ignoring the proffered phone I fumbled with the screw top on the water bottle and took another quick swig. The bottle was almost empty.
‘You’ll have to talk to him eventually,’ he said.
‘I know. But we didn’t part on the best of terms, and I’m not ready for round two, not yet,’ I said, hating the way my voice quavered.
The policeman watched me for what felt like forever, and then he appeared to make up his mind about something. ‘What’s his phone number?’ he said. When the screen on the phone came to life it gave me a clearer view of his face. I pegged him as being in his mid-forties, handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way. Dark hair, and huge. He positively dwarfed me.
I reeled off the phone number. ‘His name’s Anthony.’ Sergeant Cooper nodded.
Anthony must have picked up after the first ring. Sergeant Cooper identified himself and where he was calling from. ‘Letting you know we have located your mother,’ he said. ‘She’s safe and well and I’m sure she’ll be in contact—’ He paused and looked my way.
