Digby Wallace-Jones hunched his shoulders against the cold and continued to walk. It was all he seemed to do these days. Walk, drink too much. Not speak. Sometimes, when he looked to the south and saw the hated slopes of Rocking Horse Hill, tears would fall. For Felicity. For himself and the void she’d left.
He missed her like he would miss his heart if it was cut out. Without Flick life was beatless, bloodless. Nothing flowed in his veins except anger and loss, and the pain of his leftover, never-to-be-reciprocated love. Even the nightmares, with their looming, hyper-magnified visions of her perfect face, were a kind of blessing. He could touch her in those dreams. Say things. Alter time. Save her.
But there would be no saving her. Right now he didn’t want to save himself either.
Footfall after footfall, he trudged on through the stripped leaves and twigs that strewed the footpaths of Levenham. Exercise was good, the counsellor advised, but all it did was give Digby more time alone in his head with its caverns of loss and anger.
People stared. When he bothered to look up he could see them peering through car windows as they passed. If he ventured near the main street the scrutiny would grow worse, prickling his back and making his scalp itch. Everyone in Levenham knew who he was and everyone thought they knew his loss, but they didn’t. No one could ever comprehend his suffering.
His grandmother had tried to explain that she understood. She too had lost—a husband, a lover, a friend. Digby was not unique, and while that knowledge would never make it easier, he needed to realise the truth of her experience. Time would heal. Life would bring new opportunities for love. He simply had to be patient.
But for Digby time only meant hell, sitting in his apartment above the old converted stables at the Wallace family’s majestic 1890s mansion, Camrick, knowing that with every second Flick moved further away from him. Time was lying alone in a bed that had once been warm and scented with her, thinking of something she’d like and turning to tell her, only to find a void. Time was finding yet more ways to avoid his family, friends and colleagues and their fearful expressions. Time was too much of nothing.
The footpath swung right and opened onto the large park that extended behind the town’s library and council chambers. The oaks were in full leaf, casting shadows that danced with the breeze. It was calmer today. The storm that had raged through two nights before had faded. A few branches had come down. Digby inspected the broken limb of a tree as he passed, the professional in him instinctively calculating the damage and treatment, when the truth was he didn’t care. He’d yet to return to work at the Department of Primary Industries, where he’d been employed as a horticultural scientist and district adviser since leaving university. He doubted he ever would. The inquest had killed any chance of that.
He’d been starting to recover. Not much, but the ragged rawness of his sorrow had lost its painful edges. A kind of dullness had settled in. Then the inquest into Felicity’s death arrived like a bulldozer, and the crumbly, fragile walls he’d been trying to build around his grief and horror were smashed to the ground. Everything came back. The roar of Rocking Horse Hill as its old quarry collapsed, the clench of panic and terror. The hysterical barks of Em’s dog as Josh tried to drag Em back from the edge. The sickening vision of Felicity’s grip slowly slipping from his sister’s.
Then the screams and bellows as the hillside gave way in an avalanche of rock and dirt and mud, carrying Digby and the cherished new world he’d found, so filled with love, with it.
A man appeared at the edge of the park with a small dog on a leash. Digby turned immediately away and kept moving, hands thrust into his pockets. The urge to run from the risk of contact was huge, yet Digby also knew he couldn’t keep this self-imposed isolation up forever. But there was no one he could trust. Not his mother, or grandmother, and absolutely not his sister Em.
A few late lunchtime walkers were out. It was past one-thirty and most workers had returned to their desks. Levenham wasn’t large—around 15,000 people—but it acted as a service city for the region’s agricultural, forestry and fisheries industries. Tourism was on the rise too, now that local vineyards were winning accolades and investing in cellar-door facilities. There was a time when Digby was proud to say he’d played a small part in that success, but no more.
A bench sat empty in the shadows of one of the oaks. He settled down with his perpetually cold hands still plunged into his pockets to stare at nothing. Perhaps his lack of interest in anything local was a sign it was time to move on. The Wallaces had been the weave in Levenham’s fabric for generations, the region’s abundance fuelling a growth in wealth that his ancestors had used to help build a town they could be proud of. Their foundation stones, embedded like rocky fingerprints, were everywhere, from churches to fountains and civic buildings. His sister ran a business here. His mother and grandmother still played their part on committees and volunteer groups. In time, as heir to the family fortune, it was expected that he would too.
Digby let out a shuddery breath. A year had passed since Felicity’s death and yet nothing had changed within him. He still hurt, still missed her. Still tripped over every tiny reminder of their time together like a blind man in the dark. Maybe it was time to leave, escape the pressure. Find somewhere far away, with a landscape flat to the horizon in every direction. A place without any reminders of Rocking Horse Hill.
He blinked against the heat building in his eyes, blindsided by the thought. He couldn’t leave. She was here, the last traces of her. All he had.
‘Digby?’
He glanced up then rapidly looked aside, using his upper arm to rub his eyes.
Jas must have known what she’d seen but was kind enough not to say anything. Instead she sat down beside him, opened a plastic lunch box and began rummaging inside.
‘If it’s any consolation, I’m having a pretty ordinary day too.’
It wasn’t, but it was good of her to say. Digby forced what he hoped resembled a smile and resumed staring over the lawn.
‘I have a ham and cheese sandwich I can share, if you’re interested.’ She dug a little more and pulled out a muesli bar, angling it towards him. ‘Or there’s this.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’
She sighed. ‘I wish I wasn’t, but if I don’t eat I’ll never make it through the rest of the afternoon.’
Jas took a bite of the sandwich and chewed for a while. Digby hoped she wouldn’t bring up Em. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk about his sister. And he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about her wedding, no matter how much Digby owed her fiancé Josh. It was bad enough that Digby was best man. Only loyalty and gratitude to Josh for saving his life at the quarry had made Digby agree to it, and not a day went by when he didn’t wish he’d said no. Hearing them say their vows in the same church where he and Flick had planned to marry, watching their happiness, would take strength Digby wasn’t sure he possessed.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Digby eyed her, then looked away, shrugging.
‘If I wanted to put a lock on my gate, what would be the best way to do it?’
Digby swung back. ‘Why would you want to lock your gate?’
This time it was Jasmine’s turn to avoid his gaze and shrug. ‘Just a question.’
He kept up his study. Jasmine was his sister’s best friend. She’d been a fixture at Camrick and the Wallace property at Rocking Horse Hill since he was a boy, invited to all but the most intimate of family events. He knew her. Jasmine was fun, warm and welcoming. Locking her gate? That didn’t fit.
What also didn’t fit was the fatigue showing on her pretty face. Her normally healthy pink skin was pale, making the bruised circles under her eyes appear even darker, and her shoulders had a defeated sag. Jasmine had always been proudly large-chested and never shied from showing her assets off, plus years of riding show horses had given her a straight-backed posture. Today her body was so hunched it was as if she were in hiding, or protecting herself.
Digby felt a stir of worry. ‘What’s up, Jas?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ But she refused to look at him.
He observed her for a few moments longer and let it go. What did he care about her secrets? He had enough of his own to worry about. He leaned forward as though to press himself to his feet, and felt a hand on his arm.
‘Stay? A bit longer?’ She waved her half-eaten sandwich. ‘At least until I’ve finished this?’
Digby frowned at the need in her tone and nodded, but there was tension now. The tension of his unspoken questions and the puzzle of what she was hiding.
‘What sort of latch is it?’ he asked after a while.
‘Hook and eye. I was thinking just a padlock over the hook would do.’
‘Probably. You could also fit a bike chain, running from the gate around the strainer post.’
She chewed on that. ‘That might be easiest. One of those ones with a combination lock so I don’t have to worry about a key.’
‘Won’t stop anyone climbing the fence though.’
‘No,’ she said softly, staring at the lunchbox rested on her lap, ‘it won’t. But it might be enough.’
‘Enough for what?’ When she didn’t answer he prodded again. ‘Jas?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, look at the time.’ She took a last bite of her sandwich, dumped the rest into the box and closed the lid. She stood, the smile fixed on him clearly faked. ‘Thanks for your company.’
Digby felt a weird urge to laugh. His company? He’d barely strung two sentences together.
He rose to stand with her. ‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ Her wide blue gaze fell on his. Blue eyes. A knot formed in his chest as he remembered Felicity’s face. ‘The more important question is, are you?’
‘I’ll be all right.’
She pressed her palm against his upper arm. ‘I hope so.’
With a last smile she left him, hurrying across the lawn towards the main street and the building society where she worked, leaving Digby frowning in her wake.