Chapter One
Cecily Loving glanced through the living room window and saw a white sports car parked at her gate. Looking neat in a dark brown shirt and fawn trousers, Jeremy Hepplewaite made his way along the path to her front door.
She hurriedly ducked out of sight. She couldn’t imagine why he’d visit her. Composing herself, she waited until the doorbell rang. It still shocked her when it did. She opened the door and pretended to look surprised.
“How are you, Cecily?” Jeremy said as if he’d come on a social call.
She stepped onto the verandah to talk to him. No way would she invite him into the house. She’d heard about his bottom pinching and suggestive remarks from some of the women in the town. They had laughed and said not to be caught alone with him
Eunice Donnelly hadn’t laughed. Cecily had heard her tell Sophie Spalding that Jeremy called on her two and three times a week and was becoming a nuisance with his visits.
“You’re getting on well with the house,” Jeremy said, studying the new flooring on the verandah.
Cecily wondered whether he’d been spying on them. “Rufus does what he can with his time off,” she said, feeling she was apologizing for her husband.
“Old Joe, who used to own this place, allowed the house to fall into disrepair. I would have bought it if I didn’t already have my own property. The land here would be better for roses. It’s pretty dry up on my hill.”
Cecily preferred living in the valley too, and loved the autumn mists that sometimes hadn’t dispersed until mid-morning when the bush emerged dripping wet to bird calls echoing along the creek. She pushed her bushy red hair back from her face, feeling friendlier towards Jeremy. Perhaps he wasn’t such a ladies’ man after all.
He moved closer. “I have a proposal for you.”
She stepped back a pace. He might want her to clean his house. It would be one way to get her into his bedroom but she wouldn’t fall for that old trick. He wouldn’t be the first man who had propositioned her.
“Would you like to sell heroin to your friends?”
He said it so casually she wondered if she’d heard correctly. She saw his smiling mouth behind the short grey beard covering his chin and the thinning dark hair, probably dyed, she thought, and knew she had. “Why would I want to sell drugs?” She tried to remain calm as her voice rose higher with each word.
Jeremy smiled again, showing the glint of a gold filling in his teeth. “You’ve sold drugs to them before.”
She felt her face redden. He must know about the six months she’d spent in gaol for selling marijuana.
He continued. “It would be worth your while. I wouldn’t tell anyone you’ve been in gaol.”
So he did know. It sounded like a threat. Did he mean he’d put it around about her stint in prison? It would finish the new life she’d made for herself in Taylors Crossing. The sedate middle-class community wouldn’t relish a gaol bird in their midst. She should complain to the police but it would be his word against hers. The police would sure to believe him instead of her. She had the criminal record. “Rufus wouldn’t agree.” She fell back to using Rufus in situations she found difficult to handle.
“How do you know he isn’t into drugs himself?”
“He’s not.” She wanted to slap Jeremy’s arrogant smiling face but she wondered if it was true, and if it was, how did he know. Perhaps Rufus did sell drugs. She knew little of what he did.
“He wouldn’t tell you, would he? It would be easy in his job.”
So he knew Rufus worked as a bouncer in a nightclub. Rufus had been furious about her getting caught with marijuana. She’d wondered if he was worried she’d lead the police to him.
“You wouldn’t have to tell him. It would be between you and me.”
That’s what she’d thought when she sold marijuana to her friends. “I don’t have anything to do with drugs.” She croaked the words and before he answered she wrenched the door open, nearly tripping over the doorstep in her haste to get inside. She slammed it shut. Running to the back door, she locked that too.
She stood with her back against it, breathing heavily, her eyes darting fearfully to the windows. He couldn’t get in unless he smashed one but if he looked through a window he’d see her crouched against the door like a scared rabbit. She didn’t want to pull the drapes and bring his attention to her.
She rushed into the bathroom and pressed the latch to lock the door. Her nails bit into her palms as she glanced at the frosted window. He couldn’t see her in here. Relieved, she sank onto the white fluffy bath math.
So what if she’d grown a few plants among her potted plants and sold them to friends as a favour. Then a friend had sold the marijuana to one of her friends and the friend was caught. The police had followed the trail back to her. It had all come out. She’d sold marijuana to fourteen women.
“A housewives drug circle,” said the policeman who booked her. He didn’t bother to hide his grin.
It wasn’t really criminal though the police and that woman judge had thought it was. The judge’s blue eyes were steely under her wig when she sentenced Cecily to six months gaol without parole. “You have to be made an example of,” she said in a firm voice. “We can’t have this happening in our suburbs.” She fined the other women and placed them on good behaviour bonds.
Cecily wept when she was led away by a policeman, young enough to be her son if she had a son. The last she saw was Rufus’s angry face.
She hadn’t sold marijuana to make money but the little bit she made, well more than a little bit, came in handy but she wouldn’t go down that track again. She didn’t want to go to gaol again. The social worker told her it would be a longer term next time.
When she came out of gaol she discovered Rufus had sold their Perth house and bought this old house at Taylors Crossing in the Darling Ranges, seventy kilometres east of the city.
“The further you are away from your friends, the better,” said Rufus, glowering when he met her at the gaol.
He didn’t have to tell her. No way would she grow or smoke pot again.
But contrary to her expectations she’d made new friends at Taylors Crossing. She hadn’t expected to but one did in a small town. No one here knew about her past except Jeremy.
She’d lost count of time. There were only the sounds from the men working on the two new houses next door. She rose, stiff and aching, and unlocked the door.
Stumbling to the living room window she peered outside, making sure she stood well back so no one saw her. Jeremy and his car had gone.
She drew the curtains, made coffee and drank it while she watched television. She felt too ill to even knit.
She’d finished her second coffee when she heard a vehicle drive into the carport. She was terrified that Jeremy had come back.
She saw Rufus walk past the window but she wasn’t quick enough to unlock the door before he rattled the doorknob. “Are you there, Cecily?”
She managed to unlock the door before he knocked again.
Rufus Loving’s brawny arms and chest filled the doorway. He’d been state heavyweight-lifting champion in his younger years. His coach had wanted him to enter the national championships but he’d been too lazy to put in the training needed to propel him to the top.
Rufus pulled the curtains aside from the window. “It’s like a morgue in here. Why did you lock the door?”
“I had a visit from Jeremy Hepplewaite.” Cecily felt her bottom lip tremble.
Rufus turned from the window. “I doubt whether Hepplewaite would molest you.” He filled the kettle and switched it on.
His sarcasm annoyed her. “He asked me to sell drugs.” The shock on Rufus’s face made her giggle. “I suppose he found I’d been in … you know. How would he know?”
“I’ve seen him a few times around the clubs. I didn’t think he’d be mixed up in the drug scene.”
“Do you know many people who deal in drugs?” She held her breath, afraid of his reply.
“You get to know who’s who.”
His mild answer relieved her. “He suggested you might be into drugs.”
Rufus’s square face contorted with rage. “I’ll kill the bastard. What else did he say?” In his fury he could hardly get the words out.
She wished she hadn’t told him. “Nothing,” she stuttered.
He looked like he wanted to strangle someone. “I’ll see the bastard tomorrow. I’ll make mincemeat of him if he doesn’t watch it.”
Cecily Loving glanced through the living room window and saw a white sports car parked at her gate. Looking neat in a dark brown shirt and fawn trousers, Jeremy Hepplewaite made his way along the path to her front door.
She hurriedly ducked out of sight. She couldn’t imagine why he’d visit her. Composing herself, she waited until the doorbell rang. It still shocked her when it did. She opened the door and pretended to look surprised.
“How are you, Cecily?” Jeremy said as if he’d come on a social call.
She stepped onto the verandah to talk to him. No way would she invite him into the house. She’d heard about his bottom pinching and suggestive remarks from some of the women in the town. They had laughed and said not to be caught alone with him
Eunice Donnelly hadn’t laughed. Cecily had heard her tell Sophie Spalding that Jeremy called on her two and three times a week and was becoming a nuisance with his visits.
“You’re getting on well with the house,” Jeremy said, studying the new flooring on the verandah.
Cecily wondered whether he’d been spying on them. “Rufus does what he can with his time off,” she said, feeling she was apologizing for her husband.
“Old Joe, who used to own this place, allowed the house to fall into disrepair. I would have bought it if I didn’t already have my own property. The land here would be better for roses. It’s pretty dry up on my hill.”
Cecily preferred living in the valley too, and loved the autumn mists that sometimes hadn’t dispersed until mid-morning when the bush emerged dripping wet to bird calls echoing along the creek. She pushed her bushy red hair back from her face, feeling friendlier towards Jeremy. Perhaps he wasn’t such a ladies’ man after all.
He moved closer. “I have a proposal for you.”
She stepped back a pace. He might want her to clean his house. It would be one way to get her into his bedroom but she wouldn’t fall for that old trick. He wouldn’t be the first man who had propositioned her.
“Would you like to sell heroin to your friends?”
He said it so casually she wondered if she’d heard correctly. She saw his smiling mouth behind the short grey beard covering his chin and the thinning dark hair, probably dyed, she thought, and knew she had. “Why would I want to sell drugs?” She tried to remain calm as her voice rose higher with each word.
Jeremy smiled again, showing the glint of a gold filling in his teeth. “You’ve sold drugs to them before.”
She felt her face redden. He must know about the six months she’d spent in gaol for selling marijuana.
He continued. “It would be worth your while. I wouldn’t tell anyone you’ve been in gaol.”
So he did know. It sounded like a threat. Did he mean he’d put it around about her stint in prison? It would finish the new life she’d made for herself in Taylors Crossing. The sedate middle-class community wouldn’t relish a gaol bird in their midst. She should complain to the police but it would be his word against hers. The police would sure to believe him instead of her. She had the criminal record. “Rufus wouldn’t agree.” She fell back to using Rufus in situations she found difficult to handle.
“How do you know he isn’t into drugs himself?”
“He’s not.” She wanted to slap Jeremy’s arrogant smiling face but she wondered if it was true, and if it was, how did he know. Perhaps Rufus did sell drugs. She knew little of what he did.
“He wouldn’t tell you, would he? It would be easy in his job.”
So he knew Rufus worked as a bouncer in a nightclub. Rufus had been furious about her getting caught with marijuana. She’d wondered if he was worried she’d lead the police to him.
“You wouldn’t have to tell him. It would be between you and me.”
That’s what she’d thought when she sold marijuana to her friends. “I don’t have anything to do with drugs.” She croaked the words and before he answered she wrenched the door open, nearly tripping over the doorstep in her haste to get inside. She slammed it shut. Running to the back door, she locked that too.
She stood with her back against it, breathing heavily, her eyes darting fearfully to the windows. He couldn’t get in unless he smashed one but if he looked through a window he’d see her crouched against the door like a scared rabbit. She didn’t want to pull the drapes and bring his attention to her.
She rushed into the bathroom and pressed the latch to lock the door. Her nails bit into her palms as she glanced at the frosted window. He couldn’t see her in here. Relieved, she sank onto the white fluffy bath math.
So what if she’d grown a few plants among her potted plants and sold them to friends as a favour. Then a friend had sold the marijuana to one of her friends and the friend was caught. The police had followed the trail back to her. It had all come out. She’d sold marijuana to fourteen women.
“A housewives drug circle,” said the policeman who booked her. He didn’t bother to hide his grin.
It wasn’t really criminal though the police and that woman judge had thought it was. The judge’s blue eyes were steely under her wig when she sentenced Cecily to six months gaol without parole. “You have to be made an example of,” she said in a firm voice. “We can’t have this happening in our suburbs.” She fined the other women and placed them on good behaviour bonds.
Cecily wept when she was led away by a policeman, young enough to be her son if she had a son. The last she saw was Rufus’s angry face.
She hadn’t sold marijuana to make money but the little bit she made, well more than a little bit, came in handy but she wouldn’t go down that track again. She didn’t want to go to gaol again. The social worker told her it would be a longer term next time.
When she came out of gaol she discovered Rufus had sold their Perth house and bought this old house at Taylors Crossing in the Darling Ranges, seventy kilometres east of the city.
“The further you are away from your friends, the better,” said Rufus, glowering when he met her at the gaol.
He didn’t have to tell her. No way would she grow or smoke pot again.
But contrary to her expectations she’d made new friends at Taylors Crossing. She hadn’t expected to but one did in a small town. No one here knew about her past except Jeremy.
She’d lost count of time. There were only the sounds from the men working on the two new houses next door. She rose, stiff and aching, and unlocked the door.
Stumbling to the living room window she peered outside, making sure she stood well back so no one saw her. Jeremy and his car had gone.
She drew the curtains, made coffee and drank it while she watched television. She felt too ill to even knit.
She’d finished her second coffee when she heard a vehicle drive into the carport. She was terrified that Jeremy had come back.
She saw Rufus walk past the window but she wasn’t quick enough to unlock the door before he rattled the doorknob. “Are you there, Cecily?”
She managed to unlock the door before he knocked again.
Rufus Loving’s brawny arms and chest filled the doorway. He’d been state heavyweight-lifting champion in his younger years. His coach had wanted him to enter the national championships but he’d been too lazy to put in the training needed to propel him to the top.
Rufus pulled the curtains aside from the window. “It’s like a morgue in here. Why did you lock the door?”
“I had a visit from Jeremy Hepplewaite.” Cecily felt her bottom lip tremble.
Rufus turned from the window. “I doubt whether Hepplewaite would molest you.” He filled the kettle and switched it on.
His sarcasm annoyed her. “He asked me to sell drugs.” The shock on Rufus’s face made her giggle. “I suppose he found I’d been in … you know. How would he know?”
“I’ve seen him a few times around the clubs. I didn’t think he’d be mixed up in the drug scene.”
“Do you know many people who deal in drugs?” She held her breath, afraid of his reply.
“You get to know who’s who.”
His mild answer relieved her. “He suggested you might be into drugs.”
Rufus’s square face contorted with rage. “I’ll kill the bastard. What else did he say?” In his fury he could hardly get the words out.
She wished she hadn’t told him. “Nothing,” she stuttered.
He looked like he wanted to strangle someone. “I’ll see the bastard tomorrow. I’ll make mincemeat of him if he doesn’t watch it.”