Forbidden Fruit (3 page)

‘Is that a detective?’ asked Amy, edging closer. ‘What an interesting life you lead!’

I held up two fingers towards the detective, hoping he would interpret the gesture in terms of time required and not an anachronistic request for peace. I moved determinedly towards my admirer. ‘Ah, listen, Amy, this is not –’

‘Yes, I
know
it’s not a good time,’ she interjected, looking apologetic. ‘And clearly you’ve only just moved in. But you see, I’ve come such a long way. From Lilydale. Over two hours. I only want a couple of minutes. And surely you would understand how excited I am. It would mean so much. I can wait. Just a few minutes.’

‘Oh.’ I hesitated, swallowed a sigh. Her persistence was quite appealing, even if she herself wasn’t. ‘Tell you what, just take a seat on the couch there and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay?’

‘Excellent!
Thank
you. I promise I won’t get in the way. Quiet as a mouse, that’s –’

‘Terrific. On the couch, that’s right.’ I turned away just as Yen pulled the sliding door open and stepped outside. Petra came thudding down the stairs.

‘What on earth happened to our coffee?’ She stopped at the bottom, one hand on the banister as she gazed around the room, her frown deepening as Amy beamed at her.

‘She’s a fan,’ I whispered. ‘Driven all the way from Lilydale.’

‘How amazing,’ said Petra, rather insultingly. She took another step and peered past me towards the decking. ‘Is that Yen?’

‘Yes. She saw the police from the shop. And I have to go talk to the detective.’ I lowered my voice again. ‘Can you keep an eye on Amy? That’s the fan.’

‘Sure. But in that case I’m making an executive decision about the sun and the yardarm.’

I nodded agreeably and left her hunting through the fridge for wine. Yen was now deep in discussion with the detective but broke off as I came out. I slid the door shut behind me.

‘Ms Forrest.’ The detective shook my hand and pulled a notepad from a pants pocket. He patted his other pocket and then his shirt, finally locating a biro. ‘We met last year. Detective Sergeant Eric Male from Bendigo CIU. I was with Ashley Armistead.’

I felt my face flush and tried to cover it with a convivial smile. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Nice to see you again. Weren’t you … have you had a promotion?’

‘Yes. Quite right. Now, I can see you have visitors but I’ve got a couple of questions. I believe you made this discovery while you were digging a hole to plant a tree?’

‘That’s right. At first I thought the skull was from a pet. Like a dog or something.’

‘Yes. And I’m told that you struck it while actually digging, which was the cause of the initial damage, and you then used the spade to pry the skull itself loose, resulting in it being separated from the rest of the remains?’

‘You did
what
?’ asked Yen.

I ignored her. ‘Yes, but as I said, at that stage we thought it was canine. It wasn’t until the, ah, separation that we realised it, well, wasn’t.’

‘I see.’ He took a few notes. ‘How long have you lived at this address?’

‘I bought the property last year but have only been living here for a week or so.’

‘How old is it?’ asked Yen abruptly. She had moved towards the edge of the decking, watching the comings and goings around the tarpaulin. ‘As in, how long ago was it buried?’

‘That will have to be confirmed by forensic testing, which could take some time. However …’ He hesitated, tapped the pen against his notepad. ‘We’ve unearthed other evidence that should give a fairly sound approximation considerably sooner. You were saying that this place was unoccupied for a number of years?’ He was focused on Yen now.

‘Yes. About forty. Forty-three to be exact.’

‘And before that your husband ran a butcher shop from the premises?’

‘Ex-husband. He was only here for about five years. Took over from his uncle who was terminally ill. Lung cancer. He had the shop for quite some time.’

‘I see. And do they both still live in the area?’

‘Well, my ex-husband now resides in England. As for his uncle, given he was in his late sixties forty-three years ago and, as I just said, he had
terminal
lung cancer, I’m thinking he may have passed. But then again, perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions. Feel free to investigate – and do please let me know if I need to put him back on my Christmas card list.’

One eyebrow lifted, just slightly. ‘I shall. Would you happen to know who was occupying the other shop –’ he inclined his head towards Lucy’s townhouse ‘–when it was a business?’

‘A chemist,’ replied Yen promptly. She gazed at the building in question, her eyes lingering on the second storey. ‘They lived up there, above the shop. Paul and Dallas Patrick, with their children. Two. A boy and a girl. With not even enough room to swing a cat.’

‘This was at the same time as the butcher’s was here?’ He waited for her to nod before continuing. ‘But you and your husband lived elsewhere?’

‘Oh yes. I made it a condition before moving up here. I said, “I’m not living in a shoe cupboard, thank you very much.” We bought in Small Dairy Lane, and FYI, I’m still there. Now is that all? I have a business to run.’

‘Of course. Thank you for your time.’ He stepped back, severing their conversation. Yen slid the door across briskly and moved into the kitchen, leaving the door open.

Eric Male turned back to me. ‘I wish I could tell you how long we’ll be here, Ms Forrest, but unfortunately there are too many variables. A few days, at least.’

‘I see. Why were you asking about my father?’

‘Just routine. Establishing a timeline for the premises.’

I nodded slowly. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure my great-uncle established the shop, so before then it would have been vacant land.’ I gazed at the expanse of blue canvas rippling in the light breeze. ‘Can I at least move my apple tree? It’s the one in a pot, just next to the … area you’re working on.’

‘Ah, yes. I’m sure that can be arranged. Leave it with me.’ He slipped the notepad back into his pocket and made an odd half-bow that finished with a nod. I wondered what would happen if I introduced him to Amy Stenhouse; a greeting could turn into a robotic dance.

I watched him disappear behind the canvas and then sighed. I wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that Ashley was on secondment right now, and therefore wouldn’t be involved in the excavation. It would certainly have been useful to have him on hand, so to speak, but no doubt he would have got quite a lot of mileage from the fact I seemed to have inadvertently involved myself in
something
, yet again. So perhaps it was best that this would all be done and dusted by the time he returned in a fortnight.

I slid the door closed and then turned, stopping abruptly. At the dining-room table, with a glass of wine each, were Yen, Petra and my admirer, whose name I had temporarily forgotten. In the centre of the table was a platter of crackers and cheese, along with the bunch of plump, seedless grapes that I had planned on enjoying for dessert.

‘Come, join us,’ said Petra. ‘Amy was just explaining how she was taking theology at her local adult learning centre. Enthralling stuff.’

Yen’s face was impassive. ‘However, as
I
was just saying, perhaps your sister had best stop plying her with wine, otherwise she won’t be able to drive home.’

‘Too true!’ said Amy brightly, raising her glass.

I took a deep breath and moved towards them, wondering how best to separate the woman from the table and usher her towards the door, all without causing offence. I could deal with her admiration there, away from the family. How much easier it would be if I was a writer of books rather than columns; then I could have simply signed my latest release and thrust it into her hands while waving goodbye. A printout from the computer just didn’t carry the same gravitas.

‘Why do you have a red sheet hanging in your upstairs window?’ asked Yen. ‘It looks like a brothel. And not a classy one either.’

‘It’s burgundy. And Svetlana’s Haberdashery are doing the curtains but I gave them the wrong measurements for that window. It’ll be sorted in a week or so.’

‘How on earth does one give the wrong measurements?’

A thudding on the stairs heralded someone’s descent, saving me from having to answer. Almost immediately Quinn came into view, closely followed by Gusto. They both took the last three steps with one jump. Lucy followed more sedately.

‘There’s a TV camera car out there now!’ exclaimed Quinn. She spotted her grandmother. ‘Grandma! Did you see all the police? Mum decapitated a corpse!’

‘So I heard. I couldn’t be prouder.’

‘She just
flicked
that skull out! Like, you should have seen it go …’ Quinn petered off as she realised that everybody’s attention had shifted. We were staring at Amy Stenhouse who, after gasping quite audibly, had risen slowly from her seat, her face glowing, and was advancing purposefully on Lucy. Gusto sniffed her foot and then trotted off, clearly satisfied.

‘Do I know you?’ asked Lucy, taking a step back up the staircase.

‘Oh my,’ breathed Amy. She dropped her eyes to stare at Lucy’s belly and I suddenly realised that she was actually tearing up. I frowned across at my mother and sister, wanting confirmation that this was very odd behaviour.
Police metres away while entire family murdered by crazed fan. ‘Yeah, a little embarrassing,’ says detective with face like hatchet.
Petra rotated a finger near the side of her head.

‘Ah, Amy …’ I coughed politely to get her attention. ‘Perhaps we could –’

‘You must be Lucy,’ continued Amy as if I hadn’t spoken. She lifted her gaze momentarily to proffer a fleeting smile, and then returned to Lucy’s midriff. ‘And this … this must be –’

‘This must be my daughter,’ I interjected firmly. ‘Who has things she needs to do upstairs. Off you go, Luce, and I’ll take care of things down here.’

‘But I need to speak to you, Lucy.’ Amy blinked, breaking her disturbing belly-focus. ‘I did go to your house but you weren’t there, so I came here. Your mother has been so kind.’

‘Hang on.’ My frown deepened. ‘You came to see
Lucy
?’

Lucy took another step backwards and upwards. ‘I don’t even know you!’

‘No, dear. That’s right. However, you
do
know my son.’ Amy smiled, this time a wide, radiant smile. She dropped her eyes once more, but only briefly. ‘
Very
well.’

I stared at her, gobsmacked. I heard both Lucy and Petra draw in sharp gasps of breath but I was having trouble closing my mouth. Worst fan ever.

‘I’m guessing she means in the biblical sense,’ said Yen matter-of-factly. ‘Excellent. Should do wonders for the gene pool.’

Quinn tugged on my sleeve. ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’

Lucy moved one step back down the staircase. ‘You’re Jasper’s mother.’

‘Yes. Amy Stenhouse, but of course you can call me Amy. Or even Mum if your own mother doesn’t mind. After all, we’re going to get to know each other
so
well. I would have come even sooner, offered my assistance, but I had no idea. No idea at all.’ She shook her head in amazement, as if it was already difficult to imagine such a time. ‘But when Jasper confessed, well, I just jumped right in that car and up I came. So fortunate it was the Australia Day weekend! And don’t you worry about a thing, my dear, you’re not alone any more. A baby needs a mother
and
a father. I shall soon have him doing the right thing.’

‘The right thing?’ repeated Lucy feebly. ‘But Jasper is –’

‘Ready to step up to the plate,’ said his mother firmly.

Petra leant back, out of Amy’s line of sight, and grimaced at me. I widened my eyes in acknowledgement. I was having trouble getting my head around the ramifications here. I was also beginning to think a psychotic fan might have been easier to deal with. And where was the etiquette for a first meeting with a fellow grandmother-to-be who clearly was not in possession of all the facts? As if on cue, she turned to me, beaming once more. ‘But just imagine my surprise to learn that
you
were Lucy’s mother! After I had been reading your column for
so
many years. And now here we are, about to be bonded by the miracle of life. Truly a gift from God! In fact, perhaps we should give thanks right now.’

‘Way ahead of you,’ said Yen. ‘I’ve been giving thanks for the past five minutes. So much so that I think it calls for another drink.’

And for once we were in perfect agreement.

The police were still firmly ensconced in my backyard the following day. Indeed they had set up floodlights at some point during the evening, which made it appear as if we were hosting a sporting event. The downside was that when the rear of the property was shown during the evening news, the lunar landscaping was in stark relief. A repositioned Charlotte was the only plant in sight. It looked exactly like the type of house most likely to have a body or two buried in the backyard. As well as a meth lab in the bathroom, a stolen car in the garage and a couple of American pit bulls lunging on their chains.

The news report contained little we had not already known. Unidentified remains discovered, investigation underway, forensics being examined. In lieu of any interview with the main players, the station trotted out a retired academic who spoke of the difficulties of life in gold-rush Victoria. He finished by offering his services to the police should they be in need of expertise, making it clear that he felt they were lacking in this regard. I suspected that the newly-minted Detective Sergeant Eric Male would not be amused.

The news also heralded a flurry of phone calls from kith and kin. I was not terribly fond of telephones, and indeed possessed a mobile only because it was a gift from my girls a few years ago. I rarely turned it on. The landline, however, was a necessary evil, even if sometimes, like now, the latter outweighed the former. The first call was from Scarlet, who appeared to be more concerned that the discovery might impact her potential in-laws, due to arrive in Majic on Friday. Next was Red, wanting to complain personally that nothing ever happened when she visited. I had barely hung up before the father of these assorted offspring called to ‘make sure everything was okay’.

A more cynical ex-wife might have commented that, had he been so worried about ‘everything being okay’, he would have been better served keeping his fly zipped during our marriage. Having failed at this fairly undemanding task, his newfound concern appeared a little hollow – particularly as he was still cohabitating with the woman who had assisted in the last extra-marital fly-unzipping, and that she had produced a baby girl a month ago. A first for her and a sixth for him; all girls. Once again, a less generous person might have found that incredibly amusing, even as she tried to absorb the fact that
his
impending grandparenthood was softened by this new child, while hers stood alone.

After another two calls, both from friends who knew I preferred email, I switched the phone to the answering machine in my study. If anyone needed me desperately, they could call Quinn. While all this was going on, Amy Stenhouse fluttered around Lucy like an infatuated moth. It was almost seven o’clock before she was finally persuaded to leave for the local motel, and only then because Lucy promised to meet her for breakfast before saying goodbye. I was coming along for moral support, and also because I suspected the woman wasn’t entirely balanced. The news about the adoption had to be broken, and I did not think she was going to take it well.

*

I was the first to arrive at the pub for breakfast, having just dropped Quinn off at her friend’s. I felt a bit silly as I parked as the pub was only at the corner of my lane, about one hundred metres from my house. One of three hotels that served our town, it was a two-storey red brick and clotted-cream edifice with a canopied beer garden and an array of umbrella-shaded tables dispersed almost to the kerb. I took the cleanest, revelling in the early egg-yolk sunshine. Only one other table was occupied, with an elderly couple ploughing their way silently through matching bowls of muesli, while all other customers were inside. The smell of bacon, along with conversation and the clinking of cutlery, wafted out every time the door opened.

I had dressed carefully, wanting to counter the dysfunctional impression we must have offered last night. Capri pants with a sleeveless brown vest and matching trilby. I had become a hat person only in the past year but now I couldn’t think why it had taken me so long. They kept my hair under wraps, so to speak, while shading my eyes and providing an attractive shadow across the upper half of my face. Plus they helped offset the middle-aged invisibility that appeared to have crept up over the past decade. Other women dyed their hair red or wore bright colours or began placing their hand on your arm to ensure they had your attention; I was going to embrace the humble hat. Both proactive and reactive, with a touch of inscrutability thrown into the mix.

I fished my mobile from my bag and turned it on to text Lucy. I was halfway through the first word when she exited the hotel, carrying a tray with two large mugs. I jumped up to help. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘A while. I was talking to Andre.’

‘Andre?’

‘The manager.’ Lucy lowered herself into a chair and massaged her belly. She was wearing her cheesecloth top again and it occurred to me that she was at that stage where clothing was simply a means to an end, just a covering. ‘You should come down on a Friday night, Mum. They have a local singer. Real mellow.’

‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. I was betting it wasn’t as mellow as staying home in my pyjamas, reading a book. ‘Okay, before Amy turns up – what’s the plan? Did you get through to her son? What did he say?’

‘One at a time!’ Lucy smiled, but only briefly. ‘Jasper’s
so
embarrassed. Kept apologising. Apparently he only told her because, well, he took his parents out for lunch to tell them he was coming out. Being gay, you know.’

‘Good to hear he’s got his priorities straight. No pun intended.’

‘Yeah, okay. Anyway, so she went totally off tap. All religious. Then she goes: It’s only because you’ve never been with a woman! If you know what I mean.’

‘So … what? He felt he had to provide evidence to the contrary?’

‘Something like that. Apparently it just came out.’

‘Along with names and addresses. I hope this guy’s never in charge of any national secrets.’ I wrapped my hands around my mug, considering the situation. ‘Did he at least offer to come up here? Present a united front?’

Lucy shook her head. She spooned the froth from the top of her coffee. ‘No, but he said he’ll talk to her next weekend. And he’s still totally behind the adoption and all. Believe me, the last thing Jasper wants is complications. Not when he’s finally sorting his life out.’

I raised my eyebrows, not convinced. Jasper Stenhouse was not coming across as a particularly robust character, and in my experience such men were easily manipulated by strong women. If his mother had been able to extract so much information during a single lunch, who knew what she could accomplish in a few weeks? ‘Well, you need to tell her quickly. Because I suspect it’s not going to be just about what Jasper wants.’

‘Are we talking about
my
Jasper?’ asked Amy brightly, looming up on my left. Her dusky-coloured hair was pulled back with combs only a shade darker. ‘How serendipitous! I was just talking to him on the phone! He sends his love, Lucy dear.’ She bent to kiss Lucy’s cheek and then slid into the neighbouring chair before sending me a brief, spare smile that faltered a little as she took in my hat. Which was ironic because it would have gone beautifully with her tailored shirt dress. She turned back to Lucy. ‘He wishes he could be here.’

‘I’m sure he does.’ I kept my face expressionless. ‘Amy, can I get you a coffee too?’

‘Coffee? Too?’ Her eyes widened and she whipped around to face Lucy, her demeanour changing in an instant as she raised one hand to point accusingly at the mug. ‘
What
is that?’

Lucy stared at the finger, her mouth open.

‘Coffee is
terrible
for a developing foetus! Just terrible!’

‘It’s not coffee,’ said Lucy, finally finding her voice. ‘It’s herbal tea.’

‘Oh!’ Amy brought her hand back and slapped it to her chest. She beamed. ‘What a relief. Flat white, please, Nell. Skinny. No sugar.’

The woman was a nutcase. I exchanged glances with Lucy as I rose, needing to reiterate the importance of her telling Amy about the adoption quickly. Preferably while I was inside the hotel. She needed to get this done before the prospective grandmother became even more invested. It was only a matter of time before she started measuring Lucy’s breasts for potential milk flow.

Inside the hotel, the noise level was disproportionately high for the few tables occupied. It seemed to bounce off the polished floorboards, punctuated, every so often, by a scraping chair. Any chance I would be tempted to partake of the mellowness of Friday evenings faded rapidly.

A serving hutch behind the counter gave a partial view of the kitchen, where I could see a waiter in conversation with somebody out of range. His hair was pulled back in a floppy bun, with dank tendrils escaping to frame his face. I stepped away for a view through the dining-room windows. Lucy was talking earnestly, waving her hand with emphasis. Amy nodded and then laid a hand over Lucy’s. Relief warmed me.

A young woman came up to the counter and within seconds the waiter appeared, plucking a pen from his bun to take her order and then, finally, mine.
Breaking news: middle-aged woman loses her temper. Nobody notices.
Shortly afterwards I was letting the door swing shut behind me, instantly muting the noise level as I carried a tray over to the table. The elderly muesli-eating couple had now departed, leaving us alone outside. ‘Here you go, Amy. And I got some muffins. Luce, has that Andre got his hair in a bun?’

Lucy nodded. ‘Isn’t he nice?’

‘No. He’s a tool.’

‘I don’t think much of men with long hair,’ said Amy. ‘It’s unnatural.’

Lucy frowned. ‘That’s just construction of gender. Totally cultural.’

‘And unnatural,’ said Amy firmly. She selected a blueberry muffin, placed it gently on a serviette and then fished around in her handbag, finally extricating a Swiss Army penknife. She flicked it open and bisected her muffin neatly. ‘You see, God intended us to be different. Men should be men, and women women. No blurred lines.’

I stared at her before exchanging glances with Lucy. I fervently hoped that it was cultural, and not genetic, as I really didn’t want a fundamentalist for a grandchild. Especially one who was handy with a penknife. I coughed politely. ‘So … what have you two been talking about?’

‘I was just telling Lucy what a marvellous father Jasper will make. Very nurturing, very responsible. And he is
so
looking forward to the birth.’

I exchanged yet another glance with Lucy, who grimaced ruefully.

‘Jasper also tells me that I should apologise,’ continued Amy blithely. ‘Apparently I overstepped the bounds with my assurances that you two would get together.’

Lucy sat back, relieved. ‘Oh, then he
did
speak to you.’

‘He certainly did. And I said, well, I’m
sorry
if I have traditional values. If I think a child is best served growing up with a mother
and
a father. You’ll have to sue me!’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ I said, feeling it was time I contributed something. A police car turned the corner and headed down the lane, followed by a council ute that left a rumble of music in its wake.

‘But don’t you worry …’ Amy smiled at Lucy. ‘Just between us, I’m still pretty confident I can bring him around. Absolutely the best way out of your pickle.’

I frowned. ‘Hang on there, what do you mean
your
pickle? May I remind you that your son played a large part in the pickling? And nobody has to be
brought
around. They have it all sorted, thank you very much.’

The doof-doof beat of music announced the return of the council ute. It pulled up by the kerb behind Amy, the mixture of melody and engine now causing the ground beneath our feet to vibrate. A young worker, clad in an orange high-visibility vest, leapt out of the driver’s seat and headed into the pub. Moments later the engine died, the music fading soon after.

‘I’ve offended you.’ Amy was clearly distressed. She reached out to clasp Lucy’s hand. ‘I am
so
sorry. Truly, I have foot-in-mouth disease. I really only meant the best. Really. It’s just the thought of one of those …
arrangements
where the child goes backwards and forwards, mother to father, living out of a suitcase, well, it’s so unsettling, isn’t it? Not ideal at
all
.’

‘I agree,’ said Lucy suddenly. She retrieved her hand. ‘Although that shared parenting stuff
can
work, you know. But in this case, both Jasper and I have decided it’s not what we want for the baby.’

Amy beamed. ‘Then you
do
want to be together!’

‘No.’ Lucy’s voice was gentle but definite. ‘I don’t think you’re going to want to hear this, but we’ve put a lot of thought into our decision, and it won’t be changed. We’re putting the baby up for adoption.’

‘What?’ Her smile froze for a moment and then vanished. ‘No.’

‘It’s best all round. We’re both too young, and not settled or anything. And there are heaps of families who are just
dying
for a baby. It will be so loved, and so happy.’

‘No.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘But …’ Amy was staring at Lucy, as if hoping she would say it was all a mistake. When this didn’t happen, she turned to me. ‘Surely you can’t be in favour of this.’

I replied slowly, carefully. ‘It’s not my decision. It’s up to Lucy, and Jasper.’

‘Jasper!’ His mother brightened. ‘He can’t
possibly
want this. He would have told me.’

‘He left it up to me,’ said Lucy firmly. ‘It’s my decision.’

Amy was shaking her head emphatically. ‘Then that’s because he doesn’t understand. This is his
baby
. His
child
. You can’t give that away – you just can’t.’