on?’ She gathered her rubbish. ‘That’s just great.’ She stood and slammed the papers into a dark green park bin. ‘We need to go. Audrey will be waiting.’
Anya caught up. ‘You knew I was coming to see you. We talked about it weeks ago. Dad only said something because he wanted to know you were okay.’
‘He gave up the right to know anything about me when he left.’
Forgiveness and understanding weren’t in her mother’s vocabulary where Bob was concerned. The way Anya saw it, Jocelyn had shut down emotionally the day of Miriam’s abduction. Bob had tried to keep the family together, but in the end, nothing could ease Jocelyn’s grief. He hadn’t met his second wife until long after the divorce. Time and distance hadn’t mellowed Jocelyn’s perception of any part she may have played in the marriage breakdown.
They headed back to the car and drove along the Midlands Highway towards Gibbett Hill. The sun disappeared behind dark grey clouds. In winter, with fog, the area looked like an English moor. As a child, Anya had been frightened by the story of a ghost who haunted travellers. Locals claimed their cars had filled with a black smoke as they drove past the site where a violent murder had taken place in the 1830s. Anya looked to the side where the body of an executed bushranger had been hung in chains from a tree for three years, as a deterrent to other criminals. There was no sign of the particular tree, but she still twisted in her seat to look. Like so much of the mainland, Tasmania had a barbaric history, not easily forgotten.
Jocelyn glanced sideways. ‘Remember this place? I always thought it’s where you developed your obsession with death and gore.’
The comment sounded disapproving. Anya preferred to think that the public display of a body decomposing and being picked at by birds would have disturbed any child. Being told the man’s family saw the body every day bothered her the most.
As they wound around the back of the historic town of Perth, a sea of white poppies swayed in the breeze. The sight was nothing short of spectacular. Jocelyn spoke like a tour guide. ‘We’re still the world’s largest producer of opium alkaloids. Humbling to think something grown here can be used to treat patients on the other side of the world.’
Anya felt a burst from the air-conditioning and closed the vents on the passenger side.
Some things hadn’t changed. Born and bred Taswegians, like her mother, were exceptionally proud of their state – more so than anyone anywhere else Anya had lived. The geographically isolated state had a number of claims to fame, and this was just one of them. It produced fifty per cent of the world’s concentrated poppy straw, which was used by pharmaceutical companies to make morphine and codeine. Less pristine were the electric fences plastered with warning signs about trespassing.
‘Has security become an issue?’
‘More about insurance. It’s only the odd fool who tries to steal anything. The industry brings a lot of jobs to this area and it’s worth protecting. You have no idea how many people are doing it tough. Really struggling.’
Anya could imagine. With a high Australian dollar, imports were at record levels. A large exporting agricultural industry like this would be suffering. Her mother opened her window despite the air-conditioning. It had to be in the mid-twenties outside, but beads of perspiration appeared over Jocelyn’s forehead and top lip. She reached down to the cup holder for a water bottle filled with a tea-coloured liquid and took a few swigs.
‘So how is Evie doing?’
Anya thought she had explained. ‘Still in a critical condition.’
Jocelyn tightened her tanned hands on the steering wheel. Anya took in the smaller silhouette. The weight loss was dramatic, but she had devoured the sausage roll. Her mother seemed preoccupied and defensive, particularly about Damien’s supposed call. Something seemed wrong. Damien was a
Anya caught up. ‘You knew I was coming to see you. We talked about it weeks ago. Dad only said something because he wanted to know you were okay.’
‘He gave up the right to know anything about me when he left.’
Forgiveness and understanding weren’t in her mother’s vocabulary where Bob was concerned. The way Anya saw it, Jocelyn had shut down emotionally the day of Miriam’s abduction. Bob had tried to keep the family together, but in the end, nothing could ease Jocelyn’s grief. He hadn’t met his second wife until long after the divorce. Time and distance hadn’t mellowed Jocelyn’s perception of any part she may have played in the marriage breakdown.
They headed back to the car and drove along the Midlands Highway towards Gibbett Hill. The sun disappeared behind dark grey clouds. In winter, with fog, the area looked like an English moor. As a child, Anya had been frightened by the story of a ghost who haunted travellers. Locals claimed their cars had filled with a black smoke as they drove past the site where a violent murder had taken place in the 1830s. Anya looked to the side where the body of an executed bushranger had been hung in chains from a tree for three years, as a deterrent to other criminals. There was no sign of the particular tree, but she still twisted in her seat to look. Like so much of the mainland, Tasmania had a barbaric history, not easily forgotten.
Jocelyn glanced sideways. ‘Remember this place? I always thought it’s where you developed your obsession with death and gore.’
The comment sounded disapproving. Anya preferred to think that the public display of a body decomposing and being picked at by birds would have disturbed any child. Being told the man’s family saw the body every day bothered her the most.
As they wound around the back of the historic town of Perth, a sea of white poppies swayed in the breeze. The sight was nothing short of spectacular. Jocelyn spoke like a tour guide. ‘We’re still the world’s largest producer of opium alkaloids. Humbling to think something grown here can be used to treat patients on the other side of the world.’
Anya felt a burst from the air-conditioning and closed the vents on the passenger side.
Some things hadn’t changed. Born and bred Taswegians, like her mother, were exceptionally proud of their state – more so than anyone anywhere else Anya had lived. The geographically isolated state had a number of claims to fame, and this was just one of them. It produced fifty per cent of the world’s concentrated poppy straw, which was used by pharmaceutical companies to make morphine and codeine. Less pristine were the electric fences plastered with warning signs about trespassing.
‘Has security become an issue?’
‘More about insurance. It’s only the odd fool who tries to steal anything. The industry brings a lot of jobs to this area and it’s worth protecting. You have no idea how many people are doing it tough. Really struggling.’
Anya could imagine. With a high Australian dollar, imports were at record levels. A large exporting agricultural industry like this would be suffering. Her mother opened her window despite the air-conditioning. It had to be in the mid-twenties outside, but beads of perspiration appeared over Jocelyn’s forehead and top lip. She reached down to the cup holder for a water bottle filled with a tea-coloured liquid and took a few swigs.
‘So how is Evie doing?’
Anya thought she had explained. ‘Still in a critical condition.’
Jocelyn tightened her tanned hands on the steering wheel. Anya took in the smaller silhouette. The weight loss was dramatic, but she had devoured the sausage roll. Her mother seemed preoccupied and defensive, particularly about Damien’s supposed call. Something seemed wrong. Damien was a
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