Lyrebird Hill Read Online Free Page A

feet, listening intently. I strained to bring their faces into focus; it was just a tiny glimpse of memory, but all of a sudden it seemed important. Yet even as I grasped for it, the scene slipped away like smoke.
    Esther gestured at Mum’s canvas. ‘Margaret’s done a splendid job, hasn’t she? It’s been fascinating to see how the old farmhouse must have looked when the three of you lived there.’
    ‘It was more cluttered,’ I admitted. ‘Mum was quite a collector back then. She had stuff crammed into every corner.’ Despite my reluctance to talk about the past, the memory of our unruly living spaces touched me like a smile. My shoulders relaxed and I found myself rushing on. ‘Jamie and I were chronic hoarders, too. We filled the place with all the treasures we brought back from the bush – birds’ nests, lumps of driftwood from the river, that sort of thing. Mum’s paintings don’t do justice to the chaos we created. She’s made it all seem very empty.’
    ‘I suppose that’s how she remembers it,’ Esther said gently.
    A length of silence followed. I feigned absorption in the painting, trying to think of a question to ask my companion that would divert our conversation in a new direction. There were plenty of topics that didn’t involve the past: Where had she bought her fabulous dress? Great shoes, too. And what was the story behind the lovely locket she wore? But standing there surrounded by my mother’s enormous canvases depicting a place so closely associated with my childhood, the past seemed inescapable.
    Besides, I’d been quiet for too long.
    Esther looked at me carefully. ‘You and your mother had a sad old time, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yeah,’ I muttered, unable to stop the sinking feeling. ‘We did.’
    ‘I’ve thought of you both so often over the years. Poor Jamie, too. She was such a bright girl. It must have been awful never knowing what really happened to her. All those years, wondering and worrying. I don’t know how Margaret coped.’
    My face tightened in shock. ‘What do you mean?’
    Esther frowned and moved nearer. ‘They never did find who was responsible, did they?’
    ‘Responsible?’ The nameless fear that had lain dormant in me for years stirred. I drew a steadying breath and centred myself. ‘Esther, you must be mistaken. Jamie fell. She hit her head. No one was responsible . It was an accident.’
    Esther searched my face, seeming to take in every pore and freckle and line, frowning as if my features were a puzzle she was unable to work out. ‘Is that what your mother told you?’
    I stared at her, trying to stem the panic. I had no memory of Jamie’s death; I couldn’t remember finding her on the rocks that day, or the aftermath of questions; nor could I remember her funeral, or the months that followed. Mum had sat me down one day and outlined a simplified version of events, no doubt hoping to unlock my memory. But when the vault refused to open, she’d given up trying.
    ‘Mum said there was a lot of rain that day,’ I explained, my words coming in a rush, leaving me breathless. ‘The rocks were slippery, Jamie must have misjudged the incline and lost her footing. It was definitely an accident, Esther. Maybe you’re thinking about someone else?’
    Esther pressed her fingers to her earlobes. ‘Oh, Ruby, I do beg your pardon. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be. I’m sorry I’ve upset you.’
    My lungs deflated, and I slumped. My limbs were suddenly shaky, my brain wired. A vague feeling of nausea swam around inside me.
    ‘That’s okay,’ I said in a mouse voice. ‘No harm done.’
    Esther’s keen eyes – so intently trained on me until that moment – darted away. I followed her gaze across the gallery. People were milling in smaller groups now, or had detached from the central cluster to wander around the walls admiring the artwork. I saw Mum standing in the midst of a small gathering at the nibblies table.
    Fingers curled around my