‘My mum has enough to deal with looking after my stepfather. He’s in a bad way. Fell off a ladder and broke both his legs. Can’t do a thing for himself. I’ve told her I’ll take care of Owen and I want to make sure I do it right.’

  ‘That’s very … brotherly of you. You must have a close-knit family.’

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Well, it was just me and Mum for quite a while. She had me when she was nineteen, then met Bill when I was eleven and he’s been a great father figure to me, so I feel like I owe them. Owen’s a good kid. He just needs to be kept on the straight and narrow. His friend’s parents are home so I figure not much can go wrong.’

  Wow. Cole was a sharer. Not only was he sentimental, he was deluded as well. Based on Owen’s case file and his attitude, he wasn’t looking to reform any time soon. But that wasn’t her business. And neither was Cole Harrison’s personal life.

  ‘Well, the people you meet.’

  The animated pitch of Crystal’s voice drew an inhale from deep in Hannah’s diaphragm.

  ‘And look at you both, impeccably matched.’

  ‘Matched?’

  ‘Your outfits.’

  Hannah looked at Cole’s shirt and then down at her own emerald shift dress. ‘Oh, right.’

  Crystal narrowed her eyes. Opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, a quiet smile curving her lips. ‘I’d best be on my way. Don’t want to miss the first carol with the community choir. We start in five minutes. Always good to have an audience so I’ll see you both there!’ She winked and hurried away, the white pom-pom on her sequinned Santa hat bouncing against her riotous curls.

  Cole waved a hand in the same direction. ‘Can I escort you to the festivities?’

  Hannah could tell him she didn’t need an escort, or that she didn’t fraternise with a patient’s relatives, but both responses felt ungracious, especially considering how chivalrous he’d been over the leech bite fiasco. There was no harm in walking up the street with him, was there?

  She started to move off when a voice called from behind.

  ‘Ah, miss? The book under your arm … you planning on paying for that?’

  Her cheeks burned hot. Oh God, did the stall holder think she was shoplifting? ‘Yes, of course, sorry. I totally forgot.’ She unzipped her cross-body bag and fumbled around for her wallet.

  ‘My shout.’ Cole whipped a five-dollar note from his pocket and handed it to the sceptical-looking man at the back of the trestle tables.

  The bookseller whistled through the gap in his front teeth. ‘Enjoy that.’ He winked. ‘According to my wife, it’s nice and spicy.’

  Could the ground please open up right now and swallow her whole? She tucked the book under her arm, out of sight, mumbled a thanks and kept her eyes on her sandshoed feet all the way down the street.

  And still the very proximity of the man walking beside her was enough to keep her blood cells crashing around in her veins like out-of-control dodgem cars.

  Every man, woman and child in Yarrabee was apparently at the lighting, covering every patch of grass in the park, some seated, some standing, kids running and squealing, adults milling around and chatting. It had the vibe of a vineyard music festival, minus the alcohol. A giant of a tree presided over the gathering, festooned with ropes of gold tinsel, its branches laden with giant red baubles, a glittering star gracing its crown.

  Even a Christmas curmudgeon couldn’t help but admire its beauty. ‘Is that one of yours?’

  Cole leaned down, hand to his ear, and an earthy scent—cedar and leather and musk—drowned her senses. She exhaled it away and repeated her question.

  ‘Sure is. Bill chooses a special tree for the town each year and nurtures it like a baby. Donates it for the lighting. It’s become a tradition, for him and the town.’

  It had been so long since she’d been part of any kind of Christmas tradition, private or public, being here felt like landing on a planet on the far side of the universe. Local Councillor Kelly Clements, wearing gold sequins and a set of reindeer ears, stepped onto a podium beside the tree and the crowd fell quiet. The woman certainly knew how to command an audience. Despite her toughas-nails reputation, she’d done a brilliant job supporting her foster kids and that role was definitely not one she did for show. People could be so multi-layered, so complex—that had been one of the things that had drawn Hannah to psychology. That, and her own family’s complete inability to deal with grief. Helping others do better had been her driving motivation. It had been too late to salvage anything much for herself but if she could help others manage their emotions, in all sorts of circumstances, her father’s life would not be wasted. Her gut twisted, the acidic taste of bile scorching her throat.

  A sudden burst of voices drew her back to the here and now. The choir had launched into a hearty rendition of ‘Joy to the World’. A couple of dozen men and women singing their hearts out, faces beaming with the very thing they were celebrating in the music. People in the crowd joined in, moving in time to the rhythm as if holding steins of lager and listening to an oompah band in a German brauhaus. Crystal stood loud and proud in the middle of the group of choristers, a broad smile lighting her face. This was what it was to be part of a community, to revel in the spirit of the season. Wonderful. And yet the protective shell lining the inside of Hannah’s skin hardened. If she let it crack, let even a sliver of Yuletide cheer seep into her bones, the past could all come flooding back. And that was not a process she wanted to risk.

  Dusk had deepened into the soft grey of night. People held their phones aloft, torches on, as the choir began ‘Silent Night’. Beside her, Cole stood tall, chin raised, as he sang along, stumbling on the words every now and then, without any sign of embarrassment. He was an enigma of a man: burly and masculine but also kind and sensitive. Reserved and unassuming, but with an edge of boyish cheekiness. The perfect mix for anyone in the market for a partner. Almost too perfect.

  The next carol began with a harmonised hum. Hannah’s blood froze as the images steamrolled through her mind and body.

  His bright-eyed laugh; her mother directing the placement of the ornaments; Maddie shrinking at the sight of the antique, battery-operated Santa with his fiery red eyes, swinging his bell as he rotated a circle.

  And all while this song played in the background.

  Hannah clenched her teeth, nipping the tip of her tongue and swallowing the rusty taste the bite elicited. ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. Her father’s favourite. Top of his Christmas playlist. She should have been prepared for this from the get-go. Should have known as soon as Crystal mentioned the choir that this was a possibility. Should never have come.

  A rush of heat thundered through her temples. She had to leave. Now.

  Clutching her bag to her chest, she mumbled a goodbye to Cole. Her breaths were coming thick and fast as she pushed her way through the revellers. She didn’t bother looking around when he called her name. Head down, she rushed along the now deserted street, past the stall holders packing away their wares, headed for the safety of home.

  Chapter 8

  Nothing could have prepared her for the change, but after the splitsecond lurch of her heart when she opened the door, Hannah was able to mask her shock with a welcoming smile. Ignoring the greyish pallor of Lenore’s skin and the sunken hollows of her cheeks, she pulled her old mentor into a warm embrace. This woman, once as sturdy and robust as a bull, now felt bird-like beneath her hands. And yet her scent was the same, a powdery mix of freesia and lily, rose and geranium. A smell that was unmistakably Lenore.

  Tears swam in Hannah’s eyes as she opened them to the sad smile of Nancy standing a short distance away on the verandah. Everything Lenore hadn’t revealed in her letters was written all over her wife’s face, in the downturn of her lips and the slight quiver of her jaw.

  ‘Well, that’s a greeting and a half.’ Lenore pulled back and stretched out her arms, rested her bony hands on Hannah’s cheeks. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, my girl. It’s been way too long.’

  ‘It has.’ The words came out in a cough.

  ‘Right, my turn.’ Nancy stepped forward, jostling Lenore out of the way, and pressed her face against Hannah’s cheek, a gentle palm at her neck. ‘Thank you for this,’ she whispered.

  Not now. Not. Now.

  She pulled back. ‘Here, let me get those.’ Grabbing her visitors’ suitcases, she wheeled them through the door and into the reception area. ‘I wish you’d let me come and meet you at the airport.’

  ‘Pssht. And waste all that time and petrol when it was just as easy to hire a car?’ Lenore waved the suggestion away as she looked around the room. ‘This is very convenient, an office in your house. I hope it doesn’t mean you’re still all work and no play.’

  The only possible answer was an eye roll. Lenore had been the epitome of a workhorse for her entire career, had barely had a personal life until she’d met Nancy. And that wasn’t until she’d retired. She was hardly in a position to preach.

  Hannah led her guests through to the main part of the house, giving them the grand tour before showing them their room and putting on the kettle. They were both tea fiends, and there was no better icebreaker than a well-brewed English breakfast. By the time she’d returned to the living room, Lenore was slumped in a chair, eyes closed.

  Nancy checked in with Hannah and gave a small nod. ‘Lenny,’ she chirped, ‘how about having a cat nap? I’m sure Hannah won’t mind. Then you’ll be all refreshed for dinner.’

  Lenore slowly opened her eyes, frowning and looking around the room as if trying to ascertain her whereabouts. ‘Yes.’ Her voice husky. ‘I might do that.’ With Nancy’s help, she hoisted herself from the chair and shuffled down the hall to the bedroom.

  Water wobbled into the cups as Hannah poured the tea. In a minute or two, Nancy would be back and ‘the talk’ would happen. Shit would get real. Was it better to know the end of your life was on the horizon, so you could prepare and say your goodbyes? Or to have it snatched away from you in a second with no idea what was coming? There’d be no fear that way, no worrying about those you were leaving behind. Either way, they would suffer.

  ‘So, tea for two.’ Nancy appeared in the doorway, one hand clenched, rubbing her knuckles as if trying to remove a particularly nasty stain. Where Lenore was round and jolly—or at least had been—her wife was slim and serious, friendly but more on the conservative side. She too had lost weight in recent years. Tall and casual in her knee-length shorts and T-shirt, grey bob tucked neatly behind her ears, she was the total opposite of Lenore’s wild-haired, kaftan-wearing bohemian. But the combination worked. Hannah had never seen two people more in love. She placed the steaming mugs down on the table and pulled out a chair, motioning for Nancy to join her.

  Now was the time to acknowledge the spectre in the room. Speak the words that had slipped silently between them at the front door. And yet they stuck in Hannah’s throat. She took a sip of tea, swallowed the heat to let it thaw the block of ice lodged in her diaphragm. In the quiet of the country-style kitchen, the wall clock ticked. It was all Hannah could do not to climb up on the bench, grab the thing and smash it to pieces on the parquetry floor. But that wasn’t going to help anyone.

  ‘How long?’ A two-syllable question she didn’t really want answered.

  ‘Six months.’ Nancy’s bottom lip trembled. She drew in a mouthful of tea. ‘Possibly a little more.’

  The cords of Hannah’s throat drew taut, like the strings of a violin wound too tight, the steel stretching and straining under the pressure. About to snap. ‘And there’s nothing more they can do?’

  Nancy drew her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. ‘She’s refused further treatment. As you can see, it played havoc with her health. She wants to go out on her own terms, with dignity, and there were things she wanted to do before …’

  There was no need to finish the sentence; they both knew how it ended.

  ‘One of those things was to see you again. Make sure you were okay.’

  ‘I could have come to you. Saved her travelling all this way and wearing herself out.’

  ‘Australia was her home for a long time. It holds a piece of her heart, as do you. It was important for her to come.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She knows …’ Nancy reached out a hand and the warmth of it was almost too much to bear. ‘We both know how hard this time of the year is for you. But this is where she wanted to be for Christmas. I’ll do whatever I can to make it one of her best, and I know you will too.’

  The warning was there in Nancy’s promise: Don’t make this about you. Put Lenore first.

  ‘Of course.’ Even as she repeated the refrain, the only words she seemed to be able to form, her heart rate went into overdrive. Not only would she have to play host, she would have to pretend to enjoy the celebration. Show Lenore she’d come to terms with her past and had finally been able to move on.

  She glanced out to the living room where the naked tree stood, waiting to be dressed. A few shopping bags of ornaments, tinsel and lights sat beside it. Buying them and dumping them there was as much as she’d managed to do. Bringing herself to open the boxes and actually decorate the damned thing had been impossible.

  But that would have to change.

  She drew her attention back to the woman sitting opposite her at the table. Ten years of a relationship and five years of marriage was far too short a time to spend with the love of your life, and yet Nancy was stoic, doing whatever she could to make memories for Lenore in the time she had left. Good memories. Wonderful memories. Memories that would last a lifetime, no matter how short that might be. If Nancy could put aside her own grief then she could too. Past and present. This Christmas her own pain would have to take a back seat. This Christmas was all about Lenore.

  She dragged her iPad across the table and opened her to-do list. The tree was up and the pink and silver decorations bought, even if not yet put to use. Time to think about Item Number 3.

  ‘Traditional English meal for Christmas lunch or Aussie-style prawns on the barbecue? What do you think she’d prefer?’

  A small smile crept across Nancy’s face. ‘As long as there’s pudding and hot custard to follow, I’m sure Lenore would be happy with either. In fact, why not both?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Fingers flying across the keypad, she started on a shopping list, choking back the rising acid as she thought about preparing a Yuletide feast. This year, the past was not going to win.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Who’s she?’ Owen stood in the centre of the room, tipping his nose at Lenore, seated in a chair beside the desk. In an olive floral kaftan and matching turban, she made quite the imposing sight, even with her reduced size.

  ‘This is Lenore Douglas, my old university supervisor and mentor. She’s visiting from the UK and asked if she could sit in on some of my sessions.’ It had been an odd request, one that didn’t exactly gel with patient confidentiality, but in the spirit of granting a dying woman her wish, Hannah could hardly have denied her. Luckily, Lenore had kept up her registration. ‘On the proviso that you don’t mind. She won’t be participating in the session, just observing.’

  Owen gave a quiet snort. ‘Making sure you don’t freak out again, you mean.’

  Hannah’s fingers tightened around the edges of her notebook. If the snarky comment made an impression on Lenore, she didn’t let it show; her expression remained neutral.

  ‘Doesn’t make any difference to me.’ Owen shrugged and threw himself into his seat.

  Having Lenore sitting in the corner of the room was like time travelling back to uni days, to the roleplay scenarios that had formed part of their assessments. Just as she’d done then, Hannah took a quick breath and turned her chair slightly so she could at least try to avoid the feeling of being watched.

  ‘Thanks for coming in again, Owen. Let’s pick up where we left off.’ She glanced down at her notes—not that she needed a reminder of their first session; it was carved into her memory like a poorly inked tattoo, bleeding all over her hippocampus. ‘After you left here last week you went to the hotel rather than meeting your brother as arranged.’

  A customary shoulder lift. Eyes averted. ‘I had time to kill.’

  ‘You’re undergoing mandated counselling and you’re underage. Do you think drinking in a hotel is a wise decision?’

  ‘How did you even know I was there? Did Cole ring up and dob me in?’

  Damn. She’d walked right into that trap. Could hardly confess to getting a lift into town with his brother when she’d cut their session short. Fast thinking required. ‘He … I saw him when I went to get a tree and he mentioned it. He’s concerned about your welfare.’

  The upward curl of Owen’s lip suggested he didn’t give a toss about any of his brother’s concerns. But how much of it was genuine and how much was bravado? The kid had little consideration for rules of any kind—that type of rebelliousness had to have a root cause. If she could get to the bottom of that, she might be able to find a chink in his armour.

  ‘How were things at home with your parents, before you went to live with Cole?’

  ‘Same as always.’

  ‘And how’s that?’

  ‘Boring.’

  Okay, not exactly enlightening. As much as she wanted to turn towards Lenore and share an eye roll, she kept her attention focused on the belligerent teen. ‘What’s your routine when you get home from school—when you were going to school?’

  Owen heaved out a sigh. ‘Helping around the farm, moving the cows, fixing fences, cutting down trees … all the usual shit.’

  ‘So you don’t like farm work?’

  ‘Not when I have to do it twenty-four-seven.’

  ‘Who says you have to do that?’

  ‘Dad. He’s always on at me to get off my arse and help around the place. Mum backs him up. It’s like living in a concentration camp.’