North Star (20 page)

‘Because
he
isn't the one in trouble, Georgia.'

‘I cannot believe I'm even related to you sometimes, Mother. You humiliated me in front of Mick. I'll never be able to look him in the eye again!'

‘There are worse fates, Georgia. Trust me.'

‘What would you know?'

Kate sighed; exactly whose punishment was this supposed to be? It felt as though she were the one being punished, having to sit and listen to a wronged teenager all day.

‘I know that guys like Mick Farrell are not worth the trouble.'

‘You don't even know him! Just because John said he's bad doesn't mean he is. You didn't even give him a chance.'

Kate ran her hands through her hair. ‘Georgia, you did the wrong thing, so just cop the punishment and give it a rest.'

‘Nothing was happening, Mum.'

‘Anything could have happened, Georgia, that's the whole point.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like you could have been—' Kate stopped. She stared into her daughter's face and let out a long, sad breath. Georgia was still a naive child, despite how worldly she thought herself. ‘Anything could have happened. When you've finished moving the last of these boxes out to the ute, come and find me and I'll give you something else to do. I want to get these rooms cleaned out and ready to start painting.' She turned away from Georgia's scowl and threw herself into spreading out the drop sheets in the next room.

The big old wardrobe with its intricate carvings and old-fashioned handles sat against the far wall in what must have been the master bedroom of the original house. The room had a fireplace and large French doors which opened out onto the back verandah. Kate eyed the wardrobe critically and decided that, with a bit of polish, the timber should come up beautifully.

Her plan was to fix up the rooms at the rear of the house to use as bed-and-breakfast accommodation. She'd decided to paint each of the rooms a different colour, with their own distinct character. The master bedroom would be decorated in shades of rose and white, the second room in blues and the third in gentle creams and yellow. She'd decided to tile the bathroom herself to save some of her budget for furnishings such as new bedspreads and bed linen.

With a bit of sanding and varnish she could use most of the furniture that had been stored in this part of the house, including this old wardrobe. Bracing her feet, Kate tried to move it into the middle of the room, away from the wall. After struggling for a few minutes, she eventually gave up and called out to Georgia.

Georgia dragged herself into the room, and it only took a glance for Kate to realise she still held the title as ‘most unpopular person' in Georgia's world.

Between them, and with a lot of creaking and groaning, some of it coming from the wardrobe itself, they shuffled it forward enough to give Kate access to the wall behind.

‘What's this?'

Kate glanced over her shoulder and saw her daughter holding a floral-patterned notebook in her hands.

‘Eww, it's all dusty, just like everything else in this stupid house,' Georgia muttered, flicking without interest through the book before handing it over to her mother. ‘Is that all? Can I
please
go back to my punishment now?'

Kate plastered a smile on her face, trying to mask the fact that she was really gritting her teeth. But all thoughts of strangling her daughter vanished as soon as she opened the small book and read the inscription written in the familiar flowery handwriting:
The diary of Grace Windsor, April 1936, aged 15
.

Her gran's diary. Kate couldn't believe it.

For a brief moment, Kate felt guilty, as though it was too personal to read, but there were so many things left unspoken in her family, so many ghosts not laid to rest, that she felt compelled to look for answers. She turned to the first page and quickly began to read.

Today was the picnic day at North Star. Harry smiled at me. I saw Mr Campbell and Father talking and I could barely contain my excitement. I dare not hope that they were discussing a possible union, I am almost sixteen after all and Harry will be twenty in a few months. I am beside myself with anticipation, tonight I will watch for a falling star and wish with all my might that before long Harry will ask for my hand in marriage.

Gran was smitten with Harry, Henry's twin? Kate frowned at the strangle tangle her grandparent's lives must have been. She skipped through a few more pages; later she'd devour the words one by one, but now, with so much left to do to get this place up and running, she only had time for a brief skim.

I am so annoyed with that Henry Campbell, he is constantly playing practical jokes on me, and every time Harry tries to find some time alone with me, he always seems to turn up and make a nuisance of himself . . .

Kate flicked through the pages, impatient to see what happened. It was obvious that Harry was Grace's true love: he was mentioned in almost every single entry and there were pages and pages of besotted daydreaming. Some entries brought tears to Kate's eyes as she read of Grace's hopes for her life, so full of optimism for a bright, beautiful life with Harry Campbell. It was so hard to picture Grace as the sad-eyed woman she became.

Kate kept turning the pages until she came to the day Harry Campbell proposed to Grace. Expecting pages of delighted babbling, Kate smiled at the simple sentence that marked the momentous event.
In six weeks' time I will become Mrs Harry Campbell!

The date was 20 October 1938. In five days' time, Harry would be dead.

Kate couldn't turn the page just yet. Reading all the hopes and dreams Grace had had, and knowing that when she'd written that last sentence everything she'd ever dreamed of seemed finally to be happening, she couldn't bear to read about Grace's heartbreak and devastation following Harry's death.

Taking the diary back to her bedroom, Kate placed it on the bedside table to read properly later.

The problem with painting was that there was too much time to think. Kate's mind drifted constantly back and forth between her gran and Harry and her growing desire to see John. The knowledge that life was so cruelly unpredictable was making her feel reckless, as though she should grab what life offered her while she could.

With one room down and the rest of the rooms empty and ready to paint tomorrow, Kate called Jenny to find out how the picnic day had gone.

‘We missed you and the kids,' Jenny said, then filled her in on the highlights, which included John getting a black eye while breaking up a fight. ‘You missed all the action, Kate. I reckon he could use a little TLC right about now.'

‘I'm sure he's quite capable of taking care of himself.'

‘I don't know—even the toughest of men needs a bit of mollycoddling once in a while. They're all like little boys with scraped knees who need a bandaid and a kiss to make them feel better.'

‘Knock it off,' Kate laughed.

‘Come on, Kate, the guy's gaga over you. Put the poor bloke out of his misery, go see him.'

‘I can't. Georgia's grounded and I'm not leaving her and Liam here together—they'd kill each other.'

‘So drop them over here—they can stay the night. If it makes you feel better, I'll put Georgia to work and then she'll still be serving her time,' Jenny added.

‘But what about the dance—aren't you going?'

‘I can't even remember the last time I dragged my husband out on a dance floor. No, I'm still recovering from race day.'

‘Well, I guess I could take this box of stuff in to Bert . . .'

‘Great! Bring the kids over when you're ready. Oh, and Kate?'

‘What?' Somehow Kate knew she didn't want to hear Jenny's last piece of advice.

‘Wear something sexy!'

Kate parked just down from the police station and dropped her head onto the steering wheel, her stomach giving a sickening lurch.

She wasn't sure when she'd decided on her plan to seduce John Cafferty, but now that she was here she felt as though she was committed to it. Until she reached the back door of the station and realised it was locked. This was Widgerry, for goodness' sake: no one locked their doors . . . no one except the police!

Walking around the side of the building, she found an open window. It did cross her mind that breaking and entering into a police station might put her in a somewhat awkward position if she were caught, but with the majority of the population at the racecourse or preparing for the dance later that evening, she figured the odds of her being accidentally discovered were pretty remote.

Searching for a foothold in the rough brickwork, she was finally able to scramble up high enough to heave the rest of her body through the open window. She landed with a thump in a back room of the station, dusted off her palms and placed a hand across her lower stomach to still a sudden attack of nerves. She could do this. She
wanted
to do this.

John's living area was attached to the station, separated by a door. She'd never been in this part of the station before. It was pleasantly modern, with new carpet throughout, and a compact kitchen. Opening each door to locate his room, she counted three bedrooms and a lounge room. As she walked through the empty quarters, she couldn't help but notice how tidy everything was.

Her phone vibrated and she snatched it out of her pocket, reading his text quickly. He was heading back to his place to rest before the dance. With a frantic yelp, she ran into his bedroom, the only room with a bed that looked recently slept in. Kate tugged off her clothing and dove for the bed with all the grace and panache of a sailor on shore leave.

This was not at all how she had imagined her perfect seduction scene. Still, a smile tugged at her lips as she anticipated the surprise on his face.

Five minutes ticked by and there was no sign of John. Where was he?

She heard the sound of a door opening somewhere in the front of the building. Her heart ricocheted inside her chest and she felt a moment of blind panic. What was she
doing
?

Just breathe.

A nervous smile quivered on her lips as she frantically adjusted her posture. Arms above her head? A sudden thought gripped her—in all her nervous preparation, had she remembered to shave under her arms? Maybe she should sit up and recline seductively. She heard footsteps approaching and froze. Lying ramrod stiff with the sheets pulled up to her neck, petrified and virginal, was not exactly a turn-on.

The doorknob turned slowly and she felt as though her nerves were being torturously stretched. Then finally the door opened and a man walked into the room . . . who wasn't John.

Her terrified scream filled the air as she stared at the stranger transfixed in the doorway. When she'd pictured the look of surprise she'd receive, she hadn't pictured a look of surprised horror! And it
certainly
hadn't been on the face of this stranger.

‘Who are
you
?' she yelled, tugging the sheet as high as it would go beneath her chin.

‘Ah . . . I-I'm . . .' he stammered.

John hurried into the room and his mouth fell open at the sight of Kate in the bed.

‘You said you were coming straight home!' Kate accused, feeling teary and shaken. ‘I wanted to surprise you.'

The stranger recovered from his initial shock to give a nervous laugh.

‘Well, you certainly did that.' John's lips twitched. ‘Finding you in
Terry's
bed is not exactly the way I pictured you when I imagined you naked.'

‘I thought you lived alone!' Her face paled at the implication of her stupid mistake.

Terry chuckled, backing away with his hands raised in defence. ‘Hey, far be it from me to complain about a beautiful woman in my bed, but I think I'll just give you two a few minutes alone.'

Kate dropped her head to her raised knees in utter humiliation. Why had she thought she had a hope in hell of pulling this thing off? She felt the bed dip as John sat on the edge, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him.