want to take us away from Dad,’ Wendy said.
Maybe they, whoever they were, had grounds.
But meanwhile…She could hardly phone the police and report Pierce missing. Not yet. She’d give him a bit of leeway.
But there was still fear on four little faces.
‘There’s no earthly use looking like that,’ she told them, mentally rolling up her sleeves, girding her loins, doing whatever a girl had to do before launching into battle. ‘If you’re worried about child welfare, then we need to show them we’re coping.’
‘How are we coping?’ Wendy asked.
‘By cleaning.’ She stared at the mound of dishes. ‘First thing first. This is a big job, so we need a major battle plan. I’ll chop enough wood to light the fire and get some hot water. Lots of hot water. A sink isn’t going to cut it. Let’s fill the bath. Donald, can you find us a pile of clean towels? The rest of you carry every dirty dish—except the knives, we’ll leave the knives for me—into the bathroom. Boys wash and girls dry. I want the whole bathroom filled with clean plates, so clean they sparkle. I’ll clean in here, and then we’ll bring the clean things back in.’
‘We can’t,’ Donald said. ‘We’re not old enough to wash dishes. Only Wendy.’
‘Nonsense,’ Shanni said with a lot more briskness than she felt. ‘Big doesn’t mean clever. Take your boots and socks off so if you get wet it doesn’t matter. Washing in the bath is fun. Do you have a sound system—for music?’
‘P…Dad has one,’ Wendy said. ‘He’s got lots of CDs.’
‘Then let’s put on a bouncy work CD,’ she said. ‘Something like Abba. Do you know Dancing Queen?’
‘Yes,’ Abby said, her eyes lighting up. ‘Our Mummy liked Abba. That’s why she called me Abby.’
‘Then we’ll put on Abba.’
‘I don’t know whether Dad’s got Abba,’ said Wendy.
Huh?
No matter. Questions could wait.
‘Let’s look then, shall we?’ Shanni said, sounding a lot more decisive than she felt. ‘Cos this house looks like it needs about a hundred Abba CDs to lick it into shape.’
At four o’clock the sun slipped behind the Craggyburn Post Office clock tower and Pierce and Bessy lost their sunshine.
Bessy woke first. She wiggled in her car seat, reached across to Pierce, put her pudgy hand into his mess of unkempt brown curls and pulled.
Pierce woke like he’d been shot.
‘Mmmphf,’ Bessy said in deep satisfaction at the results of one small tug.
‘Bess,’ Pierce said, coming to and trying to stop his eyes watering. ‘Boy, you don’t know your own strength.’
He winced and rubbed his head. He stirred and he stretched.
He gazed sleepily up to the clock tower.
The world stilled.
Surely he hadn’t. Surely…
Oh, God, he had. He’d been away for over five hours. Almost six.
He reached for the ignition, his fingers fumbling in haste. A woman from the pharmacy was restocking shelves in the window. She saw him backing out of the parking space, and she waved to him frantically to stop.
He paused and she came to the door.
‘Your prescription’s filled,’ she called. ‘We wondered when you’d wake up. You should be more careful. Mr Connelly, the pharmacist, says the baby’ll probably be sunburned.’
Not bad at all.
Shanni stood back and surveyed the pencil sketch she’d just done with a tinge of admiration. Her very first cow. It even looked like a cow.
Its leg looked a bit funny.
She checked her line of kids. Four kids. Four boards with paint, four brushes, four makeshift easels. Intense concentration. Good.
Four o’clock. How long before she called someone in?
She looked across at Wendy who was working with almost desperate absorption.
Donald, Bryce and Abby were silent, too.
Damn him. What was he playing at?
She should call…
Wendy looked across at her, her eyes pleading.
Not yet.
Pierce was struggling to stay under the speed limit as he and Bessy flew homeward. Bessy was rested and cheerful, crowing in delight at the soothing feeling of wind against her increasingly itchy skin.
Pierce might have rested but he didn’t feel rested. He’d left them for an hour hoping the woman—who was it? Shannon? No, Shanni—would arrive.
Even if she had arrived, she’d be long gone by now. The kids would be terrified.
He turned the last curve—and there was a police car in the yard.
The police…
It’d be the pharmacist, he thought, remembering the prissy set to the man’s mouth as he’d handed over Bessy’s medicine. The whole town thought these kids would be better off in care. And now…
‘I’ve stuffed it big time,’ he told Bessy as he lifted her from the car. ‘I don’t deserve to have you guys.’
Where was everybody?
Two policemen appeared from behind the hayshed.
Accompanied by a redhead.
A woman. Small. Slim. Faded jeans. Bright red windcheater, splodged with green paint. A yellow bandana catching back shoulder-length flaming curls. Green paint smeared on a snubbed nose. Freckles.
Memory stirred. One of Ruby’s family weddings. A nightmare of being alone. A kid the same age as him, taunting, ‘He’s one of Aunty Ruby’s strays. He’s a bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard.’
Then a skinny little girl, dressed in a scarlet party frock and with a huge pink bow in her flaming hair, marching up to her big cousin and stomping hard on his foot. So hard the kid had yelped.
‘Gee, I’m sorry, Mac,’ she’d said, and she hadn’t sounded sorry at all. Then she’d turned to him and smiled. ‘Hi. My name’s Shanni. What’s yours?’
He’d remembered. That tiny piece of kindness and bravado had stayed with him, to be used as an inward smile at need.
Could this really be her?
‘Pierce,
