Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

A bigail rested against a large tree as she watched Mackenzie. He had chosen an area away from the fire to dig the graves. It was the greatest distance from the plane without venturing into the forest. His biceps bulged as he pulled out several reluctant shrubs to clear the site, then he fell to his knees and began to dig with the cooking plate as a shovel.

Within minutes he was lathered in sweat. He stripped off his shirt and the muscles in his back bulged and flexed with each drive of the metal into the solid ground.

After a while he paused, sat back on his haunches and rolled his shoulders. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” She raced to the luggage and returned with a bottle.

He gulped it down and then wiped his face on his shirt. “It’s your turn.”

Her hand went to her chest. “Me?”

Mackenzie’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, you. No-one else’s going to help. They’re all dead, remember?”

Reluctantly she removed her expensive shoes and stepped into the fresh hole, surprised at how cool the earth was. “Well, out of the way then.” She picked up the sheet of metal.

Abigail cringed as she knelt. Holding the plate above her head, she shoved it into the dirt with a loud groan. A quarter of the tin disappeared into the dark earth, and she lifted it, removed a handful of crumbs and tossed them onto the growing pile beside the pit.

“They’re not all dead,” she said between shovelfuls. “Charlie’s still with us.”

Her pulse pounded in her neck as the oppressive heat smothered her sweat-soaked body like an unwelcome blanket.

But she found the manual labour therapeutic.

She focused on her timing, trying to establish a rhythm, just like riding a horse. She wondered if Krystal had thought to take Avalon for a ride, but at the same time knew this wouldn’t happen.

The last time they rode together was about four years ago. It’d been a wonderful day, a time when her daughter still laughed freely and enjoyed her company. But Spencer had ruined it, like he did with everything she did with Krystal.

On reflection, that was about the time she began to lose Krystal as a daughter, replaced instead by the spoiled little bitch that, under Spencer’s guidance, gave Abigail much heartache.

When Abigail could dig no more, Mackenzie replaced her and they alternated turns, gradually increasing the size of the grave.

The sun was a blazing furnace, and she shielded her hand against it as she looked up into the trees. She stifled a laugh. The labyrinth of twisted branches reminded her of the lightshade that dangled above their king- sized bed.

The hideous creation of hand carved wood, leaves and feathers had been a gift from a tribal elder Spencer befriended in the Congo. He’d insisted the decorator use it as the focal point of their bedroom and every night she’d stare at it inventing scenarios that would make it mysteriously disappear.

Funny though, right now she’d be happy to see it, if it meant she was sleeping in her own bed.

Mackenzie handed her the tin and Abigail gritted her teeth and blocked out the pain. Her palms had already begun to blister as she repeatedly forced the tin back into the earth. Suddenly she shrieked and scrambled from the hole. “What the hell’s that?” She pointed a trembling finger at the dirt.

A huge, white worm the size of a man’s thumb curled into a tight ball in the ditch. She’d never seen anything like it. It had little brown dots in a line down its plump, scalloped body, dozens of legs and an ugly yellow head.

“It’s a witchetty grub.” Mackenzie scooped it from the dirt. “Aborigines eat them. They’re supposed to be a good source of protein.” Brown liquid oozed from the wriggling grub onto Mackenzie’s dirty fingers.

Abigail huffed. “That’s disgusting. The only bug you’ll get me eating is a Moreton Bay Bug.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to this.” Mackenzie baseball-pegged it into the bushes and wiped his hands on his filthy jeans. “How about I make some lunch then?”

Abigail scoffed at his untimely remark but together they fled from the gravesite.

Mackenzie peeled another sheet of metal off the plane and pounded it into a rough bowl. Abigail watched him manipulate a couple of ingredients into dough that he formed into six small mounds. He placed them between two sheets of metal and wedged it into the red-hot coals of the fire.

“What are we having?”

“My own special bush damper creation.”

“It smells good already.”

Mackenzie’s hands made a scratchy sound as he rubbed them together. “I know.”

Abigail’s heart crumbled as she recalled the last time she’d eaten fire baked bread.

“Are you okay?” Mackenzie peered at her with a quizzical expression.

She shrugged. “I was just thinking about the last time I had damper.”

“Come on, tell me.” He said it placidly, with a curious note.

She sighed. “Krystal and I went horse riding one day and I’d arranged for our stable manager, Steve, to set up a little picnic for us at the top of our favourite hill.” Abigail smiled as she remembered her daughter’s long hair flowing in the wind as they galloped up the hill. “We raced our horses to the top. I let her win of course.”

“Of course.” Mackenzie rested his chin on his palm .

“At the top we tied our horses to a tree. I can still remember the smell of the damper when Steve took it off the fire. It was amazing.”

“Wait till you taste mine.” Mackenzie grinned.

“Anything would taste better.” She instantly regretted her statement.

“Did he burn it?”

Abigail had a choice: she could go along with Mackenzie’s assumption, or she could tell the truth. She never told her friends of her family issues. It had always been important to portray a perfect family life. But somehow, the fact that Mackenzie was a complete stranger made talking about it easier. “No.” She released a heavy sigh. “Steve’s damper looked amazing, perfectly brown on the outside, light fluffy vanilla on the inside. I poured maple syrup all over it.”

“And?”

“Well, that’s when Spencer came roaring over the hill with his stupid quad bike.” She shrugged. “Krystal jumped onto the bike, and they rode away.”

“Oh, that would’ve been disappointing.”

“It was the last time she ever rode her horse with me.”

He tutted. “That’s a shame. It sounds like it would’ve been special for you both.”

The tin popped as Mackenzie removed it from the fire. He handed her a warm bun and as she bit into the crisp crust, she tried to remember the last time she did something special with Krystal.

Her heart clenched as she contemplated how she was going to handle her feisty daughter without Spencer around.