A Stone's Throw Away, page 1
Praise for Once Burnt, Twice Shy
‘There is plenty here to adore … Karly has the wonderful ability to balance the intense landscape and memorable characters with an alluring plotline … engaging the reader with suspense and love. 4.5–5 stars.’ —Happy Valley Books Read
‘… an enduring story of the courage and resilience shown by so many.’ —Mic Loves Books
Praise for Take Me Home
‘Full of romance, humour and a touch of the supernatural, this is another engaging tale by the reliable Karly Lane.’ —Canberra Weekly Magazine
‘Karly Lane is back with another beautiful, cosy story that will sweep you away on a journey.’ —Noveltea Corner
‘Such a fun read … Karly has smashed the contemporary fiction genre with Take Me Home.’ —Beauty and Lace
‘Take Me Home is a delight to read. I loved the change of scenery while still enjoying Karly Lane’s wonderful, familiar storytelling.’ —Book’d Out
Praise for Something Like This
‘Another unmissable rural romance story of pain, loss, suffering and the power of love … Karly Lane is firmly on my must-read list.’ — Beauty and Lace
‘A great book from an author I love … Karly Lane never fails me.’ —Noveltea Corner
‘There is more to this narrative than rural romance; this is a multifaceted exploration of loss, grief, families, second chances and courage … I loved this!’ —Reading, Writing and Riesling
‘An engaging story, set at a gentle pace, told with genuine warmth for her characters and setting, Something Like This is a lovely and eminently satisfying read.’ —Book’d Out
‘Engaging, genuine, with a storyline we can all relate to … Karly Lane has the wonderful ability to bring the many facets of everyday existence to life. Another fantastic story.’ —Blue Wolf Reviews
Praise for Fool Me Once
‘I adore Karly Lane’s books—they always signal a wonderful time curled up on the couch with a cup of tea … Lane writes compelling characters and relationship realities, and I’m all here for it.’ —Noveltea Corner
‘With its appealing characters, easy pace and happy ending, I found Fool Me Once to be another engaging and satisfying rural romance novel.’ —Book’d Out
‘Fool Me Once is a guaranteed perfect light read … Karly Lane has woven a delicious tale of lust, love, betrayal, consequences and chasing dreams, which as time passes often need to be reconsidered.’ —Blue Wolf Reviews
‘Karly Lane’s affinity for the land shines through in her stories … Fool Me Once is a feel-good story not to be missed.’ —The Burgeoning Bookshelf
Praise for Return to Stringybark Creek
‘Captivating, entertaining and most enjoyable, this return visit with the Callahans encourages the understanding that sometimes there are, even from the darkest of times, huge positives to be discovered.’ —Blue Wolf Reviews
‘Lane has added additional depth to this story that highlights the plight of Australian farmers and farming communities who are under strain … I’m grateful for the calm and considered way Lane has approached the topic. The Callahans have become a favourite book family of mine … they define family and friendship and it’s been a real pleasure to read their stories.’ —Noveltea Corner
‘Karly Lane creates likeable, warm characters as she twists and turns her story … an entertaining read with an intriguing love story set against the challenges of farming and its stresses.’ —The Weekly Times
Karly Lane lives on the mid north coast of New South Wales. Proud mum to four children and wife of one very patient mechanic, she is lucky enough to spend her day doing the two things she loves most—being a mum and writing stories set in beautiful rural Australia.
ALSO BY KARLY LANE
North Star
Morgan’s Law
Bridie’s Choice
Poppy’s Dilemma
Gemma’s Bluff
Tallowood Bound
Second Chance Town
Third Time Lucky
If Wishes Were Horses
Six Ways to Sunday
Someone Like You
The Wrong Callahan
Mr Right Now
Return to Stringybark Creek
Fool Me Once
Something Like This
Take Me Home
Once Burnt, Twice Shy
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published in 2022
Copyright © Karly Lane 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100
Email:info@allenandunwin.com
Web:www.allenandunwin.com
ISBN 978 1 76087 851 1
eISBN 978 1 76106 431 9
Set by Bookhouse, Sydney
Cover design: Nada Backovic
Cover photographs: Excitations / Alamy (landscape); Portra / iStock (model)
For Rourke,
who helped brainstorm the idea that gave me the final
scene but was really the start of the whole story.
I can’t wait to see what your next chapter brings,
love, Mum
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
One
Phillipa Davenport drove past the rustic-looking bullnosed verandah shopfronts and wondered if maybe she’d just travelled through some kind of time warp.
In the centre of the tree-lined main street was the usual epitaph to the town’s war dead that always made her pause and shake her head at the sheer number of young lives ended so wastefully, and at the other end of a narrow, grassed area stood a statue of a man on horseback. Pip had no idea who he was, but her curiosity was piqued and she made a mental note to find out.
Quaint was the word that jumped to mind as she made her way into Midgiburra, and even for a city-hardened journo the town was rather charming, although not the kind of place she would have chosen for a holiday.
It wasn’t exactly a holiday—more a case of forced relaxation away from the city grind. ‘Bloody Ted,’ she muttered. She was still a little annoyed at her boss—and long-time friend—Ted Malone for the part he played in her current situation. While she hadn’t exactly been fired, he’d made it clear she was not actively working for him for the next three months either. ‘We’ll call it long-service leave,’ Ted had said, leaving no room for reply.
While most people chose when and how they spent their long-service leave—doing something fun like an overseas trip or doing house renovations—Pip was forced into hers to stave off what her mother bluntly termed a ‘mental breakdown’.
In fairness, Pip had just finished the hardest assignment she’d ever undertaken, one that had come with significant personal danger and unrelenting stress but had put her at the top of her field in investigative journalism. She’d pretty much sacrificed the past four years of her life investigating political corruption and uncovering a high-profile MP with connections to the underworld and crime syndicates. Pip’s exposé had led to an Independent Commission Against Corruption investigation into Allen (Lenny) Knight, who had recently been convicted and sentenced to prison.
A series of death threats—which weren’t exactly unusual in her line of work—had been followed up by a number of frightening stalking incidents and then finally, the night she was attacked in her home.
After that, for so many months she hadn’t left her house. She couldn’t take public transport for a long time; the thought of sitting so close to strangers filled her with anxiety. She was wary of everyone and everything. Eventually, with a lot of help from her best friend, Lexi, who was always there encouraging her, taking her out, gently yet firmly making her integrate back into daily life, Pip managed to overcome the worst of her fear, but it was never the same. The unease was always there lurking under the surface, exhausting her, stopping her fro
Pip hastily brushed the thought away. Just one day without thinking about the past would be nice.
The police hadn’t been able to tie the attack to Lenny Knight, something Pip still couldn’t completely make peace with. But in the end there was some consolation in knowing he was now behind bars where he belonged. That was close to a year ago. Although her physical wounds from that night had healed, the after-effects still lingered.
Pip shook off the heaviness that always tried to creep up on her whenever she thought about it and focused instead on the new beginning that stretched out before her.
Midgiburra’s main street wasn’t long, but to Pip it looked to have all the basics. She passed a small supermarket, a chemist and a bakery, noting they all included the name Maguire in the signage. There was also a newsagent and a butcher, and then further along, a feed store, petrol station and a pub. She drove past these as she followed the directions her uncle had given her to Rosevale, the place she would housesit for the next three months.
She’d never been down here before, hadn’t seen her uncle Nev since a family wedding seven years ago. But when her mother had teamed up with Ted after the attack, the call had gone out to family far and wide, and Uncle Nev had come up with the goods. He and his motorhome were taking a trip around Australia and his house would sit empty. Her mother had wasted no time in pointing out that the peace and quiet of country life would be the perfect place for Pip to recuperate and start writing her book.
That was her other dilemma—the book deal she’d recently signed, her no holds barred telling of the Lenny Knight case.
It should have been a celebration, but instead it was proving to be just another thing weighing her down. Where once she’d thrived on deadlines, now the idea sent her into a panic. All of a sudden, her drive seemed to have driven off without her, and she’d been struggling to put together a coherent sentence for weeks. Her passion for the job had evaporated, and the thought terrified her. She’d always loved writing, it was all she’d ever wanted to do, but lately she just couldn’t find the motivation.
She ignored the little know-it-all voice in her head that reminded her that the therapist—booked by human resources—had mentioned concentration loss as a symptom for something or other; she hadn’t really been listening. On reflection, maybe she should have tried to focus a little more, although at the time she hadn’t been in the most receptive of moods, having been forced to attend the session as part of her mental wellbeing and general we-want-to-make-sure-you’re-not-having-a-breakdown strategy. Pip had declined the extra visits the therapist had recommended.
‘A break’s all you need,’ Ted had told her a few days ago when she’d stopped into the office to collect some of her belongings. She hoped he was right—she was so desperate that she was willing to give anything a try. She hadn’t even put up much of a fight when her mother had called to tell her about Uncle Nev’s house being available. She just packed her bags and set her GPS. And here she was, in country Victoria with no idea where she was going—much like her navigation system, if the endless circle it kept trying to lead her around was any indication.
She pulled over to the side of the road and scrolled through her messages to locate the directions Uncle Nev had sent her.
Take the Old Ferry Road for about five k’s then turn right onto Clay Target Road. When you come to an old green tank, turn into the next driveway with a wonky gate. The track splits a few metres down the road, take the left and keep going straight until you reach the cattle grid and the house will be on your right.
Clear. As. Mud.
She left the instructions on the screen and put the phone on the passenger seat, ready to grab if she suddenly got lost. She found Ferry Road and assumed it was the old one—there was no sign that mentioned a young version—then went straight past the green tank. Uncle Nev had neglected to mention it was lying on its side in a paddock of overgrown grass. But after a quick U-turn, Pip spotted the wonky gate and managed to follow the rest of the instructions without further mishap.
Her Audi was probably not the best-suited vehicle to drive the dirt track full of potholes large enough to lose a small child in, but she picked her way carefully along it and breathed a sigh of relief as a house came into sight.
She was pleasantly surprised by the small cottage she pulled up in front of. It was the quintessential Australian farmhouse: square, with a wraparound verandah and a bullnosed iron roof.
The house was surrounded by a fenced yard, and off to one side stood two large tin sheds that looked fairly new. Her uncle was an avid traveller, so she assumed one of the sheds usually housed his motorhome while the other contained the workshop in which he designed wrought-iron work and timber signs. After Aunty Effie died a few years back, Nev had sold up and moved from Queensland to Victoria to escape the heat, and what started as a hobby soon grew into a small but successful business.
It seemed, though, that the heat had followed Uncle Nev. The area had been in drought for the past eighteen months, one of the worst in recent history, and Nev had headed down to Tasmania to get away from it.
Pip climbed out of her car. The heat outside was a brutal shock after the arctic breeze from the car’s aircon. She stretched her arms above her head and turned to survey her surroundings, noting the gentle sounds of the bushland around her.
She crossed to the gate, framed by a pergola with some kind of climbing plant woven over the top, though bare of leaves or anything green, and walked through. A squeak sounded as the rusty gate protested opening and then groaned again as she shut it behind her.
Beside the front door of the house was a timber sign with Rosevale engraved in the timber.
The key was supposed to be inside an old metal dairy can, and Pip eyed the collection of milk cans in all shapes and sizes arranged along the front of the verandah despondently. She gingerly tipped a few of the larger rusty-looking cans on their side, but there was no key. Pip worked her way along the row until she ran out of big cans, then turned to eye off the smaller versions scattered on a table and shelving beneath two front windows. A spider ran out of the first one, making Pip grimace and jump back. She poked at the next one a little more cautiously before finally hearing a promising rattle. The key that came out was not your run-of-the-mill house key—this one was a long, old-fashioned bronze skeleton key. An antique, just like the old house it belonged to.
She opened the screen door and fitted the clumsy-looking key into the lock and gave it a twist, happy when she heard a click and pushed the old wooden door open.
A long hallway led straight through the centre of the house to a back door, and Pip walked in, peeping through doorways. Two rooms, one clearly used as an office and the other a spare bedroom, were on one side, and opposite these was a lounge room that opened up into a kitchen. Two more doors on the far side of the house led to the master bedroom and a bathroom.
The house retained many of its original fixtures, with elaborate decorative mouldings and wide timber flooring throughout. She was pleasantly surprised to find a fairly modern bathroom, complete with claw-footed bathtub, and the bedroom with a double bed in its centre was bright and cheery with white walls and lace curtains over a wide window.
She flicked the nearby light switch and breathed a sigh of relief that the power was on before heading outside to bring in her suitcase and bags. As promised, there was long-life milk in the pantry and bread in the freezer, so for at least tonight she’d be fine—tomorrow she would venture into town for groceries.
Pip took her phone out and called her mother to let her know she’d arrived safely, and gave her a rundown of the house.
‘Are you sure you’ll be okay out there all on your own?’ her mother asked.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Because your father and I could come out and stay,’ she said.
‘The whole point of coming out here was so I could write. There’s not much chance of that if you two come out here,’ Pip pointed out. ‘We’d be poking about old second-hand shops and doing morning teas in cafes.’ Pip had been slowly making her way through the house checking the windows were locked as she talked. It was a ritual she had performed ever since her attack, and by the time she’d finished she was feeling more settled.
