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“What did you do for baths and stuff like that?”
“We bathed in the dam and if it was dry, we swam in the creek.”
“What about…” Her skin blossomed with pink.
“We went in the bush. Sometimes someone would dig a trench with some of those hospital seats but only the girls used it.”
She was shocked; he could see it in the slight widening of her eyes. Suddenly she shook her head, as if to clear it of unwanted images. “Nan would have died.”
“There wasn’t any privacy. The kids were feral. We were feral. The adults didn’t really care.”
“They looked after the children, though, didn’t they? Gave you food and stuff?”
“Food wasn’t a problem. The farm grew most of what we needed. Honey Appleton made sure the kids got their fair share.”
“Was she nice?”
“She wasn’t into drugs, so at least she kept an eye on things. Sid was the one who caused most of the problems. He turned up one day with a couple of other guys and a bunch of women and kids. Charity let them stay for the sake of the kids. Sid was a creep but it was okay at first. He was scared of Honey’s mum, but Charity Appleton died when I was around six and the men took over. Honey kind of sneaked around making sure the kids weren’t being hurt. She couldn’t be everywhere, though. It’s a big farm, even without counting the bushland behind it. Everyone was spread out through the bush as well as close to the homestead. She did try and run a kind of school for us, once Sid stopped us going into town, but it didn’t last long.”
There was a silence that burned his gut, waiting for her reaction. He’d never spoken about living in the commune to anyone, not even his grandparents. It would have pained Flo to know what her daughter’s life was like.
When she finally spoke, it was a question he dreaded. “Were you hurt? Did they hurt children?”
“Sometimes. When you’re on drugs, the most important thing in the world is your fix. If someone gets between you and your hit, they can get hurt.” There were other things, but he wasn’t going to tell her anything about that part of life in the commune. Besides, if he did, she might guess about Trudie and it wouldn’t be fair.
“Your mother took drugs?”
“Sid hooked her on heroin. Before he came along, it was pretty mild. Marijuana they grew in the backblocks of the farm.”
“You used to come visit your grandparents. I remember seeing you at my fourth birthday party. You never came again.”
He’d almost forgotten the party. Tried to forget. It had been a slice of heaven for a five-year-old boy living in the squalor of a derelict caravan. So much sugar. So much pink. A typical little-girl party, but he hadn’t cared. Hadn’t really known, living so isolated. “We weren’t allowed to leave the farm at all after Charity died. Sid said it wasn’t safe. I’m guessing he was known for drugs or something when he left the city, so he kept a low profile in town. He needed to prevent any attention being drawn to the commune.”
“What happened to him?”
“He shot through when social services got involved and brought in the police. Went to Byron.”
“Did you and your mother go with him? Is that why you went?”
His skin prickled at the memories. “Mum walked away before we got to Byron. I never saw her again.”
Her eyes shone with held-back tears. He didn’t want her pity. Closing the album, he met her gaze squarely. “It’s all in the past. None of it matters now.”
Her mouth opened to say something and he stopped it the best way he could think of. With his own.
Her lips were soft under his, warm like cinnamon muffins straight from the cooling rack. They tasted like home. He’d kissed a few women over the years; it was the nature of the business. None of them had tasted like Bonnie, warming him right through to his gut, even before his body kicked in with its own demands.
For a moment he thought she would back off, until one hand curled into his sweater over his heart. She leaned into him, parting her lips, tasting him back with small dabs of her tongue. He eased closer. Her scent, redolent of kitchens and musty old books and dust, curled around him. Everything about her screamed home.
A sharp stab on his thigh pulled him out of it and Bonnie snatched her mouth and hands away, catching hold of the album before it could slide onto the floor.
She clutched it against her chest as if it were a casket of jewels. To her it was probably more valuable. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t…”
He blinked against the lowering sunlight coming through the window. “Sorry for what?”
“We agreed we wouldn’t go there.”
Go where? His head was still focused on the needs of his clamouring body. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”
