The Lies We Tell (3 page)

Damn her.

“My mother won’t be requiring your services any longer. I’m finding another tutor for her. Take your paints, your brushes, all your shit and get out. Don’t ever come back.”

With that declaration, glad he’d got her out of their lives, Todd went back to his father’s office to continue the hunt for a new tutor for his mother.

“So, what was that about?” Paul said as Sia walked back into the sunroom.

Sia wished he wasn’t there. She wished she didn’t have to speak to anyone. That she could just crawl back to her studio, lick her wounds, and try to heal.

Even though she couldn’t really blame Todd for his anger, it hurt. That he still believed, so fervently, that she was capable of committing a crime. She remembered the first time she’d gone back to school after she’d been found guilty. She’d been ready to defend herself, knowing she hadn’t done anything wrong, but there’d been an unspoken hope that Todd would just understand. That he’d know something wasn’t right, that she hadn’t done it.

But she hadn’t known that while she’d been in Black Springs, sacrificing herself to keep her family together, Todd Lansing Sr. had died. On her first day back at school, she had been sitting on the bus, back stiff, ready to take everyone’s disapprobation.

Paul had been first on the bus and he’d glared at her and she’d managed to ignore that, expecting it. Then Todd had got on, with his posse and she’d been unable to look away, silently pleading with him to understand.

He’s stopped and she’d had a heart-thudding moment of hope. Then he’d leant forward and whispered, “If I ever see your face again, I’ll smash it into the ground and slice it apart.”

She’d never heard words so laden with hate and anguish and until now, had never been spoken to in that way again.

She’d not lasted the day at school, and had never returned, her heart shattered that Todd couldn’t sense the truth.

It felt like her heart was breaking again. Stupid.

“Todd’s just worried about your mum,” Sia said. “Listen, I’ve got a busy week coming up, so I may not get back again for a while.” That lie would give Todd time and space to find the new tutor without Maria and Paul finding out the truth.

“Fair enough,” Paul said. “Hopefully with Todd here, I can come next Friday.”

“I hope so too,” Sia said, although she was sure he wouldn’t. Todd wouldn’t allow any of them to come.

She trudged down the hill with her belongings. They felt heavier than they ever had before. Her studio, her pride and joy, was the small granny flat under her best friend Mary’s house. Sia flung her stuff on the dining table just inside the sliding door, and then sat heavily at the table.

She had to put thoughts of Todd Lansing from her mind. She had to put aside the still lingering teenage dream that he’d realise her innocence, take her in his arms and love her.

The hate he felt for her right now was too strong, too intense, to ever give way to love.

She frowned. It was a very intense hate. A hate borne from a strong passion. A passion that seemed undeserved.

Of course he grieved for his father. Of course he blamed the person he felt responsible. But why had Maria and Paul been able to forgive her, when Todd had not? Was it simply because they’d stayed in Oberon, got to know her, seen that she wasn’t that type of person and so decided it was just an aberration? Was that why they felt so differently about her?

Or did Todd feel differently because the root of his anger was different?

No more, she told herself firmly. Work. You’ve got this afternoon to yourself — use it.

She walked into her studio proper — the bedroom of the granny flat. It was a wonderful space — got great natural light, particularly in summer, but could also be closed and lit artificially very well.

She flicked on the light and stared at the canvas that had been mocking her for months now. Her painting was a very organic experience, born of the desire to portray a certain emotion or moment. She’d thought she’d had it when she started this piece, but then when it came time to represent the central figure, she’d stalled.

She’d intended this to be the main piece in the exhibition — her first solo one in Sydney. She had less than two weeks to find some inspiration and finish it.

She paced across the room, looking at the work from various angles. Her initial thought had always been of something dark, but the shadow that needed to break out of the darkness wouldn’t reveal his or her heart.

After half an hour, Sia stopped at the window and realised sunset was approaching. It gave her a perfect excuse to escape the picture that would not come.

She snatched up her easel, stool, canvas and paints. Strapping and carrying her tools, she hiked up the hill, through the gap in the fence and through the Lansing yard.

The perfect place to capture the sky after the sun had disappeared was at the top of their driveway. She’d been attempting to capture the particular shade of pink for years, and Maria had never minded.

If Todd did — he could go to hell.

On the verge of the road, she set up the canvas and her stool. Then she started to mix colours, her gaze flickering from her palette to the glow in the sky and back again.

She tried one — a slash of colour across the white canvas. No, not right. She did some more mixing.

“What are you doing?”

How did he manage to make his voice drip with anger like that? She bet he did a brilliant job as a police officer — one word and the perps would drop in their tracks.

“Painting.” She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to him — she couldn’t ignore him, but she couldn’t be her usual flip and humorous self either.

“I’m not stupid, Sia.”

“I’m trying to capture the colour of the sky at sunset. It’s such a glorious thing — but maybe in this case Mother Nature is too cunning and it can never be replicated.”

Another strip of colour. Hmmm, that wasn’t too bad. Still not right, but it seemed she was on the right track. She did more mixing.

“I’m getting the fence fixed.”

“Good,” she said. “I know Mary, Jim and Charles will be very happy.” More colour. That was getting close. Very, very close.

“It will inconvenience you.”

Sia’s hand froze. She took a deep breath then turned to face Todd.

Anger blazed, like a red banner across his face. His body was taught, vibrating with suppressed emotion.

“Is that why you’re doing it?” she said softly.

His lips twisted — a horrible facsimile of a smile. “Of course not. I’m doing it for my mother. You mean less than nothing.”

Sia turned back to the canvas. Without conscious thought, she stirred the paint and stroked more colour across the canvas. Then she put the palette down, stood and faced Todd.

It seemed for both their sakes, a confrontation was needed.

“Why are you so angry at me?”

Todd’s eyes widened. “Why? You killed my father.”

Except I didn’t, Sia thought. I took the blame, but it wasn’t my fault. “Your mother and brother have forgiven me for my part in that tragedy. Why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m not as easy to fool as they are.”

Sia tapped her chin. “No, I don’t think that’s the answer.” Todd glared at her and in his eyes was a spark of something that brought a light of inspiration to her. “In my experience, only one thing can cause such a destructive reaction as this — guilt.”

For the second time, Todd stumbled away from her, as though she were poisonous. “What?”

“You’ve held onto the pain, fed it, let it become everything to you. That doesn’t make sense in terms of noindent feelings of grief, unless you are harbouring guilt in some
way. Perhaps things weren’t great between you and your dad when he died and you regret that and are taking it out on me.” As she spoke, every word rang more and more true.

This was the secret behind Todd’s hate — he was wracked with guilt over his father’s death and he was taking all that out on her.

Todd surged forward and it took everything Sia had not to back away from him. She was counting on the fact that Sergeant Todd Lansing was too well bred, too well trained, to hurt someone.

She only came to the middle of his chest so she had to tip her head right back to maintain eye contact as he loomed over her, lips quivering and eyes dancing with anger.

“How dare you speak to me like that about my father? You killed him. It’s your fault.”

No, it’s not, she wanted to say. Instead, she murmured, “I seem to have struck a nerve there.”

She sensed the movement of his arm and for half a moment, thought he would strike her. But Todd managed to restrain himself.

“Come near my family or our home again and I’ll take you down,” he sneered. “I’ll get a restraining order if I have to.”

Sia decided at this point in time, restraint was the better part of valour. She’d poked the lion enough.

“I understand.”

Todd turned and stormed into the house. Sia swung to look at her canvas. The sky was too dark to tell, but she thought that maybe she’d finally got the right pink with that last stroke of paint.

Not that it mattered. Todd had shown her what to do with the broken work waiting for her in the studio. She didn’t bother washing the brushes; she packed everything up and hurried back down the hill. Hopefully Todd wouldn’t mind her using this path one last time.

Back at the studio, she threw everything onto the dining table and rushed to the painting. She grabbed brushes, oils and began furiously mixing, knowing now what she had to do.

She didn’t know what time she finished. It had long been dark and her body was stiff. The moment she laid the brush down, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She found enough energy to text her sister Sienna where she was and then text Mary for a wake-up call to get up for her morning shift at the club. Then she tottered over to the camp bed she kept in a corner and fell into an exhausted sleep.

“Auntie Sia? You awake?”

Sia opened one eye and groggily looked at John. Mary’s four-year-old son was standing by her camp bed, bent over so his face matched Sia’s, resting on the pillow.

“No.”

“Wake. Wake.” John patted Sia’s cheek.

“All right, I’m awake.” Sia sat up, yawning.

“Mummy, she awake.” John ran into the kitchen.

Limbs aching, brain screaming for more rest, Sia shuffled behind him. She slumped down at the dining table and Mary put a cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

“Drink,” her friend said. “Wake up. You’ve got less than an hour to get yourself together, head home, shower and change and get to work on time. You look bloody terrible, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Sia took a sip and the hit of heat and caffeine caused an instant reaction — her eyes widened and her brain kicked into gear. “Is there anything better than the first sip of coffee in the morning?”

“Jim swears by the first sip of beer on a hot afternoon.” Mary pushed a plate of cookies across the table. “Sugar yourself up.”

The buttery biscuit crumbled in Sia’s mouth and with another sip of coffee, humanity started to settle on her again.

“What time did I text you?”

“A little after four. If you slept right away, you’ve managed five hours sleep, which should keep you going for the day. Can I assume that it was a good thing you were up late, or are we still living in a world of frustration?”

The intensity of last night’s work flooded over her. “I’m not sure. Wait here.”

“Don’t I always?” Mary said as Sia rushed over to the bedroom. “Not sure what we’re going to do when the kids are old enough to notice the art. You might have to let someone see it.”

Sia barely heard the last words. She stopped in the doorway, transfixed.

The painting was everything she’d wanted it to be. The figure almost leapt from the canvas, rage motivating every part of him but the darkness it created kept him pinned. Forever trapped by his own emotions.

“That’s it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s it.”

She walked toward the work slowly, reverently, every step a question as to whether she was worthy. She heard Mary come into the room, heard her intake of breath.

“Sia, it’s stunning. Incredible. I’ve never seen such a strong emotion in such a simple image.”

Sia’s hand reached out but stopped short of the still drying paint, lest she smudge it. “I can’t believe I did it,” she whispered. “I was so scared it wasn’t going to come.”

“What was the final push?” Mary said, coming to stand beside her.

Sia made the instantaneous decision not to tell her. It was going to be hard enough for Todd when he saw this, much less if the town knew it was his anguish Sia had painted.

“Something I saw on television,” she said. “Not sure now exactly what, but last night when I stood in front of the canvas, it came to me.”

“It’s incredible.” Mary put her arms around Sia and squeezed. “You’re going to be a star. Eventually. Right now, however, if you don’t get a move on you’re going to be late.”

It was hard to leave the painting, but Sia did so. She went home, showered and changed. Sienna had left a note saying she’d got Brock and Ebonny off to school without a hitch. Sia checked her father’s room and noted his bed was still unused.

Four days. This was getting out of hand, even for him. When did she go to the police and have them search for him?

She arrived at work a little after ten but thankfully her reputation was so good all she got from Havesh, the manager, was a wiggle of the finger. She got to work; setting the bar up and making sure the tables were in formation for when the club opened at eleven.

The moment the doors opened, it began. At first it was the morning bowlers, who, having done their exercise for the day, were ready for a beer and a chat. Then came the retirees, catching up with each other.

Just after midday, Paul sauntered in. He came up to the bar with a grin, seating himself.

“I’ll have a schooner and order myself some lunch.”

“Been ages since you’ve been in here.” Sia passed him the menu.

“The joy of Todd being here. I finally get the occasional day off.” Paul’s lips twisted. “I’m sorry with how things went at the house yesterday. I didn’t realise he was so anti-you.”