‘Yes,’ Jo said, feeling herself swept up in a current that was out of her control. Did she want to stay in Portarlington? Did she want to get a job? Was she allowed to leave Yarraville? She’d have to check the conditions of her bail with Sarah. She didn’t want the police to come looking for her.
‘Well, why don’t you go down to The George and tell them I sent you. Bob’s my name.’ The man held out his hand for Jo to shake.
‘Thanks.’ Jo took his weathered hand. His grip was surprisingly strong.
‘Your name, love?’ the woman asked when Jo didn’t introduce herself.
Jo didn’t want to tell them her name. She didn’t want to be Jo Neilson the murderer, the girl who killed her best friend, the person who was on her way to prison. She wanted to be the carefree traveller, this new girl the woman had conjured up.
‘My name’s Ashleigh,’ Jo said. The words spilling out before she could stop them. Before she could push them back.
‘Well, Ashleigh, I’m Susan, Sue. My husband, Laurie, and I, we’ll drop you off at the hostel. You can book in and then come and have a bite of lunch with us. After lunch we’ll drive you back up to town.’
‘Oh, but I can’t…’
‘Sure you can. We love young company.’
Laurie drove a silver Holden Commodore. Before Jo could say anything else, she was sitting in the back seat of the car. The seats were black leather. There was a strong new-car smell, a cocktail of glues and plastics. It reminded Jo of Ash’s parents’ four-wheel drive. That was the first new car she’d ever ridden in, and the smell was overpowering. Within minutes she was nauseous, and Rae had to stop the car so Jo could jump out and throw up. When Jo passed her driving test and Mary gave her the keys to Pop Jack’s car, Ash gave Jo new-car-smell spray. It was a joke, and the label, handmade by Ash, covered a normal lavender air freshener.
‘Laurie,’ Sue said, ‘this is Ashleigh.’ At the sound of Ash’s name, Jo cringed. Was it too late to take it back? Too late to tell them it wasn’t her name? Too late to stop the car and get out, go back to the city?
‘Hi, Ash,’ Laurie said.
Startled, Jo jumped in quickly. ‘Ashleigh,’ she said. ‘I don’t like being called Ash.’
‘Sorry. Bad habit I have of shortening everything.’ He wasn’t what she’d expected; he seemed too frail to be Sue’s husband. Laurie wore a crisp white shirt that called out for a tie and jacket, and frameless glasses that sat too low on his nose. His hands shook even as they gripped the steering wheel. He was the sort of man you expected to find behind a desk: a bank manager or an insurance agent. When Mary and Jack had fought, Mary would sometimes say, I should’ve married a gentleman. Laurie was exactly the kind of elderly gentleman Jo imagined her grandmother meant. He wasn’t at all like Pop Jack, who only ever wore a suit to funerals and weddings but was never comfortable in them.
‘We’ll drop her off at Bernie’s. And she’s stopping in for lunch. We’ll have those pasties and later we’ll take her down to The George. Bob says they need a waitress.’
The town’s centre was one long strip with a dozen or so shops and cafés, the supermarket and the pub, and a couple of restaurants, including The George, which was a substantial white building on the corner. Across the main road and down the hill there was the bay beach and the pier.
The hostel was a weatherboard house with a wide bullnose verandah and a rusted corrugated-steel roof. When Jo rang the doorbell, a blonde woman in her early twenties opened the door. She had a strong German accent. Once Jo explained that she was after a dorm bed, the woman introduced herself as Diane and led Jo through to the kitchen. On the table was an opened laptop, and she sat in front of it. ‘To register I need your ID.’
‘I only have a bank keycard,’ Jo said, realising as she pulled it out of her purse that she would have to come up with some story to explain the name difference.
‘You said your name was Ashleigh — what’s the J?’
‘Joanna Ashleigh Neilson,’ she said. ‘But I hate Jo, so I go by Ashleigh.’
‘Do you have any other ID?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘just the card.’
‘I’m supposed to get a couple of IDs. A driver’s licence?’
‘I don’t drive. But I can take some money out of my account and give you a deposit. Okay?’
‘Sure. I guess if you know the pin, it must be your card.’
Sue and Laurie lived in a large two-storey brick house on the hill at the back of town. From their living room, there was a view of the wide expanse of the bay, of the south part of the township and their own extensive garden, divided into several sections — herbs; vegetables; an orchard with apples, oranges, figs, and plums; and a large section of native bushes and flowers. That first afternoon, they sat on the balcony and ate hot pasties with Sue’s homemade chutney. Laurie asked endless questions — what are you doing in Portarlington? How long will you stay? What work do you do? Did you finish school? Are you planning to go to university? Jo was as evasive as she could be. I needed a break. Not sure how long I’ll stay. I’m a waitress. I haven’t finished school, but I plan to one day. Not sure about university… Finally Sue said, ‘Laurie, enough with the inquisition. Lunch doesn’t give you the right to pry. If she has secrets, she’s under no obligation to tell us.’
Was she transparent? Could everyone see she was hiding something? And if they could sniff out her lies, how long would it be before she was exposed? A welt of panic rose and she blushed. But Laurie dropped the questions and they spent the rest of the meal talking about the town and Sue and Laurie’s decision to retire by the sea.
Later, when Laurie left to play golf and Sue and Jo were alone, Sue said, ‘Laurie was a lawyer in another life. He can catch the whiff of a secret from the other side of the bay.’
They were still sitting on the balcony. The rain had stopped and the smell of damp grass wafted up the hill. A mist hung low to the ground, but the sky had transformed into a broad expanse of blue, with only a smear of the finest white clouds. Jo gazed out at the bay, the pier and the fishing boats, and the now clear outline of Melbourne. Her mother would arrive home to an empty house. She’d call out, frustrated and angry at the lack of response, until she discovered Jo gone. Mandy would be worried, of course, but she would be relieved too. Surely she would be relieved. ‘I don’t… I want to have a break.’
‘Sure,’ Sue said. ‘You can’t run forever, but sometimes we all need a break.’ She raised an eyebrow and smiled, and Jo knew she wouldn’t pursue the issue — at least not for now. ‘How about I take you to town and introduce you to Justin.’
While she followed Sue through the house and down the steps to the car, there was a moment when Jo thought about telling Sue everything. Mary went to confession regularly — she said it made her lighter. She said, God wipes the slate clean if you are truly sorry. Sue wasn’t God, but maybe God didn’t exist at all and priests were just ordinary men dressed in fancy clothes; maybe the lightness came from the act of confession itself.
But Jo didn’t tell Sue. No one could forgive what she’d done. Killing your best friend was unforgivable.
Sue took her to The George and introduced her to the manager, Justin, who was sitting drinking a beer and peering at an open laptop.
‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ Sue said.
Justin was much younger than Jo had expected. She guessed mid-twenties.
‘So Dad offered you a job,’ Justin said.
‘He suggested you might.’
Justin grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Portarlington is a small town. It’s the way things get done here. And I do need a waitress.’