‘Did the little boy get home safely?’ Sophie asked.
‘He did.’
‘But not the stockman?’
‘No. He would have known he wouldn’t.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Yeah, it is. Although.’ Nathan paused. ‘I like to think that maybe he wasn’t sad, right at the end. Knowing that at least his kids were safe.’
‘He’d done it to save his family,’ Sophie said.
‘Exactly.’ Nathan turned to Lo. ‘So I know it can be a bit creepy out there, but it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be scared of him.’
Lo thought it over. Finally, she leaned in. Nathan could feel her breath on his face and see the specks of paint on her skin.
‘I wasn’t scared of the stockman,’ she whispered. ‘I was scared of Daddy.’
‘Oh.’ Nathan took her hand.
‘He’s not coming back, though, is he?’
‘No. He’s not, Lo.’ He put his arms out and she hugged him. She was small and warm. ‘It’s going to be okay. You’re safe here and we all love you.’ He pointed at her artwork. ‘And you know what else? I reckon you’re a better painter than your dad.’
He got a small smile at that. ‘No,’ she said with something that sounded suspiciously like false modesty. ‘Daddy’s painting won a prize.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything. Yours are just as good.’
‘No, they’re not. Stop being silly.’
‘It’s true.’ He got up. ‘Hang on.’
Nathan went inside, his vision poor as his eyes adjusted to the light. Lunch smelled great as he passed the kitchen. Through the hall window, he could see Bub and Harry out on the grass. Bub was bowling now, letting Harry have a go of his bat. The door to Ilse’s office was ajar, and Nathan toyed briefly with the idea of going in to see her. Say hello. Say he’d missed her. He hesitated, but kept moving. The girls were waiting.
In the living room, Nathan stood in front of Cameron’s painting. He raised his hands, feeling the buzz of an outlaw as he lifted the frame from the wall. It was surprisingly light for something that seemed to take up so much space in the house. Nathan waited a moment, but nothing happened. Cameron’s spirit did not, in fact, rise from its otherworldly slumber to warn against the perils of leaving fingerprints on the brushwork.
Nathan grinned to himself as he carried the painting down the hall, looking at the colours of the land and the sky and the grave. He realised that what he had said to Lo was absolutely true. There was nothing special about this painting. There was no life in it. It was the flat uninspired work of a man who was too blind to see all the good things he had.
He stepped out onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind him, and was greeted by a stunned silence. Lo’s mouth actually dropped open. No-one said anything for a long moment and Nathan was vaguely aware that even the sounds of cricket ball against bat had stopped.
‘Oh my God,’ Sophie gasped. ‘What have you done?’ But beneath her horror, her eyes gleamed with delight at the sheer scandal of it.
‘Yep.’ Nathan nodded. ‘I touched the painting.’
‘You’ll be in so much trouble,’ she breathed. Lo was giggling, her hands over her mouth.
‘I won’t. Because it’s just a painting, Soph. That’s all. And yeah, it’s pretty good, I suppose. But my question right now is, is it better than Lo’s?’
Lo was hopping from foot to foot, equal parts thrilled and horrified.
‘Okay,’ Nathan said. ‘Lo, you hold up your best picture. Let’s compare.’
With a grin, she chose one.
‘Sophie, you be the judge. Which is better?’
Nathan flipped Cameron’s painting over in his hands. He held it up in front of his face, the painted side facing away from him. And all at once, the world tilted. Sophie’s laughter was muffled by the pounding in his ears.
