Burnt

KARLY
LANE
First published 2013
First Australian paperback edition 2015
ISBN 978 174369241 7

BURNT
© 2013 by Karly Lane, revised edition © 2015
Australian Copyright 2013, 2015
New Zealand Copyright 2013, 2015

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 Prologue

Screams, lights, blood and the smell of the entire world burning
were the last things Seb Taylor remembered as the darkness
swam before his eyes and he fell into an endless pit of despair.
He walked from the church, numb, never lifting his eyes
from the ground. He’d sat at the back on purpose, trying to
keep a low profile. His parents sat either side of him. His arm
throbbed and ached, but not as badly as his heart. The car trip
out to the cemetery was a blur of dry grass and an endless row
of people lining the streets. They stared at him accusingly and
he felt their hate burning his flesh like a blow torch.
At the graveside, he tried to listen to the minister’s voice,
hear the words that would comfort him, but all he heard was
the veiled message that these two young, vibrant lives had
been stolen away too soon – by him.
2 Karly Lane

He knew she was standing at the edge of the graves, but he

couldn’t look at her. Her face was battered and bruised, the
white sling holding her broken arm stark against her black
dress. She leaned heavily on her father. This was the second
funeral in two days. He refused to look across at the freshly
dug earth in the far corner of the cemetery where Marty lay.
Seb forced his gaze to remain on the hole between them. It
was deep, dark and cold, but nowhere as deep as the hole he
carried inside him.
Finally, the droning voice finished and he was free to leave.
And never come back.
 Ch apter
1

The sound of gravel under Rebecca Whiteman’s shoes was

loud in the quiet night. The hospital was silent behind her. It’d
been a long shift – one nurse down, and too many beds. She
couldn’t wait to crawl into her own.
A small frown touched her brow as she got that strange feeling
again, like someone was watching her. She’d been ignoring it
for the last two weeks now, but it was getting worse. A shiver
ran through her and goose bumps covered her arms.
Pressing the button on her key ring, she heard the comforting
thunk as the car unlocked, a light glowing like a little beacon
of safety inside. Quickening her steps, she slid in, locking the
doors automatically after her. When she turned the ignition,
the CD started where it had stopped when she’d arrived at work
earlier that afternoon, the deep, sexy tones of Lee Kernaghan
4 Karly Lane

filling the car, crooning about his Goondiwindi moon. With

Lee helping to push away the uneasiness, she reversed out of
the car park, more than ready to go home.
Home. The thought sparked a collage of emotions: relief,
sadness, guilt …
The tick-tock of the blinker interrupted her thoughts as she
searched the empty street for traffic before pulling out of the
hospital entrance and heading for the highway. While the streets
might be quiet at this hour, the highway wasn’t – it never slept.
Huge semi-trailers rumbled their way through town – a dot
on their road map, just another sleepy rural community – as
they continued up the east coast of New South Wales between
Sydney and Brisbane.
After waiting at the traffic lights – a new set, put in to cope
with the brand spanking new Woolworths on the corner –
Rebecca drove past the landmarks that held so many precious
memories. The duck pond, once a stinking, green eyesore, was
now a well-maintained park, happily churning up large water
spouts that helped agitate the water and deter the build-up of
weeds and algae. How many times had she brought the girls
down here for a picnic and to feed bread to the ducks? As little
kids, it had been the highlight of their lives whenever they’d
been visiting their grandparents. Regret touched her as she
realised she’d only brought the girls down here once since
they’d moved back, and that experience had been less than
memorable. All they did was fight and complain about how
boring it was. Bored with feeding ducks at eight and ten years
of age? What was the world coming to?
She slowed to a stop at the next set of traffic lights – yes,
two sets, with a third barely a hundred metres further up at
 Burnt 5

the corner of the main street. Macksville had hit the big time.
Not every town this size on the Mid North Coast could boast
three sets of traffic lights in a row.
Rebecca glanced over at the car dealership that had once
been owned by her grandfather and his brothers. She could still
remember spending the day there when she’d been about five.
She’d been on one of her many visits and her nanna had had to
go to an appointment, so the receptionists and mechanics had
entertained her. It seemed mind-boggling that she was now a
grown woman with children of her own.
The front light came on as she pulled up outside her home,
and all feelings of unease vanished as she opened the front
door and crept inside. She bit back a sigh. She’d built up years
of distrust while living in the city, and still couldn’t get used
to the idea of her parents leaving the front door unlocked for
her at night. No matter how many times she reassured them
that she had a key, they still left the front door unlocked for
her when she did night shift.
Rebecca poked her head around the corner of the spare
room her children shared and smiled as she saw the two small
heads sound asleep against the brightly coloured floral pillow
cases that had been hers as a child. The girls looked so young
and precious. Lately they’d lost that sad-eyed look that had
stabbed at her heart and made her itch to gather them close
and beg for forgiveness. Turning away, Rebecca let out a long
sigh and made her way to the kitchen to put on the jug.
She tried to be as quiet as she could, although she knew she’d
never wake the girls – they’d always slept like a log through
the night. It was her parents she hated to disturb. Lately that’s
all she’d felt she was doing: disturbing, disrupting – imposing.
6 Karly Lane

She and the girls had been living back at her parents’ house
a while now and it was time to go. Although she was grateful
that her parents had opened their arms and home to her and
her children, there was a limit to the amount of time a grown
woman could live under the same roof with her parents. More
to the point, there was a limit to how long they could tolerate
two lively children and having their peaceful life upended.
She shook her head and smiled as she recalled the excitement
in her mother’s face when they’d pulled up three months ago,
the car loaded up with their possessions and ready to start a
new life. It was so good to be home and have her parents take
care of them all for a little while, as she licked her wounds and
found her feet again – and she could easily get used to it if it
weren’t for the kids. They needed a routine and a house of their
own. Rebecca could feel some of her control slowly beginning
to slip away. What started out as grandparents spoiling kids
on holidays didn’t transfer too well on a daily basis. The ‘no
boundaries’ life they’d fallen into recently wasn’t good for the
long term.
Taking her cup of herbal tea, which promised to give her a
good night’s sleep, Rebecca sat down at the kitchen bench and
reached for the newspaper to search the ‘to let’ section. As she
picked it up, her eyes went to the large photo on the front and
she gasped, dropping it onto the bench as she stared in shock.
With shaking hands, she picked the paper up again cautiously,
as though it were dangerous, and lifted it closer to get a better
look at the photo there. It was grainy, but the hard, cold eyes
staring back at her were the same ones she sometimes still saw
when she closed her own at night.
 Burnt 7

The headline shouted at her and she forced herself to the

story.
Local man injured in Afghanistan war

Seb swore softly beneath his breath as a pain stabbed at his side
again. He’d spent too long cramped behind a steering wheel.
He’d just made it into town on the last of his tank of petrol
and would have preferred not to stop – he wasn’t in the mood
to make polite conversation with anyone who might recognise
him from his youth around here – but he’d misjudged his fuel
consumption and had no choice but to fill up at the first servo
in town. It was a bit flasher than he remembered, but was
basically the same as it had always been.
He didn’t recognise the bloke behind the counter and he
didn’t stop to ask questions. As he’d reached for the handle of
the door, he’d felt the tight pull of skin and muscle as they
protested the movement. The pain was a dull ache now, but he
welcomed it. If he felt pain he knew he was still alive. He should
be grateful that he was back on his feet. After three months
recuperating in a hospital, he was just happy to be out of bed.
Easing back into the driver’s seat, he took a minute to catch
his breath before turning the ignition key and pulling onto the
road. Not much had changed in town. It was a little eerie to
think time had stood still.
Once he was on the road leading out to Bowraville, he felt
light-headed. Things seemed to slow down and he could hear
his heartbeat, loud in his ears over the sound of his engine.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and a cold sweat
broke out on his brow and back. He knew what it was, but
8 Karly Lane

he was powerless to do anything about it. The closer he got to

the accident scene, the heavier his heart felt.
Then, in the space of a heartbeat, it was gone. As soon as he
passed the spot, the universe shifted back into alignment. Seb
refused to lift his gaze from the road ahead to his rear-view
mirror. There was no sense in looking back – it never changed
anything.
He passed through Bowraville, its wide, sleepy main street
lined with a scattering of parked cars. He didn't make eye
contact with the few people he saw chatting in groups of twos
and threes outside the butchers, newsagent and grocery store.
It was a relief when he finally turned left over the small bridge
at the bottom of the hill, leaving the town behind him.
Green paddocks lined the roadside as he pointed his four-
wheel drive in the direction of his father’s farm. The road
was now bitumen and a big improvement on the dirt of his
childhood days. As he drove, he took note of the names on
the odd assortment of letterboxes, ranging from cut-down
plastic oil drums to old microwave ovens and tin boxes. He
didn’t recognise many of the surnames. Here, it seemed, time
had moved on. City people had come and bought the farms
that had become too large for the older farmers to manage
without the younger generation to take them over. There was
little interest in staying on the farm these days, when work
opportunities were limited and going to the city or mining
in remote parts of Australia offered better earning prospects.
Seb slowed down to turn into the driveway ahead and let
his car roll to a stop as he took in the view before him. He’d
forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful this place was.
 Burnt 9

Hills sloped down towards rich pastures. A thick line of

trees in the distance hid the clear water of the creek that flowed
through the property and eventually wound its way down to
the river and, from there, to the ocean, kilometres away at
Nambucca.
Seb narrowed his gaze and focused on the farm far below.
Things had gone downhill by the looks of the overgrown house
yard and the general condition of the paddocks. A frown creased
his brow at the thought. In the few brief phone calls he’d made
home on an irregular basis – thanks to his erratic work schedule
in the SAS – his father had never mentioned that things weren’t
going well. Then again, they’d hardly found much to talk about
since his mother had died almost two years before.
He saw two dogs emerge from beneath the house, barking
as they spun around in circles and jumped excitedly, but he
couldn’t hear them – he was still too far away. Seb put the car
into gear and drove through the gates.
By the time he’d parked in front of the large, three-car tin
shed beside the house, his old man was there to greet him.
Christ – when had he got so old? For a minute, Seb could
only stare, but he recovered quickly and pulled his face into
the expressionless mask the army had invested a great deal of
time and money to perfect. Bracing for the wave of pain that
was about to come, he opened the door and swung his legs
out of the car, biting down hard on the curse that threatened
to escape.
His father stood at the gate and held out a hand. ‘You look
better than I was expecting,’ he said in his gruff voice that
sounded rusty from lack of use. They shook hands briefly.
10 Karly Lane

‘Better than I looked a few months ago.’ He took in his

father’s crumpled clothes, hanging off him as proof of the
weight he’d lost. When Seb’s mother had been alive, his father’s
clothes would have been ironed to within an inch of their life
and there was no way she’d have let him walk around holding
his pants up with one hand, hair wild and face unshaven.
Seb took off his sunglasses and followed his father inside,
waiting a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He
scanned the room and let the familiar furniture and smells take
him back. It wasn’t the tidy, well-cared-for house he remembered.
‘Guess the place could use a bit of a tidy up,’ his father said
from behind him.
Seb shrugged, trying to put him at ease. ‘Better shape than
some of the places I’ve been in.’
‘Need a hand to bring in your gear?’
Seb glanced down to the large duffle bag at his feet and
shook his head. ‘Nah, this is all I got.’
‘Thought you were here for a while? Where’s the rest of
your stuff?’
‘I don’t have much.’ He thought of the four boxes of
belongings he’d packed up and stored on base and the small
TV and laptop in the back of the four-wheel drive – not much
to show for eighteen years out on your own.
Truth was, he was rarely home to accumulate anything. He
lived on base and had all his meals cooked for him – he hadn’t
needed a lot of stuff.
‘I’m just about to put the kettle on – you want a cuppa?’
‘Sure.’ Seb walked out to the kitchen table and sat down
slowly.
 Burnt 11

‘How do you have it, son?’

‘Black.’ His father gave him a look and Seb shrugged. ‘There
isn’t always milk and sugar on hand out in the field – guess I
got used to it,’ he said, turning his gaze to the door and out
across the paddocks.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his father’s hand shake
as he spooned in the coffee granules and lifted the kettle from
the stove. Seb’s jaw clenched as things began to fall into place.
The weight loss, the general decline of the place, the shakes …
His father had been hitting the bottle.
Anger surged through his veins. He couldn’t help but
think what his mother would have to say about it – she’d
have kicked his father’s arse from here to kingdom come
if she’d been alive. Seb had seen what alcohol could do to
people; he’d seen how it had torn apart his best mate’s life
as a kid and to this day he couldn’t stand watching people
abuse alcohol, even socially, which had made him a bit of an
oddity in his army career at first. He soon learnt to ignore
what everyone else said about him; his focus had been on
one thing and one thing only – trying out for the SAS – and
he’d devoted all his energy to preparing himself to become
physically and emotionally tough enough to make it through
selection.
First thing tomorrow, he’d go on a bottle hunt and get rid
of any alcohol he found lying around the house. Stuffed if he’d
sit here and watch his father drink himself to death.
The two men took their coffee out to the back verandah and
sat watching the sway of the trees guarding the creek. The cry
of a crow out in the paddocks broke the silence and a loud sigh
12 Karly Lane

escaped from the young kelpie pup at Seb’s feet as he lazily opened
one eye, then dropped his head to rest on his folded paws.
‘So it’s pretty bad over there, then?’ Angus asked.
Seb took a sip of his coffee before answering. ‘It’s not good.’
‘We making any progress, you think?’
Seb gave a small snort of contempt. ‘It’s like cutting the
head off a bloody hydra – it just grows another one to replace
it. We’re not going to win this thing and the politicians who
say otherwise are liars.’
‘You think they’ll bring back the troops soon?’
‘Yeah, eventually. The Yanks are supposed to be scaling
down over the next few years, but who knows.’
‘So what are you going to do? You going back over?’
It wasn’t a matter of not going back over – he was trained to
do a specialised job and was needed over there – but he’d lost
some good mates in the ambush and he’d only barely made it
out of there himself. This time it was harder to bounce back
and move on. He wasn’t afraid of going back – he was more
concerned that he wouldn’t be able to stop going back. The
adrenaline rush the job gave him was exactly the reason he’d
worked so hard to get into the SAS in the first place: it got into
your blood, like a drug. He wasn’t sure how he would be able to
live like a normal person after he got too old for active duty – he
couldn’t think about it. There wasn’t too much that scared him
in this world any more, but a future without the SAS absolutely
petrified him. The work defined him, made him who he was.
Without it, he was nothing but an empty, lonely man.
Seb stared into the dark coffee as though it were a crystal
ball. ‘Dunno yet. I just needed to take a break for a while. Once
 Burnt 13

I get all this under control –’ he nodded down to his side and
chest, where the scars from the worst of his wounds were, ‘– I’ll
see what happens.’
‘Well, it’ll be good to have you back for a while … it’s been
too long,’ his father said, keeping his gaze fixed on the tree
line ahead.
Seb swallowed past a lump in his throat. It was the closest his
father had ever come to saying he’d missed him. He wondered
what other breakthroughs this visit would bring.