Free Hailstone by Nina Smith Page A

what?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “John, I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” she said.
    He nodded and avoided her eyes.
    “Maybe you were right. Maybe I haven’t made enough of an effort to be a good wife to you.”
    That took him by surprise. His eyebrows shot up.
    Magda took a sip of her tea. The vapour of the vodka soothed the faint throb in her head. “I just don’t know how,” she said. “The urge to be bad overwhelms me. When you go off and leave me alone I don’t know how to resist it. Please understand, John, I don’t want to be this way. I need your help.” She looked right at him with her best honest expression. If Preacher was right and God existed, she’d go to hell on the strength of the lies she’d just told alone, but doing this kind of thing was getting easier and easier. All she had to do was wing it.
    John had downed most of his tea and was looking pretty relaxed. He leaned across the table and clasped her fingers with the same big, rough hand he had used to smack her head into the wall yesterday. “Magdalene, you have no idea how it gladdens my heart to hear you talk like this. It’s the first truth I’ve ever heard from your mouth. You’ve taken the first step to God by admitting you have a problem.”
    She almost spoiled it by sniggering, but repressed the urge just in time. “John please tell me you can help me.”
    “I can help you.” He leaned closer. For the first time ever, he looked into her eyes without flinching. “You must put yourself in my hands completely. All of the tools I need to complete the process are elsewhere, but with the bond of husband and wife between us, I’m sure we can manage right here.”
    “Tools? What kind of tools?”
    “Nothing you need to worry about.”
    “But where are they, if not here? Is this why you go away?”
    He nodded. “I’ve never told you about what I do because you never seemed interested. I’ve been working for Preacher, Magdalene, perfecting the kind of outreach he wants to carry out in Hailstone.”
    “But that’s wonderful! When will it be in Hailstone?”
    “Soon, very soon.”
    Magda loosened her hand from his and tidied away the empty cups. “More tea?”
    “Yes, that was very nice,” he said.
    She hid a smile and made him a second cup of tea. No valium this time, but there was still a measure of vodka in the glass, which she added to the hot water. She placed the cup in front of him and busied herself wiping down benches. “Oh, I almost forgot, there was a phone call for you,” she said.
    “Oh?” he stretched out in his chair.
    “Yes, a policeman from somewhere called Gibson. He said he needed to talk to you about something. I told him you’d call back when you got home.” She watched her husband intently; he stiffened. His beard hairs almost stood on end. “I hope it’s nothing serious?”
    “No,” he said. “Just a little thing.”
    “He asked for our address, so I gave it to him.”
    The chair clattered backwards. John stood by the table and gripped it hard. “You did what?”
    “I thought it would be a good start to turning my life around, to always tell the truth to the police. Did I do wrong?”
    John grabbed her arm and pushed her back up against the fridge. Magda felt a moment of naked fear; was he going to hit her again? Had her experiment gone too far?
    He looked hard into her face. “We need to start your treatment immediately,” he said. “Yes, immediately. And then you and I will go away from Hailstone and start a new life. Would you like that, Magdalene?”
    “But what will Preacher say?”
    “Don’t worry about Preacher. Come with me.” He steered her out of the kitchen and into the lounge room, where he all but pushed her onto the couch. He collapsed in the easy chair.
    Magda watched him carefully. The man should have no tolerance for alcohol, if he was everything Preacher thought he was. He rubbed his head. His eyes half-closed. Whatever he thought he was