*
It was late October and the five of them had headed down to the beach. It was pretty hot for spring. It reminded Katie of when they’d arrived in Sydney; how even the slightest rise in temperatures had been too much for her. The ocean was magnificent; sapphire blue with tiny white breakers; there wasn’t one cloud in the sky. James and Andy had a surf lesson and were struggling into their wet suits. As James danced around hopping from one foot to the other to get it on, Katie tried to put some sun cream on his face, then kissed him on the top of his head. ‘Good luck out there.’
‘Gerroff, mum!’
She froze. Stood with the sun cream grasped in her right hand and watched as James sauntered off down to the shore, where the instructor and the colourful surfboards lay, like fish out to be dried on the edge of the beach. She watched his hips sway, the way he strode like his father; away from her.
Gramps put a hand on her arm. ‘Leave him, love. Give him time. He’s just grappling with all those emotions, going from mum to dad … that time you suddenly realise that you’re going to be a man – when you’re still a boy, I remember all those feelings.’ he looked wistful. ‘And he’s missing Tom. He told me when I read him those war stories last night.’
‘I know,’ she said, with her head bent down, ‘but he’s never told me to ‘get off’ before, Gramps.’
‘You need to let him go a little, pet, trust me. Boy needs his father around at that age.’
‘I know, I know.’ Katie swallowed hard. She felt guilty about the whole situation with the boys. ‘Tom had to go away, on business, the Brisbane office needed him.’
‘No they didn’t,’ Gramps’ steely green eyes looked at her, ‘did they? You two have had a row; bloody big row by the looks of it,’ he raised his eyebrows.
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Gramps, not here.’
‘No, fair enough, but let’s just say that I’m glad you asked me back here; wanted to keep an eye on you two – especially my favourite daughter-in-law!’ He smiled at her and she managed a tight smile back. ‘Right-o, let’s watch these lads then,’ he said, then gingerly made his way down from the surf club. Katie followed him down the path pushing Rory in the buggy, her mind a whir of emotions.
Gramps is right, she thought. James is, very slowly, leaving me, she realised, like an ocean liner pulling away from the harbour. I am not the full-time captain of this particular ship any more, she realised. My job’s done for the time being. No, of course he’s not off to university or away on a Gap Year, she shook her head, but she understood what was happening to her not-so-little boy. The hugs are less, she realised, the running into my arms almost non-existent; she felt a tear form and wiped it away. I have to make do with ruffling his hair when I drop him at school. Is it worse because Tom is not here? She had even caught him using some of Tom’s half-used deodorant in the cabinet the other day. He’s not yet eight.
Suddenly Katie was brought back into the present and she was aware of some commotion up the beach. There was a woman shouting about a little boy. My little boy, he’s escaped from the buggy! She lurched towards Rory.
‘Rory!’ she screamed as he headed into the surf. She bolted after him, scared witless.
‘Want pasta!’ he said, rubbing his head as a Surf Lifesaver hauled him out of the water before another wave came crashing down. ‘Thanks so much,’ Katie gushed to the young lifeguard, as she clutched Rory’s hand. ‘No worries, but keep an eye on him. He’s fast!’
Just then, James came over, dripping wet, his surfboard under his arm. He looks like an extra for a Quicksilver ad, she thought, almost not recognising her son. ‘Hey mum, what happened? Where were you?’ James nodded to Rory and then walked away shaking his head. Katie opened her mouth, wanted to call him back, tell him not to be so insolent but she looked over at Gramps who shook his head, and wandered after James. Thank God for Gramps. Thank God for the fact that he has taken over the helm of steering his eldest grandson for a while. Mum, in this instance, clearly doesn’t cut it.
She sat on the beach after that, for at least half an hour while James and Andy had their lessons. Glancing down at Rory who was, by then devouring a huge ice cream courtesy of Gramps, she started to peel off the multitude of Wiggles plasters stuck at peculiar angles all over his head and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. He smiled up at her.
She looked up and caught a glimpse of James on his surfboard. It felt surreal. She also realised, with a start, that it felt wrong that Tom wasn’t there, wasn’t around to share the moment. She stared at Andy with his instructor ‘catching waves.’ Slowly, very slowly, he sat up on the board – amazing for a five year old!
Squinting in the sun, she flipped her glasses over her eyes and looked out to the horizon again, then back at the shore. Gramps came over slowly and Rory eagerly grabbed his hand.
She watched as they walked, hand in hand, Rory clutching a peacock blue bucket. Every now and then Rory would kneel down, Gramps bending over to study the shells too; Rory would then plonk one into his bucket and his chubby fingers would grab Gramps’ hand again.
James was still out in the water. Katie fixed her gaze on him as the instructor took him out a bit farther; he pointed to an upcoming wave, and she watched as her eldest disappeared and emerged a boy standing on top of his board, riding a wave all the way into shore like a pro. Suddenly she realised that she was grinning very, very hard.
On the way back they stopped at some shops. A wall of hot air hit her as she walked in, the atmosphere was oppressive. ‘Hate the heat, me,’ said the middle aged assistant glumly, shaking her head as she put napkins, fish, some ginger beer (get some for the lads, Katie) and a Turkish loaf into Katie’s shopping bag.
‘Really?’ smiled Katie. But she’s Aussie. She hates the heat? Surely that’s like a skipper who hates the sea, reasoned Katie, staring at the woman, her bra straps showing beneath her stripy T-shirt, folds of skin escaping from underneath her armpit. At least I’m British so I kind of have a right to whinge. As she wandered back to the car, she hummed a little tune. She thought about how easily her boys had taken to the water, how she was more confident too … would this have happened in the Home Counties? Probably not. And who brought us here? Tom. Was he right after all?
It made her think about what had happened after she had left Lucy’s house that day. Remembered how she had pulled over at the For Sale sign. Driven up the gravely drive. It had all seemed so perfect. She had spent hours in Sydney before the trip, trying to distract herself, remove herself from the pain, wondering if they should move back, looking at the brochure, figuring out what they’d do to the house, how they’d paint it; how they’d fix it up. What she’d put in the garden, how she’d have her Aga, what colour tiles she’d use in the kitchen. The estate agent had been nice, kind. Had said that it was fine when she said she didn’t want to see the upstairs, couldn’t face, actually, seeing anymore, thank you. The first thing to fix was her marriage.
*
‘Mum! Cyril is dead!’ A sob. Who’s Cyril? They had just got home from the beach.
‘Who, darling, is Cyril?’ she peered at James, stoked his hair, pulled it off his forehead where it lay matted in sweat.
‘My cicada, the one I caught last week and put in a box under my bed. I used to peek in every night to see he was OK. I knew you’d not let me have Cyril in my bedroom if I told you.’ He opened the box slowly.
My tough, deodorant wearing eldest boy is staring death in the face for the first time, she realised. She looked in the box to see an incredibly still Cyril with wide eyes, short antennae and heavily veined wings. He was quite motionless. She took the creature out and put it on some tissues in the kitchen, unsure how to deal with a cicada fatality. Down the loo? In the bin? A small service in the garden with a few of his friends? Just egg sandwiches and Earl Grey? Please leave the order of service on your chair.
‘Mum?’
‘Sorry darling, what did you say?’
‘Why did he die?’
/>
‘Oh darling, maybe he just got too tired. I do think, though, poppet, that they need to live outside …’ James let her cuddle him and stroked his hair, until the sobs subsided a little. Gramps stood in the doorway and looked at them both, winked at Katie.
‘Alright son?’ Gramps came over and sat next to them both on the couch.
‘I had few ‘illegal’ pets too, my boy,’ he smiled at James.
‘Did you? What were they?’ James wiped the back of his hand across his nose.
‘Beetles, kept them in matchboxes under my bed. One was a stag beetle.’
James sniffed, looked up at him as Katie stroked his hair. ‘What did you call them Gramps?’
‘Well, I think one of the names was Sid! And another beautiful bluey-black fella I called Bluesy. But Mum would go barmy when she found them. When she was dusting …’ Gramps took off his hat and wiped his forehead with it. ‘I didn’t used to get too worried, I loved ‘em.’ Gramps looked up at Katie and winked. ‘But when they did die, I’d put them in garden, hid them under the hydrangea bushes, nobody ever knew.’
‘Cup of tea, Gramps?’ said Katie, getting up off the couch and stretching.
‘Absolutely marvellous, Katie, what a great idea.’ He’s like that, thought Katie, smiling. Every time you mention a cup of tea it’s like you’ve suggested making him a five course dinner. Chuck in the mention of some lamingtons and you’d think he’d won the lottery. Grateful for small things is Gramps. She had caught him on the deck the other day, silently watching the kookaburras. He’d had a pair of his old binoculars around his neck, peering at them. She watched as he had smiled, lowered them to get another perspective, then held them up to his frail eyes again. When did I last take the time to appreciate what’s around me, she wondered.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The next day, Katie woke up and resolved to take off her ‘Fed-up’ glasses and put on a pair which allowed her to get a proper view, see the country for what it was, she told herself sternly.
She took the boys to Dobroyd Head to get some fresh air after school, let them run around after being enclosed in four walls of a classroom. It had been a spectacularly hot day for early November, temperatures reaching 40 degrees. Getting into the car, to go home, she noticed how sweaty the boys had become. There was a currawong singing in the distance; staring at the bird, she couldn’t help marvel at the beauty of the place, think of the contrasts to London parks where you’d feed the ducks, shiver in the cold and usher soggy children clad in muddy wellies into the car, turn the heating up and head home for Ballamory, boiled egg and soldiers.
‘Mummy? Mummy I want a drink,’ said James, breaking her daydream, panting as he climbed into the car and did up his seatbelt. He took off his bush hat and she noticed his hair stuck to his head.
‘Sorry darling,’ she rummaged in her bag, ‘don’t have any – never mind, home soon.’
Turning the keys in the ignition, the engine didn’t catch. Not even a slight chug. We are stranded, she panicked. Sorry, your honour, forgot Australia was a tad hotter than England and that you need to carry water at all times, oh and yes did almost go crazy from swatting flies. I expect that will make all the difference to the court case The State vs Slack mum, Mrs Katherine Parkes, she sighed, emptying the contents of her handbag on the spare seat to look for the roadside assistance number.
When she phoned the man on the other end was quite abrupt. ‘They will be out within the hour, ma’am.’
‘An hour!’
They spent the first 10 minutes playing I-Spy.
‘I know, something beginning with C!’ piped up Andy.
‘OK darling, well done, let’s see if we can guess!’
Crow? No. Car? No. Coach? No. Coat? No. Cat? No. I want to encourage Andy, thought Katie, wearily, give him as much time as we did for James. I want him to feel like we are interested in his learning, she mused wiping the sweat off her forehead, want to help him in his voyage through the phonetics of the English alphabet, BUT I ALSO WANT TO STOP THIS GAME AND GET OUT OF HERE.
Another five minutes passed by. ‘I give up!” said James.
‘No, you can’t give up,’ replied Katie, ‘it sends the wrong messages to Andy!’
‘Well, what is it then, clever-clogs?’ James frowned at her.
‘Um, let’s see, Currawong?’
‘No.’
‘Caterpillar?’
‘NO!’ shrieked Andy.
‘Actually, mummy does give up darling, what is it?’ Katie sighed, feeling the back of her legs stick to the seat.
‘It’s easy,’ said Andy, looking at them all as if they were stupid. ‘Tree.’
Looking at her watch again, somehow images of Picnic at Hanging Rock flashed through her brain: the overhead sun, the dust, the parched gum leaves lying on the ground, the eerie feel … At least the car is giving us some shade, she mused.
‘Need a wee!’ piped up Andy, just as Katie was about to phone the NRMA roadside number again. She glanced at Rory in the car seat; at least he’s in the shade, and asleep. She took Andy outside and wandered down a nearby dirt path towards some bushes.
‘Just find a tree, Andy, do a bush wee, there’s a good boy.’
Andy ran ahead as Katie trampled through the bush, catching her blouse on a bare twig, she noticed how parched the gum leaves were under her feet.
She looked up to see where Andy was and started to walk towards him. He had stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Mummy! A snake!’
Her heart froze.
Incredibly close to Andy’s leg was a snake’s head. Her blood ran cold.
‘Andy, don’t move!’ she whispered at him. She could feel herself shaking. Andy’s little eyes looked back at her as he stopped in terror. Oh Jesus, I’ve read about the eastern brown snake, thought Katie, it’s lethal, its venom causes progressive paralysis … the second most venomous land snake in the world …
‘Mum?’ a voice hissed from behind her. She spun round. James was coming up to her with her phone.
‘It’s the car people mummy, they want to know …’
She put her hand out to stop him coming any further and snatched the phone from him, whispering for him to get back to the car. Furiously, she punched the 000 emergency number.
‘James! Go back to the car, stay with Rory, keep the doors open – it’s hot, hurry!’ God, she didn’t know what to panic about most, her baby in the car, or the snake next to Andy ...
‘Hello, emergency ...’ the voice on the other end interrupted her thoughts.
‘OK, Andy, you mustn’t move, the lady on the phone says it’s very important to keep still,’ her knuckles were white as she gripped the phone. She looked over to Andy. He hadn’t moved an inch but there was a trickle of wee down his legs and a dark patch of soil by his feet. From all my searches on the Sydney Wildlife site, sighed Katie to herself, the one thing I do know is that it’s imperative not to move a muscle near a snake … You’ve got no chance if they decide to bite.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice she recognised, got louder.
‘Yooo-hoo darl, where are you?’
What? It couldn’t be.
She turned round and saw Carol approaching her with a long stick. Katie held her finger up to her mouth to signal ‘Shhh.’ As Carol got closer she couldn’t believe what she was seeing … Carol nodded at her, and looked over at Andy. Slowly, Carol edged her way over to Andy. As she got closer, she used the stick as a decoy for the snake. Katie’s heart was in her mouth as she saw a head, then, curiously, a fat body appeared …
‘Right. Thought so, sweetie - blue tongue,’ Carol had the stick to her left and was rustling the leaves. ‘Your boy in the car – James is it? – told me you were both here.’
‘Blue Tongue snake?’ Katie said under her breath. ‘It’s not one I’ve seen on the webs -’
‘That’s because it’s a lizard, darl. Blue tongue. Harmless.’ Carol walked up to the creature and picked it up, held her hand over its jaw so tha
t Andy could take a closer look.
Andy ran up to Katie and clung to her like a koala; poor boy, she thought and lifted him up, kissed the top of his head. He was shaking like a leaf. Wet liquid trickled down her hip.
‘Yeah, they look like snakes alright, first 30cm, but they won’t harm you,’ Carol smiled walking ahead a bit after placing the lizard back in the parched bush.
‘Thanks so much, Carol,’ Katie smiled gratefully.
‘No worries. You all OK now?’ she stared at Katie and frowned.
‘Yes, yes, could just do with getting out of here and this heat and having a good nights’ sleep. I’d better go back to the car, Rory’s asleep there and the NRMA bloke’s on his way. Thanks again Carol.’
Pulling the rim of her hat down to shield her eyes from the sun, she glanced towards the road and noticed a white van coming round the corner with ‘Roadside Assistance’ emblazoned across the side. A Very Nice Man in very short shorts pointed out to the now slightly hysterical mother of three who tried to hug him and kept swatting at flies, that she might have left her lights on and the battery was flat.
God, where is Tom when I need him most?
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Three weeks later Katie was inside a taxi, pulling up outside a 1960s building with sludgy grey concrete walls and huge panes of tinted brown glass. It looked absolutely terrible, thought Katie, like a huge planner’s disaster which the authorities were trying to hide amongst other buildings.
‘Is this it?’ muttered Katie to Tom, who was sitting next to her in the taxi.
‘Well, yes, this is the address.’ He looked up. ‘There! It says ‘Australian Government’ on the building.’
‘But we can’t have our ceremony in there! It’s so ugly!’
There were six of them in the taxi: Tom, Katie, Gramps, James, Andy and Rory. They were in Paramatta, a sprawling western suburb of Sydney where every shop on the freeway is a tacky car showroom. It’s too far from the beach to be any use in the summer, not quite into the mountains to be any use on crisp winter days. Parramatta, the Hounslow of Sydney, thought Katie as she stepped out the cab onto a cigarette butt and looked around. Imagine swearing my allegiance to this country here.
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