The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  ‘Just for a weekend. I’ll organise us rooms in a hotel, we’ll go to dinner, go dancing, of course.’

  Memories of this life glimmered as they came into her mind. They were full of light, but it was like staring into the sun. Dangerous to linger there too long. It wasn’t her life anymore. It was simply the trick of light youth played. She was nearly 30 now. She was a wife and mother. And yet something had made her sneak out of her house in the middle of the night to go to that party. And now, this man in front of her was offering her a glimpse, just a glimpse of what used to be.

  ‘My father’s in Sydney. He’s in a share home and quite poorly. I haven’t been able to see him in such a long time,’ she said tentatively, the guilt and shame crawling through her as she spoke.

  ‘Well, it’s decided then. You must come, and pay him a visit.’

  ‘I’d only be able to go for a night or two. I’d be letting too many people down.’

  ‘What, your little ballet dancers?’

  No, my daughter, she thought. But I could visit Father. I’ve been promising to forever, but there’s never enough money. She had asked around and you needed to take a bus from the valley to Katoomba and then a train to Central Station. And accommodation in Sydney was extremely dear.

  ‘We could leave at the weekend,’ he said, letting go of her and picking up the bottle of wine. He poured a glass and handed it to her. ‘This is just a taste,’ he said.

  She took a sip. It was so sweet, so rich that she closed her eyes in pleasure.

  ‘All right,’ she said, her eyes still closed, her heart humming.

  The needle of the record player must have slipped because the Vivaldi suddenly swelled, filling the hall and her body with hope and fear.

  CHAPTER 18

  Pen

  Dust motes floated in the soft early evening light streaming in through the window. The cliffs shone as the last of the sunlight warmed them. She had pulled the sheer curtains aside from both windows so the landscape could come in. The garden hummed below with dusk birds and insects and the view was out across the green paddocks, flanked by the rising escarpment. A horse whinnied in the distance and Will leafed through the pages of a book, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue. The room smelled like lavender and tea leaves. Pen wondered if the others’ rooms were as charmingly dilapidated. They were on the second floor and the room held a trove of vintage wonders. An ornate wardrobe, double and single beds covered in faded floral bedspreads, and a small sink in the corner of the room with a pretty mirror above it. There were fresh flowers from the garden in glass jars on the bedside table and on the vanity. Nothing in the room suggested they were in modern times, save the invasion of their open bags, Will’s already spilling with clothes.

  She’d been mortified by Will’s comment about the lady. She’d seen everyone’s faces – he’d spooked them. All she wanted was for him to act like the other kids. Blend in. Relax. But how could she ask that of her son when she struggled to do the same? Thankfully they’d enjoyed the lovely food under the willow tree and the rest of the afternoon had passed uneventfully. He was happy now, absorbed in a book. She’d tried to suggest he go and find the other kids to play with, but he’d wanted to stay in here.

  Macie had announced rather formally that dinner would be served in the dining room at 7 pm. Will had already devoured a packet of crackers and two bananas on the bed. No one had dared inform Macie that 7 pm was probably a bit too late for young children, who’d been travelling and then running around, to eat dinner. Everyone was likely just as glad as her at the prospect of not cooking.

  The dining room was like a grand old lady wearing her Sunday best. A dimly lit chandelier hung from the high, ornate ceiling, which was cracked and stained with age. Four large round dining tables, all of them lit with long candles and covered with lace, filled the space. The red walls and beautifully framed paintings made the room feel warm and cosy despite its size. The effect was one of old-world grandeur. A sense of occasion. It was quite lovely. Pen cringed as she thought about all the dinners her family ate in front of the TV. Will joined the kids doodling with coloured pencils at a table next to the adults. Pen felt a wash of relief as Seraphine made room for him next to her and handed him a sheet of paper. The adults’ table was set immaculately, with shining silver cutlery, vintage glassware, linen serviettes and several bottles of red wine. Pen was taking a seat when a man appeared carrying a basket of bread. He had a striking face. Dark, deep-set eyes and the kind of incredible, angular cheekbones she would have liked to photograph in black and white.

  ‘Pen, this is our manager here, Caleb. He’s the resident chef. He was responsible for the cakes and whatnot this afternoon. And this is his famous sourdough,’ Macie said.

  Pen noticed Macie had changed for dinner into a silky navy blue dress that swept to the ground. Even Caleb wore a crisp white shirt opened at the collar. Pen felt a fizz of embarrassment. Everyone was far more dressed up than her and Will. Nathalie and her girls still had flowers from the garden in their hair, but they had all changed into fresh dresses. Dinner was obviously going to be a rather formal occasion.

  Caleb offered the basket to her and Pen took a piece of the warm bread. He looked too young to be a hotel manager all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, despite his ironed shirt.

  Macie was beside her with a bottle of red wine, pouring her a glass.

  ‘Thank you, this is all quite lovely,’ she said, taking a sip of the wine. It was as rich and delicious as the smells coming from the kitchen. She tried to think of the last time she’d made her kids a proper home-cooked meal that wasn’t sausages.

  ‘This is a pinot from a local vineyard. Do you like it?’

  Pen nodded. ‘And thanks for setting the kids up with pencils and paper. Brilliant idea.’

  Macie looked over towards the children. ‘Your son is quite perceptive, you know. I don’t think you should be so quick to dismiss him. Will, is it? We do have a resident ghost here, you know. The valley’s known for it, for being a bit of a ghost town. You can see that for yourself. Half the people who stay here are bird watchers, the other half are those interested in history,’ Macie said.

  Pen felt a rub of annoyance and her face grew warm. ‘I’m not dismissing him. He can just be silly sometimes.’

  ‘Children are much more intuitive than we give them credit for.’

  ‘Yes, I do realise that. But they also have big imaginations, especially my son.’

  ‘Oh wonderful. That’s what we need more of. Kids today spend far too many hours on screens. That’s why somewhere like this is so good for them. Fresh air, home-cooked food and no internet connection.’

  Pen nodded and took another sip of her wine. It was going down a little too well, and she realised how anxious she was feeling. She couldn’t tamp down the annoyance Macie’s comments were sparking in her. ‘And you have kids then, Macie?’

  ‘Yes. A boy.’

  ‘And he is where?’

  Macie’s face closed down, like a door swung shut. ‘With his father.’

  Pen felt her anger dissolve. She’d been rude. There was obviously a broken marriage – Pen knew about the nightmare of living that. The poor woman was just making polite conversation, taking an interest. Why did she have to overreact so badly? ‘Sorry, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Her voice softened. ‘That can be hard.’ She paused, unsure if she should inquire further. ‘Do you get to see him?’

  Macie shook her head, her eyes downcast. ‘Not as often as I’d like.’

  Pen nibbled at her bread. ‘I have shared custody of my daughter with my ex-husband. She’s staying with him this week. I know it can all be . . . difficult.’

  Macie looked up. ‘Does Will get to see his father much?’

  Pen didn’t want to talk about this, but Macie’s vulnerability had softened her. ‘No, he’s not in the picture. And Will’s just getting to that age where boys probably need their dads more than their mums.’

  ‘Oh, they alway
s need their mums, especially at Will’s age.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Pen thought about all the times Will had probably needed her and she hadn’t been able to give him anything, not emotionally. Her heart ached.

  Macie nodded. ‘There’s so much written about fathers and sons, but we’re the ones who teach them compassion and how to treat women.’

  Pen took a large sip of wine. This conversation was depressing the hell out of her. God, imagine the damage she’d already done to Will. The times she’d shut him down when he was talking at a million miles an hour and she couldn’t handle his intensity. The way she yelled at him if he was having a meltdown and couldn’t manage his emotions, the way his moroseness made her shut down.

  ‘Chin chin.’ Alexandra took a seat next to her and clinked glasses. ‘Have you tried this wine? It’s delish. Where did you find this, Macie?’

  Pen was relieved for the distraction. She sipped her wine. ‘It is rather good.’

  ‘Caleb sources all the food and wine for our guests. He’s quite the epicure,’ Macie said.

  ‘How often do you get guests? It’s a bit of a drive from anywhere,’ said Pen.

  ‘As I said, there are a lot of history buffs, bird watchers. We get motorbike riders taking weekends. Sometimes people will book weddings or occasion birthdays and hire out the whole hotel for their guests. We had a Great Gatsby–inspired fiftieth not that long ago. It was fabulous.’

  ‘And how often are you here, Macie, given . . . I take it your son is in Sydney?’ Pen asked.

  Macie paused, poured more wine.

  ‘Macie’s gallery is in Sydney,’ Alexandra said. ‘She’s a brilliant artist. Have you heard the name Macie Laurencin? She’s represented by Nick Wilson. Bigwig in the art world. I knew you’d get on, both being creative types. Pen’s a photographer,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘Oh, you’ll love it here. Such incredible light,’ said Macie.

  ‘What type of art?’

  ‘Landscapes. I do the big ones here and sell them in Sydney.’

  ‘I’d love to see them. What a perfectly balanced life,’ said Pen. ‘Sometimes I’d kill for somewhere like this to escape all the noise.’

  Alexandra flashed her eyes in agreement. ‘You should set up a day spa here Macie, and advertise it as having zero internet access. You’ll be overrun with mums.’

  ‘I actually had the CEO of a huge corporation spend a week here with his family. At first, he didn’t cope well without internet access. But then he actually wept when he left. He didn’t want to go back to his life.’

  ‘Wow. I must admit I felt bereft when I lost mobile reception. I still keep reaching for my phone,’ said Pen.

  ‘So, what’s the deal with this gorgeous manager of yours? Why is he here serving a bunch of middle-aged women dinner in the middle of nowhere with no phone reception instead of partying with friends?’ asked Alexandra, a smile on her lips.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say we’re all middle-aged yet,’ Pen said, elbowing her.

  ‘He likes the quiet life. He’s an artistic sort. A loner. And he’s not bad in the kitchen, either.’

  Alexandra raised her eyebrows. ‘Intriguing.’

  Caleb arrived at the table carrying a deep dish of lasagne. ‘I thought the kids would like this type of food,’ he offered, placing it in the middle of the kids’ table.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Alexandra, serving a green salad onto her boys’ plates. ‘Thank you, Caleb, we’ve just been hearing how amazing you are.’

  ‘You should taste his coq au vin,’ said Macie, indicating to a fragrant dish of marinated chicken and vegetables.

  Colour crept into Caleb’s face and Pen immediately warmed to him. He was shy. She served the lasagne and salad onto a plate for Will. It all smelled delicious and Pen realised the fresh air had made her hungry.

  Will was drawing on a sheet of paper using the pencils from a jar in the middle of the table. She glanced at the paper. Will had always been a good drawer. He almost had the proportions right. The face of a woman stared from the paper, hair long, high cheekbones.

  Pen bit her lip as a spike of dread drove through her. She spoke quietly, without letting her voice betray her. ‘What are you drawing, mate?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Will, his voice emotionless, his hand moving deftly. Pen squeezed his shoulder, pushing back against the cold creep in her chest. She looked at the drawings the other kids were making. Rainbows and flowers, trees and dinosaurs, a planet on fire. Why did Will always have to be the weird one? She berated herself. She wasn’t being fair. It was actually a great sketch. Maybe he’d drawn Nathalie. There was something about the eyes and the slope of the mouth.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ said Macie, coming up behind them with a tray of water. She placed a glass in front of Will. ‘Is that the woman you saw earlier, near the drinking fountain?’

  Pen’s pulse quickened. How dare Macie put ideas into Will’s head.

  Will nodded without looking up and Pen bit her lip harder. ‘And what’s that?’ she asked, pointing at something in the corner of the page, trying to be supportive, despite the loud churn of her feelings.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That thing in the background.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Will said.

  ‘You know, it looks a little bit like this thing over here,’ Macie said, pointing to an urn in the corner of the room. ‘Is that it?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that where she’s standing now? In front of the urn?’ Macie asked.

  Anger surged through Pen and she yanked the paper out from under Will. ‘Enough drawing. It’s dinnertime.’ She put the plate of lasagne down in front of him with a thud. ‘And eat your salad, too.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, grabbing the paper. She realised everyone was staring at them now. She fought to calm herself.

  ‘That’s an amazing picture,’ said Alexandra, looking over his shoulder. ‘Will, you’ve got a lot of talent. Who is it?’

  ‘It’s our resident ghost, of course,’ said Macie, winking at Will, who smiled.

  ‘That’s giving me the heebie-jeebies,’ said Nathalie, who was serving food onto her daughters’ plates. She and Pen exchanged a look. ‘We don’t want to freak the kids out.’

  ‘Freak us out about what?’ asked Findlay, her eyes huge.

  Pen felt an irrational urge to slap Macie. ‘Will just has a very vivid imagination. And Macie is encouraging him.’

  ‘He really is a very good drawer,’ Macie said.

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ Pen snapped as she turned away from her son, her heart as crumpled as the piece of paper in Will’s hand.

  CHAPTER 19

  Alexandra

  The heat of the fire combined with the wine to make Alexandra’s eyes close. The room had the delicious smell of burning wood, and the rose-scented candles Macie had lit on the coffee table. The only sound was the crackle and burn of the wood popping in the grate. They’d finished dinner with a creamy tiramisu and after they’d put the kids to bed, they’d opened another bottle of wine. She was probably a little drunk. The room danced with the light of the flames in the fireplace. It was cold here at night despite the heat of the day. She felt its icy fingers lick under the doors, and through the dark passageways of the old house. The windows were hung with heavy drapes and the furniture was vintage, an old green velvet lounge with matching armchairs. Pen and Emmie were still upstairs with their kids. Alexandra’s boys had passed out as soon as their little heads had hit the pillow, bless them, but it wasn’t surprising that the other kids were finding it hard to sleep.

  Alexandra had to admit, Will’s drawing of the lady by the urn had made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. When she was walking down the dimly lit corridor to their room, she had felt a tremor of fear snatch at her unexpectedly. She’d turned to see nothing but shadows. Her boys didn’t seem fazed, though she wasn’t so sure about Jasper. He was likely putting on a brave face to match his older brother’s bravado. M
axwell loved scary movies and her boys had probably seen way too much for their age, but it seemed to have desensitised them rather than making them more scared. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Maxwell was always trying to toughen up the boys, especially Jasper. He was more the mummy’s boy of the two and Alexandra loved that he still came to her for comfort and cuddles. But Maxwell singled him out with stern words when he showed his softness. Just recently at summer soccer, Jasper had come to her on the sideline, silently devastated after he let a goal in. Maxwell had taken him out of her arms by the elbow, and dragged him back to the goal post. She wanted to snatch him back, tell Maxwell to stop beating the sensitivity out of his son, but she never had the words, especially with all those eyes trained on them.

  Her thoughts returned to Will. There was something a little odd about him. He was just slightly different from her boys. It was almost impossible to pin down exactly what it was. Maybe it was his intelligence. She’d heard on the school grapevine that he was very smart – he’d won several academic awards already. He was clearly a gifted artist, too. She wondered what that would be like, to have an academic child. Her boys were both very average at school, slightly better on the sporting field. She foresaw tutors in high school, and it was only her constant refrain of ‘let them be kids’ that stopped Maxwell from engaging tutors already. Mediocrity was not something he was fond of.

  Nathalie poured more wine into Alexandra’s glass and melted into the lounge next to her, cradling her own glass. She was languid with wine and food, too. Alexandra wondered if she should say something about the drinking. She’d found herself sharing glances with Emmie, especially after how wasted Nathalie had been on their night out. On the surface, Nathalie’s life was perfect, but Alexandra knew deep down that something must be going on. It had been a while since they’d had a real heart-to-heart. Maybe she was missing her old life and she needed to go back to work and remember who she used to be. There was no way Alexandra could stay sane being a stay-at-home mum. She patted her friend on the knee. ‘Comfy there?’