The House On Jindalee Lane

by Jennie Jones

  The townspeople had arrived an hour ago, undaunted by what they’d read in the paper and determined that the play would go on. Some of the businesses in Swallow’s Fall were shut. Closed for a good reason, the signs on the front windows said, or so Ryan had told her. It was Saturday too, one of their busiest days.

  The Tillman twins, Jess and Jillian, were merrily setting up a trestle table with gourmet sandwiches and muffins from their grocery store, ready to feed the workers.

  Mrs Tam was out with her secateurs, wearing an apron and a big floppy sun hat as she attacked the wandering jasmine with gusto. Luli. Edie had looked up the meaning of Mrs Tam’s first name. It meant dewy jasmine. And didn’t her face look a picture of tenderhearted dewiness.

  Unlike Mrs Ormond’s, which was more sweaty and ruddy. She’d replaced her purple knitted tassel hat with a see-through plastic rain hat, tied beneath her chin. Always the pessimist, she’d no doubt be expecting a shower. Maybe in the hope it would ruin what everyone was doing for Edie—the degenerate marriage-breaker—and they’d all get to go home.

  Edie sighed. Whatever Mrs Ormond’s thoughts were, she was here, helping, like everyone else.

  Gary wasn’t here, but he’d texted Ryan and said he couldn’t close the stock feeders as it was important for the farmers. He was right, of course, and Edie had thought for a second that maybe he was coming around. But Ryan had pushed out a laugh as he read the remainder of the text, which stated that it was all Edie’s fault that he’d never get an assistant now. He’d added that he no longer thought Edie the most beautiful woman in the world and Ryan could have her. Serves you right, he’d signed off.

  Ted was outside too. Directing people to various tasks, his gavel tucked into his belt.

  Edie put her hands between her thighs, palms together, and pressed, like an upside-down prayer of thanks. She’d believed it had all ended. That she’d upset her townspeople and would have to leave as soon as possible. But look at this …

  They were all there, outside her window, helping to get the grounds cleared so that it looked smart and pretty for when the play opened in two weeks’ time and people started flocking to Jindalee’s barn. They weren’t going to take no for an answer. They wanted their play—they’d called it theirs—to go on.

  She ought to be down there, helping. But she’d been struggling with the courage she’d need to face them.

  Last night, as she was writing her lists of what she had to do to close the play, and sell all the lighting fixtures and the sound board, and how to refund the seven hundred people who’d paid for their tickets, Ryan had taken the notes off her and told her to wait.

  He’d been her rock. They’d slept together in her bed, but he hadn’t put any pressure on her to have sex. She’d wanted to, but it didn’t feel right to feel pleasure when so many people had been upset. He’d just smiled as she babbled on, trying to explain her feelings. Then he’d kissed her gently, told her to stop talking and more importantly, stop thinking, and had snuggled her up in his arms.

  That’s how she’d fallen asleep, and how she’d woken. In his protective embrace.

  Her bedroom door opened and she pulled herself together.

  ‘Come on.’ Ryan walked over to her. He took her hand and pulled her to stand. ‘Come and see.’

  ‘I just need five minutes …’

  ‘You’ve had all morning,’ he insisted.

  ‘Wait.’ If she had a few more minutes, to get everything sorted in her head, she’d be okay.

  ‘I know why you’re being tough on yourself. You feel like the outsider.’

  Surprise stilled her. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Because that’s the way I feel too. Except I have more right to feel like an outsider than you do. You grew up here. I left this town when I was a child. I know exactly what it feels like to be an outsider.’

  ‘But you’re not, Ryan. Everybody has always loved you. If they knew you were going to stay here and buy a house and settle down, they’d fall over themselves in thanks.’

  He touched her chin with his fingers. ‘If you want to start believing they’d do the same for you, then you need to come outside now and let them show you how much you’re appreciated.’

  ‘I’m such a coward.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, and led her to the door.

  In less than two minutes she was outside the kitchen door, still being coerced by Ryan towards the barn, her hand firmly in his.

  She squinted at the brightness of the day as the warmth of the sun fell on her face.

  There were people who’d brought their lawn mowers and whipper-snippers, and they’d already made a huge difference to the knee-high grass and weeds.

  Some of them stopped and exchanged pleasantries, or simply said good morning. Edie smiled in return, summoning a cheerful expression, but not quite managing to make it look real. Who’d have thought? This morning, she couldn’t even act!

  Ted came striding over, his bulging eyes bright. He was in form, Edie noticed. In charge of a committee working bee and happy as a bullfrog on a fat lilypad.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, pulling at the waistband of his jeans, which had a pressed crease down the front legs. He’d ironed them like a pair of suit trousers.

  ‘It’s fantastic,’ Edie said in a small voice.

  ‘We all put in a fiver,’ Ted said, indicating the trestle table, which was laden with food. ‘But my girls wouldn’t take a cent.’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed, Ted.’

  ‘It’ll be on business expenses, of course,’ Ted advised. ‘So don’t go worrying about the money coming out of their own pockets. It’s tax deductible.’

  She had to look down and close her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We should have this garden ship-shape by just after lunch,’ Ted said. ‘Then we can have another rehearsal, if you like. I’m not doing the ice-cream round today, or for the week. Not until we’ve got all this nonsense going on about you sorted. Now,’ he said, sounding official suddenly, ‘we’ve got fourteen days until opening night. Mrs Tam has reported that not one single person has asked for a refund. In fact, she said she’s sold another hundred tickets. That’s eight hundred bums on the town hall chairs for the week of the run. We were thinking of asking if you’d like to make it a fortnight’s run instead of the one week.’

  Edie was unable to form words. Tears stung her eyes.

  ‘Just say the word,’ he said, ‘and me and Mrs Tam will sort it out. Your mum can do new posters, and I’ve had a word with Josh and he said he’s okay with his twins doing the board each night.’ He paused, and gave her a beady-eyed look. ‘Speak up,’ he insisted. ‘What do you want us to do first?’

  A strong, warm hand settled on her shoulder. ‘Let’s give Edie a second,’ Ryan said.

  ‘I don’t know why she’s crying,’ Ted said. ‘We look after our own.’

  Ted left and Edie turned to Ryan, pressing herself against him. ‘I can’t speak.’

  His embrace warmed her more than the sunshine. More than the laughter and happy chatter surrounding them.

  ‘You don’t have to. Just know how much everybody loves you.’

  By four o’clock, even Edie was beginning to feel part of the gang. Enthusiasm was dulling her anxieties, as though they’d been put in a barrel and the lid nailed down, giving them no air to breathe.

  She and her mother had hung blackout curtains over the barn windows, while her dad and Nick and Ted moved all the town hall chairs into position in the auditorium space.

  She stopped for a breather and put her hands to her cheeks, overcome once more by the power of everyone’s care. Then she checked her hands. They were black from the curtain dye, and now, probably, so was her face. Still, what did a bit of dirt matter when gratefulness had broken through her worries, and maybe happiness walked a cautious road from somewhere inside her too.

  Ryan had gone into town to meet Vince and Cameron, and Nick was in charge of protection, along with her father. Neith
er man had let her out of their sight.

  Marcus had been silent and had refused to comment about the issue now blazoned in the newspapers in Sydney and in California. According to the suddenly infamous editor of the local newspaper—who appeared to think he had first call on whatever Edie was thinking, let alone doing—she was being coddled by the townspeople who had ‘surrounded their famous daughter with a protective wall’.

  That was all the truth and she still couldn’t quite believe it. The local newspaper and its silly news report hadn’t dented anyone’s enthusiasm for the play—it had doubled the interest. The play was going ahead. The ticket numbers had skyrocketed and Ted said he’d lend her fifty more chairs from the town hall. They’d added two matinees to cope with the numbers.

  Edie walked behind the partitioned dressing rooms that used to be Ryan’s bedroom to wash her hands, and tried to remove the black dye from her cheek but it wasn’t going to budge. In fact, she was grubby all over. Her white singlet was covered in dye, plus dust from the cobwebs they’d brushed off the windows, and an unsightly dab of jam from the donut the Tillman twins insisted she eat.

  She picked up her lightweight cardigan from the back of a chair and pulled it on.

  A car’s engine sounded, although it wasn’t the familiar purr of Ryan’s four-wheel drive.

  When she headed out of the barn, her protectors followed. Not close, just a few paces behind her. They were trying their best not to make her feel uncomfortable, but the reminder they gave her sent little sparks of irritation up her spine. Irritation with Marcus and his underhand abuse. She tried to tell herself that if it wasn’t for writing him into her play and killing him off, he’d still be abusing others and nobody would know. But that didn’t stop the jolting reminder that she was centre stage in this black drama.

  It was a hire car—and driving it was Tony!

  She ran to him when he got out, and was immediately embraced, his long arms hugging her.

  ‘Darling, what’s happened to you?’ Tony asked as he pulled from their hug and held her at arm’s length.

  Edie fastened a couple of buttons on her cardigan, attempting to cover the dirty white singlet. ‘This is just the other me, swanning around my estate fixing things.’

  Tony gave her a studied look. ‘You look amazing!’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’s like a fire has been lit inside you. You’re glowing.’

  ‘It’s sweat.’

  ‘It’s love, darling.’

  Edie ignored that.

  ‘I’m sans Jonathon,’ Tony advised, ‘but he sends his kisses. He’s also sending you a lawyer. You’re going to need one.’

  She’d undoubtedly need one.

  ‘He’s paying for Damien’s lawyer, and he’s offering to pay for yours too.’

  ‘He’s the best man ever, Tony, but no thank you.’

  ‘How much money have you got?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Rubbish. You’re lying. It’s written all over your face—beneath the dirt and the countrified glow.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone to help me any more than they already are, or have.’ It was the first decision she’d made when she’d felt the love and warmth of sisterhood in the girls’ booth at Kookaburra’s. When she’d watched how strong their friendship was and when she’d recognised that they not only stood by each other, but they stood up for themselves. ‘I’ll do this myself,’ she told Tony, and she’d remain firm on this.

  ‘Spoken like a true diva. Now shut up and take what’s offered.’ He spun around, rubbing his hands as he viewed the activity going on by the barn. ‘I love the country. So much air. Where are my services needed first?’

  ‘We’re just about done. The cast wanted to rehearse later, but I said no. I think they’ve worked hard enough for one day.’

  ‘Can’t wait for my first rehearsal. Who’s the ice-cream man who’s playing the detective?’

  ‘The one waving the gavel and shouting orders.’

  ‘Good heavens—perfect. Where’s the simpleton?’

  Edie didn’t want to let on to Tony that Simon the farrier might be Simon the arch enemy or brutal murderer. They didn’t know for sure, and even though Simon was irritating—didn’t the man ever get angry?—Edie couldn’t believe he was out to do her harm. ‘He had an unexpected farrier job to deal with.’ He’d had quite a few callouts in the last number of days. More than usual. ‘You’ll meet him tomorrow. But see that woman over there doing star jumps? She’s the opera singer.’

  Tony watched Magdalena for a few moments, apparently entranced—or bemused—then turned to Edie with an incredulous look. ‘How do you do it, Edie Granger? Delightful! Can they act?’

  ‘Yes, they can.’ Mainly because they were made for their roles, but they had both learned so much about motivation and timing and characterisation. Edie was very proud of them.

  ‘Now listen, before I forget,’ Tony said with a gleam in his eyes, using his actor-in-charge tone. ‘David Whitcombe wants your number.’

  Whitcombe? Only Australia’s most acclaimed playwright and director. But what did he want? To let her know how much he admired her? Or did he want her number in order to tell her if she ever took her sorry backside to Sydney again he’d be the first to pan her for the bad coverage she’d landed on the theatre-world’s shoulders?

  ‘He didn’t know where to find you so he came straight to me,’ Tony said. ‘He wants you for the part of Millicent Gray.’

  Edie gasped. Modern Persuasion. A new play. The new play. That’s how it had been hailed for nearly a year now while it was being written. Whitcombe had graciously worked with new and up-and-coming writers, giving them the greatest opportunity of playwriting development they’d likely ever have. He’d overseen it all, sharing his expertise. Some who’d had the chance to read parts of the script said it was breathtaking and were already calling it a hit.

  ‘I can’t,’ she began, her mind befuddled.

  Tony gave her an exasperated look. ‘This is it, Edie! You’re back, darling. This is the part.’

  ‘I’ve got too much to do here.’ Although suddenly she couldn’t think of a single thing.

  Millicent Gray! Feminist and highly decorated Australian woman for the part she played in WWII. Following her astonishing life with the French Resistance, after finding herself trapped in France and getting on with it, she returned safely to her home shores and became one of the country’s staunchest advocators of women and their right to be female.

  What a part!

  Tony gave her his not-taking-any-nonsense look. ‘I shall give him your number.’

  ‘No, don’t. I mean …’ Gosh—Millicent Gray!

  ‘It’s simple,’ she once said. ‘Women are human.’ That had stirred up the male-dominated corridors of parliament and governments across the country, who obviously wanted to denounce this outrageous proclamation. But it was the 1950s, heading into the sixties, and the world was about to change, and Millicent remained staunch.

  Whitcombe wanted Edie for the most anticipated part in the history of Australian theatre? It was unbelievable. ‘He doesn’t mind about the rumours?’ she asked.

  ‘Says he’s on your side. Says Buchanan should get himself out of Sydney for good and stay in California along with his trite, banal plays and movies—not that the Hollywood elite want him either, mind you. But God knows, banal and trite earns money.’

  ‘Gosh,’ she said, entirely bemused.

  ‘Everyone’s being gung-ho and not blaming you, my precious.’

  ‘Really?’ Edie bit her bottom lip. ‘My people here are the same,’ she said in a rush. ‘They’ve been marvellous! They don’t blame me either.’ Apart from Mrs Ormond, maybe.

  ‘So it’s a yes?’

  She wasn’t ready to tell Tony she didn’t want the part, and truthfully, she didn’t want to make the decision absolute until she’d got over the shock of being offered it. Neither did she want her friends and family to think she was about to pack her bags and l
eave after everything they’d done for her.

  ‘Everyone adores you, darling, but they’re going to be outrageously jealous about this.’ Tony said it as though it was a given she’d take the role.

  She’d let him think that, for the moment. ‘Our ticket sales have soared,’ she said, taking him off the subject of the part of Millicent Gray by the David Whitcombe. ‘Who Shot the Producer is a sell out.’

  Tony opened his mouth to speak but stopped when he caught sight of something over Edie’s shoulder. ‘Who’s the voracious little terrier in the plastic rain hat?’

  Edie smothered a smile, and turned to the garden beside the barn. ‘Ada Ormond. She’s trying not to hate me. And she’s never met a gay man,’ she added quickly, making Tony aware of the delicate situation. ‘Not that she knows of, anyway.’

  ‘Introduce me,’ Tony said, pulling his shoulders back and rubbing his hands together again.

  Edie walked him over to where Mrs Ormond was pulling up jasmine, which had rooted all around a buried fish pond Mrs Tam had discovered.

  ‘Tony, this is Mrs Ada Ormond—and this is my good friend Tony Summerfield, Mrs Ormond. He’s playing the leading man.’

  ‘My dear Ada,’ Tony said before Mrs Ormond had a chance to change her expression from suspicious to ornery. Tony took her hand in both of his. ‘May I call you Ada?’ He leaned down slightly and being the tall, lanky type, he wasn’t encroaching on Mrs Ormond’s personal space. He was so good at this kind of role. A long sophisticated drink of sparkling water, like he’d just stepped out of the 1940s.

  ‘Are you gay?’ Mrs Ormond asked.

  Edie had to clamp her lips together before she let out an unguarded laugh.

  ‘Yes,’ Tony affirmed, in all seriousness. ‘So you’re safe from me, dear lady.’ He paused, and studied dear Ada’s face. ‘What superb bone structure you have. I bet you had countless men after you when you were younger. I tell you what, let’s get out of this weed-filled garden and take a seat on that delightful iron bench over there.’ He took her elbow. ‘I want to hear all about your beaus and how your husband won your heart. It will help me with my motivation in the play.’