by T. S. Simons
'Oh. What did you come up with?'
'I think I want to be a doctor, like Auntie Sorcha.'
Kat and Sorcha would likely murder each other, I thought, but spoke supportively. 'That is a wonderful thing to do, to help other people. And the others?'
'Louis wants to help grow things, feed people, like dad. Xanthe wants to be a writer and write children's books.'
I smiled hearing this. That would suit Xanthe to a tee. I could envisage her sitting in a shed, writing stories about animals, much like Beatrix Potter.
'And Thorsten?'
Kat grimaced. 'He didn't understand the question and kept insisting he would be a firefighter. We kept explaining that we didn't have them here, that we didn't need them as there is no fire. But he started to cry, so we let him.'
'Where on earth did he hear about being a firefighter?'
'Well, he has those pyjamas you got him, the one he wears as a t-shirt.'
'Ahh, of course.'
'And Miss Bridget has some books with pictures. One has pictures of police, fire, and ambulance. Thorsten loves that book and reads it all day.'
'Oh, I see. Well, lots of children in Australia wanted to be police, firefighters, or paramedics. Your grandfather, dad's father, was a paramedic. He saved lots of people.'
Kat's eyes popped wide. 'Were you always in danger?'
'What do you mean?'
'If you needed police to save you from bad people, firefighters to save you from fires, and paramedics in ambulances to save you from accidents and being sick, was it such a dangerous place? Even Aunt Illy and Uncle Luca protected people, being in the army. They carried guns and killed bad people. We don't have any of those things here, and people don't die.'
Fighting to retain the neutrality on my face, I wondered how much was too much to explain to a child, albeit one wise beyond her years.
'Well, for starters, a lot more people lived before. Millions. Tens of millions. Cities were far bigger than anything I can describe, some bigger than all of Lewis. Lots of people lived in small apartments. Have you seen apartments?'
'You mean those tall buildings that look like boxes stacked on top of each other? Where they only get a small window to see out of?'
'They weren't that bad, but yes. Lots of people lived in those. Or houses like ours. Some people didn't have a house. They travelled in caravans, and some people were homeless. It was a very different time.'
'People had no home?'
'Some,' I admitted. 'Often they had no jobs, therefore no money and nowhere to live.'
'Why didn't you help them?' Her eyebrows raised to her hairline in horror as the volume and pitch raised. 'How did they eat? Miss Bridget told us that everything cost money in the old times. If they didn't work, how did they buy food?'
This was rapidly getting us into complex territory. 'Things were different—then. People didn't look after each other the way they do now. People looked after themselves, their own family and friends. We worked hard to make money. There were so many people, sweetheart. I guess there was a feeling that we couldn't care for everyone, so we didn't. Everyone just looked after themselves.'
'Were lots of people homeless then?'
'Not really. Quite a small number, I guess. I never really thought about it.'
'But if each family helped one person, would that have fixed the problem?'
I could see where this was going. 'I guess…'
'So why didn't they?'
'Because it just wasn't what people did,' I admitted, somewhat sheepishly, remembering. How many times had I walked past a homeless person on the streets of any city in the world begging? A ratty sleeping bag or stained blanket behind them. A note scribbled on cardboard, asking for help. I had travelled extensively for my age and accepted that these problems plagued every modern society. How many times had the pungent smell of an unwashed body struck my nose, and I had cringed and looked away? Once, I had seen a scared teenage girl begging outside Flinders Street Station with a suitcase and her cat, evidently thrown out of home.
'Some people helped. Daddy and Auntie Sorcha's mother used to help people all the time. Invite them for meals. Buy them clothes. Then there were larger groups that provided housing and meals. Helped them find a job.'
'But you didn't? Your family?'
I sighed. 'Sweetheart, I am going to tell you something very difficult to admit, and something I am not terribly proud of. My parents were not always kind people. My parents both helped others in their own way. My mother was a special type of doctor, and she helped people with their problems. Not like Auntie Sorcha or Jorja, she wasn't that kind of doctor, but she helped lots of people. My father helped people in other countries, poor people, but he didn't do the work himself. He was an economist, an academic. A clever, special kind of teacher if you like. But I never saw either of them help a homeless person in their own city. I guess they both felt that they helped in their own way… and they did. So because they never did it, I never thought to do it either. Does that make sense?'
She nodded, but I could see she didn't get it.
I tried again. 'I guess many people felt the problem was too big for just them, so they did nothing. Other people did a lot.'
'But there were still problems?'
'Definitely. I guess many people thought that was why they paid tax, and the government should deal with the problem. That is why dad and I love it here so much. Every single person's job is to help each other. No one starves. No one is homeless. And despite what Thorsten thinks, we don't need police, fire or ambulance, or the army. Or many other things that we needed then. Maybe it is just because there are far fewer people here. But mostly as we are a family and care about each other.'
'We learned about government at school, people who set the rules. What is tax?'
'Ah, that is another thing I am glad to leave behind. It is like what Aunt Illy does. You know how she runs her business? People trade what they grow or make, but she keeps a small part for herself as payment for making the trade? That is like a tax. But it used to be that people went to work, and earned money, but they had to pay part of their money to the government. That tax paid for schools and roads and hospitals. The more money you earned, the more tax you paid.'
'That isn't fair! If I work harder, I should get to keep my money!'
'And that, my darling, is the lifelong issue with tax. No one enjoys paying it, but it is necessary.'
'So why is there no tax here?'
I considered that. 'At some point, I think there will be. There will come a point where we need things that everyone wants and uses. It is fair in most ways, as everyone pays for something that we all use. Even shared places like libraries were built using tax.'
Glancing at the sky, the changing colours heralded the coming of dusk. 'Come on, we need to get home, or no one will eat tonight.'
Surrounded by shredded pieces of brown wrapping paper, I glanced at Cam guiltily. Rarely did we have single-use items here, but at least basic brown paper could be reused as paper for lists or notes. Like ourselves as children, our four adored pulling the wrapping off their few Christmas gifts, mostly books and clothes sourced when we were in Fremantle for that single day. Things Cam had collected in Adelaide. But each child had received a special item, something just for them.
Thorsten was obsessed with the stash of Lego we had sourced and was carefully putting coloured bricks together and pulling them apart. Louis had received more technical Lego, including a replica of the Sydney Opera House. Cam grinned at me. He had badly wanted to get Star Wars Lego for Louis, but had finally been convinced that this was so far beyond what Louis could comprehend that it probably wasn't a good idea. Katrin had received a beautiful cloth-covered lockable diary, with Australian wildflowers on the front, and a set of coloured pens. Xanthe, an easel and watercolour paints. I noted the gifts hadn't left their laps as they read their new books and held up their new clothes amidst peals of laughter.
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nbsp; A sense of joy permeated the room. My parents would never have permitted a mess like this, even temporarily. We would have been reprimanded for chattering and squealing as our girls were doing now. My parents expected us to unwrap calmly and respectfully, never tearing the paper, but taking the appropriate time to consider each gift and giving thanks before moving on. But Cam's own Christmas mornings had been like this. Chaotic. Up early, presents first, then a family breakfast. After breakfast, he and Sorcha went to play with their gifts while the parents cleaned up. I desperately wanted that for my own children. To give them that unshakable knowledge that they were the centre of our world. The sense of joy that permeated the room told me we had achieved that.
Isla and Fraser were hosting this year, for which I was immensely grateful. We hadn't recovered from our harvest festival a few months before, and had spent weeks covering the pit, cleaning sheds, returning crockery and misplaced items. Each family at Roseglen took turns to host Christmas, although we were all secretly dreading Jamie and Jacinda's turn, as they had recently announced that they had become vegan. While we happily catered for them, it probably wasn't reasonable for them to cater to us under the circumstances.
'It might do us all good,' I had told Cam the previous week, walking home from dinner at their place, as he moaned about being served yet another stir fry for dinner. 'There is nothing wrong with rice and vegetables.'
'I can live without meat, most of the time, but it is no eggs, no milk. Cheese is one of the great pleasures of life! How do they do it?'
'Illy would agree with you. She is adamant that cheese is one of the essential food groups.'
Cam started to cook breakfast as I showed the children how to fold the wrapping paper and save it for later. They all disappeared to their rooms with their precious new items, and I smiled, watching them go.
'Merry Christmas, my love.' I wrapped my arms around Cam as he stood facing the biogas, my chin pressed against his back. Lowering the heat, he turned side-on, holding me against him as he deftly flipped the waffle iron.
'Every Christmas we spend together is wonderful.' He kissed me ardently before returning his attention to the blackened cast iron pan. 'We missed so many. It always feels like we are playing catch-up.'
'I know what you mean.' I kissed his cheek and turned to fill the coffee machine with water, check the beans and turn it on. The burring roar of beans grinding putting an end to conversation for a moment. As it quieted, I said, 'We missed one because of Heidi. Lena. Do you remember?'
'How could I forget! I spent weeks in hospital and in bed. Because of her, we missed our first Christmas together.'
'You aren't alone. She tried to slit my throat!' I pulled my sleeve back to display the decade-old scar running the length of my forearm, still clear against my lightly tanned skin, the fresher wounds crisscrossing. I paused, considering. 'Do you ever wonder what happened to her?'
'No. I can honestly say I don't waste a second thinking about her. I will confess to asking Jamie about Jenny, Phil, Kelly, Kai, and some others. But her? No. Life is far too short to waste on people who tried to kill me.'
'Who tried to kill you, dad?' Kat asked as she entered the kitchen, Xanthe close behind.
'No one. Well, actually, someone did, but it was a very long time ago.'
'Why?' The incredulousness in her voice matched the hair toss and haughty stance.
'Jealousy over your mother. Long before I came here, I'm too boring now. No one would bother killing me.'
'That is true enough,' Kat replied in her usual forthright manner, and Cam turned to look at her in mock outrage.
'Thanks so much!'
'My pleasure,' she simpered. 'But seriously, dad. Your work isn't exactly dangerous, is it? You grow stuff. Not like Uncle Luca. Or even Auntie Illy. They both worked in dangerous places. Luca got shot, twice! And his armoured personnel carrier was blown up.'
'Yes, I know,' Cam muttered. We had heard this story many times. Our children were now of an age where Luca's pre-Lewis life seemed far-fetched and incredible. They loved sitting around as he regaled them with stories of life on the road, recovery missions in war zones. Helping people, living out of a tent. They thought of it as thrilling. Much like Hollywood blockbusters had seemed to us in our own childhood.
'Well, it's true, dad. You and mum went to school, which is so boring,' she drawled with the attitude of any teenager. 'Now you live here, which is even more boring. Nothing ever happens here. Luca's life must have been amazing!'
'Boring is just the way I like it.' Cam smiled at her. 'Now, what do you want on your waffles?'
It was that glorious time of year when the days were warming up, but the nights blissfully cool. Getting in a warm bed at night was a treat made even more delicious with the addition of a warm male. The male in the bed was already dozing as I raced around, finishing a hundred minor jobs, and slipped in beside him, sighing with the relief of lying down. It had been a busy day. Lots of early spring births kept me moving, and I was enjoying not being on my feet.
Cam heard my sigh, and I saw his mouth quirk in the dim light.
'That bad, is it?' he teased.
'Not bad, just tired,' I admitted. 'Every year I forget how tiring spring is. But usually we spread the workload over the year. This year…'
Cam sensed the shift in my mood and rolled up onto his side, his warm arm snaking its way across my stomach. Turning to look at him, the concern in his face made me melt.
'I'm okay. I just feel so guilty that I was happy much of that time, and she was alone.'
'That is the problem with guilt, isn't it? Often it is an illogical emotion. You know perfectly well that you weren't responsible, that you didn't even know she was still alive. But you blame yourself all the same.'
'That is it, exactly.'
'The guilt I felt when you went missing was indescribable,' he said, a little strangled with the emotion of that hideous time. 'Logically, I knew it wasn't my fault, but people blamed me. I felt so horribly guilty. I fell asleep and hadn't realised you had gone missing until morning. I didn't know where you were or what happened. Alive? Dead? I had no idea. You left for work one day and never came home.'
The pain radiating from his warm body pierced me, and I rolled into his arms.
'I'm so sorry. I never meant to leave. I just wanted to warm my frozen feet. Truly. I… I called for you as it sucked me under. The last thing I remember is screaming your name, praying that you would pluck me out of the maelstrom.'
'I would have jumped in after you,' he breathed in my ear as his hands wrapped around my back. 'I would follow you anywhere. But you can call me now. I'm here.'
'Have you seen Cam?' I called. I could see Sorcha leaving the greenhouse furthest from our homes the next day. The evening sun casting long, dark shadows across the valley. A peaceful time, but I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. My arms were filled with skeins of wool from the McLarens, where I had spent the day helping with their new livestock. I fervently hoped Jacinda would offer to spin them. I hated spinning and couldn't knit a stitch.
'Not since this morning,' she replied, crinkling her nose, before adjusting the freshly picked vegetables in her basket, the carrots about to tumble out into the mud. 'He was heading out to help Luca bottle the whisky. He said something about sending whisky to Newgrange.'
'It is a thank you gift for Tadhg and Jake, for all of their help in cloaking us when we travelled to August. Cam took Louis too. They needed an extra set of hands to help seal the casks and load them onto the horses. Get them down the hill and onto the carts. Louis was thrilled to miss a day of school.'
'They always are. You better not tell Sam. He will be most jealous. He much preferred Di to Bridget. She works them harder than Di did.'
Seeing the look of concern on my face, she softened slightly. 'They will be fine.'
'It is silly of me to worry, but I would have expected them home by now. The last time I arrived home to find Cam and
Louis gone was when Louis ended up in the hospital. Bad memories, I guess.'
Piercing screams muffled my final words. Sorcha and I looked at each other frantically as we tried to pinpoint the source in the still night air. Illy's house. We dropped our bundles and ran. My heart ran cold at the sound. Illy never screamed. We collided as she burst out her front door, and I reached out to steady her.
'What?' I asked anxiously, seeing her face blanched.
'Shot! He shot them!' she blurted in a manner very unlike Illy. Her voice broken and garbled, making it hard to distinguish the words.
'Who shot who?' Sorcha asked, gripping her arm.
'Angus. He shot Luca and Cam. Took Louis!' She managed to force the words out as the tears streamed down her face.
'Where?'
Watching Illy stiffen as she pulled herself together, she blurted, 'Sssss…. Stornoway.'
The next half-hour passed in a blur. Sorcha fetched the remaining golf cart from the shed. The drive to the harbour, seated in the back, beside Illy. The first thing I remember with crystal clarity was rounding the corner to the harbour and seeing Luca and Cam lying in a pool of their own blood on the concrete dock. The moonlight reflected its gleaming white surface in the puddles which spread around them both, joined in places. Through my daze, I heard Illy's cries. Sorcha jumped from the cart before it even came to a complete stop, frantically checking them both. She had brought her small bag, the only thing she had at home, and had time to grab. Luca was closest. Sorcha's grim face was illuminated in the moonlight.
'Torch!' she bellowed, and in my fog, I fossicked around in the cart for the large torch we carried for emergencies.
I watched in a daze as she moved across and checked Cam. 'He is alive! Barely. He has lost a lot of blood.'
'Luca?' Illy cried, drawing my attention to her kneeling in the puddle as she held him in her tiny arms. She looked like a child clutching a giant, I thought abstractedly. I glanced across at Sorcha as she swore and emptied her small bag on the ground, grabbing at items on the ground.