I closed the garage door and Doug emerged from the ute’s cab.
In the week since he and I had talked, I’d thought long and hard about Tim’s predicament and, to a certain extent, my own circumstances. I’d come up with realistic options, only to discard them later because the only way any of them could be brought successfully to fruition was if Doug sold the farm.
Doug rounded the gatepost and walked up the driveway.
Just as I had when I’d gone visiting, Doug had spruced himself up in newish (or rather less-old) moleskins, one of the checked shirts he’d always favoured, and worn-down but polished RM Williams boots. And he’d had a haircut.
‘I had to come into town,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d drop past while I was here. I don’t come in often.’ He tilted his chin towards the house. ‘I see they’ve tarted up the place since the bikies moved out.’
I could tell by the way he shuffled his feet, and wouldn’t meet my eye, that Doug was nervous.
‘Syd next door said the bikies never lived here, they only visited,’ I said.
‘Semantics,’ he said with a sceptical snort. ‘And don’t go believing everything Sydney Greene tells you.’
‘He seems harmless enough, and the rent was in my price range.’
We stood in the driveway, about two metres and a lifetime separating us. His eyes bored into mine, his lips severe. ‘Well, I haven’t got any money you can have, so if that’s what this exercise is all about, you’re wasting your time.’
Count to ten, I told myself.
‘No, Doug, this isn’t about your money.’ I said. ‘If I had wanted money, you would have heard from me long before now. But Tim is entitled to what he’s earned.’
‘He’s had a roof over his head, clothes, food, fuel for his vehicle—’
‘That might have been enough for you, but he wants more out of life, and who are you to say he can’t have it?’
A silvery-grey sedan drove past at a crawl, two sets of eyes trained on us from within, before it turned into the driveway at the house opposite.
‘Come inside,’ I said, scooting for the front door. ‘I have no intention of being fodder for the Miners Ridge rumour mill.’
I waited on the verandah for him to catch up. He followed me inside. The afternoon sun coming in through the front windows had taken the chill out of the air. I threw the car keys onto the coffee table and shrugged off my jacket, draping it over the back of the armchair.
‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
He sat down on the sofa, the only indication he’d heard me.
‘Tea?’
‘Thanks,’ he said, grudgingly, but no more grudgingly than my offer. I was disappointed we hadn’t been able to say all of what needed to be said standing in the driveway.
In the kitchen I fumbled with everything, spilling sugar onto the counter and jamming my finger in the cutlery drawer. I swore under my breath and ran cold water on the finger.
Doug had caught me on the back foot. Tim said he rarely left the property and I’d never dreamed he’d visit me here. Ironic really, because I’d done the same thing to him. I bet in his wildest dreams he’d never imagined I’d show up at the farm.
He was standing at the window when I took the tea out and set it down on the coffee table.
He smoothed a hand across his jaw, and looked around the sitting room. ‘You always did know how to turn a house into a home, Sarah.’
I settled into the armchair, making myself as comfortable as his presence allowed. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I said, and he inclined his head, sat down and replied stiffly, ‘It was meant to be.’
‘Where were we?’ I said. ‘Ah, Tim, and what you owe him,’ I added, answering my own question.
Doug’s chest expanded and his bottom lip jutted. I braced myself. ‘There is no money,’ he said, biting out the words.
‘No cash, but you forget I used to do the books. Sell off some of the land.’
His jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious? There’s barely enough land to scrape through with as it is. Farms are getting bigger, not smaller.’
My tea was cooling in front of me. I let it. ‘So Doug, what are you going to do long term? Tim will leave, eventually, with or without your blessing. How will you manage then? You’ll have to pay someone. Or sell some land.’
‘Liam’s pretty keen.’
‘Liam? He’s ten!’
‘He loves the farm.’
‘You’ll be over eighty when he’s anywhere near an age to be working. And he might love it now, but there’s a long time for him to change his mind.’
Doug refused to meet my eye. I sat forward in the armchair. ‘Liam is not the answer. And don’t even suggest that Amelia might marry a bloke who’s interested. She’s eight!’
He put down his cup and folded his arms. ‘What do you suggest then?’ he said, glaring, with a return of his usual belligerence.
‘Face it, you’ll eventually have to sell the whole place. I wasn’t there long last week but it was long enough to see how rundown the house and the outbuildings are. The longer you hang on to it, the worse it’ll get.’
‘That’s been Fairley land for—’
‘Four generations. I get that, Doug. And Luke would have been the fifth generation. But Luke isn’t here. So what is your succession plan? And don’t say the grandchildren because that’s not a realistic option.’
He stood up and for a second I thought he was going to walk out. Then he reached for his empty cup and said, ‘Mind if I make myself another one?’
‘Go right ahead,’ I said. He eyeballed my untouched drink. I suppose I could have leapt to my feet and offered to make him more tea, to rustle up something to eat, but I found I couldn’t bring myself to do any of that. For thirty-five years I’d fed and watered him. I wasn’t picking up where I’d left off. The interesting thing was, I don’t think he wanted me to.
He came back a few minutes later and sat down. Hot impatience surged through me.
From the first day I’d stepped over the threshold of the Fairley homestead, Joylene had advised me in no uncertain terms that I’d never have any claim to the precious Fairley land. Anyone would think it was on the fertile Adelaide Plains, not the rocky, droughtprone Mid North, a portion of it the wrong side of Goyder’s Line.
But I’d been in love and would have done anything to please my new husband. Naively, I’d expected a similar commitment in return.
To my knowledge Doug had never, ever considered how it had been for me— transplanted from the city, away from my family, my friends, my career. And he’d never contradicted his mother. I used to think it was because he didn’t want to cause any upset, but it didn’t take me many years to accept that, basically, he agreed with her: Fairley land had always belonged to Fairleys, and it always would.
In hindsight it still surprised me that I hadn’t been asked to sign a prenuptial agreement, because with a good lawyer … I quickly quelled that train of thought.
Doug cleared his throat. I started. I’d been a million miles away.
‘Doug, I’m going to file for a divorce,’ I said. ‘And I’m going to go back to using my maiden name.’
Where had that come from? I had no notion I was going to say it, but had no inclination to retract.
‘Why?’ he said, and believe it or not, he looked perplexed. Then his expression darkened with indignation. ‘I know why, you’ve met another bloke!’
I laughed, because what he’d said was funny. He glowered at me. This surely was uncharted territory, for both of us.
‘No, I haven’t met anyone else. But we’ve been over for years, Doug. And why would I want to keep the Fairley name when I’ll never be thought of as a Fairley?’
He shifted uncomfortably. I noticed there was a button missing from his shirt. And he’d already managed to down the second cup of tea.
‘There were some good years, weren’t there?’ he said, but the words were laced with uncertainty.
/> ‘We had four gorgeous children, Doug. I’d always assumed we’d grow old together, that we’d get to know each other all over again. But Luke died and you shut me out. I gave you three years to let me in again, to meet me halfway … A quarter of the way—’ I threw my hands in the air, then let them drop onto my thighs with a loud slap. Blood roared in my ears. ‘To meet me anywhere! I didn’t care, I just wanted you to talk to me … To share the load of our loss. But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. I went when I couldn’t bear it any longer. It was my way of an ultimatum. But you called my bluff. You continued to ignore me, and cut me off without a cent.’
I shoved myself to my feet, my voice rising. ‘I gave you four children and thirty-five years of my life—and when it really counted, I didn’t. You took little notice of your remaining children and totally disregarded that we were all grieving. Since then you’ve treated your son like a slave, and ignored your eldest daughter.
‘Tell me why I wouldn’t want to divorce you? Give me a reason to want to keep calling myself a Fairley? I can’t believe I haven’t already divorced you.’
He looked stunned. I felt raw but remarkably dry-eyed. My stomach churned and I was grateful I hadn’t touched the tea. I flopped down into the armchair and buried my face in my hands.
‘I think I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I probably shouldn’t have come in the first place.’ But he made no move to leave.
We sat for several minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to me before now to file for a divorce and revert to my maiden name? Why hadn’t Grace ever mentioned it? Or did our children all hold a secret hope that Doug and I would reconcile?
Lowe, I thought, running the name around in my head. Sarah Jane Lowe. With it came a lightness, and joy. I’d liked being Sarah Jane Lowe. Being Sarah Jane Fairley had been damned hard work.
‘No,’ I said, looking up. ‘I’m pleased you came. We … I … needed to say some of this. And we haven’t worked out what we’ll do to help Tim.’
He shrugged and his whole body shifted.
‘And there’s another thing, Doug. I’m hoping you’ll tell me why you shut me out after Luke died.’
33
The sun had set and the sitting room was getting dark. Doug didn’t make any moves to leave. I turned on lights and closed the drapes. He stared at his hands, fingers loosely clasped in his lap.
‘I blamed myself,’ he said, stopping me in my tracks on the way to tip out my tea.
‘What do you mean? It was an accident. He came off his trail bike when he hit a tree. How can that have been your fault? We always knew he rode too fast.’
When he started talking, his voice sounded as if it were coming at me from a long way away. Suddenly weak-kneed, I put the tea down on the coffee table and plonked down onto the arm of the chair.
‘It had been a mongrel of a day. Machinery breakdowns, fences busted and sheep in with the neighbours, and as usual there was too much to do.’ He paused.
‘And?’ I prompted.
‘We argued.’
‘You always argued. You both seemed to enjoy it.’
His lips twisted. ‘Yeah, but this time it was different.’
‘How come? What did you argue about?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I don’t know, Doug, does it?’
He rubbed his fingers across his lips, back and forth. ‘He was smitten by some girl and he wanted to move in with her. Get married. She wasn’t even twenty. I told him they were too young, told him to start thinking with the head on his shoulders not the one between his legs.
‘He was in a real snit. Said he knew I wouldn’t understand, but they were in love, or some such bullshit. I told him to trust me that he’d get over it. He took off on his bike like a bat out of hell. I let him go, thought we’d talk again after he’d had a chance to cool down. I knew he’d eventually see sense.’ He stopped and took a deep breath, his bottom lip quivering. ‘Only the next time I saw him was to identify his body at the hospital morgue.’
‘Oh, Doug … Who was the girl?’ I said, trying not to sound hurt that Luke had never said anything to me.
‘No idea,’ he said, and dodged my gaze. He was lying. If he hadn’t known for sure, then he’d definitely suspected who she was.
Knowing Doug the way I did, if she hadn’t come up to scratch as a suitable girlfriend for a Fairley, that would have been strong enough motivation for him to discourage Luke’s pursuit of her.
I remember how it was to be told you were hardly good enough to carry the Fairley name. Poor Luke, and whoever the girl was.
‘I’m at a loss as to what to say, Doug. If you’re looking for absolution—’
‘I’m not looking for anything,’ he snapped. ‘You wanted to know, so there it is. I blame myself. Oh, I can rationalise that yes, it was an accident, nothing I could control. But if we hadn’t argued—’
‘Yeah, if,’ I said. ‘The most redundant word in the English language.’
‘If you’d known we’d argued just before it happened, you would have blamed me as well.’
‘So you froze me out instead.’
‘It wasn’t a conscious decision, Sarah, not at first. I was numb.’
‘We were all numb. I bargained with God to give Luke back and take me in his stead, and I don’t even believe in God!’
‘I’ve had a long time to think about the choices I made back then … Losing you was a fair punishment for what I’d done.’
‘Who made you the judge and jury?’
‘Every time I looked at you I saw Luke. You leaving? I decided that was no more or less than I deserved. But I couldn’t have borne it if Faith and Tim, and Grace of course, discovered my part in it and chose to walk away as well. Ironic really, because Grace and Tim barely tolerate me now because of how I treated you.’
He looked pathetic, but I felt no compassion for him at that moment. All I felt was the need to lash out. His arrogance, his own toxic self-absorption, had cost us all so dearly.
‘So you decided I was dispensable, but your remaining children weren’t,’ I said, cold as ice, and he winced.
‘It was more complicated than that.’
‘It didn’t sounded complicated the way you just told it.’
‘Needless to say, I’d do things differently now,’ he said, eyes cast down.
‘Needless to say if I’d known I was so expendable I wouldn’t have stayed and put up with your hateful silence for as long as I did.’
‘You’re a strong woman, Sarah. I knew you’d do what you had to do in the end. You had Grace in your corner, and she’s a lot like you.’
‘She’s your daughter as well, no matter what your mother used to say.’
‘I know that, Sarah. I know there was never any doubt Grace was mine.’
‘Well, you could have told your mother that.’
‘It was none of her business.’
‘She made it her business.’ I folded my arms, hugging myself tightly. I was being bitchy but any mention of Joylene Fairley put me on the defensive. ‘Why are we talking about your mother?’
‘Beats me. You brought her up, and I won’t apologise for her. She’s been gone for a long time, and she only ever had my best interests at heart. She’d lost her husband, and I was her only child.’
‘I was your wife!’
He didn’t say anything to that, but I could feel him watching me. He stood up. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Yes, I think you should.’ I sounded waspish, even to my own ears.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah, for what it’s worth.’
Not much, I thought. But then, I had asked.
He left and I closed the door and locked it. Without waiting for him to walk to his ute, I turned off the front light. We hadn’t resolved anything when it came to Tim. I was disappointed about that but didn’t have it in me to call him back.
My choice now was whether to pace the room and rant and rave at no one, giggle hysterically or cry myself into exhaus
tion.
No wife wanted to discover she’d been deemed expendable, not after putting in a solid three-and-a-half decades. But I knew when I’d worked through the bitterness that I’d be thankful to finally have some answers.
What I really craved was to hear Grace’s voice; hear her disparage her father in my defence. I glanced at the time. She’d be at work or commuting. I’d have to wait.
I boiled the electric kettle, but then didn’t make tea. I opened the fridge but the sight of food made me nauseous. So I used the hot water to fill a hot water bottle, changed into my pyjamas and went to bed. I’d try and make more sense of it all in the morning.
Grace didn’t need to hear me go on about what a self-absorbed and heartless man her father was. As much as I longed to talk to her, to hear her counsel, I wouldn’t. What went on between Doug and I should stay between us. It was our baggage to sort out and there was no reason to burden Grace with it, like I’d readily done in the past.
The next morning I lay snuggly warm in bed and rewound the previous evening’s conversation with Doug. My recall of the horrific time after Luke’s death, and the anxiety-ridden months leading up to my departure, hadn’t faded as much as I’d like.
Luke had been close to his dad and I understood the depth of Doug’s grief. But he’d been my baby and a part of me had died that day. A person’s grief should never be measured against another’s, and then deemed wanting or irrelevant. And that’s how I’d felt — that my grief had been meaningless.
The day of Luke’s accident in late July had been bitterly cold. I’d watched with a sense of foreboding as the local police vehicle had bumped up the rutted drive to the homestead. It was one of those moments when you know life is about to be turned on its head.
My first thought had been for Tim, working away in the mines. But would the police bring that news? What about Grace? A car accident? But I’d talked to her only that morning, and to Faith only an hour or so before. Then I remembered my light-headedness when I contemplated it might be Doug. I didn’t want to consider that the tragic news would involve Luke.
When Grace Went Away Page 21