The Secrets We Keep

by Shirley Patton

  ‘No, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. See you soon.’ She hung up the phone and went looking for Amber’s present.

  The Christmas scene was a re-run of last year’s without the extra heat of the kitchen. As Aimee let herself in Lori’s front door, laden with platters, the cake box, presents and her bag, Antony once again came to her rescue and once again she was kissed and hugged by all the family. Every surface was covered in platters, men were carving meats, women arranging food, children running around out the back, and Nonna in repose on a lazyboy. Next to Nonna she could see an older couple talking to Patrick. As she looked, the woman came to the door and asked if she could do anything. It was Mrs King, the teacup lady.

  ‘No thanks, Aggie, you go sit down with Jack. We’re all organised. Aimee, here, take these outside.’

  Lori handed her two overfull platters of cold turkey and chicken. She stepped outside, greeted everyone, and marvelled at the Mediterranean setting Lori had again created for Christmas. The searing heat of the midday sun filtered through the grapevines onto the patio but a light breeze, blowing over the sprinklers on the lawns and the dampened paving, helped keep it cool. Trestle tables covered in white cloths ran down the centre but this year two additional tables for the buffet were set up against the far wall.

  She searched for a space to put the platters. The tables were covered in plates of salad, seafood, meats and breads, all protected from the flies by sheer cloths. She turned as Lori came up behind her bearing one of Aimee’s platters.

  ‘My speciality! Baked salmon,’ Lori declared. ‘Antony’s mate brought it from Esperance yesterday.’

  Up behind her came Patrick. He lifted the cloths and somehow they managed to squeeze the platters into the centre of the tables.

  She watched as Lori stood back and admired her handiwork. Patrick put an arm around Lori’s waist and she looked up at him. They held each other’s gaze then they both turned to her and the three of them smiled with their secret.

  ‘Okay, everyone, lunch is ready. Come on, you kids. Mum, get Angie and Gina to sort the kids out, Dad, can you serve up Nonna, Paddy, can you help Nonna up to the table, Aggie, you and Jack, please, help yourselves.’

  It was different but lunch had begun.

  The last lunch plate was being dried and put away as the afternoon guests started arriving. Despite their reservations, Lori’s parents had announced lunch a complete success and her mother said she didn’t know why they hadn’t done it sooner. Nonna said nothing. Aimee looked out at her, asleep under the grapevines, oblivious to the noise of children running around and nearby conversations. The centre tables had been moved to the edges of the patio, leftover food remained on the others, covered again by cloths, available for the afternoon’s guests. Other leftovers in the refrigerator would come out again for anyone still around at dinner.

  Gerry and Jan were the first to arrive, followed shortly after by Hayley, Ron and his wife Joy, Carol and her husband David. And Maureen. She looked awkward upon arrival but Lori jumped up and welcomed her. Lori had thought a lot about Maureen, she’d told Aimee, had meditated upon it and decided to invite her for Christmas drinks, upon which Maureen had disclosed that her elderly mother, whom she’d lived with all her life, had just been placed in a nursing home. When Lori touched her arm in sympathy, Maureen had cried.

  The things you don’t know about people, she thought, smiling to herself, as she poured wine into her glass. People were spread out around the patio, some sitting, some standing. Others had pulled chairs or blankets onto the grass, the shade now reaching across the lawn. She pulled up a chair next to Gerry and Jan.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, clinking their glasses. She smiled at them as they clinked back.

  Jan leant in closer, ‘Our last one here, probably,’ she ventured.

  ‘Shush, Jan,’ Gerry whispered, looking around. ‘I haven’t said anything to Paddy yet.’

  ‘Whoops,’ Jan said, faking horror.

  Paddy was in the far corner in a group chatting with Maureen, Ron and his wife, and Carol and her husband. Lori was sitting with her parents and Agnes, and Jack, who had joined Nonna in a little doze. Lori’s older sisters were playing with the children, their husbands flat out on the grass beside them, hands behind their heads, sunglasses on.

  ‘Where are you two going?’ she asked leaning in.

  ‘Not sure yet, nor when, but I’ve applied for several positions in the Northern Territory,’ Jan said softly.

  ‘Where she goes, I go,’ Gerry said, laughing, his eyes adoring of his wife.

  She would miss them. Their Sunday lunches had nourished her, both the food and the discussions. She wanted to tell them she’d challenged her father about the uranium, Cundeelee, the move—and that last week she had spoken off the record to Kerry’s journalist, Dean Wolzak—but she didn’t want to compromise Jan. It’d now be up to Dean, and The West Australian, where it went.

  ‘So you’ve finished your research?’ she asked, knowing Jan had been recording desert languages.

  ‘No, but it’s time I left. I’ve had a few run-ins, you know me, can’t keep my mouth shut. But there’s some good news. Some elders at Cundeelee, Spinifex people, are leading a group north, back to the tribal lands they lived in before Maralinga, rather than settle at Coonana. They’re camped at Yakadunya, east of Coonana but I’ve heard they’re heading for the soak at Tjuntjuntjara, about 700 kilometres north-east of here. They’re going to set up their own community, Aimee. Can you imagine how much courage that takes? I get so angry, I—’

  ‘Jan, love, not now,’ Gerry interrupted, gently touching her leg, seeking her eyes. They softened as she held his steady gaze.

  She watched their dance, the mutual respect palpable, and knew this was the dance she wanted with Lee.

  She was about to say Don’t worry Jan, one day it’ll all come out, when they both looked past her. She turned. It was Kerry and Amber. And Bill. It had been three months since she’d seen them.

  ‘Welcome, Councillor Steele,’ Fred called out, bowing theatrically. He tilted sideways a little as he rose. The red wine had been plentiful.

  ‘Dad, stop teasing,’ Lori laughed, jumping up to greet them. ‘Kerry, come in, do you know everybody? Amber, come and meet my nieces and nephews. Hi Bill, glad you could come.’

  Within minutes they’d been organised, introduced and had a drink in their hand.

  Aimee’s legs trembled. Gerry asked her a question about politics but his voice sounded far away. She gripped her glass, afraid she’d drop it, and inside, her heart was cracking, splintering, tiny fragments piercing her chest. Was she having a heart attack? She gasped.

  ‘Aimee, are you okay?’

  Lori’s anxious face was staring down at her, a bottle of wine hovering over her empty glass.

  ‘Yes, must be indigestion,’ she gulped, rubbing her chest. ‘Too much food!’

  ‘Well, don’t give up yet. Round two coming up!’ Lori said, filling her glass. Then leaning in, she whispered, ‘Champagne soon.’

  Aimee took a deep breath and smiled; Lori looked so happy.

  Lori moved away to fill other glasses and Aimee found herself looking straight at Kerry. She looked radiant, the happiest she had ever seen her. Bill’s hand was on her knee; he was talking to Ron. She could hear Bill staunchly defending the government to him.

  ‘Look, mate,’ claimed Bill. ‘Welfare spending’s more than doubled under Labor, public housing’s been provided at four times the rate of any previous conservative government. They’ve abolished capital punishment, appointed the first Aboriginal cabinet minister in Australia, increased conservation reserves and amended the Local Government Act to provide full adult franchise to Aborigines, and there’s been significant growth in employment and near record levels of housing construction.’

  ‘Are you running for government, Bill?’ Ron responded trying to lighten the moment.

  Bill laughed, Ron clinked his glass and the tension eased.

  Ker
ry turned from talking to Carol and smiled at her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Aimee said to Gerry and Jan, and pulled a chair over near Kerry.

  ‘Sit here, Aimee,’ Carol said, ‘I’m going inside to see Karen. I’m hanging out for a coffee. Anyone else want one? No? Right.’

  Aimee sat on the vacated seat and turned to Kerry. Their knees touched. Her own knees had stopped trembling but her heart still hurt.

  ‘Hi, how’ve you and Amber been?’ she asked, finding the courage to look into her trusting powder-blue eyes. A cocoon of silence suspended the noise around them and all she could hear was Kerry’s clear voice.

  ‘We’re getting there, each day as it comes. But we miss you, both of us do. It’ll be hard tomorrow.’ She looked wistful.

  A year already since Paul died, she thought. A loud laugh from Bill broke through her cocoon.

  Kerry turned to him then turned back to her and smiled. They looked at each other knowingly. Eyes twinkling, Kerry laughed and Aimee joined her. Then she remembered. ‘I have Amber’s belated birthday present in my bag. I’m so sorry about—’

  ‘It’s fine, you didn’t have to worry. Actually, Amber has been asking but I think she just wanted to see you.’ Kerry tilted her head on the side, looking at her.

  For the first time she felt guilty. It was a wasted emotion she’d refused to countenance. How else could I have survived the past thirteen years? Regretful sometimes but not guilty. And now, it was over a child’s birthday present. A child waiting. Her child.

  No! Not her child.

  She leapt up, almost spilling her drink. ‘I’ll go get it, it’s in my bag. I left it inside.’

  She stumbled away not hearing Kerry call after her, ‘I’ll send her in.’

  In Lori’s spare bedroom, she rummaged about in her bag, the tears welling, tiny stabbing pains in her chest. She tried to take a deep breath but she couldn’t.

  ‘Hello, Miss McCartney.’

  She fell back on the wicker chair and looked up. Amber stood shyly in the doorway, clasping her hands in front of her, her eyes expectant. She recovered, found the grown-up woman inside herself, found the self she had become, hewn and carved from a thousand—five thousand days before today, when she had to wake up and not remember.

  ‘Amber, how lovely to see you. I love your new hairdo. You look beautiful.’

  Amber beamed, swaying side to side.

  ‘Come in, I have your present. I’m sorry it’s taken this long. Can you forgive me?’ she asked, smiling.

  Amber bounced into the room and sat on the other wicker chair opposite her, hands in her lap waiting.

  In control now, she placed the tiny package in Amber’s lap. ‘Happy thirteenth birthday, Amber Steele,’ she enunciated.

  She watched Amber carefully untie the ribbon and unwrap the present. She remained composed as Amber squealed with delight at the Omega watch in its blue velvet case.

  ‘My first watch, my first watch! Oh, thank you so much, Miss McCartney, thank you,’ she cried and leaping up, she threw her arms around her neck and hugged her tightly.

  She closed her eyes and drank in the perfume of Amber’s hair, her skin, a scent so familiar it made her ache. When she opened her eyes, Mrs King was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I came to get my bag, I need my handkerchief, the grass is making my nose run.’

  Amber jumped up and thanked her again. ‘I’m going to show Mum,’ she exclaimed, excusing herself as she passed Mrs King.

  Aimee sat still in her chair. Mrs King picked up her bag from the bed against the wall then came and sat down opposite her. Mrs King’s eyes bored into her; the same as the kadaitchi man’s. She shivered.

  ‘Hello, Mrs King,’ she said politely. They had hardly spoken during lunch, being at opposite ends of the table.

  ‘Aggie, call me Aggie,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘It’s been a great day, hasn’t it?’ Aimee said, making nervous conversation.

  ‘Yes, it has. And it’s not over yet. More to come, I think. Yes?’

  She wasn’t sure if it was a statement or she was supposed to answer. Aggie continued to stare at her. Her heart beat a little faster, her breath quickened and the air seemed to vibrate. She realised it was almost two years ago that she had sat in this very chair opposite Aggie having her teacup read.

  ‘It’s come to pass then?’ she heard Aggie say.

  And Aimee knew she knew.

  Something fell away. Someone knew.

  Was that all it would take? Someone saw her, someone knew her. She began to sob, great gulping sobs she could have drowned in, would have drowned in, a year ago, six months ago, but not now.

  Aggie reached out and touched her knee and a surge of energy pulsed through her body, filling the cracks and splinters, till it felt her heart would burst.

  ‘The lid’s well and truly off now. Remember, whatever you decide, all will be well.’ Aggie stood up and left the room, taking the vibrating energy with her.

  She sat bolt upright in her chair. It all came back to her—the reading, the box, the lid, the precious stone. The precious stone. Amber.

  And all will be well.

  She stayed there remembering, reflecting and reminiscing until she felt done. She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes she could hear an accordion playing and outside the bedroom window the sky flared gold and cerise with the flames of the setting sun.

  ‘Hello,’ they all called out to her in greeting when she stepped through the back door onto the patio. Everyone was in a circle now, mellowed by the wine and the company, the last of the light feeling its way under the pergola and into their eyes, the tunes of Italy tickling their ears and touching their hearts. Kerry looked up at her and smiled.

  All will be well, she thought. She turned as Lori clinked a glass for attention. Paddy came and stood beside her. She already knew, having written it in icing on their cake.

  ‘Paddy and I have an announcement to make.’ Lori reached for his hand. They looked at the crowd. ‘We’re engaged!’

  Aimee smiled. Everyone leapt up, Nonna cried, champagne was popped and questions asked. The celebrations upped a notch and the music got louder. Maureen showed a gift for playing the spoons and Paddy sang ‘Danny Boy’. Jack gave a haunting rendition of ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’ on the harmonica making Aggie cry. It was her grandmother’s name, she said.

  The feeling of community filled Aimee’s heart and the wine loosened her fear. She waited till later in the evening to make her own announcement. Lori and Paddy already knew. And probably Aggie, she smiled to herself. She stood up, a little unsteady.

  ‘I’m leaving next month,’ she pronounced and promptly sat down again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Aimee woke before dawn. She lay for a while before rising knowing that once up, there was no turning back. Today she would drive away, across the Nullarbor to a new life in Tasmania. Everything was packed, the furnished house ready for its next government worker. All she had to do was get up, shower, pack the last of her bedding and personal items into the car and drive, before the dawn, before the heat of the day, before she thought too much about what she was leaving behind.

  She stretched and felt the familiar yearning to seize the day, grateful it had returned after abandoning her for several months. An early night had helped, asleep by eight, with only a vague awareness of a knock on the door as she drifted off. She’d half listened for another but only the sound of a car passing floated through the still air into her open window; nothing else disturbed her sleep.

  Wriggling up the bed, she leant back, hands behind her head, and stared out the window. Her mind began working and she knew she’d be unable to avoid thinking about the people she was leaving behind.

  But it’s the best decision I can make, right now, she reflected.

  All she could do was justify her choice to herself and leave it up to others to judge. She thought again about the silence of secrets that keeps faith with
the protection of truth, a cloak embrace to cover up what can’t be known. Who decides? In whose best interests? Choices and decisions on which whole worlds turn, public and private. Every day, each one of us, making choices, the sometimes struggle to decide, the human condition, based on what moral compass? Choices, often, between incompatible aims.

  She had pored over the ledger of her dilemma, counted the shekels on both sides and weighed up the cost of each. The price of Amber not knowing she was unable to fully calculate, but the price of her knowing was not one she was ready for Amber to pay.

  Her own mother, a Sampson, the daughter of European immigrants, had always believed in destiny, in signs; her father, in choices, making your own life. She had followed her father. She hadn’t adhered to the edicts that thundered down the centuries. But maybe it was both. Before the Age of Enlightenment there had only been ‘fate’. Choice, like a two-edged sword, had cut a swathe through destiny and replaced it, at least in her profession, with a ‘code of ethics’ where responsibility held sway over inevitability. She would never give up on her right to choose, even with its limitations, but how to explain Aggie’s predictions, Lori’s visions?

  A thin band of light pushed at the darkness outside.

  I need to get up, she decided, seeking distraction.

  After a shower she regretted having packed her percolator. The cup of tea didn’t satisfy and she felt her stomach rumble. She’d grab something at Norseman before heading into the desert. She rinsed her cup and put it back in the cupboard, then stripped the sheets off the bed, folding them before she took them out to the car.

  When she opened the door she nearly stepped on the present.

  A small gift-wrapped package lay on the front doormat. She picked it up with one hand and, having shoved the sheets in the boot with the other, examined it as she returned to the house for the last time.

  Had there been a knock on the door last night? she wondered.

  Placing it on the kitchen bench she collected her toiletries bag and towel from the bathroom, took a last look around, picked up the present and walked out the door. Never look back, she thought and she didn’t.