The Secrets We Keep
Page 26
In the car, she did a mental check. House keys on the bench, her handbag on the front seat, petrol tank full, water containers on the floor. She looked down at the present on her lap. She wasn’t sure she wanted to open it. At her farewell party—held on Thursday rather than last night, because some were going away for this bicentennial weekend—they’d already given her a present. Enough tears.
For a moment her fingers played with the ribbon then she tugged at it and undid the wrapping. It was from Kerry. A framed photo of Kerry and her supporters the night of the election, taken by Bill, she remembered, in the foyer of the Town Hall. They were all laughing and spilling over each other, Kerry and Amber in the middle, Lori and Aimee either side. She looked closer—Gerry and Jan up the back, Aggie and Jack, the women from Kerry’s group, and others she didn’t know but remembered.
She leant back and closed her eyes. She hadn’t contacted Kerry again—Christmas Day was her leaving. She thought again about boundaries, the blurring between work and community in small towns, and the ethics of her discovery. In the city she may never have discovered Amber was her daughter, she wouldn’t have socialised with her clients. Legally, a worker could go to jail for communicating confidential information about adoption. She knew that.
She opened her eyes and turned the photo over. On the back was a message:
To remind you of us. We’ll never forget you. Love Kerry and Amber, xxx
Her resolve crumpled. She doubled up, clasping the photo against her chest. A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. She stayed that way for several minutes then sat back, wiped her eyes and looked at the sky. It was getting lighter but there were dark clouds gathering in the north-east and a strange red mist on the horizon, mingling with the pink and yellow of sunrise.
Time to go, she decided, laying the photo on the seat beside her.
She backed out of her driveway and drove along the empty street. She looked down at her watch, five-thirty, and looking up again, was surprised to see Mrs Clancy waving furiously from over her back fence. Does she know I’m leaving? she wondered. Dear woman, she thought and waved back. Thank goodness for public housing. That was one thing the government could be proud of amongst all the criticism. She pulled onto Maritana Street and headed into town. The rumour was that the premier would resign soon and hand over to his deputy. Hopefully they’ll pull out of the mess, she thought. She wondered how her mother was enjoying her holiday in Hawaii; she’d rung Aimee last night to wish her a safe trip.
She crossed over the Hannan Street intersection, the only car in sight, then drove along Boulder Road, past the welfare office, the dusty flats, the poppet-head–spiked Golden Mile, and onto the main road to Norseman. Despite the weather forecast for forty degrees, the air was cooler than usual. She looked up again at the gathering clouds and noticed the red mist growing on the horizon, below the rising sun.
As she drove along the road that would lead her into her 3000 kilometre journey across the country, she realised she’d arrived in a dust storm and she was going to leave in one. But at least this one would be behind her.
And Lee was in front of her, where the secret lines on her body, the secret lines of her story could be told.
Aimee accelerated and hoped she’d outrun the storm.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost, I thank all of my teachers from childhood to now—from my parents who were avid readers and nurtured my love of learning, and the primary, high school and university teachers who inspired me, to those who fit the notion ‘when the student is ready the teacher will come’. Thank you to those teachers who have taught me to be a better writer over the past decade, including, but not only, Dr Gina Mercer, Dr Danielle Wood, Dr Rohan Wilson and Fiona McIntosh, along with numerous international, national and local authors whose writing workshops I attended, mainly through the Tasmanian Writers Centre.
But the most significant teacher in the writing of this novel is author Robyn Friend. Thank you, Robyn, for your mentorship and our friendship. Myself and hundreds of others are indebted to you for your contribution to their writing and to the literary community of Tasmania. Thank you Arts Tasmania for funding my mentorship and for your support of emerging writers.
There are many ways of learning and for that I want to thank the late Agnes Curtin, the late Margaret Paterson, Sandy MacGregor and Bethany Pantalis.
Writing for me has not been a solitary experience. Thank you to the wide circle of writers who have travelled with me on this writing journey. They are too many to mention individually but you know who you are—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special thanks to those of you who have travelled with me from the beginning until now—Michael Fletcher, Joy Elizabeth, Cameron Hindrum, Paula Boer, Glenys Rich, Margaret Perkins, Stevie Davenport and Miranda Gracie. Thank you to all my fellow students in the UTAS Masters of Creative Writing, particularly Katy Hulmes, who is my best reader.
For the past decade, I have been supported by the monthly meetings of my writing group of four, Gunnabees. To each of the past members, thank you for your support and friendship. To the current members, Michael Fletcher, Wendy Newton and Stephanie Parkyn, I am indebted to each of you. We have shared laughter, tears, rejections, successes, coffee and cake—our lives.
It takes a team to bring a novel to publication. Thank you to my wonderful agent Selwa Anthony for believing in me and loving the story. You are to be applauded for your support of Australian writers, particularly women writers, and Australian stories. I admire your professionalism and expertise throughout the long process of obtaining a publishing contract to seeing the book in print, and I am grateful for your kindness. To my publisher Jo Mackay, editor Annabel Blay and all the team at HQ thank you—a thousand times, thank you. Your enthusiasm for the story was a dream come true. My structural editor, Alex Craig—you are a genius! Thank you. And thanks Michelle Zaiter, for the beautiful cover design and to everyone who contributed to its creation.
Thank you, also, to Australian authors Jesse Blackadder and Liz Byrski for their support of my writing and their endorsement of the novel. I am grateful for their generosity of spirit and encouragement, and for the support more broadly from the Australian writing community. A special thank you to Lou Johnson for the nudge.
Finally, I want to thank my children and all my family, especially Simone, for their support, and my friends for retaining enthusiasm for my writing. Thank you for your love and encouragement over many years. Most of all, thank you, Tony Webb, for your undying belief in me, your endless patience and your tender love.
ISBN: 9781489246882
TITLE: THE SECRETS WE KEEP
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Shirley Patton
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