Damn. What was she saying? Just when the air was becoming clearer, she’d dirtied it all over again.
Jennie’s boyfriend, Mark Miller, was head teacher at Cockatoo Ridge. While the rest of his staff took the children for their sporting activities, his Friday afternoons were free of lessons so that he could catch up on administrative duties. When he saw Jennie standing in the doorway to his office, he looked surprised. He wasn’t expecting to see her until the evening. They were taking the girls to a movie in Millbrooke.
‘Hello, darling. What brings you to the chalk face?’ he asked with a grin.
She remained at the door.
‘Come in. Sit down. Maybe you can help me with these rolls.’
He handed her a folder.
‘It’s ridiculous. The teachers complete their roll call digitally and then we have to print everything out and keep it in folders. What’s the point of using a computer?’
‘Mark, there’s something we need to talk about.’
His face turned pale. ‘You’re not about to break up with me, are you?’
‘Of course not. I love you.’
He leant across the folder-strewn desk and kissed her. ‘I love you too.’
‘Mark,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I’ve been receiving disgusting text messages warning me to leave you alone.’
‘Good God. Who would be doing that?’
‘Could it be your ex?’
‘Maggie? I can’t imagine her doing something so nasty. Do you still have the texts?’
She showed him.
‘Shit. I’m so sorry, darling.’
‘Angie suggested I change my number, and they’ve stopped.’
‘You told Angie?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it might have been a mistake. I thought . . .’
She began to sob.
‘Don’t cry, Jen. Maybe it was a mistake. Did the caller use your name?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have the number?’
She showed him.
‘It’s not Maggie’s.’
‘Might she have another phone that you don’t know about?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘There isn’t anyone else, is there, Mark? Another woman in the background?’
‘Of course not.’ He came around the desk and hugged her. ‘Of course not.’ The office assistant could see them through a glass partition, but neither of them cared. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of it, Jen. I promise.’
‘How did you and your husband meet?’ asked Geoff as they ate their drummer.
‘You don’t really want to hear a soppy story from last century, do you?’
‘Yes, actually, I do. I like to hear about romances that turn into happy marriages.’
‘Well, I was in first year at uni and I went to a pub in Newtown with my girlfriends. I’d never been to a pub before but they talked me into it. There was a band playing and I remember thinking the bass guitarist was gorgeous. At the end of the night he asked for my phone number. Then he rang the next day and invited me to the movies. It turned out he was a fourth-year medical student, doing pub gigs on Friday and Saturday nights for a lark, and to make some money. Five years later we got married.’
When Angie went to the ladies, she looked at the woman reflected in the mirror. Tallish, brown hair in a bob, a pleasant face, a few lines, nice eyes, not stick-thin any more, but not fat either. When she was eighteen, she had imagined fifty-something was old age. Decrepitude. But it wasn’t like that at all. Life could still surprise her. It was filled with wonders. Not the knock-you-for-six kind. Not often anyway. But little wonders. A beach composed of tiny grains which glistened icy white in the sun. A drummer fish coated in beer batter with a mango and mint salsa. And a decent, debonair man who found her endearing.
Returning to the table, Angie prayed the conversation would take a new turn, but it appeared he had still more to get off his chest.
‘I don’t blame my ex for our affair. I was older. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’
Angie longed to put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more dirt. The dirt files were already full.
‘She came to my office one day – for a chat. That’s the way it is in a small town. The solicitor is everyone’s confidant. Like a priest.’
Angie smiled politely and took a sip of water.
‘She said she was lonely and didn’t have anyone to talk to. Told me her husband was more interested in his house than his wife. She was so unhappy. She asked my advice. At first I told her to persevere with the marriage, that every relationship had its rough patches. But she kept dropping in. One afternoon she was crying and I put my arms around her. And, well, you can imagine what happened next.’
‘You made some errors of judgement, Geoff. Serious errors. But you’re genuinely sorry. It still sits heavily on your conscience, doesn’t it?’
‘Of course. I’ll always feel guilty about leaving my wife and children.’
‘You need to remember that . . .’ Angie stopped abruptly, realising she’d been about to say ‘Diana’. When she continued, she focused on every word. ‘You need to remember that your second wife was at fault too. Did she ever agonise over her role? Was she racked by guilt? Or didn’t she give a damn? Is everything all about her and to hell with everyone else?’
‘You’ve described Diana to a T. It’s as if you know her.’
Had he guessed? No, of course not. She was just being paranoid.
‘You know, Angela, that’s the first time I’ve said her name in months.’
‘Does it hurt to say it?’ Angie was relieved the focus was off her and back on Geoff.
‘I’m afraid it does. But not so much when I’m talking with you.’
Angie blushed brightly. Whether it was from guilt or his gentle compliment or a combination of both, she couldn’t tell.
‘I wish I’d met you years ago, Angela.’ He smiled. ‘Before that evening in the pub in Newtown.’
Angie swallowed hard. She felt more like a fraud than ever. ‘But you didn’t. And here we are with our life’s baggage.’
‘What do I do about my baggage? Sometimes it weighs me down.’
‘Perhaps you should unpack it from time to time and examine the contents. Then you can decide which things have served you well, so you’ll know what to pack for next time.’
‘And the other stuff? Should I keep it in a drawer?’
‘No, just throw it away.’
‘Put the Diana years in the bin?’
‘Not everything. Only the bad parts.’
‘Then I’ll have to throw away most of the marriage. Especially the ending.’ There was a pause before he added: ‘I discovered she was having an affair.’
As Angie took in this new piece of information, she allowed herself a brief moment of self-satisfaction. She’d been right about Diana all along. She couldn’t be trusted.
‘How about a coffee, Angela?’ They had finished their dessert of pistachio gelato and the chef’s biscotti.
‘No thanks. Anyway, I think they’re closing.’
The restaurant was empty. It was after three. And she would need to be on the road soon in order to be back at the Manse for her anniversary couple.
‘Would you like to come back to my place?’ he asked.
He had caught her off guard. She must have looked shocked because he said, ‘Just for coffee. Maybe some music? Or a swim in the pool – it’s heated.’
She laughed. ‘Sounds idyllic. But I have to get back.’
‘Perhaps we could have dinner tonight. Or tomorrow night.’
‘Geoff, I’ve had a lovely time today. But let’s not rush this. Anyway, I have to go to Sydney for a few days.’ Her anniversary couple was staying until Tuesday.
‘How about same ti
me, next week?’
‘Sounds like a movie,’ she said. ‘What was it called? Same Time, Next Year. Ellen Burstyn was in it. And . . . what’s his name?’
‘Alan Alda.’
‘Of course.’ Angie smiled to herself. A fellow film buff. How wonderful.
‘I could cook lunch for you at my place. You’d love my soft-shell crab with ginger.’
‘Why don’t you call me and we can confirm things?’
‘I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you, Angela.’
‘I don’t.’
‘It’s just that I enjoy your company.’
‘Likewise.’
When Geoff paid the bill Angie didn’t offer to contribute. After all, he had asked her. The old conventions still applied. She had learnt that from her painting ladies. Would there actually be a next time? She really should text him during the week and let him down lightly. A ‘Dear Geoff’ letter. But the problem was she wanted to see him again. He was lovely. And he would be even lovelier if they could avoid discussing Diana.
He walked her to her car. When she was seated in the driver’s seat, he leant through the open window and said, ‘May I?’
He was asking if he could kiss her. That was so old-fashioned and sweet. She closed her eyes and felt surprisingly soft lips pressed against hers. Not an invasive kiss, just gentle and lingering. He smelt like Phil. Cinnamon and allspice.
12 NOW, VOYAGER
The next morning Angie was woken by a ping from her phone. Was it a message from one of the boys? What were they doing up so early? On weekends they’d been known to sleep in till lunchtime. She stretched over to the side table where her glasses sat waiting on a pile of books.
Angela, hope I didn’t wake you. Just back from the beach. Couldn’t wait to tell you how much I enjoyed our lunch. Looking forward to Friday. Alan A.
She smiled at the nickname. Same time, next week. And how thoughtful of him to send a text. At least there was one man in the world who appreciated her, and a very impressive man at that.
On Saturday evening Angie, Moira and Bert went to the movies. Millbrooke didn’t have a bespoke cinema any more. Instead, films were shown on Friday and Saturday nights in St John’s Church hall – literally a barn of a place, draughty in winter, airy in summer.
When Angie remarked on the old leather seats attached by metal bars in rows of six, Bert explained that they had come from Millbrooke’s original cinema built in the 1920s. It had been one of those wonderful Art Deco movie palaces which still existed in country towns like Albury. Millbrooke’s cinema had been demolished in the gung-ho 60s to make way for the first supermarket. Bert had never got over it.
Because it was Millbrooke, there were nibbles and drinks in the half hour before the show – bring your own nibbles, bring your own wine or beer. It was a community get-together, like church, only more jolly, owing to the alcohol. Sometimes they showed recent Hollywood releases, but often it was movie classics. That suited Angie. Last night it had been The Wizard of Oz for the children. Tonight it was a Paul Henreid double – Casablanca and Now, Voyager. Victor Laszlo, the heroic Resistance leader in one, and Jerry, the noble husband in the other.
Bert was pouring their wine when Angie heard a deep, melodic voice saying, ‘Paul Henreid was a much underrated actor.’
She turned to see Richard and Diana.
‘I agree,’ said Angie. ‘Whom do you prefer, Diana? Rick or Victor Laszlo?’
‘I don’t really know,’ she replied, looking flustered.
‘And what about you, Ange?’ Richard asked.
‘I’ve always had a soft spot for Victor. He was a good man and I don’t care whether Ilsa thought he was dead or not, she should have remained true to him and not had the fling with Rick.’
‘So you blame Ilsa?’
‘I’m not a cherchez la femme kind of person, but yes. She might have looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I think she had a very hard edge to her.’
‘She did the right thing in the end.’
‘Only when Rick made her feel guilty. He practically pushed her onto that plane. She was always a selfish woman. It’s just that the men in her life couldn’t see it. They were carried away by her beautiful face and seductive manner.’
As Angie exchanged glances with Moira, she was certain her friend had just given her a wink.
On Sunday Angie organised a lunch for FOTE members. She made roast chicken with pistachio stuffing and served it with her own kipflers and spinach from the garden.
‘That stuffing smells wonderful,’ said Mark.
‘I’ll email you the recipe,’ said Angie. ‘It’s really easy.’
‘I just had a great idea for raising money,’ said Jennie. ‘We could compile a FOTE cookbook.’
‘St Aidan’s has already done one,’ said Moira.
‘Well, we definitely need more funds,’ said Angie. ‘Those half-page ads in the Gazette are costing a fortune, and we’ve already had to drop the radio pieces.’
‘Maybe we could get a government grant,’ said Bert. ‘I’ve done some grant applications for the historical society so I know what’s involved.’
‘It would come too late to save the emporium,’ said Moira.
‘But not for other preservation projects. The emporium isn’t the first building to be threatened, or the last.’
‘Speaking of the government,’ said Mark, ‘there’s a council by-election in December, as a result of Carl Bowen resigning for personal reasons.’
‘Personal reasons. That’s always intriguing, isn’t it?’ said Angie.
As the group mused about what the personal reasons might be, Jennie said, ‘FOTE should put forward a candidate.’
‘That’s not such a bad idea,’ said Bert.
‘The emporium issue will be done and dusted by then,’ said Angie.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Moira. ‘Not if we can delay things again.’
‘It can’t be delayed indefinitely, Moira. Councils are under pressure these days to deal with DAs promptly,’ said Mark.
‘Heritage-listed buildings are a special case though,’ said Alice.
‘Besides, we’d be campaigning on the wider issue of preserving the district’s historical heritage,’ said Bert. ‘We could reach the attention of people across the shire.’
‘A single issue candidate?’ queried Angie.
‘Why not? That’s what local government’s about. Individual issues.’
‘How would FOTE go about running a candidate?’ asked Moira.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ replied Mark. ‘I’ll look it up.’
‘Who would be our candidate then?’ asked Jennie.
‘Alice,’ said Bert.
‘I’m too controversial.’
‘That shouldn’t be an issue, Alice,’ said Angie.
‘But it is, Angie. As far as many Millbrookers are concerned, I’ll always be that spiky-haired gay activist in overalls.’
There was an awkward silence before Angie spoke. ‘You’re not a stereotype to us, Alice.’
‘Thanks, Angie. But there’s another problem. I’m too closely associated with MAM.’
‘Well, what about you, Bert?’ asked Angie. ‘You have gravitas, being president of the historical society.’
‘Not to mention his distinguished white hair,’ said Moira.
‘Do you know who I think would make an excellent candidate?’ said Bert.
Everyone looked in his direction.
‘You, Angie.’
‘What?’ She shook her head. ‘You’re joking.’
‘We all heard you speak at the council meeting. You’re a natural.’
‘You’re the right age, Angie. Not old, but not too young either,’ said Jennie. ‘And you’re good at organising things.’
‘It’s not
going to happen, guys. Now eat your lunch before it gets cold.’
On Monday morning Angie was in the emporium café as usual, partaking of her lapsang souchong and wondering if Richard might turn up. Although it hadn’t ended well the previous Monday, he had seemed amiable enough at the movies. Poor old Diana. The conversation had gone over her head. Had Richard noticed or was he still too besotted?
Angie had her own matters of the heart to consider. She couldn’t understand the feelings she had developed towards Geoff. She knew it was wrong. Taboo. Almost incestuous, yet she couldn’t help herself. He made her feel safe. But what kind of woman was she? She still loved her dead husband. She’d had an affair with Mr Songbird. She hadn’t had an affair with Richard Scott but really liked him. And now there was Geoff. Kind, thoughtful Geoff, who had sent her half a dozen text messages since Friday, all equally charming. Sometimes Angie wondered whether it was right to condemn Diana, when her own romantic life was such a mess.
Her mobile rang. It was Blake.
‘How’s it going, Mum?’
‘Fine, sweetheart. How about you?’
‘Not so good. Sophie and I broke up.’
‘Oh no. Is it just a tiff or something more serious?’
‘She wants to go out with other people.’
Angie knew from her banter with the painting group that it was likely to be code for: ‘I’ve found someone else.’
‘Would you like to come down here for a few days? I could make all your favourite food and spoil you rotten.’
She heard a chuckle. That was a good sign.
‘No thanks. I’ll be okay. You and Dad were lucky you fell in love when you were both so young. You’ve never known what it’s like to break up with someone.’
‘Only the pain of a final parting.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know, sweetheart. And you’re right. Your dad was my first boyfriend, and there was never a break-up, not even a temporary one.’
‘By the way, how’s Richard?’
‘Fine.’
‘He’s such a great bloke, and he really likes you. Tim and I wouldn’t mind if you decided to marry again.’
A Place of Her Own Page 14