‘Mountain goat theory,’ Teddy said.
‘Teddy.’
‘My grandad used to say that sheep are related to mountain goats – so when they see a hill they always head up. Occasionally it comes in handy, like if you’re taking a mob across a main road, you get someone to stand slightly up the road on the hill to head them off if they try anything.’
‘Ted. Do you want to leave here one day?’
Some wild geese had been startled down at the dam and they flew overhead, honking noisily.
‘No,’ she told him, ‘I’ll never leave.’
An hour later Teddy and Will were back at the dig. They started up the Dingo and worked steadily for the rest of the day. They slowed as they got close to the area Will thought was the living room and Teddy began pacing back and forth, digging where she felt something might be hiding. By mid-afternoon she could smell cake. Deirdre was standing over her holding her best plate and a large chocolate cake.
‘It’s chocolate and beetroot,’ she said, and placed it unceremoniously on the table drum. Teddy climbed out of the hole and washed her hands at the water tank while Will kept digging at an old steel chair. The bulldozer had crushed it, so what they could make out of its legs looked like a massive dead spider, tangled and broken.
Deirdre hacked a thick slab of beetroot chocolate cake and handed it to Teddy. ‘What do you think of that?’ she asked before Teddy had even had a chance to taste it. ‘You like it?’
Teddy took a bite. It was dark and moist, and somehow dense and earthy and sweet. She did like it. ‘Yes, thanks. It’s very good.’
Deirdre looked at her with interest, assessing her again, and still not finding what she was looking for.
‘Very good, eh?’ she barked. ‘Very good.’ She cut another piece and waved it at Will. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she demanded.
‘You don’t like my cake?’
Will dropped the shovel he had been holding on the spot, and reached for the cake with a large, dirty hand.
‘Of course I like your cake,’ he assured her. ‘Mmm. Pretty good,’ he nodded, chewing slowly. ‘Not as good as that mud cake, but it could never be as good as that.’
‘Ha!’ said Deirdre. ‘So it’s the mud cake for you –’ she turned – ‘and we still don’t know about you, Miss Teddy, do we? We still don’t know about you.’ And her wiry grey hair ruffled in the cold wind that blew through the farm from a thousand years ago.
‘You and Harry go to practice together, I’ll be in as soon as I can.’ Deirdre announced, and Viv looked uncertain.
‘Do you think so, Deirdre? Dad seems very out of sorts today.’
Deirdre glanced behind her into the dark hallway of their home. ‘Of course, Viv, we’ll be fine. I’ll just settle him with some dinner and I’ll come right over. You can fill me in on anything I miss.’
‘You’re so good at dancing, you won’t need half as much practice as me anyway,’ Viv said.
Harry looked worried. ‘Are you sure, Deirdre? Should I come in and help you?’
‘Oh, no!’ Deirdre assured him. ‘It’s no trouble, really. I’ll have him sorted quickly and I’ll be in there with my dancing shoes on in no time. I can’t say I’ll have my hair done properly, but you can’t have everything!’
‘Just make sure you get into town as soon as you can,’ he replied.
‘We’ll miss you, won’t we, Viv?’
‘Oh yes! Come as quickly as you can!’ Viv looked over his shoulder to where she could hear their father stirring. ‘And thanks for looking after Dad tonight, Deirdre.’
‘It’s really fine,’ she said. She moved forward onto the verandah to usher them out. She didn’t want to allow Harry into the house to see how awful it was, to see her father lying on the floor weeping. She didn’t want him to hear the way he spoke to her when she dragged him up to the lounge and covered him with a towel, and placed his plate on his lap for him to eat with his shaking hands. She didn’t want to acknowledge it to herself, much less to anyone outside, in case his shame clung to her, and it was all they could see. Deirdre. Nursemaid to that old drunk. She waved at Viv and Harry as they climbed into his car.
‘Bye!’ she called. ‘Have a great time. Don’t forget your curtsey, Viv!’ Then she turned back to the house, as their headlights swept past her and disappeared down the drive. There was silence as the hum of the car disappeared over the hill to town.
Deirdre listened to her breath pull in, push out. There was only the faintest glimmer of light left along the horizon line and a single magpie at the sheep yards carolling softly in the gloom. She gripped her fists, loosened them again, and stepped back over the threshold and into the darkness of the house.
‘Dad,’ she called out softly. ‘It’s time for tea. Would you like to get up now?’ She trod slowly down the hallway, reluctant but resolute. The wireless was on and Bob Dyer was hosting Pick a Box; she could hear laughter and applause crackling warmly into the kitchen from the dark lounge. When she found him he had slumped onto the floor with the cooking sherry still gripped in his hand. He rolled his eyes up at her and his mouth opened in a reflexive grimace.
‘Dad?’
‘I heard you,’ he snarled. ‘I heard you.’ He raised his arms for her to pull him up, and she struggled with him for a few moments as she dragged him into his chair. His breath was rancid. She risked a glance at his eyes and saw them staring emptily back at her, watery and red. She tried to set her face to hide her revulsion and fear.
‘Come on, now,’ she said gently. ‘I can see you’re tired. Let me just put a napkin down for you and get you something to —’
‘Tired, am I?’ he growled. ‘Tired of being patronised and ignored, that’s what!’ he said, and the laugh he was forming turned at once into a cough. It was wet and hacking and Deirdre imagined his entire body collapsing and giving up. His heart should have given up years ago. Deirdre hastened to the kitchen to collect his dinner.
‘Come on, Dad,’ she repeated, returning. ‘I’ve got some sandwiches for you and a drink of water.’
He hit the water from her hands and the glass broke on the floor, flooding across the girls’ books. She leapt up and lifted them out of the puddle then wrapped them in a tea towel and put them on the piano; she’d have to deal with them later.
‘Dad,’ she pleaded. ‘Let’s not fight. I’ve made you some lovely sandwiches. Then maybe we’ll get you changed for bed?’ He hummed her words back at her, mocking her. She felt panic rising – panic that she would never make it to the debutante rehearsal, that she would never leave this room, that she would be forever doomed to clean up after her father, who disgusted her, who drenched her with resentment.
She placed the napkin on his lap and the plate of food upon it. Then she went to the kitchen to make tea.
She remembered the day she’d poured his tea into a saucer on the kitchen table because he couldn’t hold a cup, and he’d lapped at it like a cat, and she’d thought she’d like to die and to never have to lift a finger for him again.
‘I need a drink!’ he shouted from the lounge. She went outside and pretended she hadn’t heard him, staring determinedly at the night pressing in towards Windstorm where Viv and Harry were practising for the ball. She imagined her sister in Harry’s arms and instead of the plodding piano she heard a big band, swinging as if Frank Sinatra was in charge and the joint was jumping, and laughter was flowing like champagne. She would be dancing soon, she told herself. One day she would dance out of here, and she’d never stop.
‘You’ll have to fetch it yourself,’ she called back. ‘I’m not pouring you another drink. You need to eat something, then you need to go to bed. You’re tired.’ And there it was again, the lie they told themselves to avoid telling the truth in front of him. Dad was tired. He was always tired. She glanced up to the twilight heavens, wishing. Wishing with all her heart. But still, he wouldn’t die.
‘Where do these lights go?’ Trish asked. ‘I found another box of them from th
e Christmas tree last year so if we need to light up the whole hall we can easily make it happen.’ The lights trailed around her shoulders like a shawl and she was plugging in each colour in turn to make sure they still worked. Audrey gazed critically down the hall.
‘We had a good number at the teddy bear’s picnic last year and I think we had lights all the way along this wall. The trick is to not let them get pulled down.’
‘I suspect the champagne and fancy-dress crowd is pretty tame,’ Lara assured her.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Audrey said. ‘But we do sometimes get kids to these things and they love the little fairy lights.’ The lighting conversation continued as Will hooked up the speaker system. He smiled at Teddy as she passed him with a huge vase of flowers.
She had dithered a bit on the way into town, fretting over what she might need to bring. Will had followed her patiently around her house, filling a cardboard box with things she thought she might need, heading her off when she started to huff that it was all too hard and perhaps she shouldn’t be going into town at all. Finally, they had made it to Windstorm Hall. The girls were pleased to see her, and had settled into a comfortable chatter without missing a beat as soon as they’d set their boxes down.
Teddy began moving piles of chairs into neat rows facing a central walkway, observed by Will from his perch on the ladder.
‘Check out the muscles on Teddy,’ he murmured, to no one in particular.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Just be careful you don’t electrocute yourself.’
‘Thanks for caring.’
‘I just mean we’d have to apply to the shire for another sound system, and there’d be a lot of OH&S paperwork.’
‘Then thanks for being civic minded.’
Trish called out from the doorway on the other side of the hall.
‘Come over here, Mr Hastings, we need to move this old trestle table. It’s a sod of a thing. It’ll take more than just us to get it in the door, mind you, because some idiot welded the legs on and now we need to take care to keep from banging about and whacking people in the knees.’
‘I’m sure Will’ll want to take the knee-banging side,’ Teddy said.
‘He’s great that way.’
Audrey craned over her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure where Lara and Deirdre went,’ she said, ‘but perhaps we can achieve it between us three girls at one end if Will can take the other end on his own.’ They went outside and unloaded the massive trestle from the back of the ute. It was bright red because it had been used one year by an enthusiastic substitute teacher who had painted everything in the primary-school Christmas concert red. Her actions had caused general outrage at the time, but once the local gnashing of teeth was complete, the red items had slowly been returned to less offensive shades. It was only because it was uniformly under a tablecloth that the trestle had escaped further attention.
‘One, two, three – lift!’ directed Audrey, and together they hauled the table inside to do its duty under half a tonne of cakes, pies, sausage rolls, cupcakes and glasses of champagne.
‘Right,’ said Trish. ‘Let’s get the cloths and flowers on, then we can set out the teacups and champagne glasses.’
‘How many people have confirmed through the Community
Rescource Centre?’
‘About fifty as of this morning.’
‘Not bad.’ Teddy felt the blood drain from her. Will put his hand on her shoulder.
‘I’ll be there,’ he told her. She shook her head, because she suspected that wasn’t going to help.
It wasn’t long before the hall began to take shape, and Teddy realised she had been arranging lights and seating for a couple of hours.
‘Tea time!’ Lara announced, and she looked up. A tray of cakes and biscuits were coming down the tiny stairs at the side of the stage. Deirdre was following behind Lara clutching the CWA teapot in both hands. Audrey turned to Will.
‘Will, dear, would you mind dashing up the back and bringing down a tray of teacups, and the milk, please? Let’s get this little break underway before we start working out the catwalk issues.’
It wasn’t long before the cups were filled with tea, the milk was poured and the cakes were passed around.
‘Oh my God, lemon meringue pie?’ Lara was beaming. ‘Deirdre, was that you?’
Deirdre’s eyebrows wrinkled in pleasure. ‘Too many lemons,’ she grumbled.
‘I love lemon meringue pie. You know it’s the best!’
‘How are those annuals we planted going over at the school?’ Trish asked.
‘They’re looking great,’ Sarah said. ‘Of course we had a couple of ball-related fatalities, but you kind of have to expect that. Kids will be kids.’
‘Oh, yes, sometimes we can lose the whole lot in a couple of weeks!’ Audrey said. ‘But still, it’s nice to try and cheer the place up a bit. I hate to think people find us looking too spartan.’
‘And I see Old Red has made it back in the building,’ Lara said. ‘Do you think we should get around to painting over it?’
‘No need,’ said Audrey. ‘That’s what the church committee tablecloth is for.’
Teddy wandered off from the conversation. The backstage area of the hall was quiet; she wandered up the creaking stairs she’d sat on so often at dances and cabarets as a kid, and around the back of the stage to where the dresses hung, complete with shoes and veils draped over them. It looked like a dress shop, or like God had been playing dolls until his mum had called him downstairs for dinner.
She let her hand trace along the soft pale fabrics, going deeper and deeper into the racks until the sound from the ladies was muffled and she was alone with the dresses. She gazed at them all, some shining with rhinestones, some glowing with pale white chiffon, and others bedecked with lace and draped with pearl necklaces and feather headpieces. These were the fairytale dresses of young girls’ dreams. They had all grown old now, of course, and she wondered how their marriages had worked out, how their lives had been. She glanced from dress to dress. Some, she knew, had been happy unions that had lasted years.
She touched Ida Christie’s dress that Cate would be wearing later, and Audrey’s chic gown that Lara would model. Some brides lost their grooms too young, to accidents or illness. Deirdre had lost her Irwin to a stroke ten years ago, and she’d carried on almost as if he’d never been there at all. Teddy wondered if she thought of him often. Sometimes he seemed like an afterthought to her grandmother rather than the love of her life. As a child, she had wondered about her grandmother’s heart. Where had it been? Had it never left her little farm? Had it grown such strong roots there in the earth, that it would never leave? She perched on a table covered with costume jewellery.
‘Hey, Teddy, what are you doing back here?’ Cate was making her way down the aisle between the billowing skirts. Teddy stood up.
‘Cate! Hi.’
‘I was hoping I’d find you. Lara said you were hiding back here.’ She sat down on the table next to her, and held out a plate and fork containing a piece of sponge cake. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Luise will sulk if we don’t eat the whole cake – you’ve got to do your bit.’
Teddy accepted the cake and they ate in silence for a while. Cate was naturally beautiful. She was from Perth originally, but she’d come out to Windstorm to spend time with her Aunt Ida and had never left. Sometimes she entertained herself by wearing high pigtails or heels into town, but the rest of the time she was in t-shirts and old jeans and working on the farm with her husband, Henry.
‘Where’s Brigit?’ Teddy asked.
‘Henry’s taking her around the sheep,’ she said. ‘He wants her to earn her keep one day.’
‘Henry’s keen. She’s only three!’
‘I suspect he just likes hanging out with her,’ Cate admitted.
‘They have a great old time together.’ She smiled. ‘And you? How are you going?’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Really good.’
Cate took another soft bit
e and appeared to consider her. ‘You’re sitting in the wedding dress graveyard. Why?’
‘Just thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, all these women who lived here all their lives.’
Cate glanced about at the empty princess shells. ‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think they were happy here?’
Cate stood up and wandered along the line, touching the tiny waists and full skirts, the lacy sheaths, the sparkly gloves.
‘They can’t all have been happy, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Here’s Aunty Ida’s dress. I know she was. And here’s poor old Mrs Beswick. The dress is a lot older, but your grandma was telling me she had a stroke in the sixties and spent a number of years in a home before she died. I see her grave when I visit Ida. I have no idea if she was happy.’ She moved a little further, ‘Here’s Luise Hofmann, she’s been very happy here. She got to perfect her sponge cake while she was here as well, so, you know – good.’ She gave Teddy an assessing look. ‘Why are you wondering?’ she asked.
Teddy shrugged. ‘I just wonder sometimes about living my whole life here.’ She tried to suck the words back into her throat, shocked that she had spoken them out loud.
Cate looked at her. ‘I kind of assumed that was what you wanted,’ she said.
‘It is,’ Teddy replied. ‘It absolutely is.’
Cate nodded slowly. ‘You’re going to wear Deirdre’s dress?’
‘She was pretty slim in her day. I’ll be lucky to fit in the damn thing without breaking a rib.’
Cate laughed. ‘Same with Aunty Ida! Teeny women! Still, I’m kind of proud to be representing her dress.’ She smiled, ‘It’s silly, of course.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ Teddy agreed.
Cate produced another piece of cake from her own plate, broke it in two and handed half to Teddy.
‘Apple walnut,’ she explained. ‘Health food.’ She took a large bite of her own. ‘I had wondered why you’d put your hand up for the dress parade,’ she said. ‘You’re usually quite retiring. It was that Will guy, wasn’t it?’
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