by Liz Byrski
‘Okay, now you understand that the cards are not going to give you specific answers, they just throw light on the past and present – illuminate it, so to speak – and they can suggest, but not predict, the future.’
‘Yes, I understand that.’
‘Good. With your left hand pick ten cards, without looking at them, and put them face down in the middle of the table.’
Robin stretched out her left hand. What was she supposed to do? Pick six in a row, or from different places? She wanted to make it look right for Dorothy, look as though she was trying. But as she reached out to touch a card she knew instinctively that it was the wrong one, and she withdrew her hand and paused until she was sure. She picked the first card from the other side of the circle, and the rest followed in natural, unforced progression.
Dorothy picked up the cards and laid them in a cross face up on the table, six on the vertical, the remaining four making the horizontal. ‘Mmm,’ she said, her hand on the quartz, her glasses perched halfway up her nose. ‘This is a very interesting spread. Very interesting indeed.’
In over three months Robin had ventured only back and forth between the cottage and the town or along the cliff path for her daily runs. She had mapped out her own small territory with the cottage at its centre. Driving away from it made her uneasy. She paused at the junction with the main highway. She had planned to turn right and wander south down the coast but now she changed her mind and, without really knowing why, headed north. She would start with Busselton, buy some new running shoes, maybe a pair of shorts, and then head south on the inland road to Margaret River tonight, then maybe Nannup on Thursday, Pemberton on Friday.
Once on the highway her uneasiness began to lift, to be replaced by anticipation. She had all the time in the world, no one else to consider, total freedom to plan her journey, change it, abandon it, prolong it. Busselton was busy with morning shoppers. In the sports shop she bought a new pair of Reeboks and a couple of pairs of running shorts, and then, drawn by the smell of coffee in the mall, she drifted in to a small café and sat for a while at an outside table, sipping a café latte. Drifting was new to her. Before she left Perth she had always been heading from one destination to another. Time and solitude had worked their magic. She had learned to observe the changing elements, the twists of the wind in the trees, the shuffling clouds, the subtle shades of the light and the daily dramas of the sea. She had learned to live in the present. The race from A to B, the pressure of the next appointment, the next case, the next day or the next week had disappeared.
She wandered into a craft shop crammed with scented candles, herb-filled cushions and terracotta cherubs. Robin had never been an enthusiastic shopper. She bought what she needed and was willing to pay for quality, but she was not a browser or an impulse buyer. So back in the car she was surprised to find herself with six tablets of handmade lavender soap, an eye pillow which she was sure she would never use, several candles and a beautiful velvet patchwork cushion as a gift for Grace. She negotiated the traffic out of Busselton, turned south and drove slowly, determined to enjoy the journey. They had always planned to do this, she and Jim, wander around the southwest, visiting the galleries and wineries, buying pottery, walking in the karri forests and on the wild, lonely beaches. This was the trip they should have taken together. There ought to have been regrets, resentment and grief, but instead there was a peace borne of the melding of sadness and acceptance. The need to try to control what would happen, the longing for change and for resolution, had gone. Her preoccupation had always been with outcomes, but now she had a new awareness of process, a fascination with each new day and its value in the journey.
‘I can recommend the bacon,’ said the elderly priest sitting across the table. They get it sliced into very thin rashers and grill it until it’s crispy. Not many places take so much care, and I can’t stand thick, greasy bacon that tastes of pig. Father Patrick Shanahan, delighted to meet you.’ He smiled and extended a hand.
‘Robin Percy. I rarely eat meat but you make it sound very tempting.’
‘Bacon here is a delicacy. I refuse to accept it as meat – it is in a food class of its own. I always stay here when I’m in the area. The ladies know how to look after their guests. Isn’t that right, Dawn?’ he said, smiling up at the woman who had materialised at his side with a coffee pot. ‘I’m just telling Robin about the splendid service here.’
‘You’re a great advertisement for us, Father Pat,’ she said. ‘And we’re always delighted to see you. Can I give you some fresh coffee?’ The priest pushed his cup towards her and she filled it and left the pot beside him. ‘Robin, good morning. Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast?’
‘Father Patrick has convinced me about the bacon,’ Robin said. ‘With a poached egg and some wholemeal toast.’
Dawn had been working in the tiny office the previous evening when Robin appeared at the desk on the off-chance of finding a room for the night. ‘You’re in luck,’ she said, untangling a strand of carrot-coloured hair from her huge turquoise and silver earrings. ‘I’ve got one facing the lavender garden.’
Robin filled in the registration form and handed over her credit card. ‘What a beautiful place,’ she said, following Dawn through into the large ground-floor lounge of the A-frame building. The floor was scattered with rose and magenta kilims, and big cane chairs with cream cotton cushions were grouped around a huge fireplace where flames were just taking hold on some huge logs.
‘Thanks. We like it,’ Dawn said. ‘We’re still lighting the fire for the evenings. The spring days are lovely, but it gets a bit cold in here when the sun’s gone.’
At the end of the room an open wooden staircase led up to a central landing with what appeared to be a gallery of rooms on either side. ‘The breakfast room’s through there,’ Dawn said, pointing beyond the staircase. ‘We serve breakfast between seven and ten. I’m afraid we don’t do any other meals but, as you’ll see, there’s a kitchen up here for guests – fridge, microwave, a kettle and other bits and pieces, so you can heat something if you want.’
Robin’s room was at the end of the building and the slope of the A-frame gave it an attic feel. A white quilt patterned with sprigs of green ivy covered the bed and alongside it was a small night table with an old oil lamp converted to electricity. In the corner stood a writing table and chair. Dawn opened a door to show her the bathroom and explained the hot water system.
‘Here for the anniversary?’ Dawn asked, handing Robin her room key.
‘Anniversary?’
The town’s anniversary, day after tomorrow. The premier’s coming to open a new bush trail and launch the forests policy. Some of the media people have been arriving today, and there’s a whole contingent of protesters about the forests plan. You’re lucky we’ve got a room. I only got the cancellation about an hour ago.’
Robin shrugged. ‘I didn’t realise. I’m just taking a bit of a tour of the southwest and I thought I’d take a look around Pemberton. It’s years since I was here.’
Dawn laughed. ‘You picked the wrong weekend! It’ll be crowded.’
‘I want to take a ride on that little steam train, the one that goes up into the forest. Does it still run?’
‘From the old station.’ Dawn nodded. ‘I’ll find you a leaflet on it. Now, do you have everything you need?’
The breakfast room was long and narrow with a rectangular table down the centre and upholstered benches on either side. Robin had been for her run, had a shower and glanced through the paper. It was nine-thirty and most of the guests appeared to have finished their breakfast and left by the time she made her way to the table.
‘I’m here to do the blessing tomorrow,’ Father Patrick explained. ‘The bishop has honoured me with the task of standing in for him to bless the new forest trail; it comes after the opening and the policy speech. I sneaked in an extra day because I like staying here. And you – from the media or part of the official party?’
‘Nei
ther, I’m afraid. A tourist – but a local one.’
‘Smells like your bacon is on its way,’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘Now just you see if this isn’t the best you’ve ever eaten.’
The kitchen door swung open and a small woman in chef’s whites backed out with a steaming plate in one hand and a rack of toast in the other.
Robin drew in her breath in surprise. ‘Josie Fletcher!’
‘Well, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s Robin Percy,’ Josie said. ‘Oh for chrissakes, Father Pat, I’m sorry –’
‘Seems like you two know each other,’ the priest said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Josie, if the Lord can handle your language, I’m sure I can.’
‘Josie, it’s years – ten years at least. How are you? You look splendid.’
‘Robin, Jesus, Robin, it’s great to see you. Here, sit down, have your breakfast. I’ll come and join you. I’ve finished the breakfasts now.’
She sat down, wiping her hands on the tea towel that was tucked into her belt. ‘This woman saved my life, Father Pat. Y’know when I came to your parish to do my community service, I told you I would’ve gone to jail if it hadn’t been for my lawyer? This is her! The woman who got me a deal to do rehab and community service instead of prison.’ She turned back to Robin. ‘Y’know, you saved my life, and then Father Pat saved my soul. I did my community service cooking meals for the old blokes who came to the church flophouse. Without you two I’d have had a couple of years in prison and then been out on the streets, back on the game and the drugs again. It’s so good to see you.’
‘You’d have beaten it in the end, Josie,’ Robin said, starting on her breakfast. ‘You’re a fighter – you weren’t ready to slide down that last slope. But what are you doing here? Apart from cooking bacon to die for – you were right, Father.’
‘I’m a part-owner, Robin. And not through immoral earnings or drug dealing. Dawn! Dawnie, have you got a minute?’ she called. And Dawn strolled in from the direction of the office. ‘This is my partner, Dawn Lockyer. I gave up bad men and fell in love with a good woman. Remember that lawyer I told you about, darl? This is her, Robin Percy.’
Dawn joined them at the table and Robin glanced at Father Pat. He raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘I know, I know, not respectable company for a priest, but I’m here to save their souls – the bacon has nothing at all to do with it. You see, I even have to take responsibility for introducing them.’
Josie laughed and punched him on the upper arm. ‘You love it, Father Pat, you know you do. Two hundred hours of community service and he had me enrolled in the flock.’
‘You, Josie,’ Robin spluttered, nearly choking on a piece of toast. ‘You became a Catholic?’
Josie smiled proudly. ‘A fully paid-up member, so to speak. Well, goodness, what would you expect? It had to be something dramatic to turn me around.’
Robin turned to Dawn, who was sitting back in her chair twisting the fringe on her crimson shawl. ‘And Dawn?’
‘Well, I like to think I saved Josie’s heart,’ she said slowly. ‘But she and Father Pat haven’t yet succeeded in saving my soul.’
‘Not for lack of trying, I might say.’ Father Pat laughed. ‘Josie was a pushover. Dawn’s proving rather intransigent!’
‘It’s eleven years, you know, Robin,’ Josie said. ‘I’ve grown up a bit since then.’
‘You still look about sixteen. The hair’s great – makes you look even younger.’
Josie gave a noisy hoot of laughter and ran her hand through her spiked, bleached hair. ‘I’ll be forty in a couple of months.’
‘Sickening, isn’t it?’ said Dawn, looking affectionately at Josie before turning to Robin. ‘All that shit she did to herself, the drugs, the tricks, she should have terrible skin, bad teeth, bloodshot eyes, and be overweight. You’d think she’d at least have the decency to look a little puffy. She’s got no right to look like that.’
‘I’ve got good genes,’ Josie said, ‘like Joan Collins. I read it in New Idea.’
Dawn and Robin exchanged glances and Robin rolled her eyes. ‘Joan Collins also gets her photos taken in soft focus and probably spends a thousand bucks a week on beauty treatments,’ Dawn said.
‘Too right!’ said Robin. ‘Which reminds me, is it likely I could get a massage here today – before I move on – at such short notice? It’s months since I had one.’
‘Camilla!’ said Dawn, and Josie nodded vigorously. ‘A friend, the other end of town. The best massage in the southwest. Want me to call her for you?’
‘Please! Later this morning would be great, then I can get in a train ride and get going this afternoon.’
‘But you can’t leave so soon,’ Josie cried as Dawn walked out to the office. ‘Can’t you stay a bit longer?’
Robin hesitated. She had felt the old pressure to move on. ‘Well … I was going to head on down to Albany.’
‘Can’t you delay that a bit? Stay another night. I want to find out what you’re doing. How come this hotshot lawyer is trailing round the southwest on her own?’
‘But the room …’
‘That was a cancellation. It’s free till Sunday. You can stay a couple more nights if you want.’
‘Camilla can do an hour and a half but not until four o’clock,’ Dawn said, standing in the doorway, phone in hand.
‘There you are!’ Josie smiled. ‘You have to stay. Can’t start off on that drive at that time of day, specially not after a massage!’
Robin nodded agreement to Dawn. Father Pat folded his napkin and stood up. ‘Ah, the pleasures of the flesh. Time I was away, ladies, excuse me. I have a meeting with my Anglican colleague down at the church. But could I invite you all to have dinner with me tonight?’ He looked at Robin. ‘They do a very good meal at the pub, but I’ll need to book a table as the whole world is in town.’
Father Pat was right again. The bar was crammed with locals, tourists and media people, and they had to push their way through the crowd to get to the restaurant. The political affairs reporter from The West Australian waved to Robin above the crowd. He lifted his glass to her, his expression forming a question mark. She smiled, shaking her head, indicating that she was with friends. He gave her a thumbs-up and turned back to his conversation. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘Robin Percy! What’re you doing here?’
She didn’t recognise him immediately, and grappled for his name. ‘John Jackson,’ he said, ‘ABC Radio. We met at Isabel’s place, and at the law courts a few times.’
She apologised, remembering that he had been a court reporter before moving to the political round. The others were already at the table and, as she slipped into her seat, Robin thought how nice it would be to be alone in her room with a book. She was thrilled to see Josie with a new life, a business and with Dawn. But she had lost the habit of being with people every day, and the company and constant conversation had exhausted her. Josie had decided to join Robin on the train ride through the forest, so what might have been a reflective interlude was a noisy, energetic three hours of conversation and reminiscence. Robin had intended to say as little as possible about her private life, but Josie’s openness had loosened her reserve. She ended up describing her retreat to the south coast, right back to Isabel’s decision to go to Europe, and Sally to California.
‘And your other friend?’ Josie persisted as the little train clattered and clanged through the narrow tunnel of branches that overhung the line. ‘Grace, is it? Did she do it too?’
Robin shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening with Grace. She was very hostile to the whole idea at first but she had softened up by the time I left. I got a letter from her about a month ago. She seems to have gone on a longish holiday to England. Most unlike her, so perhaps the whole idea got through to her just a little.’
Josie was delighted. ‘You have to tell Dawn about this,’ she insisted, ducking her head to avoid a branch that pushed through the open side of the train. ‘It’s a bit like what she’s do
ne. She’s older than me you know, ten years. Used to be a real estate agent, but her marriage broke up. Around the time we met, her kids had left home and she’d made up her mind to get out of the business and disappear into the countryside.’
‘And so you disappeared with her?’
‘More or less. It took a bit of time. You see, we were friends first, and neither of us had ever dreamed we’d have a relationship with another woman, although I was attracted the first time I saw her. I didn’t know it was the same for her. I thought it was just me going through some funny phase and I’d get over it, so I was pushing it away all the time. Then we went out with a crowd of friends one night and everyone went back to Dawn’s place for coffee, and when all the others had left I was still there and – well, to cut a long and intimate story short, we realised we both felt the same.’
‘And you never looked back!’
‘Not for one single moment,’ Josie said in a tone suddenly loaded with emotion. ‘Every day I wake up and thank God for having Dawn in my life.’ She swallowed and looked out the window. ‘So you see,’ she said, bouncing back into her usual ebullience. ‘It’s the perfect marriage – respectable middle-class divorcee and disreputable Irish hooker elope to the southwest forests.’
‘With the blessing of the church, no less!’ Robin smiled.
Josie sighed. ‘Well, with the blessing of one friendly priest, at least. Dear old Father Pat, we don’t see a lot of him but he’s like part of the family. I told you, he was the priest in charge of the parish when I did my community service. But he upset some of the less enlightened stalwarts of the parish with his tolerance of various dropouts like me, and he was pretty vocal in support of gay Catholics. So it all got a bit difficult and the bishop moved him on. The bishop is actually quite tolerant himself, so he made Father Pat into his travelling diplomat. Sends him off to sort out problems and to fill in at various functions, hence the blessing of the trail.’