Emma made to protest but Chloe stopped her. ‘That’s an order.’
Emma left The Coffee Bean and walked the short distance home to her apartment through crowds of Wednesday night revellers. She let herself in and kicked off her shoes, hearing the sound of their laughter drift up through her windows. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but working long hours on continuous cycle had left her drained. So drained, she’d forgotten to bring a plate of food home and there was nothing but mouldy bread and an old tin of tuna in her cupboard.
She dropped her bag onto the coffee table and fell into a heap on the lounge, reaching for the remote. Her stomach growled as she flicked through the channels. The six o’clock news was on and some game shows, nothing of any interest.
She considered driving over to see Gwendoline or maybe just climbing into her car and heading south to nowhere, but then she’d be alone inside her head for too many hours and the thought of that unnerved her.
Her phone tinged unexpectedly, for Emma’s phone never made noise anymore, and she brought her bag to her lap to rummage through it. When she plucked it out, the screen was lit—one new text from Matt.
Emma stared at his name for a long time. There had been no contact since that day in the cottage when he’d told her all that his grandfather had said. Why would he contact her now and what could he possibly have to say?
Ignoring the text, she placed the phone down and returned to the news. It continued to ting at her, reminding her that Matt’s message was still unseen, until she snatched it up, opened the message without reading it and deleted it.
The next morning at eight, as Emma finished loading takeaway coffees into a cardboard tray for a frazzled-looking secretary, her phone tinged in her back pocket. She glanced at it and saw that it was Matt again.
Once the secretary had left, she retreated to the kitchen to look at it properly. Why was he dragging the pain out? Hadn’t enough hurt been inflicted? Unless he was feeling as she was, confused and ashamed, and the contact was an attempt to assuage, not just his own guilt, but hers too.
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She could never look at him again knowing they’d been deeply intimate while cut of the same cloth. Knowing that she’d felt so strongly for someone who was so obviously off limits. She did what she had done the night before and deleted the message without reading it.
Later in the day, after the lunch rush was over and Emma was slicing quiche for the dinner service, Matt called. She bumped it, shoving the phone into her jeans.
He rang again as she was walking home and she bumped that call too, putting the phone on silent. Too tired to eat the salad roll Chloe had sent home with her, she showered and fell into bed. When she woke the next morning, there were two more missed calls.
Three days past and Emma didn’t hear from Matt again. She was relieved, falling back into her quiet life in her little Kensington apartment where she moved between work and Gwendoline. As lonely as that could be, it was safe in its predictability.
On a busy Friday afternoon, Chloe came rushing into the kitchen holding her mobile. Cheeks flushed, she groaned. ‘The milk isn’t coming!’
Emma looked up from slicing tomatoes. ‘What do you mean it’s not coming?’ They had been waiting since seven am for the usual morning delivery, but the truck had broken down somewhere near Summer Hill and the milk had yet to arrive.
‘They said they can’t get another truck out here today. I’m down to my last bottle of milk.’
Emma untied her apron and slipped it over her head. ‘I’ll go to the supermarket and grab some.’
‘Oh, would you? You’re a gem!’
‘No problem.’
‘Can you grab twenty bottles? A mix of full cream, skim, soy and almond. That should see us through until tomorrow morning. Here, take my car.’ Chloe handed Emma her keys. ‘There’s money in the register. I’ll finish up in here while you’re gone.’
Emma found Chloe’s silver Toyota Yaris parked in the lane behind the café. She started it up and pulled out onto the street, following the flow of traffic until she reached the Woolworths in Randwick.
She loaded the trolley with milk, paid and packed it all into the boot of the car.
When she returned to the café, Chloe was waiting for her with a troubled expression.
‘I got the milk,’ Emma said, holding up the first lot of bottles she’d brought in.
‘You had a visitor.’
Emma placed them down on the counter. ‘A visitor?’
‘Yes. He came in while you were gone.’
‘Who was it?’ But she already knew.
‘Matt.’
‘I better bring those other bottles in.’
‘He left a message asking if you could ring him. He looked disappointed that you weren’t here.’ Chloe stared at her. ‘I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but he seems like a nice guy.’
‘It’s complicated, Chlo.’
‘Breakups usually are.’
‘It’s so much more complicated than you could imagine.’
‘You should call him.’
Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t have time to think about it now. I have to get the milk in.’
She didn’t call Matt back later that night or the next day. Numerous times she had the phone in her hand, willing herself to dial his number, but her fingers stalled on the buttons, bringing her back to the same conclusion—what was left to say?
Two days after his first visit, Emma was clearing the tables after the lunch service when Matt stepped in.
Her breath caught at the sight of him. He was still so handsome to her, despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t be. He wore jeans and a white shirt pushed up at the sleeves and she was drawn immediately to his eyes. Thomas’s eyes. Hazel with flecks of green and gold.
‘Em.’
She ignored him but he came closer to her and touched her wrist.
‘Emma.’
‘You shouldn’t be here, Matt.’
‘I had to see you.’ He followed her to the counter and waited there while she disappeared into the kitchen to offload the plates.
When she returned, he was waiting for her. Chloe had moved discreetly away to clear the rest of the tables.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ he asked.
‘There’s nothing left to say.’
‘There’s a lot left to say.’
‘Matt, please. This is hard enough.’
A moment passed before he spoke again. ‘I found some things in the archive room at the station. I was digging around in boxes last week and came across them. That’s why I’ve been calling you.’
‘What kinds of things?’
‘Old log books from 1919 with some interesting entries.’
‘That’s the year Gwendoline was born.’
‘Yes. I think you should take a look.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘I miss you,’ he said, the words rushing out in a way that seemed to surprise even him. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to say that.’
She dropped her gaze, looking down at the countertop.
‘Anyway, I’ll be at the museum tomorrow morning from eight if you change your mind.’
He left the café and Emma retreated to the kitchen so that Chloe wouldn’t see her tears.
Five minutes out from the Q Station and Emma was still making up her mind whether to go through with it.
Seeing Matt the day before at The Coffee Bean had been disconcerting. She’d barely slept a wink, racking her brain over whether she should meet him.
He said he’d found old log books pertaining to their search and she was certain he had, but the thought of being around him again, solving Gwendoline’s mystery together, threw her back to a time when their relationship had been simpler.
She’d called Chloe that morning asking for the day off, hoping with fingers crossed behind her back, that Chloe would say no and the decision would be out of her hands. But of
course, Chloe said yes.
Emma navigated her car up around the headland, past the Manly Hospital and through the sandstone arch to the station. She parked her car in the carpark and walked towards the reception building.
Ted was parked in his usual spot, reading the paper and drinking a can of Sprite behind the wheel.
‘Hey, Emma,’ he called out from the window. ‘Here to see Matt?’
‘Hi, Ted. Yes. Can you give me a lift down to the museum?’
‘Sure. Hop in.’
She boarded the bus and took a seat. Ted started up the engine, turned the bus around and rolled along Wharf Road, down towards the water. He parked on the gravel out the front of the shower blocks and Emma stepped down into warm air, fragrant with banksia and bottlebrush.
Thanking Ted, she turned and walked towards the museum, heart pounding.
She didn’t see Matt at first. He was inside the doorway, lost in shadow, but then he emerged into the sunlight and Emma’s heart beat faster.
‘Hey,’ he said when she got closer. ‘I’m glad you came.’ He grazed her cheek with a soft kiss.
‘I wasn’t sure I was going to.’
He nodded. ‘Come through to the archive room. I’ll show you what I found.’
Emma followed Matt through the museum to the archive room located at the back. He fished out a set of keys from his pocket, turned one in the lock and let them into the room. Emma felt the same blast of cold air hit her cheeks as last time.
Matt flicked on the light, closed the door behind them and signed them in. They washed their hands at the sink and he led her to a stack of brown, acid-free boxes.
Pulling the top one off the pile and placing it on the floor, he indicated that Emma sit, and she found a spot on the floor and crossed her legs. He sat beside her, the box in front of them.
‘Ever since that day at Rose and Thomas’s cottage, I’ve felt a bit lost,’ he said candidly. ‘I’ve been coming back here to search through files and boxes. I’m not sure why. Maybe to make sense of it all.’
The look on his face broke her heart. It was clear she hadn’t been the only one suffering.
‘Anyway, I came across this.’ He pulled out a small, thin notebook and handed it to her.
‘Another diary?’
‘Not quite. It’s a notebook belonging to a Doctor Holland. He kept personal notes in it relating to patient examinations. All the entries are dated 1919.’
Emma flicked open the cover and scanned through the pages. Doctor Holland’s writing was scrawly, almost unintelligible, but after careful scrutinising, Emma found an entry dated tenth April, 1919.
‘“Bessie Briar, female, twenty-years of age. Thirty-four weeks gestation. Housekeeping. First Class.”’ Emma looked up in shock. ‘Bessie Briar was pregnant?’
‘It looks that way. But check out the next page.’
Emma flipped the page over. ‘“April eleventh, 1919. Lady Cordelia, Duchess of Northbury. Female, twenty-eight years of age. Thirty-four weeks gestation. Passenger. First Class.” Bessie and the duchess were both eight months pregnant?’
‘And if I calculate from Rose’s last diary entry on the thirtieth October, 1918, that would place her at eight months pregnant in April 1919 too,’ Matt said.
Emma was stunned. ‘All three of them were due to deliver their babies in May.’
‘Take a look at what the doctor noted during each of his examinations.’
Emma turned back to Bessie Briar’s page and read aloud. ‘“Patient is thirty-four weeks pregnant, requiring examination due to false pains of labour. Patient is otherwise in good physical condition, carrying excessive weight. Foetal heartbeat noted strong and foetus engaged for delivery. Patient was nervous about examination.” What does that mean?’
‘It could relate to her anxiety about being pregnant on the station. She might have been scared that the doctor would tell someone.’
‘And it appears she was having Braxton Hicks contractions and thought she was going into labour,’ Emma said.
‘I wonder who the father was.’
Emma turned the page to read about the duchess’s examination with Doctor Holland. ‘“Patient is thirty-four weeks pregnant, undergoing routine weekly examination. Patient seems in good physical condition and at ideal weight. Lungs appear healthy with no obvious respiratory complications, though patient complains of being tired and out of breath. Foetal heartbeat noted strong and foetus engaged for delivery. Patient is in good state of mind.”’
‘A little different from Bessie’s report.’
‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘The duchess’s state of mind was positive. She was privileged enough to have weekly examinations and had less to fear of the experience. Is there anything in here for Rose?’ She flicked through the pages.
‘I couldn’t find anything. Perhaps she was being treated by another doctor or maybe she hadn’t had an examination yet. But I did find this.’ Out of the box he pulled a large, square hardcover book, thick with yellowed pages. He handed it to her.
‘What’s this one?’
‘The First Class Hospital Registration Book. It’s where they logged all patient admissions and discharges for 1919. This hospital also had a small maternity ward behind the matron’s office. It was kept separate from the main ward for disease control.’
‘And what am I looking for in this?’
‘There’s a maternity section at the back that states which babies were born in which month—the date, name, parents, class, weight, gender et cetera.’
Emma flicked to the back and found April 1919 which then jumped straight to June 1919. ‘There’s no page for May.’
‘That’s right. Someone ripped it out.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because look at January and February. There were no babies born during those months but the pages still exist. And yet a month like May, when we know three babies were due to be born, is missing.’
Emma spread the book apart and sure enough, embedded in the binding was the jagged edge of the residual page. ‘You’re right. I can see it. May was ripped out. But why?’
‘Maybe something happened in that maternity ward that needed to remain hidden.’
Emma glanced at the acid-free box. ‘Have you gone through the entire box? Could the page be in there somewhere?’
‘I went through the whole thing. It’s full of more hospital log books but from different years. More doctor’s notebooks, also from different years. I couldn’t find the May page anywhere.’
‘So we have a missing page.’ Emma closed the book, exasperated. ‘This story just gets more convoluted.’
‘It’s like peeling back one layer to find three more.’
‘And it brings us no closer to finding out who my grandmother was waiting for by the wharf.’
They fell silent, sitting side by side on the floor in the small archive room with the air-conditioner humming persistently in the background.
‘How have you been?’ Matt asked eventually.
‘Fine. No, not really,’ Emma said ruefully. ‘I’ve been struggling with what we did.’
‘Me too.’
‘Matt, did you know the whole time but let it happen anyway?’
‘No. I didn’t know. It only started to click in the reception carpark when Gwendoline said I looked like him, that I had his hazel eyes. I had no idea who she meant, but it was obviously someone from both our pasts. Then I pieced it together properly when she said Rose became a full-time nurse in the hospital.’
‘Just like Edith.’
‘Yes.’
‘But in the cottage you said you’d always wondered, just a little, if it were possible.’
‘Yeah, as a far-fetched idea. As in hey, wouldn’t it be funny if my great-grandparents were your great-grandparents. But…’ He shook his head. ‘I never thought it was actually possible. I would never have let things continue between us if I’d known.’
‘Did you ever get the chance to meet Rose or Thomas when yo
u were younger?’
‘Thomas died in 1973 from pancreatic cancer before I was born. Rose died in her sleep a year later. She just slipped away. They say she died of a broken heart.’
‘I wish I could have known them.’
‘From what I’ve been told, they were good people. Rose was headstrong and fiercely protective of her family, particularly Gwendoline. From what I know of Thomas, he was a kind and gentle man, and a damn good carpenter.’
‘You’re Thomas’s great-grandson in every way.’
Matt blushed as he played with his shoelace. ‘I haven’t told my grandfather about Gwendoline yet.’
Emma looked at him.
‘He’s eighty-eight. I’m not sure I want to dredge all that up for him again. He was close to her. She was his big sister and when she ran away, it devastated him.’
‘So he has no idea she’s still alive?’
‘They never kept in contact. I don’t know whether to say anything.’
Emma let out a frustrated sigh. ‘There’s so much to this story we still don’t understand. Why would Thomas and Rose pack up suddenly and flee in 1926? Did it have something to do with the boat my grandmother was waiting for? Is that why they changed their names? Were they running from someone?’
‘The answers are here on the station. We just need to find them,’ Matt said.
‘Are they? Because I feel like we keep hitting dead ends.’
‘We’re making progress.’
‘We’re chasing ghosts.’
They fell quiet, avoiding eye contact, until Emma broke the silence. ‘I better go.’ She stood, packed the books back into the acid-free box and closed the lid.
Matt stood too. ‘I was thinking of taking a walk out to Thomas and Rose’s cottage tomorrow to have another look around. Did you want to come?’
She gave him a sad smile. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Just as friends.’
‘I can’t be your friend, Matt.’ She thought she saw his heart crack a little and she turned away. ‘It’s for the best.’
He didn’t say anything as he picked up the box and stacked it on top of the others. He followed Emma outside, back into the daylight.
The Quarantine Station Page 29