by Gover, Janet
In her bedroom, Katie slept on, her curtains shut to preserve the cool darkness for as long as possible. The map-wrapped package lay on the coffee table, next to the mug she had failed to wash the night before.
In their nearby house, Adam and Jess were still in bed, but not asleep. Their Christmas had started early with an exchange of gifts and a champagne breakfast in bed.
As always, Ed Collins was out of bed with the sun. His first task this Christmas morning, as it was every day, was to pat the dog, and let her out. Candy wagged her tail as she began her slow and careful descent of the stairs from the back door to the garden. Watching her struggle, Ed felt sadness steal over him. She was so very old. According to the vet, she wasn’t in any pain, but Ed knew he wouldn’t have her company for much longer. He looked across the road to the pub, where his son was sleeping. He wouldn’t have Scott for very much longer either.
Inside the pub, Trish and Syd were also up and about. As the prime movers behind the Waifs and Orphans party, there was a lot for them to do. Trish and Syd didn’t exchange Christmas gifts any more. Their Christmas was all about other people. Deep down, Trish knew this was their way of dealing with the fact that they had never been blessed with children. But she had long since come to terms with that. As long as there were people in the world she could help, she was content.
And speaking of helping … She heard movement in the room just above her kitchen. If Scott and his father didn’t sort themselves out soon, she’d do more than give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. In fact, she could probably start today. But, to be fair, she would cook the boy a good breakfast first. He deserved that much.
The smell of cooking greeted Scott as he came down the stairs. And not just the normal breakfast smells of coffee and bacon. He walked into the kitchen to find Trish hard at work.
‘Merry Christmas.’ He risked giving her a quick peck on the cheek and was rewarded with a smile. She wasn’t such a bad sort, he thought as he helped himself to coffee.
‘Tuck into this,’ Trish said as she slid a plate onto the table. ‘There’s a lot of work to do to get ready for the Waifs and Orphans.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Are you planning to go over the road this morning?’
‘I’ll see my father at the party.’ Scott kept his voice casual. He had thought about going to visit his father … but had decided against it. He had no gift to give him. He had no idea what he could even say. They had barely acknowledged Christmas when Scott was a boy … it would seem strange to make a fuss now.
Trish said nothing, but the way she did it spoke volumes.
By the time Scott had finished his breakfast, Trish was starting to pack food and ice into several huge coolers.
‘If you’re ready,’ Trish said in a voice that brooked no denial, ‘I need you to take a load of chairs to the hall. After that, there’s ice in the freezer in the bar. And all this food is just about ready to go too. You’d better use our ute. You can take bigger loads in that.’
‘I’m on it.’
He wasn’t the only one. By the time he had driven to the hall, the back of the ute piled high with chairs and stools, there were already several cars there. He grabbed the first load and walked up the stairs. He took one step inside the hall and stopped, feeling his mouth drop open.
The scene in front of him was all the Christmas dreams he’d ever had a child. It was his first memories of Christmas, when his mother was still with him and the house was filled with colour and life and love. It was everything he had lost when she left. Everything his father had never allowed in those long dark years.
The hall was dripping with decorations. Although Scott had helped with some of the work, this was the first time he’s seen them in their full glory.
Someone had installed a tree at one end of the hall and it glittered with colour and light. Lights had also been strung along the timber beams above his head, adding an extra layer of sparkle to the already dazzling room. The tables he had helped to arrange were now covered with cloth – the wide range of size and colour and pattern was testament to the fact that they had come from many different homes. So too had the assortment of plates and glasses stacked ready for the start of the party. On some of the tables, there were vases of flowers; a rare sight in this dry and dusty place. There still weren’t many chairs, but he was about to change that.
‘Hey, the chairs are here,’ a voice called from the back of the room. Several men came forward to help unload the back of his vehicle, wishing him a merry Christmas as they did. The back of the ute was empty in no time at all, and Scott returned to the pub for the next load. Once again many hands helped make light of the unloading. The crowd was growing now. Families walked through the door, calling greetings to their neighbours. Kids were showing off their presents to anyone who might listen. It seemed every family brought something to add to the party. A home baked cake. A bowl of potato salad or a ham. Beer and soft drink was pushed into the ice in the bathtubs along one wall. Then someone turned on the music. As the first Christmas carol filled the air, Scott glanced at the doorway to see his father walk in.
Ed looked like a different person. His greasy overalls had been exchanged for blue jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt. It wasn’t just that he looked clean – he looked less worn down by care. Younger too. He crossed the room to where Scott was standing. For a few moments, the two of them just stood there, both not sure what to say or do.
‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’
This was what he had come back to Coorah Creek to do. Scott held out his hand. The last time he and his father had touched, their hands had been fists.
All around them, people were hugging and laughing and exchanging gifts.
Ed reached out and took Scott’s hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Son.’
Chapter Nineteen
Katie was running late for the party. Her morning had been thrown out by the arrival of a couple of patients at the hospital. She’d helped Adam set the broken arm of a child who had become too adventurous on the swing set he’d been given for Christmas. And she’d dressed a burn on a woman’s hand which was good argument against too much champagne at breakfast before lighting the barbecue for Christmas lunch. She would Skype her family back in England when the time differences allowed, so she had set off to the Waifs and Orphans party – where she had already arranged to meet Scott.
The hall was humming when she arrived. Music was wafting through the open doors and windows, as was the sound of talk and laughter. When she entered the hall, Katie stopped and looked around her. The old wooden hall had been changed into a wonderland. It was Christmas in all its glory … but so different as to be almost unrecognisable.
The tree that glowed so brightly at the end of the hall was like no other Christmas tree she had ever seen. No tall stately pine, this tree was as broad as it was high. A profusion of branches spread from multiple trunks, the long broad dark green leaves dropping towards the floor. The tree sported as much tinsel and as many lights as anyone could hope for – but the snow in its branches was just cotton wool.
In England, her Christmas had always been marked by a roaring log fire, the flickering firelight adding to the warmth of the room. Not so in Coorah Creek. The room was already hot. There were no woolly scarves or bright Christmas knits. Shorts and T-shirts seemed to be the dress code for most of the party goers. However there was, she was pleased to see, a smattering of Santa hats.
The room was brilliantly decorated with tinsel and shining glass balls. There were hand-made cut out stars, no doubt produced at the school. There were brightly wrapped boxes under the tree. The tables were almost groaning under the weight of the food that was laid out. But Katie would not call it a proper Christmas lunch. There were huge bowls of salad and fruit. She spied buckets of fresh prawns – although how they came to be so far from the ocean she wasn’t sure. There were legs of ham cooked on the bone, the thick skin peeled back to reveal the succulent meat beneath. There was ice-cream sto
red, like the beer, in tubs of ice. There was turkey – or perhaps it was chicken – but it was cold and laid out alongside other cold meats.
Where was the steaming roast and stuffing? The rich dark pudding and the mince pies? Not to mentioned the roast potatoes and the bread sauce? And where oh where was the gravy? The thick tasty gravy that her mother always made with white wine and just a touch of mustard to give it extra bite.
This wasn’t Christmas as she knew it, but the room did exude the gaiety and joy she was looking for. Many of the faces were unknown to her – but even this far from her home, the smiles were the same. And in the midst of it all, totally recognisable and drawing her to him like a homing pigeon to its nest, was Scott.
He was laughing at something someone had just said. He was dressed simply in blue jeans and a T-shirt, but she had never seen any man look so good, as he tossed his head back and laughed again. Even amid the hubbub of noise around her, she could hear his laugh as clearly as if he was standing next to her. He looked so at ease here in the midst of this very summery Christmas, with these people from whom he had run all those years ago. He stopped laughing and turned around, almost as if he could feel her eyes on him. When he saw her, his face lit up. He excused himself and hurried towards her.
‘Katie. Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry —’
Before she could finish the greeting, Scott had taken her in his arms and kissed her. For a few seconds, all she was aware of was how good it felt in his arms. With his lips on hers. How right it felt. And suddenly, the strangeness of this Christmas day was gone. In some deep and unexplained way, here in a place she had seen for the first time such a short time ago, she had come home.
When Scott finally released her, she was astounded to hear whistles and cheering and catcalls. She looked around at the smiling faces of the townsfolk, and blushed to the very tip of her toes.
‘Come on,’ Scott said. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’
By mid-afternoon, the party was in full swing. People came and went as they wished. The food and drink flowed in what seemed a never ending abundance. Katie smiled to see Trish and Syd Warren moving through the crowds, playing the role of hosts although, in truth, the town itself was the host on this occasion. Adam and Jess were there, as was Ken Travers, the storeowner and her patient. His wife was with him and a teenage girl she assumed was their daughter. Jack North was playing Santa for a group of kids – a couple of which she believed were his. There were people she didn’t know, but she guessed that by the end of the day, no-one in that room would be a stranger any more.
Katie felt a warm glow, and she wasn’t certain if it was caused by the soaring temperature, the delicious if somewhat alcoholic fruit punch being served from a huge bowl, or Scott, who was never far from her side, his voice and honest laughter punctuating her day. Whenever possible his hand found hers, although that wasn’t too often given their need to distribute food and drink and to constantly embrace both children and adults.
Scott was off collecting another load of ice from the pub freezer, when his father sought Katie out.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.
‘And to you too,’ she said, meaning it.
‘Having Scott here has made this the best Christmas in a very long time,’ Ed said. ‘I know you have helped too.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Yes, you have. You’ve been a friend to him. Given him someone to talk to. And I know you have been encouraging him to try to overcome the bad feeling that’s been between us all these years.’
‘He set out to do that long before he met me,’ Katie said.
‘I know. But you’ve helped him … us. I wanted to thank you for that.’
Katie felt herself blushing again.
‘My son cares for you,’ Ed said matter-of-factly.
‘I care for him too.’
At that moment, Scott re-entered the building carrying a huge bag of crushed ice. To the cheers of the crowd, he upended the ice into the big bathtub full of beer, sending water splashing over the sides. Amid much back-slapping, he accepted another beer from one of the men.
‘So, are you having a good time?’ he asked Katie as he re-joined her.
‘Yes. I was feeling really homesick this morning, but I’m not any more.’ She gave his hand a squeeze to let him know how much he was responsible for the improvement in her day.
‘Scott,’ Ed spoke hesitantly. ‘I have a couple of things at the house that … That I thought you might like to have. If you could come over.’
‘What things?’
‘It’s better that you come and take a look. It could be now. Or later if you would prefer.’
Scott glanced at Katie, a question in his eyes. She could feel his hesitation. He had declared his intention never to set foot in his father’s house again. But things were changing and she knew this was something he had to do.
‘Go,’ she said without hesitation.
‘Will you …’
‘I’ll be fine. I promised Trish I would take care of the next round of washing up. Then I need to head back anyway. The time will be right to Skype my family back home.’
‘Can I come over to your place later?’
‘You’d better. I have something for you too.’
Chapter Twenty
They walked back towards the garage in silence. Ed found it a little hard to believe that after all these years, Scott was coming back to the house they had once both called home. This was a chance for a new start, but Ed didn’t know how to make it work. There were some things he should give to Scott, but that wasn’t his only reasons for inviting his son back to the house. He still harboured a hope that if Scott could walk back through that front door, some of the pain of the past few years might wash away.
As they approached the darkened buildings on the corner of the town’s main street, Ed found he was looking at his home and business with new eyes. Through Scott’s eyes. Both buildings were shabby and in need of new paint. The garden, if you could call it that, was overgrown and wild. The grime that went with his business had slowly spread to cover his whole life. And this was how Scott had lived as a boy. He hadn’t been a very good father to his son. It was a wonder that Scott had grown into the man he was.
They reached the rusty side gate. Ed automatically looked for movement in the overgrown garden; the flash of gold and accompanying bark that would tell them Candy had noticed their arrival. For a long time now, she had been the only one to greet his return at the end of each day. Without her the loneliness would have been even harder to bear.
There was no movement in the garden. Ed opened the gate, a frown starting to form on his forehead.
‘Candy. Where are you girl?’
There was no answer. Ed walked towards the house, pushing aside the branches of an overgrowing bush. Then he saw her.
‘Oh, no. Candy.’ The softly spoken words were torn from the depth of Ed’s soul.
The Labrador was lying on her side near the steps leading to his back door. Her legs were caught under her body as if she had fallen while trying to climb the stairs. Her eyes were closed and her tongue lolled from her open mouth. She was still breathing, but every slow laboured breath seemed as if it would be her last. Ed knelt by her head and ran his hand over her muzzle. When she stirred slightly and licked his fingers, his heart almost broke.
He heard Scott come up behind him.
‘Help me get her inside.’
Scott hurried up the steps. The door wasn’t locked. He opened it and stepped aside to allow Ed to carry the dog through. Ed carried his old friend through to the living room, and lowered her very gently onto a much used dog bed that sat beside his old armchair.
Ed crouched beside her, stroking her head gently. Scott joined him. Candy opened her eyes and stared up at the two men. Slowly the very tip of her tail began to wag. Just a little. She licked Scott’s fingers as he reached out to stroke her, then her eyes closed again.
‘Should I g
o and find the vet?’ Scott asked.
Ed shook his head. ‘We knew this was coming. She’s just old. Too old.’ His voice broke. The hands that reached out to stroke the old dog’s head were shaking.
The three of them stayed like that for what seemed a very long time. After each breath Candy took, Scott and Ed waited an eternity until she took the next. When, at last she didn’t, the room seemed very very silent.
Grief crashed down on Ed like a physical thing. His only friend was gone. He felt so terribly alone. For the first time in many long years, tears began to stream down his face. He looked at Scott and saw the same grief in his eyes. It was as if time had shifted and Scott was a boy again, looking to him for comfort when his mother left. Ed had failed his son then. And he was terribly afraid he would fail again.
Both men rose to their feet. For the first time since they’d entered, Scott looked around him. Ed knew the room hadn’t changed much in the last eight years. The furniture was older. Shabbier. But Scott would recognise his home.
He knew the moment Scott saw the photograph. His body stiffened. He walked over to the bookshelf and lifted the silver frame from its place. Inside that frame was a photo of a beautiful young woman and a small boy.
‘I thought you threw everything away,’ Scott said slowly.
‘No. I just put them away. After you left, I wanted something …’ Ed couldn’t continue.
Scott turned around. His face, still wet tears, was contorted with grief and anger.
‘Why? Why did you do it?’
Ed didn’t answer.
‘She was beautiful. She was a wonderful wife and mother. And you had an affair! Why did you do that? Why did you drive her away?’
Ed struggled to find the words he needed, but they wouldn’t come. He saw the disgust spread over Scott’s face. He put the photo back on the bookshelf and turned to walk out of the room, away from this house and his father. Ed knew that if his son left, he would never see him again.