‘I’m not the best of cooks, as my friends will tell you,’ Martha says as she pours Yolanda and Tess a glass of wine.
‘My father said it’s because she’s German,’ Rosie says.
‘What is?’ Martha asks, politely.
‘The fact that you can’t cook, Martha.’
‘If that was said about the Italians, there’d be cries of racism.’
‘No one would say that about the Italians,’ Rosie says. ‘When was the last time you heard someone say, “What’s your favourite German restaurant?”’
‘Una’s,’ Alana volunteers, overhearing on her way to supervise the kids upstairs.
‘How about we throw around the names of two world leaders, Rosie? Angela Merkel and Silvio Berlusconi. Wonder who I’d prefer leading my country.’
Rosie won’t give Martha the satisfaction of laughing, but Martha knows she wants to. She can see Seb’s quirk dancing on Rosie’s lips.
‘German riesling, anyone?’ Martha asks, holding up the bottle.
Later, Signora De Lorenzo approaches with Toto who’s feverish and miserable and Rosie is about to take him upstairs, but Signora won’t hear of it. There’s a mini exchange or argument between them, but who can tell? Signora always looks like she’s telling someone off, when all the while it could merely be a discussion about the weather.
‘Walk them to Signora’s,’ Rosie tells Jimmy, kissing Toto’s cheek.
And throughout it all Martha’s aware of Ewan, who sticks close to Julia and Alana and the kids. What she’d really like to do is walk over and ask if it’s true that he’s taken a job at a sporting clinic in the south-west. But he doesn’t look at her, and she doesn’t blame him because she wishes she could have revealed how she was feeling without causing so much hurt and damage.
Outside it’s getting dark and Martha goes to check the solar lights, but there’s nothing.
Except Sophie and Elizabeth sharing a cigarette.
‘You two are a disgrace,’ Martha says.
‘Can I just put something out there, Martha?’ Sophie asks.
‘If you bring up Ewan, I’m going to find George and tell him you’re smoking.’
‘She was the one who dobbed on us in second form when we smoked at your slumber party,’ Elizabeth tells Sophie. ‘You always had blinders on when it came to St Martha.’
‘It’s about Rosie,’ Sophie says.
Martha shakes her head. She doesn’t want to speak about Rosie.
‘Has it ever occurred to you that she didn’t come back for the house?’ Sophie asks. ‘That she knew they’d be safe with you?’
‘You’ve made her cry, Sophie,’ Elizabeth says.
‘I just can’t get my solar lights to work,’ Martha sobs.
When she walks back inside, she’s overwhelmed by the feeling that pretty much everyone she loves most in the world is enjoying themselves in the home that Seb built. That both of them did. All of them. Eugenia’s money. Loredana in the early days before she got sick. Rosie as a kid. She watches Scarlett and Marley and Samuel playing with Lotte’s old radio. Martha hopes they don’t break the figurines next to it, but doesn’t want to go over and be a party pooper. The kids get Ewan to help and he shows them how a tuner works, because that generation has no concept of anything but a scanner. Suddenly music blasts clearly through the speakers. Lionel Richie crooning ‘Three Times a Lady’. Ewan looks up, stunned at first, and then he catches Martha’s eye. Knows exactly where to find her. And she can’t help smiling. Laughing, really. And while the others are oblivious because there’s too much going on, they smile at each other across the room, and Martha’s fifteen years old again, in that school hall, dancing with him to this soppy song and thinking that this is the beginning of something big.
It’s late by the time everyone’s gone home. Rosie and Jimmy come back from picking up Toto at Signora De Lorenzo’s, and Jimmy heads upstairs with him, while Rosie prepares his bottle.
‘Thanks, Martha,’ Jimmy says from halfway up.
Martha forces a smile, doesn’t respond.
Most of the plates have been put in the dishwasher, but she picks up a stray glass or two and hovers around the sink, listening to the sounds she’s become used to as part of Rosie’s nightly rituals for Toto.
‘There’s probably a better way of saying this, Rosie, so you’re going to have to forgive me for my bluntness, but I don’t think you two are going to make it.’
Rosie reaction is instant. A deer caught in headlights. The week’s contentment gone.
‘What planet do you kids live on that makes you think it’s possible? Even with the money you’ll get from us selling this place, you are still going to end up with mortgage repayments, or Sydney rent prices, or just trying to keep your heads above water. And then every second week you’re on your own dealing with Toto, trying to get to work, trying to get him into day care, spending more money and then having to pay at least six hundred dollars a month flying Jimmy back and forward to Brisbane. It’s like the universe is setting you both up for failure before you’ve even started.’
Rosie’s bawling. That silent cry that makes her look so vulnerable. Because she’s gone through this in her own head. Martha can tell. Jimmy can live on hope alone, but Rosie’s never been one to romanticise a situation.
‘You kids deserve better than that.’
Upstairs, Toto starts wailing.
‘I don’t think we should sell the house, Rosie.’
She says it. Maybe she’s been wanting to say it forever but was frightened to. But, deep down, Martha knows that she owes Rosie a life in this house. Owes it to herself.
‘That way, you can go to uni and Jimmy can take the paramedics traineeship, and staying here will mean there’s always someone around to look after Toto, whether it’s one of us, or Teresa or Signora or the netballers or Jimmy’s friends.’
Jimmy comes down the stairs with a blubbering Toto.
‘Rosie?’ he says.
‘Just deal with him, Jimmy,’ Rosie says.
He hesitates, sees her tears. Toto’s crying becomes deafening. Up until now, Jimmy hasn’t had to cope with a crying wife and a sick child.
So Rosie follows him up the stairs.
Martha finishes up in the kitchen and switches on her laptop. Finds a plethora of Sophie emails from last week. Same as always. Chain letters about love, the sisterhood, friendship, ageing. She’s about to delete them all but doesn’t. Sends an email instead.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You are one of the loves of my life
Dear Sophie,
Before you go into a panic, I’m not suicidal or contemplating a big sea change, but you are one of the loves of my life and I wanted you to know.
Love,
Martha
She realises too late that she’s sent it to Alana, Julia and Elizabeth as well. So she just keeps on writing.
From: [email protected]
Subject: I’m sorry for calling you a dyke in first form
Dear Julia,
I’m sorry for calling you a dyke in first form. It was probably my only retaliation against you beating me in the maths prize, although I blame Sister Mo for that.
Love,
Martha
And it’s as if she can’t stop herself.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sorry for dobbing on you for smoking at Sophie’s birthday party
Dear Elizabeth,
What a little whistleblower in the making I was back then. All this time –
Halfway through it, she hears the sound of an email arriving.
From: [email protected]
Dear Martha,
I’m responding before anyone decides to drag this into the wee hours of the morning and none of us gets any sleep. So three things:
We love you.
We think that Ewan, the loser who dumped me at our school formal, is the best you’re going to get at your age so stop fucking around.
Get a bloody job. You’ve got too much time on your hands.
Love,
Elizabeth
After she puts Toto to bed and talks to Jimmy about the life she wants, Rosie comes down the stairs. The stairs that Jimmy’s Monaro money made. The Monaro her mother drove. The one her dad promised would lead Jimmy to his family. The one that led him to her, and her to Toto.
From the kitchen she can see Martha sitting in the dark outside on one of the banana chairs.
‘Do you want a cup of tea, Martha?’ she asks from the French doors.
‘I’d love one,’ Martha says.
Moments later, Rosie hands the tea to Martha and sits down on the banana chair beside her.
And the solar lights come on.
To Amy Thomas, who has now edited five of my novels. I love sharing these characters and stories with you.
Thank you to Nikki Christer, Laura Harris and Ben Ball.
To Adelina Marchetta, Marisa Donovan, Daniela Marchetta, Anthony Catanzariti, Brenda Souter, Janet Hill, Maxim Younger, Toby Younger, Chloe Michele, Jutta Goetze and Melissa Montuori, all who either read the manuscript or agreed to be interviewed, or knew something about the subject material that I didn’t.
To Jill Grinberg and Jennifer Naughton and everyone on their teams.
Thank you to Phil Crowley and Matthew Lamb from the Review of Australian Fiction, and Christie Neiman, editor of the Just Between Us anthology, who gave me a chance to write When Rosie Met Jim and The Centre. Both short stories began the journey for this novel.
And finally, to my family and friends, and my neighbours, and to the school and netball families, because this is a novel about communities, and B and I love belonging to yours.
ABOUT MELINA MARCHETTA AND ROOM TO READ
Melina Marchetta is a committed writer ambassador for Room to Read, an innovative global non-profit which seeks to transform the lives of millions of children in ten countries in Asia and Africa through its holistic Literacy and Girls’ Education programs.
Founded in 2000 on the belief that World Change Starts with Educated Children®, Room to Read’s innovative model focuses on deep, systemic transformation within schools in low-income countries during two time periods which are most critical in a child’s schooling: early primary school for literacy acquisition and secondary school for girls’ education. We work in collaboration with local communities, partner organizations and governments to develop literacy skills and a habit of reading among primary school children, and to ensure girls can complete secondary school with the skills necessary to negotiate key life decisions.
Room to Read has benefited more than 10 million children across 18,000 communities in Asia and Africa and aims to reach 15 million children by 2020. Room to Read is changing children’s lives in Bangladesh, Cambodia, India, Laos, Nepal, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Tanzania, Vietnam and Zambia.
As Melina says, ‘Two of my great passions are education and reading. The third is community. I’ve always belonged to one. Room to Read builds communities not just with bricks, but with words. When I first heard about Room to Read, all I heard were the words “building schools and filling libraries with books” and I was there. I have never heard anyone from Room to Read speak about what they can’t do. It’s always been about the great possibilities and hope.’
For more information, www.roomtoread.org.
Melina Marchetta is the bestselling author of nine novels, which have been published in more than twenty countries. Her novels, screenplays and television scripts have won multiple awards. She lives in Sydney.
PRAISE FOR MELINA MARCHETTA’S NOVELS
‘Each new Melina Marchetta novel is a revelation; she’s always changing, always evolving, and each one performs the miracle of somehow bettering the last.’
MARKUS ZUSAK, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE BOOK THIEF
‘A master storyteller … I’ve been reading on trains for 16 years and never missed my stop – until now.’
WHO WEEKLY
‘Outstanding fiction.’
THE AGE
‘On occasion, even cynical reviewers stay up long past bedtime, nodding and turning pages.’
THE SATURDAY PAPER
‘This story with its cast of rounded, beautifully crafted characters and dialogue shining with humour, pathos, and a vital spark, makes for a fiercely emotional and entertaining read.’
BOOKSELLER AND PUBLISHER
‘A story so full of heart – sorrowful, but warm and funny – it won’t be easy to forget.’
THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD
‘Brilliant.’
CANBERRA TIMES
‘A novel to rejoice in. A story from the heart.’
BOOKSELLER AND PUBLISHER
‘Jam-packed with family drama and heartbreak. Highly recommended.’
LIBRARY JOURNAL
‘Often heartbreaking, sometimes heart-stopping, and definitely unforgettable.’
IVY POCHODA, AUTHOR OF VISITATION STREET
‘Heart-pounding (and heartbreaking) … [it] grabbed me by the throat and didn’t let go until I’d read the last word – and shed the last tear.’
GAYLE FORMAN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF IF I STAY
‘Marchetta is an outstanding writer.’
HERALD SUN
‘The vibrant characters leap from the pages as Marchetta builds up the suspense to a superb crescendo.’
THE AUSTRALIAN WOMEN’S WEEKLY
ALSO BY MELINA MARCHETTA
Looking for Alibrandi
Saving Francesca
On the Jellicoe Road
Finnikin of the Rock
The Piper’s Son
Froi of the Exiles
The Gorgon in the Gully
Quintana of Charyn
Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil
VIKING
UK | USA | Canada | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa | China
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd 2019
Text copyright © Melina Marchetta 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and all dialogue and interaction between the characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Design by Louisa Maggio © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover image by Bjanka Kadic / Alamy Stock Photo
ISBN 9781760144487
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