by Tony Parsons
“Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s happy to live his life without someone but I haven’t given up on him. The whole picture may change when Billy leaves,” Debbie said.
“Is he going to leave?”
“He’s supposed to be going back to live with his mother when he turns eighteen. It’ll depend quite a lot on how his singing career pans out. Billy’s hoping it will earn him a living as he doesn’t want to do anything else. How he’ll manage without Clay is anyone’s guess. Clay hasn’t allowed him to make a wrong move but he can’t be responsible for him forever. If Clay is left to himself, maybe he’d have a different idea about living alone. There’s no doubt that Billy has been an inhibiting factor. Clay wouldn’t like me saying that, but the fact of the matter is that he’s had to tread a pretty tight line as regards behaviour to be able to keep Billy. I suppose Mother explained all this to you?” Debbie said.
“She did,” I agreed. “There’s another thing. Your mother says that your sister will return to Australia sometime after she gets her degree. It appears she had an adolescent crush on Steele via his books. So, is she likely to be a complication? She’s in for a shock when she discovers that he’s been here for some time and you and Glenda have kept that information from her. She’ll want to meet Clay, won’t she?”
“No doubt about that, but I refuse to worry my head about how Donna will behave. She’s older than me, and no doubt more worldly-wise, but whether that would make any difference to Clay, I have no idea. If it wasn’t that I think Mother sort of fancies him, I’d think there was something seriously amiss with Clay. I mean, there’s no way she’d have given Clay guardianship of Billy if she’d the slightest suspicion that he wasn’t straight,” Debbie said.
“No, I suppose not.”
I spent a reasonably pleasant night with Glenda and Debbie then next morning, I returned to Jerogeree to say goodbye to Clay and Billy. I found them throwing lines together and singing them in turn. They were working on a song called ‘Travelling Back’. It was only in its early stages and they kept making changes to the words. Clay did most of the changing and Billy did most of the singing…
I never thought I’d be travelling back
Along the old familiar track;
Where years before I rode to school.
I knew I was back when I came to the gate
where I used to wait
For blue-eyed Janie Bower
I thought even then she was the girl for me.
Never thinking it was not to be.
Because she left the bush and never came back:
Never again rode that old familiar track.
And I cleared out after a row with Dad
Went north and left my Mum almighty sad.
Through all the early years of being a ringer,
I simply wanted to be a singer.
I never thought the old place would come to me,
That the old man couldn’t bear the thought
Of anyone else owning Ellardslee…
And so it went on. Clay said not to take much notice of what they were doing as it was early days for the song and very much a wait-and-see version. It might take a week to get the song right. What struck me was how closely they were absorbed in this composition. Like brothers. Presently, Clay put down his guitar and stood up. “How was your visit?”
“It was fine. Glenda and Debbie were very nice to me. Could we take a walk?” I asked.
“I was just about to ask if you’d like something to eat before you leave. You are leaving, aren’t you?”
“Shortly,” I said.
“Billy, I’m leaving you for a little while. Keep working at the song,” he said.
We walked outside and then down to the creek, that lovely creek with its clear water and rush-lined banks. Once, many years ago, the Gubbi Gubbi had called this creek home until settlers had come and quite brutally taken the creek and its surrounding land from them. It was a sobering thought that such dark deeds had taken place in such a beautiful place.
“What is it, Gillian?” Clay asked with his usual insight.
“I don’t want to leave without thanking you for being so nice to me, Clay. I realise that I arrived without notice, that I’ve intruded into your life and disrupted it to some extent, but I can’t say that I’m sorry about it. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed staying here with you and Billy. I can understand why you love this place and why you value your anonymity,” I said.
“So, what will you do when you return to Sydney? Spill the beans about where I’m to be found?”
“Not in the way you probably envisage, Clay. I’ll confide in Camilla and Brenda, and maybe I’ll talk to Shelley and tell her that I located you. It will be up to her whether she wants to take it further. That will be the extent of my disclosures. Maybe it’ll all come out when your next book is published,” I said.
“You’ll be wasting your time talking to Shelley. Shelley is a high flyer and wouldn’t be interested in coming here to see me. She’d have other fish to fry. I’d prefer that you say nothing to Shelley. She could very easily use the information as a scoop for her career.”
“It’s just that I promised her when I began my search for you that if I found you, I’d let her and the others know. That was in return for their help. Well, I found you. It’d be going back on my word not to tell Shelley that I found you and that you’re okay. I don’t have to tell her your whereabouts.”
“I take your point and a promise is a promise but please skip the details in Shelley’s case. Just give her the bare facts,” he said.
“I’d like to come back and see you and Billy again,” I said.
“You’ll be welcome any time, Gillian,” he said with the gentle smile I’d come to know so well.
“There are things I have to do before I can come back again. I want you to know that you’ve given me a new perspective on life. I understand now why you chose to come here and live in anonymity instead of living a celebrated life in Sydney. I admire you for that, Clay.”
“Thank you.”
“I also think that you’ve done an amazing job of looking after Billy. It’s almost as if you’re brothers. You’re a very fine man, Clay Steele,” I said and I meant it from the bottom of my heart.
“I’m simply grateful to be alive, to be living in this place and to have been so placed that I could look after Billy when the need arose. I care for Billy deeply, Gillian, and it hasn’t been all one-sided. Billy has been good for me too. He pushed me into studying music, which is an on-going development in my life. I was always keen on music and singing but I never had time to devote to either. Now I have,” he said.
We went back to the house and I had a cup of coffee with Clay and Billy. Billy was a fine-looking teenager and I had no doubt that if he stuck close to Clay, he’d have a great career in country music. How he’d go if he left Clay’s ‘protection’ was another matter.
Whether instructed by Clay or of his own volition, Billy kissed me goodbye and Clay gave me a kiss and a hug. Through my tears, I took a last look at Clay’s restored dwelling and his wild, lovely garden with the noisy lorikeets squabbling for seeds and honey-soaked bread. The grey possums were silent now but I knew I’d remember their bird-like chirruping for a long time to come. Just as I’d carry with me the fragrances from the many trees, shrubs and vines that grew in riotous profusion in that magical garden, blending with the aroma of the dried herbs that hung both inside and outside the cottage.
I tried to absorb all of these things so that I could recall them. And then, I drove away from Jerogeree and from Clayton Steele. The man and garden had cast a spell on me and I needed time to think about how I felt about that. I knew that whatever happened, I’d return to this place and to Clayton Steele…
Chapter Fourteen
Sydney hit me in the face with its sprawl and its traffic. It took some getting acclimatised to again after Jerogeree, even though I’d been raised in the place. I missed Jerogeree’s tranquillity and most of all, I missed Cla
y Steele.
Camilla and Brenda were quite overcome by the fact that I’d located Steele. I didn’t acquaint them with all the details and allowed them to think that I’d been awfully clever and tenacious in my search. There was quite a different reaction from Shelley Carruthers. When I told her that I’d located Steele and that he was guardian for a teenager, there was a momentary silence. It was broken by Shelley’s voice pitched substantially higher. “You did say that Clay is playing daddy to a teenager?”
“Billy is a very talented singer and musician. He’s recorded already. Would you be interested in going up to see Clay?”
“Goodness, no. I’m far too busy.”
“So, does that mean that you’re no longer interested in Clay?”
“Clay walked out of my life, Gillian. Except for one brief note, he’s never bothered to contact me. I’d say that Clay is no longer interested in me.”
I could have told her about Clay’s illness and his sojourn in America, but it was clear that Shelley wasn’t interested in Clay.
“Thanks, Shelley. Sorry to bother you,” I said and put down the phone.
It was hard to put into words what I felt about Clay but it was marginally easier to be objective about him from a distance. What I found remarkable about him was the reception he’d given me. It was as if we’d bonded instantly over a shared love of wild places, like a brother and sister raised to feel the same way about the environment and the creatures in it. He’d never by word or deed tried to take advantage of me and Jerogeree, by nature of its location, certainly lent itself to seduction. In fact, he’d behaved in exemplary fashion, which suggested that I hadn’t turned him on.
I knew enough about relationships to realise that you couldn’t make a man love you. He either did or he didn’t. Although we hadn’t been together for very long, I knew in my heart that I wanted Clayton Steele, and that he didn’t seem to want me. The problem was what to do about it.
For months, I agonised about Clay, trying to forget him. But my tangled feelings for him didn’t go away and my loneliness grew stronger. My desire to start a family of my own became a pain that gnawed at me. There were so many obstacles that stood in the way of me trying to further my friendship with Clay. Apart from his guardianship of Billy, there was the obvious affection held by both Glenda and Deborah Butler for Clay. While I wasn’t sure of exactly where Glenda stood in relation to Clay, I was pretty sure that she hadn’t been averse to giving Clay a bit of casual sex. You could tell that she had some kind of proprietary interest in him by the way she looked at him. This didn’t worry me because it was Deborah Butler who was my biggest adversary. Deborah was in love with Clay and she was a stunning and clever young woman, much younger than me and better-looking. And she was closer to Clay through her mother and closer, too, in terms of accessibility. Deborah had all the advantages. Once she finished at university, she’d make her play for Clay. I realised only too well that Debbie would use whatever strategies she could to snare Clay, and that she’d be awfully hard to resist. And this wasn’t taking into account the likelihood of Donna Butler returning from Britain: Donna, with her degrees in arts/journalism and economics. Donna, who had passed up law and medicine in favour of journalism because of her admiration for Clayton Steele’s books. Donna was hardly likely to remain aloof with Clayton Steele close at hand, not if she was unattached and maybe still carried a torch for him.
The more I tried to forget Clayton Steele, the more I thought about him, until finally, I decided there was only one way to move forward. I needed to show Clay how I felt, and while I might not get him, I might get a part of him. I reckoned that part of Clayton Steele would be better than nothing and a whole lot better than settling for some guy who wasn’t good enough to stand in his shadow.
My second departure for Queensland coincided with the launch of Clay’s fifth book. It was a beautifully written work but bitingly critical of the behaviour of European settlers towards the indigenous inhabitants of Australia. It was both praised and vilified. There were still some people who believed that indigenous Australians were useless layabouts being supported by Australian taxpayers.
I left all of this behind me as I drove north. The closer I got to Jerogeree, the more excited and worked up I became because I would soon be seeing Clay again. I planned to arrive mid-morning while Billy was at school so I’d have Clay all to myself. I hoped I had my timing right in more ways than one.
I found Clay working in his garden. He was still beardless and looked well-tanned by the sun and hardened by work. He got up off his knees and smiled as I walked down to him.
“Hi, Clay, I’m back again,” I said.
He seemed unsurprised to see me and bent to give me a kiss and hug. “I wondered how long it would take for you to visit me again.”
I looked around the garden and it seemed to me that everything had grown greatly since I left. “You’re looking well, Clay.”
“So are you, Gillian.”
“I’ve been looking after myself. Being a woman of independent means, I can work when I feel like it and not work when I don’t,” I said. “The garden’s looking great.”
“It’s a bit messy but it yields well. Have you come far today?”
“I stayed in Caboolture last night. A girl friend from uni days lives there. Will you be long here?” I asked.
“Not now you’ve come. I’ll come in and make us some lunch,” he said.
“I’ve brought some food for lunch… cold meat, fresh crusty bread and milk.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel hanging from a hook beside the tank stand.
“I thought you might be away promoting your new book,” I said. “It’s in all the book shops. I found it very beautiful, Clay.”
“Thank you. I did one promotional trip down to Brisbane and that’s it. I told Brenda that the book will either sell on its merits or it won’t.”
“It’s selling very well, Clay,” I told him. “What are you working on now?”
“Something entirely different,” he said enigmatically.
“And you’re not going to tell me what it is. Ouch, that’s cruel. Okay. How’s Billy?”
“Billy’s fine. We’re going down to Tamworth to record some more songs,” he said. The way he said it made it seem the most important project in his life, even more important than his own work. A stab of envy twisted in my chest.
“That’ll be nice for you and Billy.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Billy has come on a treat and there’s a lot of interest in him… especially from girls,” he said with a grin. “It’s not all one way either. Billy has developed an eye for the girls, too.” The way he said it, I took it that he wasn’t jumping over the moon about this development.
We sat and chatted over lunch. Whenever I’d visited there’d always been something fresh to eat from Clay’s garden, but this time the food seemed to taste better just because I was with him. My chatter didn’t reflect my inner turmoil because, inside, I was a bundle of nerves. I’d sought to overcome this by contributing a bottle of Riesling, the best I could find, and although it was giving me a nice inner glow, it couldn’t altogether still my furiously racing heart. But I was aware that my time had come. I’d made up my mind about what I wanted to do and there’d be no last-minute retreat. I was sure that although Clay didn’t love me, he certainly liked me and I was reasonably hopeful, men being men, that he wouldn’t knock back what I was going to offer him.
“That was a very tasty lunch, Gillian. The wine was good, too. I haven’t tasted wine for some time. I must say I feel quite light-headed from it,” he said cheerily.
“Clay, I’ve been wondering if you’d do me a favour,” I said.
“What kind of favour?” he asked with that slow smile I knew so well.
“It’s a very big favour. I want you to give me a child,” I said.
Clay choked then coughed loudly. “Say that again?”
“I want to go to bed with you a
nd I want you to give me a child,” I said as calmly as I could get the words out.
Clay stared at me with wide eyes. He must have judged that I was serious because his gaze didn’t shift. “Haven’t you got a boyfriend who could do that for you?”
“No, I haven’t. Until I met you, I’d never met a man I wanted to make a child with, and I may never meet such a man again. That doesn’t really concern me as I don’t need a man to support me. But I want a child and I want you to be its father,” I said.
Clay looked at me as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “Why me, Gillian?”
“Why not you, Clay? You’re an intelligent and attractive man. Do you have a problem about going to bed with me?” I asked.
“No, it isn’t that. You’re a beautiful woman, Gillian but I have a problem with the thought of fathering a child that will be brought up by a single parent. It raises several ethical concerns.”
I picked up my handbag, opened it and withdrew a sheet of paper which I handed to him. “That may help you to overcome one of those problems,” I said. It was a letter which I’d had my solicitor draft before I left Sydney. It stipulated that in the event of my giving birth to a child, the father, one Clayton Steele, would not be held responsible for maintenance of the said child in any way whatsoever and that all costs associated with the child’s upbringing would be borne by the child’s mother, Gillian June Brooker.
“Good heavens,” Clay said. “How long has this notion been in your head?”
“For some time, Clay. I was hoping you’d do something about it on my last visit and then, I wouldn’t have had to go to these lengths,” I said.
“Putting all my ethical concerns to one side, how can you be sure you’d fall pregnant from this visit? It’s a bit far to keep coming back here. I mean, it takes some women ages to become pregnant,” he said.
“I realise that but I’ve been into it all. It’s the right time of the month. You’ve got three days to have your wicked way with me. The more times you can make love to me, the better chance I’ll have of becoming pregnant. That ought to fire you up,” I said. I got up and walked towards his bedroom, anxious for the process to begin. “Can we make a start, Clay?”