Before the Storm

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Well, let’s hope not, as he might mention it to Sally. I seem to recall they’ve always been quite tight. We don’t want to be scooped by Sally on the radio station or TV people,’ said Patrick.

  ‘We’d better keep in touch with the mayor.’

  ‘Oh, no worries there. Meredith and I go back a long way, ever since she and Jim moved here. Sally goes to all the council meetings to cover them for the radio, and she’s a bit of a firecracker. But our Jon keeps his ear to the ground too.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something being planned, some announcement for Mrs O’Neill’s big birthday?’ wondered Ellie. ‘I don’t know if I’m going to get another “interview” with Kathryn O’Neill. But I’ll have a bit of a dig around. I just think there’s got to be more to her personal story.’

  Patrick reached out and patted her arm. ‘Good. It looks like you’re still in a job, kiddo. For the time being anyway,’ he added with a wink.

  *

  Ellie sat in the cosy sitting room and started reading a novel, but she couldn’t concentrate. Sam lay on his blanket close to her chair, watching her, his head on his paws. Eventually she closed her book and sat sipping her drink. The house was quiet.

  Ellie was thoughtful. She went into the formal dining room where she’d left her laptop. Her grandfather liked to eat at the big kitchen table and rarely used the dining room unless he was entertaining. Ellie remembered family meals at the table, when they’d used her grandmother’s favourite dinner service and all eaten far too much.

  She sat down and opened her laptop, ready to do some more research on the O’Neill family. Maybe, she thought, she could try looking at some more current news about them, rather than just historical detail. But as she keyed in the search terms and started opening articles about Seamus and his children, the now-familiar feelings of anxiety began to bubble to the surface, along with something new, something more urgent. Was this the stirring of another panic attack? She slammed her computer closed and breathed deeply.

  She wanted fresh air. Ellie gently nudged Sam, who, though still recovering, had begun to move around again, and they went out into the cool damp garden.

  As the dog sniffed around his favourite bushes, Ellie glanced up at the scudding clouds, hearing the distant waves pounding on the reef below. The beautiful old white house and surrounding trees glimmered in the pale light. The upstairs rooms were dark. Only a single yellow beam of light from the lamp in the dining room glowed at the front of the house.

  Vibrant, throbbing, late-night Fitzroy seemed very far away. And the memories here were suddenly far too close.

  3

  Ellie walked through the leafy park behind the shuttered old School of the Arts 1883 building. A few people were fishing at the seawall, others were picnicking on the grass, sitting under the broad trees or at wooden tables. She noticed a couple at one of the tables, then she recognised Ben O’Neill.

  As she hailed him, the woman he was speaking to turned and Ellie saw that it was Sally, who had previously worked at the Chronicle.

  Ben waved Ellie over.

  ‘Hey, Ellie, how’s it going? Do you know Sally? She used to work with your grandfather.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve met. Good to see you, Sally. Jon tells me you’re at the radio station now,’ Ellie said. ‘How are you enjoying switching from print?’

  ‘Pretty good, Ellie, thanks. In fact, I’m setting up an interview with Ben, about his wood carving. Have you seen what he does?’

  ‘I sure have,’ said Ellie, but privately thought it would be a better story in the Chronicle as listeners might find it hard to visualise how spectacular Harry the crayfish looked.

  Sally’s phone beeped and she glanced at it. Ellie noticed she had a small nose stud and a tattoo creeping along her arm.

  ‘So how’re things at the newspaper?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Always busy. How’re plans for your grandmother’s birthday going?’

  ‘I’m not involved with it. Except my grandmother insisted I be there. She always had a soft spot for me; I think it’s because I was a bit of a fish out of water in the family.’

  ‘Your family should wake up to themselves and realise how talented you are,’ Sally said, looking up.

  Ellie recalled Sally as being a rather nerdy, alternative girl who favoured tattoos (which Maggie loathed), was a big Star Wars fan, and swung between intense, introverted moods and being outgoing to the point of irritating. In her late twenties now, there seemed a harder edge to her, Ellie thought, or maybe it was simply that Sally had now found her self-confidence.

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt your interview – I’ll keep moving. Bye, Ben. Nice to see you again, Sally.’

  ‘Yeah. See ya.’ Sally turned her attention back to Ben, who smiled at Ellie as she walked away.

  ‘Cheers, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Come back and visit Harry sometime!’

  *

  ‘Where’re you off to?’ asked Ellie as she walked into the office and saw Patrick struggling to do up his tie.

  ‘I have a lunch date with the mayor every month or so. A friendly off-the-record chat.’

  ‘It requires a tie? Where do you go?’

  ‘Well, there’re two places in town that are a bit more formal. But we don’t go to either of them. Meredith likes to try restaurants that are doing something different or just starting out. The tie is a gesture of respect. Say, would you like to come along? I’ll ring Meredith and check with her first, but I’m sure it would be fine.’ Satisfied with his tie, Patrick reached for his jacket. ‘Your nana and I and Jim and Meredith used to have outings together on their boat, before Jim died and Meredith became the mayor. I guess that’s another reason we like to catch up. We miss our spouses. Like to remember the good times. There, how do I look?’ He struck a pose.

  Ellie smiled. ‘You look fab, Poppy.’

  ‘So, are you lunching with us or not? I’ll call Meredith now.’ Then, seeing Ellie’s hesitation, he added, ‘C’mon, love, chin up, things can’t be that bad. You know, I’ve always said you’re the smartest chicken in the henhouse. And besides, I need you at lunch to ask innocent questions. Ones that I shouldn’t ask.’ He winked.

  ‘Like what titbits of news, gossip, happenings are going on in the council?’

  He snapped his fingers. ‘That’s my girl.’

  Patrick pulled out his phone and made the call.

  *

  Mayor Meredith Havelock had chosen a cottage café at the edge of town.

  ‘This place looks gorgeous,’ said Ellie as Patrick parked outside the quaint old cottage. On its verandah, checked tablecloths fluttered in the breeze, anchored to each table by a small pot of flowers. A painted sign swung gently on two hooks by the gate: The Garden Cottage Guesthouse and Café.

  Meredith strolled towards them, waving a greeting. ‘Hello, Ellie, it’s so good to see you again.’ She reached out and shook Ellie’s hand. ‘Shall we go inside? It’s more private and it’s getting a bit cool.’

  They settled at a corner table with a view over fields where a dozen alpacas grazed. Ellie glanced around, taking in the comfortable furnishings: a floor lamp and a small settee in front of the fireplace, paintings on the walls, a bookcase full to bursting with books, as well as five other tables.

  ‘This is like being in someone’s home,’ she said.

  ‘That’s because we are,’ Meredith said. ‘Lucy and James, the couple who run this place, live here and grow their own produce, poultry and so on, out the back. Lucy’s a great cook. I think it’s tremendous to see young people get a business up and running. They had some setbacks with the drought and bushfire dramas, like everyone, but if anything it’s taught us all to be a bit inventive, to think outside the square.’

  The young waiter handed Meredith the wine menu, recommending a Victorian pinot and adding, ‘It’s from a small but significant vineyard not far from here.’


  Meredith closed the menu. ‘We like to support our locals. We’ll give it a try.’

  Waiting for their drinks to arrive, Meredith asked Ellie about her work, and how she’d got interested in working in IT.

  Ellie paused, thinking back. ‘It started at school. Computers and technology just appealed to me; they made sense. Like when you start to become fluent in a foreign language and it just clicks. At first I kept it to myself as none of my schoolfriends were interested in coding. I don’t code now, though. I’m a project manager, so I employ others to do it. But back then I was fascinated by what coding had to offer and wanted to learn everything I could about it. I’m still interested in it, really. But at the time I felt like there was something wrong with me for enjoying it so much!’

  ‘She’s being modest, Meredith. She’s been managing some high-level projects and a team of specialists that do stuff I can’t get my head around,’ said Patrick proudly. ‘There weren’t a lot of women in her field when she started.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why you thought there was something wrong, Ellie,’ commented Meredith. ‘It’s hard being a woman in what’s perceived as a male profession.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Ellie. ‘Especially when it comes to networking and negotiating and you’re one of the only women in the room. I found it hard to promote myself to the blokes. That is, to realise that it was okay to say, “Hey, I’m really good at this. I know what I’m doing. I’m awesome!”’ She tailed off, remembering again how she was muscled out of her job and the terrible scene in the boardroom.

  ‘And you are awesome!’ said Patrick.

  The waiter returned with the bottle of wine and handed it to Meredith, who read the label and then nodded. ‘This will be fine, thank you.’

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at Ellie. ‘If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will. Self-promotion is indispensable when you want to achieve a goal, get something happening or close a deal,’ Meredith said. ‘I know that now, but I learned it the hard way.’

  ‘You should feel proud of yourself too, Meredith, not just for being elected as mayor, but because you are never afraid to stand up to the boys’ club if it’s in the town’s best interests,’ said Patrick. ‘I know that it hasn’t all been smooth sailing for you.’

  Ellie studied the older woman, who presented as a powerful and confident person. ‘So what did you want to be when you were a young woman, Meredith?’ she asked suddenly.

  Meredith waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, when I was in my teens, I didn’t have ambitions. Life can take you in directions you never expect. Sometimes I feel I’ve lived several lives in one.’ She changed tack. ‘I remember you as a teenager, Ellie. I’d just moved here with Jim.’

  Ellie was about to ask more about the mayor’s life before she came to Storm Harbour when the chef and owner came to take their orders.

  ‘So lovely to have you back again, Mayor Havelock,’ the woman said, then smiled at Patrick and Ellie. ‘Hi, I’m Lucy. Chef, gardener and owner along with my husband, James.’

  Meredith introduced Ellie and Patrick before they turned their attention to the menu.

  After some reminiscing between Patrick and Meredith, their food was served, and Patrick plunged in.

  ‘So, Meredith, have you found out any more about those rumours you heard about the O’Neill land?’

  ‘Not much more than we spoke about the other day, Patrick. Just rumours: something to do with developing some land in town with “sweeping river views”,’ said Meredith.

  ‘River views,’ mused Patrick. ‘How much town land is left undeveloped along the river? Not much, I’d say, unless it’s way out where the marshes are, past the golf course, before you reach the sea. But I wouldn’t want to live there,’ he added.

  ‘I agree,’ replied Meredith. ‘As far as I can tell, there’s been no application lodged for a planning permit yet: I’d know a lot more if there had been. That doesn’t mean that secret conversations aren’t taking place, though, or that deals aren’t being struck.’ The mayor rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever’s going on, they’re doing a good job of keeping it under wraps at the moment.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘So what’s the best piece of land in town?’

  ‘Well, there’s only one piece of land I know of that has “sweeping river views” and that’s the land where Boyd suggested Kathryn O’Neill set up her Botanic Gardens.’ Meredith looked at Patrick sombrely.

  ‘They wouldn’t,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s not for sale!’

  ‘Or open to development,’ added Meredith.

  ‘But . . . that’s an icon in town!’ exclaimed Ellie. ‘It can’t be touched; surely the council would never allow that?’

  ‘Look, I could be wrong. We don’t really know anything – we don’t even know if there is a development planned at all,’ said Meredith.

  Ellie was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Ben told me the Gardens were Kathryn’s project. I didn’t realise she owned the land. How did that come about?’

  Patrick turned to her. ‘True to form, the first white settlers in this area made a grab for the best land. The stretch along the river has been in the O’Neill family for generations. As far as I know, Boyd O’Neill “gifted” it to Kathryn, for her birthday or a wedding anniversary or something, so that she could develop the Gardens, but legally speaking he retained ownership. I have no idea who he left it to when he died, but I assume it stayed in the family.’

  ‘I think the original idea was to landscape the whole area, but it’s far too big. The Botanic Gardens land was sectioned off as it is today. It’s such a special oasis,’ said Meredith. ‘So if this is the land they’re talking about, it potentially includes the caravan park as well.’

  ‘So who owns the caravan park?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘It’s a bit complicated, but as I understand it, the land still belongs to the O’Neills.’

  ‘I’m sure the O’Neills wouldn’t sell that land, for practical as well as sentimental reasons,’ said Patrick. ‘And as you suggested, Meredith, maybe Kathryn doesn’t know what’s going on. I’ve heard that the family and the people around her are very protective of her.’

  ‘Yes. I noticed.’ At Pat’s suggestion, Ellie had tried to schedule a follow-up interview with Kathryn, but Susan had proved to be as responsive and cooperative as a rock.

  Meredith picked up her wineglass and turned to Patrick. ‘I just hope the Chronicle can raise a bit of awareness if this land deal turns out to be really happening, and if it isn’t what the community wants. The radio station won’t jump up and down, so we need the Chronicle. As we always have.’

  ‘Isn’t it a community radio station?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘It’s a small network, a local regional station, and it’s privately run. Its owner has money and influence,’ said Patrick.

  ‘You look at who pays the bills to find out what their editorial stance is,’ added Meredith. ‘True community radio and media outlets, like your grandfather’s paper, are vital to a small town and the whole community who live in and around it.’

  ‘And they’re getting harder and harder to keep going,’ said Patrick with a slight frown. ‘We can’t rely on the advertising income we used to have. So many businesses are struggling. But a town without strong local media is a town without a voice.’

  ‘I agree.’ Meredith nodded. ‘Over the years I’ve lived here, I’ve seen this town change, and generally for the better; younger people are moving here to start up new ventures, creative types, some alternatives, organic life­stylers, couples wanting to get ahead and set up a business. This has all boosted tourism and brought more visitors, which is wonderful. But don’t be fooled: this town is still the preserve of the wealthy in many ways.’ Meredith looked at them both. ‘What I’m saying is, the old brigade doesn’t like to let go of the reins of the town. And that’s why we need the paper to keep things tr
ansparent.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Patrick jumped in, ‘no matter where a development goes it will most likely divide the town. I’ll keep my ears to the ground. Nothing will happen without The Storm Harbour Chronicle knowing,’ he added with a chuckle.

  *

  ‘Meredith is such an interesting person,’ said Ellie as they drove back to the Chronicle office.

  ‘She is indeed. Strong, focused, unbiased: a very correct and proper mayor. But when she lets her hair down after a few drinks with close friends, she’s quite a character. In the old days, before she hit the limelight, she could say what she thought. After Jim died and she became mayor, she quickly realised she had to be more reserved, more circumspect, let’s say.’

  ‘Do you see her often socially, apart from your regular lunch?’ said Ellie.

  ‘No, not really. I think she’s conscious of not being seen to be in my pocket, or too friendly with the media.’ He sighed. ‘We both feel we have to be a bit careful about what we say in public. Sometimes we can be on opposite sides of the fence. Anything I might publish that’s anti-council could be construed as coming from her.’

  ‘You mean it might suggest that she’d leaked information to you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Where would the press be without whistleblowers?’ said Patrick with a faint smile.

  *

  After spending a couple of hours setting up the Chronicle’s new Facebook page, Ellie decided to take a walk through the Botanic Gardens. Along the way, she wondered how the waterfront must have looked when the town was first established. What had it been like when Kathryn O’Neill came to the district as a young bride? How stunning it would have been if the lush and exotic Botanic Gardens had been established all the way along to where the caravan park was, as was originally intended, she thought.

  A mournful musical note drifted up from the caravan park, and Ellie stopped to listen. She was drawn to find out where it was coming from and made her way out of the Gardens, across the grass towards the cabins, where she saw Roly, sitting outside his home with the cello between his knees as he played with aching fervour.