‘Since this morning.’
‘This morning?!’ Aimee sat back in her chair and huffed out a breath. ‘He wants you to give up everything and move to America and this is the first you’ve heard about it?’
Eddie nodded.
‘That’s a rather big decision to make without discussing it with you first, don’t you agree?’ Sarcasm dripped from every word.
‘I know, but –’
Aimee cut her off with a glare. ‘No. No. Don’t stick up for him again. If Gus wanted to pack up and move overseas for his job, we’d talk about it together. You know, the way couples are supposed to.’
‘I know you’re right –’
‘Did you tell him you don’t want to go?’ Aimee interrupted again.
‘Not really. I tried, but I didn’t have a chance.’ Eddie rolled her shoulders to try to ease the tension that had settled on them.
Sophie, the waitress, brought their drinks and lunch orders over and stopped for a quick chat. After she’d gone, Eddie took her time breaking her sugar stick in half and pouring it into her coffee. Stirring slowly, she avoided Aimee’s eyes. When she looked up, Aimee was studying her intently.
‘You’re not seriously considering this, are you?’ Aimee asked.
Eddie screwed up her nose. She had never felt so conflicted in her life. She loved Jarrod, but she loved her life in Yallambah too. Everything was here – her house, her job, her friends. Her grandparents. And he knew that. ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘He reckons it’s an awesome opportunity.’
‘For him.’
Eddie dipped her head and didn’t reply. The truth was, Aimee was right. While it might be Jarrod’s perfect career move, there was nothing in it for her. It was unlikely she’d get work as a nurse in the States and when she pictured spending her days the way he’d described – being a lady who lunched – it made her shudder. Still, relationships were all about compromise.
‘This is his dream job though, Aimz.’
Aimee’s eyes flashed. ‘What about your dreams? Has he ever asked you what they are?’
Eddie fiddled with a broken fingernail. ‘I’m not sure I know myself anymore.’
‘They haven’t changed for as long as I’ve known you. You want to get married, have babies, be the best nurse you can be and help the community.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘They’re hardly earth-shattering, world-changing dreams.’
‘Rubbish. You have to stop selling yourself short. You want to make a difference in people’s lives and that’s what you do. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, it’s time you realised that what you want and what Jarrod wants might be two different things.’
‘So you’re saying I shouldn’t go?’
‘I can’t tell you what to do. But neither can Jarrod. Honestly, Ed, stop asking “how high” when a guy tells you to jump.’
Maybe Aimee was right. If she was being totally honest with herself, she had noticed a growing distance between them, even before Jarrod’s shock announcement that morning. She’d ignored the doubts though and told herself she was imagining things. Now, Jarrod’s decision to take a new job and move to America without consulting her first brought things to a head. She couldn’t ignore it any longer. Things between them weren’t quite right.
Aimee’s knife and fork clattered against her plate. She stared at Eddie. ‘What about Frank and Daisy? Have you told them?’
After Eddie’s mum died when Eddie was eight, her grandparents had raised her. She adored them and there was no way she would ever leave. Or could leave, she quickly corrected herself. They needed her.
She shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t told them.’
Aimee leaned forward and dropped her voice. ‘Be honest with yourself, Eddie. Is this what you want?’
Eddie met her friend’s gaze. ‘No.’ It was barely a whisper but the moment the word fell from her lips, Eddie felt instant relief. She gave up on her fingernail and picked up a paper napkin. She twisted it around one finger. ‘But what do I tell Jarrod?’
Aimee sat back and stared at her. ‘Um, the truth? Tell him you don’t want to move to America. Tell him you can’t.’
Eddie’s stomach clenched. The people-pleaser side of her wasn’t a fan of conflict. ‘If I say no, am I kissing our relationship goodbye? This job means so much to him. He won’t be happy if I say I don’t want to go.’
‘He can get over it. If I were you I wouldn’t be happy with him making plans for your future without asking what you want first,’ Aimee said.
Eddie swallowed her sigh. ‘I know you’re right, but I love him.’
‘I think you love the idea of being in love. Maybe Jarrod’s not the one for you, Eddie. I’ve told you this before. You need someone who will make you laugh. Someone who wants to share everything with you: fears, hopes, dreams. You need someone who wants an equal partner on the stage, not someone who just wants you to play the supporting role to his lead.’
‘Are you suggesting I break it off with him and let him go without me?’
‘I’m not telling you what to do.’ Aimee leaned closer. ‘But can I say something?’
Eddie nodded. ‘Of course. You can say anything. You know that.’
‘This might be hard for you to hear, but you’ve changed since you’ve been with Jarrod.’
The hair on the back of Eddie’s neck bristled. Her grandparents had recently said the same thing. ‘That’s because relationships are all about compromise. I think that’s something you told me,’ she said.
‘Compromise is one thing. Losing yourself and giving in is another. Besides, compromise goes both ways. It’s about meeting halfway. What exactly is Jarrod compromising in all of this? From where I sit, nothing. It’s not like he’s about to give up his cushy city life in Melbourne and move here to be with you. You know that’s never been on his agenda.’
‘You’re only saying all this because you don’t like him,’ Eddie retorted.
Aimee lifted a shoulder. ‘I’ve never made any secret about my feelings for Jarrod. All I’m saying, Ed, is before you commit to spending the rest of your life with someone or moving to the other side of the world because that’s what he wants, make sure it’s what you want. And . . .’ She touched Eddie’s arm. ‘Make sure he’s what you want too.’
Eddie’s throat thickened and sudden tears pricked at her eyes. She hastily blinked them away. ‘What I want is what you have. Marriage and kids and this.’ She spread her arms wide, indicating the cafe filled with locals – the people she knew and loved. She bit her lip. She’d always felt envious watching Gus and Aimee – the little touches they gave each other, the smiles full of hidden understanding. After years of marriage they were still madly in love. She wanted that with Jarrod. ‘For as long as I can remember I’ve been ready for marriage and clucky for kids.’
She was thirty-five; people didn’t have to say anything, but Eddie knew what they were thinking. She ignored the burning in the back of her throat and the knowledge that Jarrod had never shown any interest in marriage and kids. He held babies in front of him like he was holding a football with no idea what to do with it. ‘Time is ticking, Aimz.’
Aimee gave her a wan smile. ‘And Jarrod knows all this.’
Eddie hung her head and sniffed. ‘He knows.’ She lifted her head and locked eyes with Aimee. ‘How do I know whether or not he’s The One?’
Aimee’s expression softened. ‘If you have to ask me that, then you already have your answer.’
Chapter 3
Two days before Christmas and four hours after picking up the hire car at Tullamarine airport, Harry reduced his speed as he approached Yallambah, the town he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life. Despite his reluctance about returning, he had to admit it was a pretty place. Set in a valley in the foothills of the Stanley State Forest and untouched by developers, it had an old-world charm with its wide tree-lined streets that looked pretty no matter what the season. Today the sunlight flickered through the canopy of
trees.
He drove slowly past the green and gold sign welcoming him into town, surprised at the updated population figure. Where had all the new people come from? When he was born, the population was around five hundred. Now it was close to double that number. As he coasted down the hill, music blaring, air conditioner blasting, his stomach growled. He’d woken early to catch his flight from Sydney to Melbourne and he’d driven the whole way from the airport, only stopping to get a coffee and stretch his legs at the service station on the highway near Avenel.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the familiar – the local bakery – before he spotted two cafes that hadn’t been there when he’d last come home. Suddenly spoiled for choice, he wavered briefly and deliberated longer than usual before deciding he was craving a good old meat pie. There would be plenty of time over the next few days to check out the coffee and food at the new places.
He did a U-turn at the bottom of the main street and drove back up to the top. The sun was shining and he’d been cooped up in the tiny car for too long. He’d take a stroll and pretend he was a tourist. He parked, got out and stretched his arms above his head. Inhaling deeply, he smelled nothing except clean, fresh air. Absolute bliss. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.
He ambled down the street to the bakery. When he pushed open the door a bell tinkled, announcing his arrival. A huge array of cakes and breads displayed in the glass cabinets overwhelmed his senses. The Yallambah bakery didn’t bother with any of the ‘best in Australia’ boasts like other bakeries in other towns, but Harry knew the pie would be the best he’d tasted in years. His eyes widened at the price listed on the chalkboard on the back wall though. Last time he’d bought one he was positive he’d only paid two dollars, not six. He asked for one anyway.
If his memory served him correctly, the name of the old lady who served him was Lois Stephens. With her flashing reindeer ears, dangly bauble earrings and red ‘I love Santa’ T-shirt, she embodied the typical festive spirit of small-town Australian country life. Harry smiled, handed over his cash, accepted the pie with thanks and left the shop.
It was odd she didn’t seem to recognise him. Surely he hadn’t changed that much? Fair enough, musical theatre stars weren’t exactly tabloid fodder, but with the upcoming charity concert he’d presumed he’d be recognised by someone the moment he arrived in town. Then again, he realised with a flash of guilt, it had been a long time since he’d last walked down the main street.
Although he considered Yallambah home, the locals still thought of his family as outsiders because they sent their kids to boarding school in Geelong and did most of their business in the larger town of Beechworth. His father was an introvert with a dislike of crowds. It would surprise Harry to learn he’d driven over the cattle grid more than twice in the past year. It was one more reason father and son didn’t see eye to eye. Harry loved the spotlight, but Jim seemed to crave a life lived in the shadows.
Back out on the street he stood and bit into the pie. The tomato sauce was turning the brown paper bag into a soggy saucy mess but he didn’t care, it tasted so good. While he ate, he took in the faded paint of the motor garage, now an art gallery, the packed cafe over the road, the new gift shop and its attractive Christmas-themed window display, and the faux Greek Athenaeum that stood proud and tall in the centre of town. A new bank stood beside the old one, which had been turned into a museum. The red brick post office stood at the high end of the main street, and the Yallambah Hotel – or bottom pub – sat at the bottom of the street. He’d spent many Saturday nights there over the years when he was home from school.
The bridge at the end of the main street was new – Harry recalled his mum saying they’d replaced it after the original one was damaged by floods back in 2010. The road crossing the creek would take him to his parents’ farm, around twenty minutes’ drive away.
An ancient ute rattled up the street, drawing his attention. It pulled into the parking bay directly in front of him. An equally aged kelpie barked an enthusiastic greeting. An old bloke climbed out, adjusted his hat and belt and silenced the dog with one word. Harry smiled. George Osborne, known to everyone as Dusty. Harry hadn’t seen him in years.
‘Whaddya think of our pies, mate?’ he asked. He stood waiting for Harry to confirm they were the best he’d ever tasted.
Mouth full of beefy goodness, Harry gave him the thumbs up.
Dusty grinned as his eyes flicked up and down. ‘Where are ya from?’
Harry swallowed and wiped at the sauce on his chin. ‘Here.’
The grooves around Dusty’s eyes deepened. ‘Don’t look like a local in that clobber.’
Harry chuckled as he glanced at his navy blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt tucked into stone coloured shorts, then down to his leather deck shoes. No, definitely nothing like the locals. He balled up the paper bag and tossed it in the bin before extending his hand. ‘Harrison Baxter. Harry. Grew up out near Stanley. Jim and Jenny’s son. You’re Dusty Osborne, right?’
The farmer removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘Well, I’ll be buggered. It is too. Good to see ya, mate.’ He pumped Harry’s hand enthusiastically. ‘You’ve grown into a fine young lad. Musta been years since I’ve seen ya. How’s your old man these days?’
‘He’s okay.’
Dusty settled his hat back on his head thoughtfully. ‘Bit of a loner now, isn’t he? Never used to be when he was your age. I never see him or yer mum down at the pub.’
‘He’s happy at home.’
It was Harry’s standard answer and Dusty appeared satisfied with his response.
‘And you’re an opera singer now, I hear. Is that right?’
‘I am a singer, yes. Musical theatre.’
Harry remembered the day he’d fallen in love with musical theatre. His mum had taken him to see Seussical the Musical in Wodonga. He’d sat in awe from the very first note to the last, mesmerised by the orchestra, the vibrant colours of the costumes and sets, the singing and the dancing. Mostly he was impacted by the way the actors connected with the audience as they told a story. He found the whole thing breathtaking, and years later would pinpoint that moment in time as the one when he knew he wanted to perform on stage.
He’d gone home and told his father, expecting support and encouragement, but all he got from Jim was ‘Acting’s not a real job’ followed by ‘You can’t make a living doing that’ and ‘Very few ever make it to the top’. Harry stopped bringing it up, focusing instead on trying to win his father’s approval in other ways by playing sport and excelling at his studies.
At night though, in the privacy of his bedroom, he watched movies on his computer: Grease, Oliver and The Sound of Music were among his favourites. When he was sure he had the house to himself, he’d stand in front of his bedroom mirror and sing as loudly as he could, acting out scenes.
When he moved to Geelong to go to boarding school, he no longer had to hide his passion. Once his Year Nine music teacher heard him sing, she made sure he auditioned for the school production. He won the lead role, earning the spot above the Year Twelve theatre studies students. It opened up a whole new world to him. He’d never looked back.
A car drove past and the kelpie barked. Dusty waved to the driver before shouting an expletive at his dog who dropped down into the tray of the ute and stopped yapping immediately.
‘So . . . musical theatre, eh? Interesting career choice.’ Dusty smirked.
At Dusty’s comment the familiar taste of resentment filled the back of Harry’s throat. He ignored the hurt and smiled politely.
But before he could say anything, Dusty slapped him on the back. ‘But then again I reckon you’ve gotta do what you wanna do. If prancing around on stage makes you happy, I say go for it. Mind you, if my son had any ideas like that I’d probably whip him into shape, quick smart.’ Dusty laughed the laugh of a man used to having everyone crack up at his jokes down at the pub.
Harry wasn’t surprised Dusty’s opinion was the same as his father�
�s. He pulled out his keys and tried to sidestep around him to head back to his car. ‘I should be going. Mum’ll be expecting me.’
‘You back to see your folks for Christmas?’
‘Yeah. I’m here for the week. Then I’ll be coming back for the concert.’
‘Concert?’
‘The charity fundraiser for the bushfire appeal.’
‘Oh yeah, Chrissie Jennings is all over that. I heard her goin’ on about it the other night. She was putting up flyers in all the shops.’
‘It’ll be a good night,’ Harry said.
‘If you like all that kind of highbrow stuff.’
The dog barked again, saving Harry from having to say anything.
‘Well, mate, good to see you again.’
‘Good to see you too,’ Harry replied.
‘Say g’day to your mother.’ Without another word, Dusty crossed the road and entered the general store.
Harry had one more stop before going home. He needed to check in on Christine Jennings and see how the plans were coming along for the concert, then he could get out to the farm and his family.
After what happened last time, he was in no rush.
*
On Monday morning, two days before Christmas, Eddie strode down the main street of Yallambah. The hot sun kissed every step, its intensity already threatening to burn her bare arms and legs. She usually loved summer – the hotter, the better – but after the devastating bushfires the year before, she wasn’t thrilled about another long, hot, dry summer. There hadn’t been any bushfires yet, but the season had really only just begun.
Eddie had a busy day ahead of her. This year she’d taken on the task of coordinating the town’s annual Widows and Orphans Community Christmas dinner. The dinner had started fifty years ago and her nan had run it singlehandedly for as long as anyone could remember. It wasn’t only widows and orphans who attended now – the dinner was on the Christmas calendar for most of the locals.
Although Eddie was still on call with the SES, she’d taken time off work at the hospital to organise the dinner. It was the first time in years she hadn’t worked Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year’s Eve. As a single woman with no children, she always rostered herself on around Christmas so others could spend the time with their families.
One More Song Page 3