The tires made that wonderful crunching sound on the gravel as Ally steered the car slowly through the avenue of silver birches to the circular carriageway in front of the house. She pulled up into the guest parking, turning off the engine. As she stepped out of the car she heard the front door open, and turned to see Lillian on the verandah.
Roger and Lillian Ellyard had bought Birchgrove after their children had moved on. At first Roger still commuted to the city, and they toyed with the idea of turning it into a bed and breakfast. But Roger died suddenly from a massive heart attack, just five months before he was due to retire.
Lillian did not need the money so much—Roger had provided well for her—but she did need something to keep her occupied. She completed some minor alterations and opened the doors to paying guests. It proved so popular that a few years after that she embarked on some fairly major renovations, and Birchgrove became a fully fledged guesthouse and restaurant.
Ally was glad to see that Lillian hadn’t changed. Her white hair was still cut into a short, sculpted bob, her tall figure clad elegantly as always, in tailored slacks and a plain linen blouse. It was hard to believe she was in her late seventies. She certainly didn’t look it.
She started down the front steps as Ally approached her.
“Hello Lillian.”
Ally stepped gratefully into her outstretched arms and felt instantly relieved. The slender thread that tied them to each other through her grandparents was still intact. She had worried she would feel estranged.
Lillian drew back and took hold of both of Ally’s hands.
“I’d rather it wasn’t in these sad circumstances, but I am so pleased to see you, Ally.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been back to visit for a while—”
“None of that,” Lillian interrupted her. “Young people have so much on these days, I wonder you have time to breathe.”
She tucked Ally’s hand into the crook of her arm and they turned back up the steps.
“And your grandfather knew that too,” she added quietly.
Ally sighed as the guilt surfaced again. She had been too busy to contemplate it much in the last twenty-four hours, but every time she paused, it was there. GUILT, in great big capital letters.
Of course she tried to explain it away. They had never been close, she and her grandfather, she told herself. Her visits over the last decade had been excruciating affairs, made bearable only by the fact that they spent most of the time in Lillian’s company. Her presence masked the great wall that had built up between them since Nan died and he found himself with a teenage girl to bring up on his own.
James Tasker was a Renaissance man who had upped and moved his family to a remote property in Kangaroo Valley. He had big plans about the house he would build and the self-sufficient lifestyle they would lead. There was a hundred year old barn on the property, which they would occupy while he built their house. He put down a floor and made it barely livable. It was only supposed to be temporary, but they’d never moved out of it.
Ally’s mother had tired of it all and left. By all accounts Jennifer Tasker was a rebellious teenager, and she wasn’t about to waste her youth in a drafty old barn. She made her escape. But five years later she returned with Ally, barely three at the time. Jennifer stayed for a while, until apparently she couldn’t take it anymore. Ally never really knew the whole story. Nan used to say she’d tell her when she was older. But then Nan died when Ally was only twelve. Her mother appeared out of nowhere for the funeral, and disappeared just as enigmatically. Ally was left alone with her grandfather, living out her teenage years in lonely isolation. Until she too, made her escape.
At least she had visited, maintained some contact, however meager. But each time she went away, it was longer until her next visit.
And so the guilt remained, refusing to budge.
Lillian had set afternoon tea out for them in the conservatory. This was Ally’s favorite room. It was flooded with sun in the winter, and she would curl up on one of the wicker settees, her head on Nan’s lap, listening to the women talk.
“I always loved it out here.”
“I remember,” Lillian smiled, indicating a chair.
They both sat down, and Lillian started to pour the tea. Ally looked out across the grounds. She used to get lost in these gardens. In summer the grass was soft under her feet as she ran barefooted around the maze of trees and flowerbeds. In autumn she almost had to wade through the thick layer of leaves that blanketed the ground, fallen from the birches that gave the property its name. It was the only place she could remember feeling happy in during her childhood.
“The gardens look wonderful, Lillian,” she remarked.
“Yes, not that I do much myself anymore. Everything seems to be contracted out these days.”
Ally took the cup of tea and sipped. “I’m amazed you’re still running the place at all, Lillian. It’s quite an operation.”
“Don’t you start. Richard’s forever at me. He and Carolyn want me to move in with them.”
“What, sell Birchgrove?”
“No, they know I’d never agree to that while I’m still alive. But they talk about hiring in a manager, moving me down to Melbourne.” Lillian rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid, I’d have to be in a box first.”
Ally smiled. Lillian’s son Richard had followed his father into the law, and was a successful barrister in Melbourne. She recalled him being quite devoted to his mother, if a little stuffy at times.
“If I so much as sniffle during a phone call, then he’s on to his sister, and next thing I have Phillipa on the phone from Cambridge, having a fit.” Lillian paused. “I say to them, if I interfered in their lives as much as they do in mine, they’d call me a nosy old woman.”
“They’re just worried about you.”
“I know, but honestly, I hardly lift a finger around here anymore. I have a wonderful woman who comes in the mornings. She does all the rooms and helps me with breakfast. Though to tell the truth, it’s Evelyn doing the breakfast and me helping,” she winked. “Then Nicola starts in the afternoon. She sets up in the dining room and turns down the beds. She’s on a working visa from the UK. And then of course, there’s Robert, the chef.”
“I don’t think he was here last time?”
“No. I’ve only had him for about eighteen months.”
God, it’s been that long, Ally cringed inwardly.
“But I doubt he’ll stay much longer.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he’s very talented. Came down from one of the big hotels in Sydney. Why he chose to work in our little dining room is beyond me.” Lillian paused, taking a sip of her tea. “But he claimed he wanted a change of pace, and a bit of freedom to experiment. Well, he’s become a real draw-card, we’re booked out for months ahead. We even made it into one of those good food guides. He could choose wherever he wanted to work now. The only thing keeping him here at the moment is Nicola—not that Robert would ever admit to it.”
Ally smiled.
“You won’t meet either of them this weekend, though. Nicola is leaving for London on Sunday, to spend Christmas with her family, and coincidentally,” she winked, “Robert asked for a couple of days off.”
Ally loved listening to Lillian. She felt like Nan could be sitting here, joining in.
“But that’s enough about me, Ally. What about you? You’re still seeing that young man? What was his name?”
“Bryce, Bryce Horton. Yes, we’re still together.”
“How long is that now?”
“Five years.”
Lillian was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I’m sure you have everyone telling you that it’s time you did something permanent and had a baby besides. So I won’t say anything at all.”
Ally grinned. Funny how she had managed to say quite a lot without saying anything at all.
“And where are you teaching now?”
“St. Ambrose’s.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.�
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Ally realized she had nothing much to tell. Same old, same old. Lillian’s life was far more interesting than Ally’s.
“Well, we can’t avoid it any longer, dear. I’d best tell you what arrangements we’ve made for James.”
“I didn’t expect you to handle all this.”
“Nonsense. I’ve made a couple of calls, that’s all. Someone had to contact the funeral director straightaway. And then, well, you know your grandfather. He wouldn’t step inside a church while he was alive, and I was quite sure he wouldn’t want to be seen dead in one either.”
That made Ally smile. Her grandfather’s favorite pastime was church-bashing, though he claimed he was merely debating theology. He was usually on a first name basis with the various ministers, pastors and priests that served the region, simply because he was always baling them up in the street, in the pub, anywhere, to argue with them.
“Keith O’Halloran has kindly offered to lead a service at the cemetery,” Lillian continued. “He said he’d be as true to James as he could without breaking the rules. After the burial, everyone is welcome back here for the wake.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”
She looked thoughtfully at Ally. “Your grandfather and I were very good friends. Best friends I’d say, since we both lost our partners. I’d be doing this for him regardless. But if there’s anything you’d like to change…”
“No, really. It sounds ideal.”
Monday afternoon
Lillian and Ally sat quietly in the back seat of the funeral car. Lillian was an intuitive soul. She knew when to leave Ally alone, when to let the silences remain uninterrupted.
Ally had enjoyed a serene couple of days at Birchgrove. The garden was exquisite in the summer, and she lost time walking around the grounds, sitting under the cool shade of the trees. On Sunday afternoon she ventured out for a drive around the area, noticing the changes since she’d been here last. There were more houses, more cafés and restaurants, more people.
Back at Birchgrove, Lillian asked her if she’d been down to the property. Ally said she’d go on her way home on Tuesday. She knew she was putting it off, and so did Lillian, but she didn’t push the point.
Ally didn’t want to discuss how the thought of traveling down that road into Kangaroo Valley and seeing the house sent shivers right through her. When she visited her grandfather she never stayed overnight. Just being there flooded her with an aching but all too familiar sense of loneliness. It was no place for a teenage girl, cooped up with a bitter and resentful old man. Ally wished she didn’t have to deal with it, but she didn’t have much choice. She would stop in tomorrow, and hopefully not have to lay eyes on it again.
As they turned in through the gates of the cemetery, Ally remarked on the stream of people making their way along the pathways.
“There must be another funeral today,” she wondered aloud.
Lillian looked at her, a little bemused. “No dear, they’re here for your grandfather.”
Ally frowned at her, then stared back out the window. The car had come to a stop. A considerable crowd was gathering at the graveside. She didn’t realize her grandfather had even known this many people.
Ally and Lillian took their places to one side of the coffin. The minister came over and shook hands with Lillian and she introduced him to Ally.
“It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Ally. Your grandfather spoke of you with such warmth and affection,” he said, clasping her hand. “You were the greatest source of pride in his life.”
Ally hoped her face wasn’t giving away the bafflement she was feeling. The minister stepped back into position and waited for the attention of the assembly.
“Friends, we’re here today to celebrate the life of James Tasker. We’re not in a church because, as all of you would be well aware, that’s not where Jim belonged, and it wouldn’t be a fit place to send him off.
“Jim maintained that he didn’t believe in God, but I do. And so I believe he’s up there right now, and he’s found the Almighty and he has him cornered.
“‘Okay, I realize I have to accept you exist,’ he’s probably saying. ‘But explain AIDS, and while you’re at it, third world poverty. What’s the idea, letting all that go on?’”
Ally lifted her eyes and surveyed the faces in the crowd, most smiling knowingly, fondly. Who were all these people?
“You see, I don’t really think Jim had a problem with the notion of a higher power as such. It was intolerance and injustice in the world that he couldn’t abide. And the ineffectiveness he saw at times, in the way organized religion dealt with those issues.
“Who can argue with any of that? I know I speak for all the ministers in the area when I say he certainly kept us on our toes…”
Ally tuned out. This was surreal. She could feel the eyes of everyone there on her. What were they expecting? Were they waiting for her to break down? To say something? God forbid.
* * *
The limousine took them back to Birchgrove, ahead of a stream of cars tailing them. Ally felt like running away and hiding, but Lillian gently guided her to stand at the door and receive people.
For the next half-hour a sea of faces passed by, some she recognized, others not at all. But without exception they all pressed their hands into hers, murmuring, “He was so proud of you,” “We’ve heard so much about you,” “How you’ll miss him” …
Eventually, the people stopped pouring in. Ally wandered among them, feeling like a total stranger. If she hadn’t been here at Birchgrove, with Lillian, she would have believed there had been a terrible mistake and she was at the wrong funeral.
“Ally!”
She turned around to see her high-school art teacher approaching. They shook hands.
“Hello Mr. Finneran. It was good of you to come,” she said, for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.
“Not at all, had to pay my respects. Your grandfather was very well regarded in this community.”
“So it seems.”
“And you’re quite the career woman, according to Jim.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t be modest. Jim told me you were almost running the art department up there at St. Ambrose.”
“I think that may have been a little wishful thinking.”
Mr. Finneran smiled. “The fond grandfather talking? You must thank your lucky stars every day for the start in life that man gave you.”
Ally couldn’t take it anymore. “Will you excuse me, Mr. Finneran?”
She headed for the kitchen door, not making eye contact with anyone so that she didn’t have to hear another tribute to James Tasker.
Lillian followed her.
“Are you alright, dear? You were dashing through the crowd like a mad thing.”
“Sorry, Lillian, it’s just I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“Perhaps you should sit a while in the quiet. Have you had something to eat?”
“No, thank you. But you know, I’ve got the worst headache.” Ally hesitated. “Would it seem very rude if I went upstairs and lay down?”
“Not for a second. You go on up, you don’t need to be worried about entertaining people,” Lillian reassured her. “Let me get you some headache tablets first, though.”
Ally closed the door to her room and leaned against it, sighing with relief. She could feel tears welling, they had been threatening all day, but she didn’t want to cry in front of all those people. Her tears would be mistaken for grief, when they were really tears of frustration, hurt and anger. Though maybe she was grieving, for the grandfather she never had. The distant man who hardly spoke to her, rarely asked her how she was, and never, ever, put his arms around her.
She drew the curtains and shed her clothes. Climbing into bed, Ally wrapped the covers around her. She pressed her eyes closed to try and stop the stem of tears, but it was no use.
How could he be such a wonderful friend to so many people, yet
so unattainable to her? Ally remembered the desolation after she lost her grandmother, and then her mother for the second time in her young life. It was almost more than she could bear. She was only twelve. She needed someone to comfort her. But James was just not there for her. Oh, he cooked her meals, washed her clothes, got her to school. He kept it up for five years. Then he must have been glad to see the back of her.
Tomorrow she would leave all of this behind. Being here only reminded her of her essential loneliness and the pain deep in her heart that she kept buried in case it overwhelmed her. It served no purpose to dredge it all up. It was better tucked away, hidden, suppressed. That was the only way Ally could get on with her life.
The next morning
Ally had been awake for a while when she heard the soft tap on the door. “Come in,” she called.
Lillian opened the door, carrying a small tray.
“Oh Lillian, you shouldn’t be waiting on me.”
“Nonsense, I like to.”
Ally sat up in the bed, curling her feet up to give Lillian room.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“Much better now, thank you.”
“Did your headache clear?”
Ally nodded. “I think I was just overwhelmed, Lillian. I didn’t realize he knew so many people.”
“Yes, he certainly got around,” Lillian smiled. “You’ll be pleased to know he was leading a very active social life right to the end.”
Ally thought for a moment. “I don’t understand it, Lillian. He lived like a hermit when I was growing up. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but my memories are of a crusty old man who didn’t seem to enjoy much of anything at all.”
“You have to remember, Ally, he did take a while to get over the grief of losing your grandmother.”
Ally took a bite of toast, staring down at the pattern on the bedcover.
Lillian watched her. “Ally, I don’t think he knew what to do with you. You were a teenage girl. I think he may even have been a little frightened of you.”
“Frightened? I don’t think so.” She couldn’t even begin to imagine how James Tasker could have been frightened of her. “I think he resented being stuck with me.”
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