by JH Fletcher
Ruth stopped, took her by the shoulders, shook her. ‘Don’t ever say that! You know what happened. He had no choice.’
There were tears in Louise’s eyes. ‘It’s hard when everything you’ve been told is a lie.’
‘I know.’
‘How can you know? You’ve never been in that situation.’
Prickly as a bramble bush. It was her age, aggravated by what had happened to her. Ruth stared at her, the vivid eyes, the smooth, tanned skin, the striking beauty of the young face. Saw another face, wet and blotched with tears, hands raised to ward off what had been said, personal tragedy set against a brilliant backdrop of yachts in Sydney Harbour.
‘Dougie is not your father.’
‘He is!’
‘Richard is your father.’
‘NO!’
How well she remembered it.
She could have said, You don’t know what you’re talking about. Could have said, I’ve lived a long life, you don’t know what I know. Said neither.
‘Perhaps you’re right …’
They walked on.
‘It makes you wonder who you can believe,’ said Louise.
They reached the rocks at the end of the beach, clambered over them, continued beyond. Ruth waved to the old fisherman sitting in the doorway of his shack.
‘Most people are honest,’ Ruth said, ‘but you can’t believe everybody.’
‘Not the ratbags,’ Louise said. ‘David says his mother was a ratbag.’
‘David doesn’t really remember his mother. His father was a ratbag, certainly. But his mother —’
‘She abandoned him.’
Which was undeniable. ‘She was lost.’
‘Did she ever find herself?’
‘I hope so.’
‘David’s not like that.’ A hint of aggression, as though Ruth had suggested he was.
‘Certainly not.’
‘He likes you.’
‘I’m glad. I like him, too. Very much.’
‘I wonder,’ Louise asked casually, ‘what it’s like living on a farm?’
Ah ha, Ruth thought.
‘Hard work. Frustrating, too. There’s so much you can’t control. The weather, the price of grain … It’s not the life for everyone. But it’s a good life if you can put up with the disappointments. Most of the people round here wouldn’t trade it for anything.’
They walked back. Louise was nice, Ruth decided. Honest. Could be sharp, certainly, but that was no bad thing. I shall not interfere, she thought, but there’s nothing that says I can’t create opportunities, if I want to.
‘When’s David coming over?’
‘He didn’t know. Some time this morning.’
‘I have to go to Port Matlock,’ Ruth said. ‘The post, the butcher, boring things like that. I might treat myself to lunch while I’m there. Will you be okay in the house by yourself?’
‘You sure I can’t come with you?’
‘No need for that.’ Laughed. ‘Give me a chance to think about this book I’m supposed to be writing. If you go out, stick the key under the pot by the door. It’ll be safe there.’
Ruth drove into town, collected her mail, posted the letters she had written the previous day, had a chat with her friend the librarian. She drove up the coast to the next town where there was a fish restaurant that people came miles for. She sat looking out at the harbour, made a pig of herself over wonderful seafood, dawdled over coffee, wandered along the jetty past a scattering of fishermen morosely watching their rods. When she’d run out of things to do she got in her car and drove home. A ute was parked beside the house.
The house door was unlocked but no one was about. She looked along the beach, saw two figures walking this way. She went indoors. When she heard their feet on the steps she walked on to the verandah to greet them. Stopped.
Louise. And Andrew.
‘Where’s David?’
‘Couldn’t come.’ Andrew grinned, easy as any con-man. ‘Got a calf with problems. Sent me along instead.’
It made no sense. ‘Why you?’
‘There’s a bloke with a second-hand header. Dad wants me to have a look at it. Dave phoned you to say he couldn’t make it but there was no answer so he asked me to pop in.’
‘Was the header any good?’
‘Haven’t seen it yet.’ He turned, transferring his grin to Louise. ‘Fancy a drive?’
Ruth moved deftly to cut him off. ‘I was hoping Louise would give me a hand getting tea ready. We’re having chicken casserole. In case David does manage to get over.’
‘Chicken casserole?’ Andrew echoed. ‘Beauty! Maybe I’ll drop back later, then.’
‘Unfortunately there’ll only be enough for the three of us,’ Ruth told him.
‘Louise will share with me, heh?’
Louise said nothing.
Andrew shrugged. ‘Guess I’ll have to go without.’ In his sardonic grin Ruth read contempt for her, for Louise, for the whole world. ‘Catch you later, then.’
And wandered off. They heard the harsh roar of the engine as he revved it; the sound diminished as he drove away.
‘He just turned up,’ Louise said. She followed Ruth into the house. ‘He told me David couldn’t come and we went for a walk.’
‘Did I say anything?’
‘You looked.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’
I certainly did not, Ruth thought. The last thing I want is to bad-mouth him; no one knows the attraction of forbidden fruits better than I do. In any case it’s none of my business. I should not interfere. No, I should not be seen to interfere.
‘He says he’s taking over his father’s farm,’ Louise said.
Ruth smiled indulgently. ‘He’s letting his imagination get the better of him, I’m afraid.’ Saw the question in Louise’s eyes. ‘It’s my farm,’ she explained, ‘not his father’s. Boyd runs it but he certainly has no plans to retire just yet.’ And I wouldn’t let Andrew take it over if he did. But left that unsaid.
‘You don’t like Andrew much, do you?’ It sounded like an accusation.
‘Unfortunately I don’t find him an easy man to like.’
In the kitchen they worked together on the casserole. They were friendly enough, but Andrew, and Ruth’s reaction to his unexpected arrival, stood between them.
You’re a fool, she told herself crossly. You said you wouldn’t bad-mouth him and that’s exactly what you’ve done. She just met him, for heaven’s sake. In any case she’s perfectly capable of looking after herself. Even if she’s not it’s none of your business.
She finished jointing the chicken and browned it quickly in the saucepan.
‘Those vegies ready yet?’
It wasn’t long before the casserole in its earthenware pot was in the oven.
Ruth went into her study. It wasn’t like her to try to manipulate other people’s lives. Why was she doing it now?
She stared thoughtfully at the draft of Barbara Getz’s first article stacked neatly on one corner of her desk. Irresolutely she picked it up, put it down again unread. The article had unsettled her. Not what it said; the fact that it existed at all. She knew now that she should never have agreed to this. Like every other writer she had done her share of promotional tours, attended book-signings, spoken at arts festivals, but this was different. Barbara’s articles were clever, intelligent, well-written, they examined the nature and achievement of Ruth’s art, but was that why they had been written? Of course not. They were a sales pitch, pure and simple. Never mind how much Ruth wanted the prize, she was selling herself short by selling herself at all.
I have demeaned myself, she thought. I do not deserve to win. I told Louise that David’s mother was lost. I’m feeling pretty lost myself at the moment. Is that why I’m interfering in the lives of others? Because I have become so unsure of my own?
She looked at the phone. Hesitated. Stop it, she told herself. The impulse was too strong. Impulsively she snatched it up, dialled.
; It rang and rang. She set her jaw, willing him to be there. At last it lifted.
‘You coming over?’
‘I can’t —’
‘I think you should.’ She explained.
‘She’s free to do what she likes.’ But was upset, she could tell.
‘Do you care?’
A momentary hesitation. ‘Yes.’
‘Then don’t be a fool.’
She went back into the kitchen. Where Louise awaited her. ‘Are you trying to protect me, by any chance?’
Another one who came straight out with things.
‘That would be a bit presumptuous, wouldn’t it?’
But her air of innocence did not convince Louise. ‘It’s what people do. Interfere.’
Penitently, Ruth decided to make a clean breast of it. ‘I think of you as family, I suppose, even though you’re not.’
‘And you dislike Andrew.’
‘I told you, he’s not easy to like.’
‘He was delivering a message, that’s all.’
‘I know.’ Humbly. The situation was ridiculous, which made things worse. ‘I wrote a story once,’ Ruth said. ‘A rich man made a will in which he tied up all his children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, telling them what they could and couldn’t do if they wanted to get their hands on his money. Whom they could marry, the banks they must use. It was a way of holding on to his money even after he died, you see. On to power.’
‘I’d have told him to take a jump.’
‘He wouldn’t have been around to hear you.’
‘Then I’d have told his ghost.’
‘Another parable,’ Ruth said sadly. ‘How people try to extend their control over others. I’ve always hated that. Now I’m doing the same thing myself.’
Louise’s hand was on her arm, Louise’s eyes reflected her concern. ‘Don’t be upset. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I like you a lot,’ Ruth confessed. ‘And David.’
Stupid old fool, she thought furiously.
‘Can I let you in on a secret?’ Louise asked.
‘If you like.’
‘He’s one of the reasons I wanted to come and stay.’ She looked at Ruth shyly. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you?’
‘Let’s say I thought it might be.’
‘And to see you, of course.’
What you see is what you get, Ruth thought, liking Louise even better for saying it. Louise and David would plan their lives without help from her, as she had told herself at the beginning. Together or apart. It had nothing to do with her.
‘So you see you don’t have to worry about Andrew.’
I am a fool, Ruth told herself again. But more hopefully, now.
David turned up. He said nothing of Ruth’s phone call. They ate the casserole, drank a bottle of shiraz Ruth found in a cupboard, talked and watched the sea together. Shortly before David drove back to the farm he took Louise for a walk along the beach in the darkness. Let go, Ruth counselled herself as she watched them. They are the future. You have laid the foundations; be satisfied with that. Stick to your books, old woman. Stop trying to tell the world how to behave.
It was the right advice but she hated it. It made her feel useless. And old.
Before she let herself get too senile, however, there were some things still to be done.
Louise stayed a week. When she went back to Queensland Ruth missed her more than she would have thought possible. She had taken care not to interfere in her life again and the trust between them had grown to the point where Louise had begun to confide in her anyway. Not about her future or what role, if any, David would have in it but about the little things, how she felt about the world and the people in it. Perhaps not such little things, Ruth thought.
For the first time in her life Ruth was conscious, achingly, of being alone. She picked over the pile of notes on her desk, the new book that she had abandoned almost before she had begun, but felt no interest in it. It was the first time she had ever felt like that, either. I shall come back to it later. Or not. For the moment it did not seem to matter.
She would have been able to devote precious little time to it, anyway. Barbara’s first article had come out in the States, had been syndicated in England and Australia. It had made a stir. The phone had rung constantly. Despite massive reservations, Ruth — for the first time in years — made herself available for interviews on radio and television, in the press. One of the glossies ran a pseudo-intellectual feature on her work. A country magazine wanted to view her house. One of the yuk weeklies phoned to pester her with moronic speculations about her sex life, the secret of her continuing vitality, the diet that kept her slim.
‘Work,’ she said. ‘And exasperation.’
For the most part she shut eyes and mind, went with the flow. Was even able to find it amusing, in its way.
The next article came out, and the third. At least they weren’t yuk. They were intelligent, perceptive essays and Ruth read them without pain. Just as well; she was committed now, whatever she might think privately.
Other aspects of her life progressed, too. She received answers to the two letters she had sent; she made a number of phone calls, drove into town to see Geoff Grant, her solicitor, had lunch — by appointment — with Roberta. Who agreed, absolutely, with what she was planning to do. It would have made no difference had she not but it was a comfort. Finally, she phoned Boyd.
‘Next Sunday,’ she told him. ‘A family meeting. Here.’
Boyd was defensive. ‘What about?’
‘I’ll tell you that when you get here.’
‘Just me?’
‘Of course not. A family meeting, I said. Meaning all three of you.’
‘I’m not sure Andrew —’
‘Make sure. I expect him here. Drag him, if you must.’
Andrew came but in everything — his glowering expression, the way he flung himself truculently into the best armchair, the huge performance he made out of ignoring what was going on around him — demonstrated his disgust at having to chuck away a large part of his Sunday on a visit to his grandmother.
Ruth had grown impervious to Andrew but Sally and Boyd were sulky too, sensing something in the wind, so to punish them a little she chatted brightly about everything under the sun before, an hour after their arrival, she got down to business.
‘Mindowie,’ she said. ‘And Jenni Doggett.’
That set them upright in their seats, as she had intended.
‘Have you done anything about Doctor Doggett’s letter?’
‘We’re still considering it,’ Boyd said.
‘It’s preposterous,’ Sally said.
Andrew said nothing, whistling softly through pursed lips, pretending he wasn’t there.
‘What do you think?’ Ruth asked him. ‘It’s your problem, after all.’
‘Let him sue me,’ he said. ‘I got no dough, anyway.’
‘Jenni Doggett lost her hand,’ Ruth pointed out. ‘In an accident you caused. While you were drunk.’
Andrew shrugged. Tough.
Sally protested, ‘That isn’t proved —’
‘Drunk. Whether or not you have the funds to settle Doctor Doggett’s claim, I am not prepared to have this family’s name dragged through the mud. I wrote to my solicitor and went into town to see him. I’ve also written to Henry Doggett. Without admitting any blame for what happened I told him I was willing to settle a sum of money on Jenni —’
‘How much?’ The mention of money brought Andrew back to life.
‘It doesn’t matter how much.’
‘I bet it matters to Jenni, heh.’
‘Provided,’ Ruth persevered, ‘they agreed in writing to drop any claim they might otherwise think they had.’
‘And?’ Sally on the edge of her chair.
‘They’ve agreed.’
‘How about that?’
Beams all round. None of them with a thought to spare for Jenni Doggett, who had lost her hand.
; ‘Maybe the insurance company would have paid,’ Boyd suggested.
‘Geoff thinks they might have had grounds for contesting the claim. Andrew is still in trouble,’ she cautioned them. ‘The police call it causing injury by negligent driving. There’ll be other charges, too. Driving under the influence, failing to stop at an intersection, the lot. If he’s convicted Geoff thinks Andrew will probably draw a suspended sentence as he hasn’t been in trouble before but he could be looking at jail.’
‘Like Ma said, they got to prove I was over the limit.’ Andrew again.
‘They’ll have taken a blood sample while you were in hospital,’ Ruth said. ‘But it doesn’t matter whether you were over the limit or not.’
‘You said I was drunk.’
‘I’m quite sure you were. But that’s not the issue. You drove out of a side road in front of a truck. Drunk or sober, you caused the accident.’
‘It was as much her fault as mine —’ Andrew began.
‘We’re very grateful —’ Boyd said.
‘I’m not finished. Mindowie is mine. As you know. I had always intended to leave it to you in my will. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Because of a car accident?’ Three pairs of eyes, glaring.
‘Because of any number of things. Boyd, you’ve said a hundred times your heart’s not in farming. If you want you can stay on during my lifetime or you can move to Coonalpyn. Whichever you prefer. I’m leaving you Coonalpyn, anyway.’
‘Coonalpyn’s ours, in any case,’ Sally said indignantly.
‘In fact it’s mine. I bought it, remember? I paid off the bank. But it will be yours, later.’
Andrew was on his feet. ‘What about me?’
Ruth stared at him coldly. ‘You can do exactly what you want. As you have always done.’
‘How can you do such a thing to your own family?’ Sally was furious.
‘Let me remind you of two things. I have just agreed to pay a large sum of money to Jenni Doggett because of an injury Andrew caused. That sum would have been his inheritance. If he’s lost it he has no one to blame but himself. I have paid off the debt both on Mindowie and Coonalpyn. One way or another I have invested a great deal of money in this family recently. You would have lost Coonalpyn; now it will be yours, free of debt, and Andrew doesn’t have to worry about being sued by Doctor Doggett. I’d have said you’ve all come out of it pretty well.’