House for All Seasons

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘You mean work and actually get paid? Hmm.’ Sara laughed.

  ‘S’pose I’ll have to pay you.’

  ‘Cretino!’ Dom slapped his forehead. ‘You know how to charm a bella signorina.’

  ‘Sara?’ Will was ignoring his chef’s teasing and staring at her. ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Ahuh. Sure. Why not?’

  It was a paying job and a timely distraction. She’d made no plans, other than those items on THE LIST. She’d do it. After all, what could possibly go wrong helping out an old friend?

  ‘Okay then. Welcome aboard. I have extra T-shirts at home. I’ll bring in a couple. I should have one small enough somewhere.’

  ‘T-shirts?’

  That’s what could go wrong, crazy girl.

  ‘Yeah, you know, T-shirts: short-sleeved casual tops, generally made of cotton, having the shape of a T when spread out flat.’

  The men thought it amusing, only Sara wasn’t smiling. ‘I … I can wear my own tops. I have plenty.’

  ‘No way, look what you’ve done to yourself in one session already. That’s ruined.’

  Sara recoiled at the men’s scrutiny of the giant tomato sauce stain smack-bang in the middle of her shirt. She clutched a menu to her chest.

  ‘Big then,’ she said. ‘I like a big T-shirt. They’re cooler that way.’

  ‘I s’pose. Reckon I have a few spare oaf-sized shirts. Can you do the same time tomorrow?’

  ‘Gosh, I’ll have to check my diary. Fridays are notoriously busy.’ Disappointment flashed across Will’s face until he realised Sara was the one joking this time. ‘Of course I can work tomorrow. I’ll take a menu home to study tonight. See you both then.’

  7

  After fumbling through the Friday shift, she eased into Saturday, had Sunday to rest, and was back for a few hours on Monday, loving every minute, even though the work was more physically demanding than she’d ever imagined. And Sara had thought retail ran her off her feet. She’d certainly be looking at the local waiters back home with a little more respect and empathy.

  With her first pay packet in hand, which she’d had to calculate herself, plus forty dollars in tips, Sara decided to buy some wine and make dinner for Elliott. While the two of them had established a routine bike ride to the gorge before work each morning, the riding part allowed for little talk unless you wanted a mouthful of dust or flies.

  Twice that week Will had asked Sara to stay behind for a meal. Twice she’d refused, citing tiredness as the reason. It wasn’t a lie; she was tired. But it was also a safeguard. Will was turning out to be too wonderful and she wasn’t ready for wonderful. Hell, she wasn’t even ready for run-of-the-mill. In fact, had she been looking for anything even minutely close to wonderful, Sara would have let herself fall in love with the dashing Doctor Ryder at St Vincent’s oncology unit. Besides, Jennifer’s constant scowls and sideways glances let the new girl know how miffed she was at having to share Will’s attention.

  For lots of reasons—one in particular—wonderful had to wait.

  Dom had given Sara a magnificent steak to take home for dinner. Red meat was not something she ate much, mostly due to the cost, but a little every now and then was good—healthwise—and Sara had developed a hankering for the stuff after seeing Dom’s secret to a perfect medium-rare. The steak, however, was the size of Tasmania, so she invited Elliott to dinner. Sara rarely got the chance to impress anyone with her cooking these days.

  Her guest arrived with a bottle of red and a small handful of wildflowers he’d probably plucked straight from the field on his way over. He hovered on her front doorstep, all squeaky clean and smelling shower-fresh in dark jeans and a T-shirt that showed off his athletic physique. Nothing like the Armani-attired apes Sara was used to seeing in the city.

  ‘Come on in. I’m just throwing together a salad.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You can grab some tomatoes from the fridge and pour a wine.’

  ‘This many tomatoes?’ Elliott stood by the open refrigerator skilfully juggling three tomatoes.

  ‘Well, actually, I think four.’ She was teasing, hardly expecting him to introduce a fifth tomato to the trick.

  Sara stopped daring.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She was laughing hard now. ‘You’re amazing. I get it.’

  ‘Not really.’ His eyes remained focused on the five spinning red balls as he inched his way closer to where Sara worked. ‘This isn’t amazing. This is easy. Amazing is for the people who juggle work and life without dropping the ball. Some juggle pain and happiness all their lives. All I do is juggle vegetables.’

  ‘Fruit,’ she corrected flatly. ‘Tomato is a fruit, not a vegetable. You wouldn’t last two seconds in Dom’s kitchen.’ Sara caught the single tomato Elliott tossed her way and sliced it using Dom’s technique. ‘Tell me about your work.’

  ‘I spend the first half of every year travelling around the state with a group of misfits.’

  She stopped cutting to look at him. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘I travel around with a carnival. The quintessential carnie, that’s me.’

  ‘You mean like a circus?’ Sara bit back her grin. He hardly fitted the picture. ‘Gypsy’s family was with a carnival. I remember the time my friend Poppy decided she was going to run away with the circus.’

  ‘Not a bad life. Like to think of myself as carrying on the family tradition, but I’m actually part of the rodeo circuit. As we generally all travel to the same joints at the same time—same country fairs and stuff—we get ourselves a little convoy going and, well, life’s good.’

  ‘So you ride bucking horses? Isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘Bulls. And yes, it can be, but I don’t ride. I’m the clown.’

  ‘You mean like the decoy? That job looks riskier than riding.’

  Elliott shrugged. ‘I don’t think about risks. Over-analysing stuff screws with your head.’

  ‘Over-analysing, as you call it, can’t hurt as much as a bull’s horn in your—’

  ‘It’s not that dangerous—really. If you see a bull about to bowl you over, you get out of its way. Not rocket science.’

  If only everything was that easy.

  ‘What I do is more about protecting my mates. We tour for six to eight months of the year. We’re like family. Speaking of which, you enjoying playing happy families at the café in town?’

  Sara chose to ignore the happy families remark. ‘The café keeps me on my toes.’

  ‘As does Will, I suspect.’ Elliott nudged her with his elbow. ‘He’s your mission, isn’t he? You’ve come back to see if there’s anything there after all this time.’

  Sara bristled, irked by his perceptiveness. Doubly irked that he was probably right.

  ‘My mission, as you put it is my business.’ Sara put her knife down a little more heavily than usual. ‘Wait a minute. What am I saying? I don’t have a mission. You said that. Let’s get something straight,’ she said, raising her voice over the cicada chorus carrying through the open doors and windows. ‘I’m not here reliving some ridiculous schoolyard crush on Will Travelli, okay? I’m here because Gypsy wanted me to come back to the house.’

  ‘So Will being here is a bit of a bonus.’

  ‘Elliott,’ she said more firmly, ‘Will and I were good friends once. He was just a friend, and that was fine with me.’

  ‘You forgot to say and still is fine.’

  ‘And still is fine. Happy?’ She sounded like a brat, but her message was clear. ‘How about we finish cooking the steaks and see if we can manage some dinner conversation without mentioning my non-existent mission or Will Travelli’s name.’

  *

  They did.

  Mostly Sara talked about Gypsy, the mysterious Mr Madgick and his interesting associate Jesamiah something-or-other. Then she told him about Amber and Caitlin, and how Poppy was meant to come in spring, but she was being difficult—as usual.

  If Elliott was going to be here in a few
months’ time, forewarning him about Amber seemed the right thing to do. Elliott was too nice a bloke. He might be able to survive a bull, but that didn’t mean he was safe from Amber Bailey. From the look on his face, Sara thought she might have been a little more critical of Amber than she’d intended.

  He was probably right.

  ‘You said you’re supposed to make up your own minds about the place. More wine?’ he asked, not waiting for an answer.

  ‘Did I say that?’ Sara couldn’t remember. She watched him refill her wine glass, knowing she should say no. ‘I admit it would have been easier making a decision from a distance. Now I’m here, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to this whole coming-back-home thing. Not until I set foot inside the house and remembered all the things I’d let myself forget did I think that maybe Gypsy is making us come back to remember.’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘Everything. Too much. Not enough.’ Sara smiled, sighed, leaned back in her chair, the wine taking effect, loosening the muscles that were used to working when she and Elliott rode together, freeing up her memories and her lips. ‘This house was as good as Disneyland to me. So different from my everyday. I could be the child here for a change, let Gypsy mother me like she did Willow. She loved Willow so much.’ The unmistakable sensation of welling tears made Sara look away. Even after all these years, the memory of just how much Gypsy had loved Willow still buffeted Sara with such force.

  Reminders were all over the house. For Sara, every turn, every corner of every room, held a haunting image of Willow and Gypsy. Although she hadn’t understood envy at the time, it didn’t stop her feeling its pull. So desperate was Sara for a normal childhood, to have her mother brush her hair each night, bake her birthday cakes and treats, wrap presents together at Christmas each year, she’d wanted to trade places with Willow—callipers and all. Sara taught herself to cry on command, knowing tears would end in a Gypsy hug—the big-breasted bear hug that was like cuddling a perfumed doona.

  Even now, staring into the flickering flame, the lingering aroma of fragrant candles wrapped Sara in one of Gypsy’s sweet, suffocating cuddles.

  ‘So what do you want to do with the old place?’ Elliott was asking her.

  ‘The property? Honestly? My coming here was not so much about the house—or Will Travelli,’ she added with a cautioning squint. ‘It was about getting away. I also figured I wouldn’t get much say in the house’s fate. I always went along with the other girls when we were at school, but I’m not so sure about selling now I’m here. An injection of cash wouldn’t be bad, but when I think about the place filled with strangers—or worse, knocked down by some uncaring developer—I get this sad, empty feeling. Here.’ Sara hugged her stomach until she felt Elliott’s stare.

  Draining the wine in her glass, she pushed her chair back and stood, blew out the candle and reached inside the door to turn on the porch light. ‘Let’s walk, shall we?’

  The sky, emblazoned orange and pink when they’d sat down for dinner, was now a dark indigo, pinpricked with stars, a full moon hiding behind a veil of cirrostratus cloud.

  ‘See those clouds up there?’ Sara pointed to the thin, almost transparent sheet-like formations creating a kind of halo around the moon. ‘Gypsy used to count the number of stars within a halo to predict how far away rain was.’ Sara counted two. ‘If Gypsy’s right—and she usually was—it should rain tonight, which will be good.’

  There was a vague smell of smoke in the air. She hoped it was nothing more than a spot fire, and not too close.

  ‘I think we’re safe enough for now,’ Elliott said as they continued their walk cross-country, stopping at the chook shed where he checked the latch. ‘This is the time of year you’ll lose them.’

  ‘Fox?’

  ‘Yep. Snakes too. The sneaky, silent ones are always the ones you have to watch out for round here. Remember that, Sara.’

  ‘Snakes, huh? I gather you’re referring to the slithering kind?’

  ‘Of course! But don’t worry. Too late in the day, and even you’re a bit too big for one to gobble down. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep an eye out. You never know what dangers lurk in the dark.’

  ‘Now you’re teasing me.’

  ‘You make it too easy.’ He grinned. ‘Tell me about Willow. You were closest?’

  Sara drew a deep breath. ‘Sometimes I can go for ages and not give it … I mean her … a thought. Then I’ll hear something, see something, smell something: a conversation in the street, a show on TV, burning incense. But instead of remembering, I’d push the memory away. Forgetting is easier, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ve made a habit of forgetting my friends. Too caught up in my own …’—she was going to say problems—‘world. I had a lot more in common with Willow than the others. We called ourselves the last-minute miracles. Both our parents were well into their forties when they had us. Gypsy was even older than my mum, I think, and pregnancy took its toll on her too. I was fine, but Willow …’ Sara swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Willow wasn’t.’

  At times like this, Sara wondered about the hand fate had dealt them both; the braces and the bullying could so easily have been Sara’s life.

  ‘Willow was always sick, coming down with one thing after another. Her limp made it hard for her to keep up.’ Sara sighed. ‘Staying friends with her wasn’t easy. We were young and selfish and sometimes she was more work than the other girls were willing to accept. Even me sometimes. My mother took ill when I was young. My dad too. I had so much sickness around me already.’

  Elliott’s arm slid across her back, draping over her shoulder in a she’s-with-me fashion. It felt so good that Sara closed her eyes and imagined it was Will. Not hard to do. The easy way she and Elliott talked reminded Sara of her and Will when they were kids.

  ‘You okay talking about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually, I am.’ Sara nodded, reaching her own hand up, hooking a couple of fingers in his as they trod the moonlit ground. ‘I think I want to remember. I need to. In fact, it’s long overdue and I knew coming back to Calingarry Crossing would help. Maybe we can sit a bit, though?’ Sara veered across to a makeshift seat constructed from wooden planks straddling legs made from river stones roughly cemented together.

  After a few silent minutes, Sara finally said, ‘Something went wrong with Willow’s birth. I never knew what. I never asked. Caitlin might’ve known—her dad was the town doctor—but Gypsy didn’t see defects. She called Willow’s disabilities “challenges” and said they helped make Willow more special. She loved her daughter so much. Then, in a blink, Willow was gone and one by one everyone else started leaving town: Poppy and Caitlin left for uni and Amber’s dad took her away, but not before forcing Will’s parents to send him to Sydney. It all happened so fast. I never got to say goodbye to him or anything.’

  ‘You stayed in Calingarry Crossing?’

  ‘For a while. No choice. My parents were in care by then, so it wouldn’t have felt right to go. I never saw much of Gypsy after what happened to …’ Sara faltered.

  ‘To Willow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was an accident—right?’

  His knowledge surprised Sara and her sharp return let him know. ‘Of course it was.’

  ‘Then why steer clear of Gypsy?’

  ‘I couldn’t face her. Selfishly, I didn’t want to face more sadness. There’d already been so much.’ Sara tipped her head back, hoping to avert the tears. All that did was blur the moon.

  Elliott’s arms enfolded her, pulling her close, pressing her face into his chest until she could feel each beat of his heart against her ear. A kiss lingered on the top of Sara’s head, the heat radiating from under his hands like a warm brand on her back, igniting her need to touch and be touched. She knew it was wrong, but her hands seemed strangely possessed, as if manipulated by a master puppeteer, the invisible strings wrapping her hands shamelessly around Elliott’s neck,
years of frustration and hurt drawing him closer, that tantalising, nerve-tingling touch of a first kiss with …

  ‘Will!’ she murmured.

  Elliott pulled away. ‘Will I what?’

  Sara gasped, her hands dropping back to her side like dead weights—strings severed—her desire quickly switching to survival, then to fear as the all-too-familiar sensation took over: confusion, a cold sweat, and the slow but inevitable shutting down of her body and mind. Elliott tried to steady her, but like a marionette she folded to the ground and everything faded to black.

  *

  ‘Well, hello there.’

  Sara’s eyes slowly peeled open, Elliott’s smiling face coming into focus.

  ‘I’m guessing I passed out,’ she said from her stretched-out position on the ground.

  ‘Like a bachelor on a bucks’ night.’

  Pain stabbed at her temples as she tried to sit and her mouth felt and tasted like she’d eaten a jar of Clag glue. ‘Did I …? Did you …? How …?’

  ‘You were a little more coherent than you are now, thank goodness,’ he teased. ‘You managed one word—sugar. The rest I guessed, ran back to the house, and found the little honey container you keep on the kitchen table.’

  ‘You ran all that way and then back again?’

  ‘Yeah, now don’t make me do it again. Come on.’ He reached down and supported her weight. ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said, her first attempt failing.