House for All Seasons

by Jenn J. McLeod

  Poppy saw something in his face snap.

  Had she gone too far with her father? Was he about to reject her again?

  ‘What were you thinking just now?’ she asked.

  He moved towards her, close enough for Poppy to breathe in his scent and the thousand memories it stirred. ‘I was thinking you look at home here.’

  Cynicism stained her words, hardening them, hardening her heart against more hurt. ‘And why wouldn’t I? It was as good as a second home when I needed one. But it wasn’t the home I wanted. It wasn’t where I belonged.’

  ‘But you did belong, Poppy, and now Gypsy wants you to save this house and fill it with family.’

  ‘What family? You’re my only family. I only ever wanted to belong with you.’

  ‘You belong here. You all belong here.’

  ‘Who’s you all?’ she asked, curious.

  A noise carried from outside and she saw Johnno falter, stagger and reach out.

  ‘Are you all right, Johnno …? Dad? Daddy?’ She jumped up from her seat, knocking the half-empty wine glass. She caught it in time. ‘Sit down here, Dad.’ She tried the word out again. ‘I’ll get you some water.’

  *

  The single bar fluorescent in the kitchen buzzed and flickered, filling the kitchen with light. At the same time, a thunderous rap on the screen door made Poppy yelp in fright. She dropped the wine glass, the stem snapping in two on the hard wooden floor.

  ‘Shit!’ She peered at the dark mass on the other side of the fly screen. ‘Eli?’ Poppy guessed, carefully picking up both glass pieces. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got a visitor you might like to say hello to, although I’m thinking you might already know. I was getting a drink. Do you want some—’

  ‘It’s me, Popsicle.’ The screen door opened and a tall, familiar figure stepped into the light.

  ‘Max?’ She glimpsed the overnight bag in his hand before looking back up as her boss and best mate walked down the hallway towards her. ‘What are you doing here at this time of the morning?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, dropping the bag on the table.

  Poppy recognised his guarded sideways glance at her stockpile of prescription pill packets in the otherwise empty fruit bowl. Although tempted she hadn’t taken a single pill the whole time she’d been here, not that he could know.

  ‘I couldn’t be better. Your timing’s perfect.’ She tugged at his hand, almost childlike. ‘He’s here. Come on.’

  ‘Hey, slow down.’ Max’s feet held firm. ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Johnno. My dad. He arrived this morning. He’s in the living room. Oh, Max.’ She was gushing in excited whispers. ‘We just had the best talk. I want you to meet him.’ She tugged again, a little more impatiently. ‘Don’t just stand there. Come on, he won’t bite.’

  ‘Poppy …’ Max still didn’t move, except to look over her shoulder, craning his neck to peer beyond the fluoro light of the kitchen and into the darkness of the living room.

  ‘What’s with the serious face, Max? I’m fine with it, really. It’s great that he’s here. Why aren’t you happy? What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’d know if you bothered to listen to my messages or return my calls. I’ve been worried sick.’

  ‘I figured you just wanted to bawl me out over my report. I’m sorry about stuffing up, Max. Look, I know what I put together wasn’t what you were expecting, but can we talk about this later, please?’ she said in a hushed, impatient tone, nodding towards the living room. ‘Johnno’s in there. He saw my report on TV and just told me he was proud. So to be honest, right now I don’t care if I never work again.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Poppy, you’re scaring me.’ Max stepped forward and placed his two strong hands on her shoulders, squeezing them tight and pinning her arms to her side. ‘Poppy, honey, listen to me. The police contacted the office when they couldn’t raise you at home. I told them I wanted to be the one to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me? What are you on about? So my report wasn’t quite what WS were expecting.’ She laughed. ‘Are rebellious reporters on the police department’s most wanted list these days?’

  ‘Pops, your dad’s dead.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She shrugged his arms away. ‘He’s right here. Dad!’ she called out, waving her hand, urging Max to follow.

  Max didn’t budge, except to reach out, staring at her with one of his looks and slowly peeling the broken wine glass from her hand. Maybe she should tell him she had spilled the wine, she didn’t bathe in it, even though it probably smelled like she had.

  ‘Listen to me. Your father … he died. It was a heart attack. It’s taken the authorities a while to—’

  ‘No!’ Poppy insisted. Max tried to hold her but she wiggled free and brushed his hands away. ‘I don’t know who died, but it wasn’t Johnno. My father is right in there. He arrived this morning.’

  ‘This morning?’ Max looked back towards the open front door, then at Poppy. ‘Pops, look around. It’s not morning. It’s midnight.’

  ‘But the sun … I saw how bright and … and we talked. He … he was … is … in that room, right there. He is … isn’t he?’ She heard the destabilising uncertainty in her own words.

  First her head, then her breathing and finally her legs turned to mush, her strength dwindling, her body folding like an inflatable pool toy with its plug pulled.

  ‘Whoa there.’ Max lunged, grabbing her waist with both hands. She curled her fists in his shirt, digging her fingers in the chambray fabric and pulling herself up and into him. He scooped her up, transported her to the sofa, the very empty living room sofa, and flicked on the table lamp to illuminate the room.

  ‘He was here, Max. You have to believe me. I felt him. I told him to sit right here. I don’t understand.’ Poppy ran a hand over the seat cushion beside her, then she clutched her forehead, too nauseous to argue. ‘Argh! Shit! Just give me a minute. I think I’m … Am I?’

  ‘Are you what?’

  ‘Am I drunk? I don’t feel too good. I—’ She lurched forward until her head rested between her knees.

  ‘Come on. Bed.’ Max took charge.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I told you in the office last time. I want to start hearing a few yeses—starting now. You don’t have to sleep, but I want you horizontal on a bed.’ Max draped her arm around his neck with one hand and tightened his other arm around her waist, hoisting her up off the sofa. ‘Come on. Which way? Point.’

  Poppy attempted to grab the Temazepam pills as they passed the kitchen table, but Max jerked her hand away.

  ‘Please, Max, I need something to help me sleep tonight.’

  ‘You’ve got me tonight,’ he said, easing her onto the bed.

  ‘I’m so sorry I let you down, Max. I don’t know what’s going on with me lately.’

  ‘Shhh! You didn’t let me down. I can deal with the network boys, although forewarning me might’ve been helpful.’ He tapped a finger to the tip of her nose, his trademark gravelly laugh a comforting sound. ‘But then, you don’t make anything easy, not even caring for you. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘You’ll stay with me tonight?’

  ‘Ah, finally she asks! Your timing sucks, though.’ He drew a blanket up to her neck and tucked it under her body on both sides before stepping back to inspect the ridiculously small bed. ‘I’ll stay here until you’re asleep. Come on, eyes closed and … Now what’s this?’ Max uncurled the fingers of her closed fist and removed the crushed dandelion puffball.

  ‘I told you he was here,’ she mumbled sleepily.

  The last thing she remembered was Max’s lips on her forehead and an unexpected sense of relief, as if she truly was finally home.

  25

  ‘Morning.’ Max was smiling down at Poppy, his worried face rousing memories of last night’s news. The smell of hot coffee teased her senses.

  ‘Oh, my head.’ She massaged a spot near her temple with the heel of one hand.

  ‘You had a tough
night. I decided to let you sleep this morning.’

  ‘Last night … my dad … I didn’t dream it.’

  ‘No, hon, you didn’t dream it. Your dad died.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking, Max,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m telling you. I didn’t dream it.’

  She threw back the blanket with gusto, then groaned, hangover worse than she thought.

  ‘My dad … he was here.’ Max was about to speak again. She raised a silencing hand. ‘Tell me it’s not possible and I’ll tell you his presence was no different to you being here now. I felt him, and the things he said were …’ Poppy knew her face was a teary mess, but keeping her guard with Max no longer seemed important. If he’d seen her at her worst and he was still here, that was something. ‘Do you know how desperate I’ve been to hear him say he’s proud of me? So you see I have to believe he was here. I have to believe I heard those words, Max.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I need you to believe me, or at least believe me when I say it wasn’t the pills. I promise.’

  ‘I believe you saw what you needed at the time.’ Max shook his head, smiled, and ran a gentle finger across Poppy’s fringe before intercepting a tear on each cheek. She smiled back at him.

  ‘Thank you … for coming. I can’t believe you came all this way.’

  ‘Remind me to explain the fundamentals of mobile communications with you one day. Amazing things, these gadgets.’ He grinned and picked up her mobile phone from the bedside table. ‘Even better when you turn them on.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Max.’

  He shrugged. ‘Gave me an opportunity to check out this mysterious place of yours.’ He reached across and raised the blind on an overcast sky, although a rainbow held the promise of sunshine. ‘I took a walk around the property while you slept.’

  ‘Did you meet Eli?’

  ‘Who’s Eli?’

  ‘The caretaker, in the cottage down there.’

  Confusion re-shaped Max’s expression into a half-smile. ‘If you mean that cabin on the edge of the scrub, nope. No signs of life at all, not human, anyway. Although from the number of cobwebs there’s no shortage of eight-legged residents. Not sure anyone’s lived in that old place for a while. It’s a bit of a dump.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she said defensively. ‘In case the dirt roads didn’t give it away, this is a country house in the country, not the shiny, sterilised skyscraper you live in.’

  ‘Ah, that’s my Poppy Hamilton. Always arguing the point. Feeling better then, are we?’

  Poppy watched Max stir the coffee, taking in the man she’d once joked about with Kristen as being born in a business shirt and suit, spit-polished shoes coming out feet first. This morning, in his jeans and a sky-blue Polo T-shirt, Max looked soft, comfy—stable.

  ‘Well, I feel better believing Johnno really was here and proud of me.’

  ‘Poppy, you need to stop seeking approval for what you do and just do what you believe in. The only person who has to feel proud about what you’ve achieved is you.’

  She tried to speak, but Max stopped her, an uncharacteristic harshness seeping into his voice.

  ‘And you need to move on. I expect you to get that backside of yours into gear and start producing what the networks want. Be that hard-hitting, unstoppable Poppy Hamilton everyone wants.’

  ‘But Max—’

  ‘Shhh!’ He grinned and pressed a finger over her lips, his voice softening again. ‘I said it’s what I expect, not what I want. What I want right now is to be here for you. We’ll make the arrangements for your dad together.’

  ‘Arrangements?’

  ‘Your dad. He’s coming home to Calingarry Crossing.’

  ‘He’s, um, so what do I do? I can’t think. Do I—’

  ‘I’ll help you. We’ll work through it together. After the funeral we’ll get you back to your own life. You’ve fulfilled your obligations here.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Poppy looked at the dresser, where she’d stockpiled the photo albums and scrapbooks she’d found of Willow. ‘There’s something else, something I’ve ignored for too long, and I’ll want you to come with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Calingarry Crossing Bridge. I need to tell someone I’m sorry.’ A new rush of tears welled.

  ‘Hey there, what’s this all about? Your dad?’ Max cradled Poppy so tightly against his chest she couldn’t shake her head.

  ‘Gypsy’s daughter, Willow.’

  ‘What did you do that was so terrible?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She wiped moist cheeks on Max’s shirt and sat up, guilt permeating each word. ‘I did absolutely nothing, and I’ve lived with that for twenty years.’ Poppy wriggled up the bed and leaned back against the headboard, able to see out the window, down through the line of liquidambars towards the cottage.

  ‘Nothing about what? Talk to me.’

  ‘Our muck-up day.’ She closed her eyes, knowing the pictures would appear without too much effort. For twenty years she’d been able to block them—not since coming back here, though.

  ‘It was supposed to be the best day of my life. As much an end as a beginning. I was so close to getting away from this place and starting over. Nothing was going to stop me.’

  ‘Hmm, sounds familiar. Here. Take this,’ Max said, passing her the cooling coffee, handle first.

  ‘Okay, granted, I’ve never been any different.’ She took the hot drink and continued, ‘I discovered that the year I climbed Uluru.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d even been to the Alice, much less climbed the Rock.’

  ‘There was a school excursion. Climbing the Rock was something everyone did back then. I was petrified, though. Reading the memorial plaques at the bottom didn’t help.’

  ‘The bottom of what?’

  ‘The Rock. Keep up, Max.’ She sipped the coffee. It tasted good. Why didn’t her coffee taste that good? ‘The climb is no walk in the park. People have actually died—heart failure mostly. Still …’

  ‘No wonder they don’t put that in the tourist brochures.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t leaving without climbing, so, despite my fears, I put my head down and went for it. Caitlin kept telling me to take my time and enjoy the experience, but that’s not how I did things. I didn’t dare slow.’

  ‘No surprises so far.’

  ‘Shut up, Max, and drink your coffee.’ She shoved his mug closer. ‘I felt the same way during those last months of school. There were bigger things to climb than Uluru waiting for me in the city—a career for one—and I had to get out of this town. I had to be stronger than my fears. That meant nothing was going to stop me or slow me down. And I certainly wasn’t going to die in this place.’

  ‘And here’s me thinking you were always the tough tomboy at school!’

  Poppy snorted. ‘I acted tough. The idea of leaving Calingarry Crossing terrified me. Staying here terrified me more. So I put my head down and I ran. No one could touch me if I kept moving. If they tried, I’d run faster, try harder.’

  ‘That much I do know. The boys in the office called you Hurricane Hamilton in the beginning. They’d say a tornado had nothing on you.’

  ‘I never knew that.’ The nickname made her laugh until she remembered the strange dream she’d had. ‘That’s kinda weird actually. I had a dream I was Dorothy the night I arrived here.’

  ‘Dorothy? As in Dorothy the Dinosaur?’ Max wagged his fingers Wiggles-style.

  ‘As in The Wizard of Oz.’ Poppy took the storybook from the bedside drawer and told Max about the dream, leaving out the all-singing, all-skipping axolotl. ‘So this giant tornado swept me away, spinning faster and faster. I wasn’t scared. I felt calm and safe up there, like being in the eye of the storm. My only fear was stopping, in case I crashed back down to earth.’

  She tossed the book on the bed and Max picked up the small mauve-coloured envelope that slipped out from between the covers, examining the name POPPY handwritten on the front.

  ‘Love letter?
’ he said, doing a poor job at feigning disinterest.

  ‘Not quite. It was waiting for me when I arrived. Gypsy wrote me a letter. Go ahead and read it.’

  Max studied the contents for a few seconds before looking up. ‘Your father did his share of running away too. A chip off the old block, eh?’

  ‘Just keep reading.’

  A few seconds later Max asked, ‘Do you know what she’s talking about when she says, “Things left for too long are harder to undo”?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘I have no idea. Gyps was always a bit of a mind reader. Maybe she thinks I’m supposed to read hers now.’ Poppy expected Max’s corny smile, so often accompanied by a wry comment. Max was the biggest sceptic she knew. Neither the look nor the comment eventuated.

  ‘She says I’m supposed to know what to do with the house.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I do. Yes. I only wish I was as certain about what to think about last night.’

  ‘Well, didn’t you tell me in the office that day that the woman had a crystal-ball-brandishing mother? Maybe Gypsy was into all that ouija board stuff.’

  ‘I told you, Gypsy wasn’t into that crap. Tarot was her thing, but whenever I asked her about my future, she’d clam up and say, “To tell one’s fortune is to falsely guide one’s future.”’

  ‘Don’t play with destiny, in other words.’

  ‘She reckoned everything has a time and a purpose.’

  ‘I tend to agree.’

  ‘You?’ Poppy scoffed.

  ‘Yep, and it’s time you were up for the purpose of having a shower. You look like a wreck, Hamilton.’ He smiled, stood up and ripped the blankets back. ‘Move it.’ He extended his hand, his tone softening. ‘I’m no fortune-teller, but that doesn’t stop me believing there’s a time and reason for everything, and I’m thinking it’s time for you, Popsicle, to come out of the storm.’ He was tugging her arms now, Poppy resisting, acting like a dead weight—a battle of wills. ‘I see the defiant old Poppy is sneaking back in already. Come on.’ He yanked a little harder. Poppy relented, let him pull her upright, wondering if her eyes mirrored the uncertainty she felt. ‘If things come crashing down to earth, you know at the Coffey Agency there’ll always be a soft place to land. It’s time to stop running, or else end up alone like me.’