‘I guess I deserved that,’ she said. ‘Sorry I lied. I’m so glad she is alive. She’s let me see the real Jack. He was a bastard to her but I never saw anything when I was growing up, just what I wanted to see, what was easiest.’
‘I’m old enough to be your father, but I’m not, and you need to give me a little credit. Do you know what I deal with every day in my practice? Women who feel trapped in unhappy marriages, trying to change themselves—whether they understand that or not. Your father did that to your mother. I don’t want that for you.’
‘I always thought you and my father were so close.’
‘Amber, he’s my father-in-law. What choice did I have? Besides, he let me marry you. I owed him for that.’
‘Let you marry me?’ Amber pushed off so hard the sideboard shifted. She spun around to face her husband. ‘He let you marry me?’
‘Of course.’ Phillip grinned. ‘Marrying you was my idea. Not even your father could make me do something I didn’t want to do. You seriously think it was all one-sided, that Jack coerced me into some sort of arranged marriage?’ He huffed. ‘You think you got everything and poor old hard done by and desperate Phillip got nothing?’
‘Yes, I … I mean … What you did for me—’
‘What I did for you?’ Phillip rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. ‘Amber, you think my magic keeps you young. You’re wrong. Your magic keeps me young. You talk about running out of time. I know what it’s like to feel that way. Twenty years ago I thought I was running out of time. Not anymore. I’m ready to live another forty years with you as my wife, if you still want that.’
Tears she’d thought she’d well and truly exhausted flowed again, snaking their way over her cheeks until she could taste their saltiness on her lips.
‘I won’t be satisfied being someone’s wife anymore. I want to be someone’s life.’
‘You are my life. Marrying you gave me my life back. And right now,’ he said, pulling her into him, ‘I’d like to make love to my gorgeous, sweet-smelling, cow-wrangling wife. Would that be breaking any rules?’
37
They broke the rules several times that night, Phillip’s delicious attention to detail satisfying her both physically and emotionally. The next morning, huddled under blankets in the therapeutic arms of her husband, she told him more about her conversation with Cheryl and about her father.
*
Amber showered, leaving her hair to dry naturally while she threw on jeans and a jumper before going in search of her husband. After delivering coffee to a table in the sun on the veranda, she sat opposite him.
‘Not a bad view,’ Phillip said, taking the coffee to his lips to blow.
‘Shame we have to sell the place, really.’
He looked over the rim at her and added, ‘Not that view. I’m talking about you. I’ve woken up to you many, many mornings and yet there is something striking about you this morning.’
‘Perhaps you’ve been staring into the sun too much, Phillip.’
Joking was easier than dealing with his compliments right now. What she needed this morning was strength and focus. She’d enjoyed his lovemaking, but that was last night, after a day of high emotions and too much champagne. Today things seemed clearer.
‘Oh, I almost forgot. I have a delivery for you.’
‘Another one?’ she called after him as he slipped inside the house. ‘Thank you for your welcome parcel, by the way.’
When Phillip returned he had Amber’s straw hat in one hand and a mauve-coloured envelope in the other.
‘This letter came for you. I saw In Madgick We Trust on the front and assumed it was important information from that Madgick & Associates mob. Although I have to confess that the letter was not my primary reason for coming out here. And after last night I’m glad I made the trek.’ Phillip was back to his normal self, as if the only thing to have changed in their marriage was the location. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is?’
Amber only half-listened, her focus on the letter’s contents. ‘It’s from Gypsy.’
‘The woman who lived in this house?’
‘Yes. Will you read it for me?’ Phillip pulled another chair closer to his wife’s and sat, squinted, extended the page to arm’s length and read:
Dear Amber,
Why me, I hear you asking. Well, I’ll tell you.
The others are too sentimental, too attached emotionally to the house, to Willow, and to me: Caitlin to her precious animals, and Poppy and Sara to the acceptance, security and comfort they found here when they couldn’t find it at home. You will balance things out, make sure the right decisions get made for the right reasons. You’ll see through everything and recognise the house’s true potential. I’m sure with your father’s eye, of which you were the apple, you have already seen beneath the peeling paintwork and dusty corners. But remember also that a house is nothing more than a covering and behind any perfect facade is the heart which, when filled with the right things, can be warm and loving. Filled with the wrong things, the house will forever remain forsaken and lonely.
I wanted all four of you to come back, to see through life’s clutter, to realise the potential for happiness. Good things can come from bad if we take the time to strip away the veneer and expose the true beauty that lies beneath. Poppy called this place the Dandelion House—The House of Wishes. Use the house, wish for what you need, not for what you want.
Trust in its foundations, Amber. A house can be anything you need it to be.
Love Gypsy xxx
Amber took the note from Phillip and blinked tears, a quick succession of drops splattering the mauve paper, turning the last few words into a purple-black smudge. She let her hands fall onto her lap, still clinging to the page, and breathed deeply to dispel the urge to throw herself into Phillip’s arms. Phillip had to see she was strong and capable and in control, not the emotional wreck she’d been these past years. Still, she let him reach around her shoulders and pull her close.
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me?’
‘Because …’ Amber shrugged his hands away.
‘Don’t do that. Talk to me. Why won’t you talk about this?’
‘I didn’t tell you because shutting out everything to do with this part of my life fit with Jack’s plans. Blocking the memories helped me disconnect. I could deny responsibility—at least that’s what I thought until coming home.’
‘And the bit at the end of the letter … Do you know what you want the house to be?’
‘Sold, of course,’ Amber said firmly. ‘Sold is what I’ve said from the outset. Better all round.’
‘I hear you, but I’m looking at you too. Why am I not convinced? You’re sounding like your father. You might have thought that about the place when you arrived, and I can see why old Jack might have liked to get his hands on the real estate, but something in that letter tells me Gypsy knew more about you than you realised.’
Shame pierced Amber’s heart.
‘Gypsy and Willow were nothing more than a nuisance factor to me then. I was impatient and petulant and they interfered with my plans by always occupying Poppy and Caitlin. Sara had been even more attached to the place, and she was supposed to be my best friend—not Willow’s.’
‘Why didn’t you get yourself some new friends?’
‘Because I was a brat. Only because Jack told me to stay away did I have anything to do with Gypsy and this place. Since coming back, though, I’ve been thinking about those times I came home from school to a cold house, a cold dinner and a booze-soaked mother. I didn’t know the Dandelion House was good for me back then.’
‘Sometimes it’s the good things right in front of our faces that go unnoticed, and usually only because the bad overshadows them.’
‘Hmm, about that! Jack Bailey will have some answering to do when I see him. And if he wants to stay part of our lives he had better answer my questions to my satisfaction.’
‘There’s that feisty woman I f
ell in love with,’ Phillip almost cheered. ‘This reconnecting with your country roots thing has been good for you.’
Amber had to distance herself, her husband’s arms suddenly suffocating. She cursed her weakness last night. Sex did not erase Amber’s confusion, although seeing the old Phillip Blair, relaxed and making jokes, his unbuttoned shirt and untroubled expression, may have added to it, further testing her resolve.
‘There is so much about me you don’t know, Phillip,’ Amber said, taking a biscuit over to the railing and scattering crumbs for the birds. ‘The real me I’m talking about, not the dutiful wife and not the charity patron.’
‘A role you play beautifully, I might add.’
‘Humph! I can thank my father for teaching me the finer details of twisting people around my little finger and squeezing money out of them. You don’t live with Jack Bailey and not learn a thing or two about manipulating people. Look at how he pushed us together.’
‘Amber, I’ve already told you, Jack Bailey did not make me fall in love with you. He was a father wanting the best for his daughter. How can I blame the man for that?’
Amber leaned on the railing and faced her husband.
‘I didn’t want to see him for what he really was in case I was the same. Am I?’
Phillip had told her once she wasn’t like her father. It should have comforted her. Instead, it led her to the question: if she wasn’t like her father, did that then mean that she was like her mother?
Maybe she was neither.
‘I don’t know anymore,’ Amber continued. ‘All these years I’ve pretended to be something else, too afraid to be myself. Hiding behind you and all my pretentiousness was easier than the truth. Thing is, now I have no idea who the real me is.’
‘I’ve always seen the real you, it’s what I fell in love with.’
How ironic that what had started out as her father’s plan to marry her off might end up being the one real thing in her life.
Maybe.
‘They do say you can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl. Speaking of country …’ Phillip plopped the straw Akubra on Amber’s head and tapped the top with his fingers. ‘Look at you standing there in those jeans, all freckle-faced with your hair in a mess—a good mess.’ He winked.
‘Can you be serious, Phillip? I’m trying to explain. I want to make a difference to people’s lives, like my mother’s made a difference in Christopher’s. I saw the boy’s face when he experienced rain for the first time. Imagine him experiencing the city for a while.’
‘Oh no you don’t.’
‘Why not? I’m not suggesting anything permanent. Cheryl’s sponsored him here for three years. If we sponsored him he could come and live with us for a while.’
‘But he’s not your son. You have a daughter who needs you, not to mention a husband.’
‘Cheryl told me how good Christopher has been for her. She calls him her saviour and I—’
‘Amber, honey, listen to yourself. You can’t use Christopher in your quest for whatever it is you’re looking for. Yes, he might help Cheryl fill that emptiness after having lost so much, but he …’ Phillip paused, eyed his wife. ‘Oh, so now I get it. This isn’t about Christopher at all. This is about replacing our son.’
Amber didn’t need to look—she didn’t dare look—to know her husband’s laser-like stare was burning a hole right through her.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
She tried to shift, but Phillip grabbed her wrist, gently pinning her in place with his arms.
‘Amber, Amber.’ He breathed the words in her ear and there was understanding. ‘I’ve watched you shut that day out. It’s been fifteen years and in all that time you’ve never grieved. This boy, this Christopher, he’s helping you deal with something no therapist ever could.’
‘Look, I’m trying to explain. I want to make a difference in other people’s lives. I want to get out from under my father’s control and make my own rules—starting now.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m making the rules, Phillip, and it’s time you left. I have to finish this on my own.’
‘I know what you’re doing, Amber. You’re clinging too tight to our son’s memory and trying to replace him with this boy from the bush. It’s such a grand plan for one small boy, don’t you think? What about all those other children?’
The honeymoon was over, his final words stinging.
Phillip left the next day at Amber’s insistence, the departure emotional for them both. Poor Phillip. A man at this time in his life didn’t deserve such uncertainty. On the flipside, he deserved more than what Amber was capable of giving until she’d figured herself out.
*
His final words, ‘What about all those other children’, bothered Amber, seeding and quickly budding into an idea in the early hours of the morning while she willed the sun to rise so she could start writing before the words vanished. The idea wouldn’t fly without the support of the three other people now linked to Amber through the house. She’d have to convince them the concept she’d been mulling over had merit.
Waiting not one of her strong suits, Amber knew she’d struggle to keep the idea to herself until the end of winter. She had to tell the girls, give them time to think about the initiative, even though she’d be breaking the no-contact rule.
What the hell!
Amber had been no stranger to passing a note in class. What would they do? Put her on detention?
She put pen to paper and drafted a note. It started: Dear Poppy, Sara and Caitlin.
A short note would suffice. No need for War and Peace.
War or peace, Amber mused, knowing things could go either way.
Wynter’s Way
38
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Caitlin stifled a yawn. ‘I told you not to drink so much water.’
At six o’clock she’d driven out of her Blue Mountains hideaway, mindful of the dangerous coating of black ice on the road. Sydney was in for a cold winter. Did that mean Calingarry Crossing would be colder? Anything above zero would be fine; Cait quite enjoyed the crispness of the cooler seasons. Sydney’s Blue Mountains were no place for people who didn’t enjoy extreme temperatures. Extreme was good, usually. Extreme anything made for a welcome blip in Doctor Caitlin Wynter’s flat-lining life.
After crawling through several traffic snarls on the F3 freeway, including the clean-up of an earlier southbound fatality, she had finally hit open road. At last a chance to enjoy her new car, one she’d prefer not to christen with pee.
She glared at her passenger. ‘You’ve got more than enough legs to cross, so I suggest you cross them. Not long now.’
Had it been just her, Cait would have kept driving, but there was no ignoring the big brown eyes and the hangdog look from the passenger seat. She eased off the accelerator to slow the Volkswagen Beetle cabriolet, still new enough to have that showroom smell, an aroma so desirable that the salesman had presented her with a spray bottle of the stuff. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that ingesting potentially life-shortening spray scents was not on her list of necessities. She much preferred nature’s perfume. Even dusty country roads invoked fond memories for Caitlin.
Despite her initial reluctance to subject her shiny new baby to Calingarry Crossing’s local roads, Cait was now glad. Nothing like a new car to make a long trip more fun. Being able to put the top down and turn up the music added to her enjoyment. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was the best driving music, although she doubted the composer had intended it to be so. With the car gliding over a country road soaked in sun, an invigorating winter wind whipping her hair out from under her retro headscarf, the car’s heater on full throttle to warm her legs, Cait let loose with her very best Meg Ryan, knowing only the cows and galahs would hear her.
‘Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!’
*
Pulling as far to the side of the narrow strip of bitumen as the unsealed shoulder allowed,
she stopped in the shade of some roadside gums. The cluster of trees stretched straight and tall, creating dappled sunlight across the road and adjacent paddocks.
She’d made repeated stops to stretch all six of their legs and to drink coffee, or in Karma’s case, water; hence the dog’s need to pee—again.
The stop was timely, allowing Caitlin to secure the roof back in place, the cool late-afternoon air reminding her that winter in Calingarry Crossing meant cold nights and frosty mornings.
‘Time to grab something warmer to wear first,’ she said to the big but obedient fur-person in the brown spotted coat.
Karma was Caitlin’s best friend, constant companion and even confidante. They’d spent so many nights ‘talking’ together, lamenting the lack of romance in their lives. Caitlin would laugh, ruffle Karma’s ears and say, ‘I know what those eyes of yours are telling me: that there’s hope for those of us who haven’t, you know, been fixed.’
‘Sorry about that, girl. Now, are you going to pee or not?’
Karma raced off, losing herself in the paddock of tall grass, nose down, tail up and wagging like billy-o.
‘And don’t you dare roll in anything out there,’ Cait called out, her gaze flitting between her watch and the setting sun. ‘Hurry up, girl, time we got moving.’
She buried her head in the car boot, struggling to budge the medical bag her mother had presented to Caitlin in the days following Joseph Wynter’s funeral, with the words, ‘More befitting your station as a country doctor, my dear.’ While touched that her mother had chosen her as the recipient, the chunky, third-generation bag unfortunately now occupied a third of the Beetle’s boot, making it impossible to access her suitcase properly. She grabbed the first thing she put her hand on—warm, woollen and white—and slipped her arms through the sleeves, wrapping both front panels of the cashmere cardigan tight, tucking them snugly around her body.
‘Good Karma. Come on, girl.’
Caitlin whistled. She loved the sight of her best friend bounding towards her through the fields of green; sure beat the overcrowded dog park down the road from the Penrith Medical Centre.
House for All Seasons Page 35