‘Hi there,’ Sara said alighting from the car, looking totally unfrazzled, as if Cait had asked nothing more of her than a small detour to the corner store to pick up milk on her way to tea. ‘Cait? Poppy?’ She did a double take. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m glad to see you,’ Caitlin said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
The trio took turns hugging each other, their greeting very different from the first stilted reunion in the conference room almost twelve months ago.
‘Thanks for coming at such short notice, but if I can ask you to save your questions until Amber arrives. Then I’ll only have to explain once.’
Try at least.
‘Amber’s definitely coming?’ Poppy asked.
‘When I rang she couldn’t say yes quickly enough. In fact she told me she was glad we were getting together sooner rather than later.’
‘You sure you had the right Amber?’ Sara’s smile seemed cautious, like she wanted to be happy but couldn’t be—not yet.
‘You’re forgetting, Sara,’ Poppy quipped as she grabbed her knapsack and iPad from the car. ‘Our Amber always had an agenda. I’ve no doubt selling up and making a quick quid is on her latest. Anyone checked realestate.com lately?’
‘Don’t even joke about that,’ Cait scolded, helping Sara unload. She seemed to have the entire contents of her flat in the boot of her car.
Besides, the house is the least of our worries, she wanted to add.
‘Sara, it’s freezing out here. Can we leave the rest and get inside? I have lamingtons,’ Cait said with forced gusto.
‘Is this the big news? You baked?’ Poppy snorted.
‘That would be big news, but no, we’re in CWA country. Lamingtons almost make themselves. They’re a staple.’
‘So what is going on?’ The initial amusement in Poppy’s voice was fading fast. ‘What’s with dragging us all back out here so urgently?’
‘Please, Poppy, can we just wait?’
The mood inside the house changed from warm to cool, like when the weather brings four seasons in one day. Sunny one minute, stormy the next. Cait knew her plea for patience had sounded more stern than intended. The sideways glance and raised eyebrows told her the two women had noticed.
Tea.
They needed tea.
Cait busied herself in the kitchen, taking more time than usual to assemble cups on saucers.
‘Amber’s here,’ Sara called from the living room. ‘She’s on the punt.’
‘Trust her to arrive last,’ Poppy scoffed. ‘At least now we can get to the bottom of things.’
‘I’ll get the door for Amber first,’ Cait offered.
Anything to delay this.
The socialite of the group looked different, relaxed; it was possibly her hair. Cait noticed natural curls had replaced the severe straight style she’d worn in the Madgick & Associates Office.
‘What an awful trip,’ Amber blustered, peeling off several layers—scarf, gloves, hat, coat—discarding the collection on the hall table without stopping, as if she expected someone else would take care of them. ‘If this meeting is all about you, Caitlin, and some fancy idea you’ve got about the house, I already have it covered.’
‘Hello to you too, Amber,’ Poppy said.
‘Yes, yes, hello everyone. Sorry.’ Three stilted hugs later, Amber fell into a dining chair and sighed. ‘I just wanted to get that out in the open. I have something written down that I intended to send each of you but—’
‘Amber, I haven’t called you all out here about the house.’
‘You said it was.’ Even Sara was starting to sound miffed. ‘You said we had to come back because you’d found out something about the inheritance.’
More glances.
More raised eyebrows.
More impatient sighs.
More tea!
Cait returned to the cups and saucers, knowing there were three pairs of eyes burning into her back.
Cait’s struggle wasn’t delivering the facts. Cait’s struggle was slowing everything down so she didn’t vomit the entire lot in one go, even though that’s exactly what her stomach was about to do—vomit. The unmistakable stickiness of sweat crawled over her skin. She told herself to keep breathing, three deep inhalations to fill her lungs and draw oxygen to her brain.
Keep a clear head, tell it straight, and don’t let them trample on you until you’re done.
With teacups topped up and the last lamington snaffled, Cait took a deep, preparatory breath and said, ‘Okay, everyone, I’m ready to start.’
‘Uh-oh,’ Amber sniggered. ‘Does anyone else get a sense of déjà vu with Caitlin standing at the front of the classroom about to thrill us all with a recitation?’
The three women laughed. Not Caitlin. She wanted to cry. Her body, spring-loaded with doubt, shook all over, her legs visibly trembling.
Air.
She needed air.
Even freezing cold Calingarry winter air was preferable to the trio’s suffocating stares.
‘I’m sorry. Give me a minute.’ Cait ran from the kitchen, down the hallway and out the door, breathless, dizzy, terrified. The railing stopped her, cutting into her hips as she braced herself with both hands, leaning over in case she threw up. Thank goodness she didn’t. Seconds before she’d craved air. Now her lungs felt like they were about to explode, as if someone had dunked her face-first in iced water and held her under. The next choking gasp brought back the image of that fragile little foal so desperate to breathe, to live—big brown eyes frightened but fighting for that first real breath.
You can do this, Cait. Just breathe.
‘Caitlin?’
She heard Poppy’s voice and saw three women huddled in the doorway, shock and concern etched into three sorrowful smiles.
‘Caitlin, sweetie, come inside,’ said caring Sara. ‘We’re sorry.’
‘We’re all sorry,’ Poppy added.
‘And I’ve made more tea.’ Amber’s announcement made the effort sound almost award-worthy, amusing them all, any lingering angst dissipating into the late-afternoon mist now rolling in from the ranges.
The four of them strolled back into the kitchen and Sara fetched a glass of water.
‘Thanks.’ Cait took several sips. ‘Now if we can all sit down …’
The last thing Caitlin felt like doing was sitting, but she did. The three women followed suit, taking a seat each around the kitchen table like the four points on a compass: north, south, east and west, and each of them as different as the seasons.
‘Please,’ Cait began, ‘it’s really important I get this said. I’ll try and make it as succinct as possible.’
Caitlin’s tongue was like sandpaper on her lips. More water helped.
‘I asked you here all together to tell you … I know why Gypsy left us, all four of us, the house. Well, the three of you, at least. That’s what this is about.’
*
The secret that took some thirty-six years to surface took no more than five minutes for Cait to tell. After having rehearsed several versions in front of Alex, the announcement ended up being more dissertation than conversation. But there it was, out on the table—the kitchen table all four now sat around in stunned silence. Poppy’s expression held no clue to her thoughts at all, while Amber and Sara switched between staring at each other, staring at the family tree diagram on the page in front of them, and staring at Caitlin.
‘Somebody say something, please,’ Cait pleaded.
Sara cleared her throat to speak first, the bittersweet smile turning her now tear-streaked face into a study of heartbreak. ‘I’m Willow’s twin!’ It wasn’t a question so much as an affirmation. ‘And my mother is …’
‘My mother,’ Amber answered half-aloud, the disbelief draining her face of colour. ‘And with John Hamilton, of all people.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Poppy snapped.
‘Poppy, I’m sure Amber didn’t mean—’ Caitlin began.
‘Is there any
chance you’re wrong, Cait?’ Poppy interrupted. ‘I mean … to say something so … My father is dead. What do I do with information like this now?’
‘I’m sorry about your dad, Poppy.’
‘We all are,’ Sara added. ‘Cait, what if you are wrong?’
‘You can see it for yourself. It’s all here.’ Cait pushed the old birth diary and other evidence she’d presented into the centre of the table. ‘I understand you’ll need time to go over all this. You’ll see the same thing when you do. My mother all but confirmed that Cheryl Bailey had twins. They are recorded here as Willow and Cedar. The babies were given to Gypsy initially. She kept one—Willow. This line and this little mark links your name change from Cedar to Sara, and here is where you are recorded as Sara Fraser, daughter to Liz and Barry.’
Cait took what felt like her first breath since starting. ‘I’m sorry if this has come out in a hurry. I didn’t know how else to tell you.’
Amber spoke, a strangely unruffled response. ‘Are you saying Gypsy left us the house so we’d come here and discover all this stuff?’
‘I hardly think so.’ Poppy was fighting back tears, anger sneaking its way into her words. ‘If she’d wanted us to know, there were other ways to break the news. She couldn’t have predicted Caitlin choosing to come back as locum and finding an old box of her father’s medical records. If Gypsy had wanted us to know, why not write it in the bloody letters.’ Poppy drew the small mauve-coloured envelope from the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I assume we all got one.’
‘What letters? I didn’t get any letter,’ Cait said. ‘Did you both get one?’ Amber and Sara looked at each other, then back at Caitlin and nodded. ‘What do the letters say?’ she asked.
‘You can read mine,’ Sara said. ‘It’s in my bag.’
‘Maybe we should read each other’s,’ Poppy suggested.
The three agreed, while Caitlin desperately tried to figure out if she’d seen a mauve-coloured envelope anywhere in the house.
‘Mine came by mail to the apartment,’ Amber said. ‘Phillip brought it out here when he came. Maybe yours is at home too.’
Cait shook her head. ‘I put a three-month redirection in before I left Sydney to have my mail sent here, so unless …’
‘The punt mail box,’ Poppy blurted. ‘Remember when that miserable old postie refused to cross the river? Gypsy put a mail box on the side rail of the punt.’
The house echoed with the sound of four chairs scraping along a wooden floor. They grabbed coats and scarves and hurried down the driveway on foot. Dampness settled on their exposed faces but no one seemed to notice, or if any of them did, a bit of drizzle was not going to stop them.
‘Taa-daaah!’ Cait announced in a shaky voice, plucking a mauve-coloured envelope from the small tin box.
‘Let’s sit here while Cait reads aloud,’ Sara instructed, dropping to the floor of the punt and crossing her legs in front, looking like a teenager again.
‘It’s raining, Sara,’ Amber said.
‘So? Remember when we used to sit around like this? Before the punt it was that stupid old raft of Poppy’s.’
‘It wasn’t stupid then.’ Poppy flipped the hoodie over her head and squatted against the railing.
‘And there were five of us,’ Amber added.
Silence.
Cait gave up trying to read the letter, shaking hands, watery eyes and no glasses making the task impossible. ‘Can you?’ she said, thrusting the paper at Poppy. ‘I don’t have my glasses.’
‘Okay.’ Poppy drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. ‘Here we go.’
‘Precious Caitlin,’ she read aloud.
‘You must be wondering, like the others, why I want to leave you the Dandelion House.
The answer is simple.
Your father was a wonderful man who gave the gift of health, life and hope to people every day. But he gave me so much more—more than I can ever tell you, and for keeping the secret I am sorry. It would mean so much to be able to share with you and the girls all the joy I’ve experienced here at the house because of what your father did for me and Willow. Willow was a special gift. He saved her and cared for her and I knew I could never repay him.
‘Can you believe this?’ Poppy looked at her friend’s faces.
If they needed any more convincing, it was right here in the letter.
‘Please keep reading,’ Cait demanded.
‘But I can repay you, Caitlin, by including you in determining the future of the house.
You were here so often, always helping me and Willow with the animals. I believed you would have been a great carer for all creatures, but your father’s wish was that you become a great doctor—and you have.
As for the house, I trust you will all do what is best, and that your time here has helped you reconnect with the country I know is at your core.
If I can have a final wish for my house of wishes, it is that the property continues to bring you joy and provide a home to whoever needs one.
Forever grateful,
Gypsy’
Caitlin took the note back and folded it slowly, the weight of Gypsy’s words adding to the burden she’d gone to bed with every night this past week. And yet, this morning’s uncertainty seemed suddenly so long ago, the canvas she’d woken up to no longer blank; but nor was the picture complete, a haze of questions smudging the landscape and the house like a dewy watercolour.
‘Shit!’ Poppy’s expletive jerked Caitlin back to their reality. ‘Gypsy knew so much about us. And I don’t mean she followed our careers. I mean, her letter to me was … She was reading my mind. Maybe she did have a bloody crystal ball.’
Poppy paced.
Sara fidgeted.
Amber frowned: a real, Botox-free frown too, complete with creases on her forehead and lines around her eyes.
‘So, what now?’ Cait asked, no longer the girl with the answers.
Amber pulled her coat tight across her body. ‘The letters are starting to make sense, but I need to see my mother so she can fill in a few—more than a few—gaps, before my imagination fills them in for me.’
With all their worlds twisted, upturned, shaken, unravelled, at least Amber had access to the past, but by the look of her, she’d need all her strength to face it. She pushed off the railing and headed away from the punt with a purposeful stride, back towards the house.
‘Wait, Amber.’ Sara hurried after her, and Caitlin and Poppy followed, trudging head-on through a freezing cold wind.
*
‘I’m going with you, Amber.’ Sara picked up her handbag from where she’d left it on the kitchen counter. ‘And before you say anything or try to stop me, she’s my mother too.’
Cait caught Sara’s hand as she passed. ‘Sara, honey, maybe Amber should go alone this one time. We need to think about Mrs Bailey. It’s possibly all a bit soon to be—’
‘No, Cait, it’s not too soon—not for me. It’s almost too late.’ Sara dropped into a dining chair, her bag landing heavily at her feet, ensuring the attention of the other three.
‘Sara?’ Cait queried cautiously.
Even Amber stopped part way down the entry hall and walked back into the kitchen. She ripped several tissues from the box Cait had strategically left on the kitchen table and shoved them into Sara’s hand.
‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘Is there something you need to share now?’
‘Yes. Yes there is.’ Sara sat straight-backed and took a deliberately deep breath, blowing it out with a huff. ‘I need to tell you all something and, well, since now is the time for truths …’
Any prior thoughts Caitlin might have had that Sara lacked strength vanished as she launched into a summary of her life, the devastating final years of her parents’ lives, her cancer, her surgery, her divorce.
Suddenly, all four were best friends again, young again, sitting in a circle in the playground again—that place in the playground, that sacred ground where girls gathered in groups wh
ile the boys banded together in their own space. Calingarry Crossing school had been their patch, their parcel, their plot. A recess oasis where battles were fought and friendships forged. Where girls gossiped, giggled, primped and preened, their talk big, their egos bigger. There were no egos in the room now. Caitlin felt small. She quizzed Sara about the prognoses and felt some relief that, to date, Sara remained cancer free. Nearly three years was a good sign.
Finally, Sara told them about Will and the mood in the room lifted, tears stopped, faces dried. They hugged.
‘So you and the boofhead finally got it together. At last!’ Amber laughed. ‘Are you moving back here?’
Sara’s expression returned to the one she’d arrived with—the cautious one, the one that had said she wanted to be happy but couldn’t be, not yet.
‘Sara?’ Cait questioned, eagerness creeping into the single word.
‘Okay, yes, I have to move back here. It’s what you do when you marry someone, isn’t it?’
The pinched-back smile grew as shy Sara Fraser thrust forward the ring she’d kept hidden on her finger until now.
No one said anything, four pairs of eyes blinking at the small band on her finger.
Sara snatched her hand back and burst into tears. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I just —’
‘Oh no, Sara—no. I think it’s good and right that you told us now. Isn’t it, girls?’ Cait said.
They took turns to hug Sara. Someone even suggested champagne. Cait had no idea where from, but a bottle appeared, along with four rinsed teacups. But the euphoria was short-lived, silence stealing away the celebratory moment.
‘Look, all of you,’ Cait said. ‘At the risk of another recitation … I know—believe me, I know—how grief and guilt can tangle together until it’s hard to tell them apart. It can overwhelm and suck the life out of all the good things in the same way smoke overwhelms and sucks the oxygen out of a room.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Amber said impatiently.
‘She’s telling us not to let our situation become the only focus. Is that right, Cait?’ asked Poppy.
She nodded. ‘Remember that year when fire destroyed the forest at the back of the property?’
‘When you nursed that burned wallaby and her joey back to health, you mean?’ Sara added.
House for All Seasons Page 43