Nick shook his head. ‘I need you all to know I didn’t make the decision lightly. I know what a mining lease means. I know how worried you all are about the impact. I grew up here. I’ve spent my whole life here. I love this land as much as any of you do. I know its history, my own history here, four generations of Gillespies. But I —’ He stopped. After a few seconds, he spoke again. ‘I had no choice. I’m sorry.’
‘If I thought I had diamonds in my land, I’d have done the same,’ someone called.
‘You weren’t the only one in trouble, Nick,’ another added.
He stopped talking. He just stood there, looking out at his neighbours.
‘Oh God, I think he’s going to cry,’ Genevieve whispered to Victoria.
He didn’t cry. But his voice faltered as he thanked everyone again for coming.
The room filled with applause. Victoria put the music back on. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice soared into the shed. Conversation surged again.
Angela whispered to her friend, ‘Thanks, Joan.’
‘Any time, Ange.’
Off to the side of the stage a short while later, Genevieve and Victoria were talking.
‘Is he here yet?’ Genevieve asked.
Victoria shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s decided not to come.’
‘I can’t see any of the Lawsons though. Maybe they’re just running late. I still can’t believe you waited until now to tell me he was back. That you’ve talked to him. You’re supposed to tell me everything.’
‘I didn’t think you’d approve.’
‘Of course I don’t approve. I’d have punched him on the nose if I saw him. He broke your heart, Victoria, remember?’
‘It was a long time ago. And he didn’t mean to break it. He did explain. I just never told you everything he said.’
‘You seem to have become very sympathetic about him all of a sudden.’
‘Genevieve, don’t be mad. We spoke for about half an hour, we had a coffee —’
‘So what did he say? Is he back for good? Has he got a Canadian wife? Canadian children?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t get to ask him. He wanted to talk about me. He’d read Mum’s letter. He wanted to know if I was all right. He was worried about me.’
‘He should have worried about you ten years ago.’
‘Genevieve, please. He needed to leave. I think I always knew that. He’s not evil. He’s not.’
‘How did he look? How old is he now, thirty-two, thirty-three? Has he gone to seed, grown bald from all that striding over the prairies? Fat from all that maple syrup? Those big steaks?’
Victoria started to laugh. ‘He’s been working in farm economics over there, not striding the prairies. I don’t even know if they have prairies in Canada. And he looked just like he used to look.’
‘Which was how? I’ve done my best to block any memory of him.’
‘Truthfully?’ Victoria asked.
‘Truthfully,’ Genevieve said.
‘He looked gorgeous.’
Horrible Jane and the rest of the Lawsons arrived at eight forty-five p.m. Lindy had been keeping an eye out for them all night. She was secretly glad they’d missed the speeches. She watched them all come in now, making quite an entrance. They’d always been a good-looking family: tall, blond, all four children – the three boys and Jane – in their twenties and early thirties, all successful. Lindy counted them coming in behind their parents, one, two, three, four. The fourth one was Fred. Wow, Lindy thought. So he was back from Canada. She wondered whether Victoria knew. About to go and find her, she watched as one more person came in with them. It wasn’t an extra Lawson kid. It was Richard from Melbourne. Jane’s flatmate.
Lindy raced over to the bar where Genevieve was telling Hollywood tales. ‘Oh, yes, everyone knows she’s gay. It’s an open secret, but the sad homophobic truth is she wouldn’t get those romantic-comedy roles if people knew it. The marriage is all for show.’
Lindy pulled her aside. ‘I thought you vowed not to gossip any more.’
‘I’m not gossiping. I’m telling the truth. What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to explode.’
‘I am. Horrible Jane is here. So is Fred Lawson. You’d better warn Victoria. And that’s not all. Richard is here too. Richard from Melbourne. My Richard. Help me. Please.’
‘Of course. Step one, stay calm. Step two, stay here. And breathe. Victoria!’
Across the crowded, noisy room, Victoria looked up. It always amazed Lindy to see her sisters in twin action. They were like dogs who could hear whistles at a pitch beyond the human ear.
Victoria came over. Genevieve filled her in. Over by the door, Horrible Jane seemed to sense the three Gillespie sisters looking across at her. She made a beeline for them, Richard in her wake. Her brothers and parents had already disappeared into the crowd.
Lindy felt a pinch from Genevieve, or maybe it was Victoria. ‘Shoulders back,’ one of them whispered.
‘Hi, Lindy!’ Jane said. ‘Great to see you again so soon!’
‘Hello, Jane,’ Lindy said, her tone like an undertaker’s. ‘Hello again, Richard.’
‘Hello, Jane! Hello, Richard!’ On either side of her, Genevieve and Victoria spoke in unison. Lindy felt another pinch. She straightened her shoulders.
Jane turned her attention to the twins. ‘Well, you two, welcome back! You’ve both had an action-packed year, I hear.’
Genevieve smiled. ‘Is that “I hear” as in you read it in Mum’s Christmas email? Hilarious, wasn’t it? One of her best yet. We’ve had so much fun reading it to each other and acting it out, haven’t we, Victoria and Lindy? But then, we do that with Mum’s letters every year. The old-fashioned entertainments are the best, don’t you think, Victoria?’
‘Undoubtedly, Genevieve.’ Victoria smiled. ‘So, Jane, you’re home for Christmas? And you’ve brought a friend, I see.’
‘He’s my flatmate. He’s a Christmas orphan. His parents are overseas, so I invited him here.’
‘Lovely,’ Genevieve said. ‘Just your flatmate? Not your boyfriend?’
Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘You might know this already from my mother’s letter, but I’m a terrible gossip,’ Genevieve said. ‘I also like to make sure I have my facts right before I start spreading stories about people.’
‘He’s my flatmate.’ Jane’s tone was chilly now.
‘Thank you for the clarification,’ Genevieve said cheerily.
Jane turned away from her. ‘So, Lindy, how are the cushions going?’
Victoria answered for her. ‘Flying through the roof! Mum’s email really did the trick. That’s what I call a successful viral campaign.’
With perfect timing, they were interrupted by a family friend from Hawker. ‘Love the sound of those cushions, Lindy. Can you do one that says “Happy Birthday To Me”? It’ll make my husband feel guilty every time he looks at it.’
‘You bet. I’ll call you on Monday,’ Lindy said.
‘So, you’re back home for a while too, Victoria,’ Jane said. ‘Sydney got to be too much?’
‘That’s right, you missed our speeches earlier, didn’t you? Yes, I’m doing freelance work for the radio station in Port Pirie. A series on well-known families in the area, those who have made their mark, added to the community in some way, or whose families have a long history in the area.’
There was a pause. Jane was waiting for her family to be asked. Victoria didn’t ask.
Lindy couldn’t bear the tension. She turned to Richard. ‘Are you staying long?’
‘For a couple of weeks, until early January. I —’
Jane took over. ‘He’s coming camping with us over New Year’s. His first camping trip. He’s such a city boy, aren’t you, Richard?’ She looked directly at Victoria. ‘Fred’s back from Canada too. We’re a full house at the moment.’
‘Fred’s back?’ Genevieve said, sounding surprised. ‘What wonderful news! For a holiday or for good?’<
br />
‘For good,’ Jane said.
‘And with a Canadian wife and a troupe of Canadian children?’ Genevieve asked.
‘No,’ Jane said. ‘He’s single.’
‘Imagine that!’ Genevieve said. ‘Someone as handsome as Fred, single. You’re a fount of knowledge, Jane, thanks so much.’ She gave a big, fake smile and then spoke to her sisters. ‘Mum’s giving us all death glares. We’re supposed to be handing out sausage rolls. I hope you didn’t miss out on food as well as the speeches, Jane? Richard? Help yourselves, won’t you?’
Victoria grasped her younger sister’s elbow. ‘Lindy, coming?’
Lindy turned back to Jane and Richard. ‘See you later.’
Jane just nodded.
‘I hope so,’ Richard said.
‘“I hope so”,’ Genevieve echoed once they were out of earshot. ‘Ooh, Lindy, I think he likes you.’
Lindy ignored her. She let her shoulders fall. ‘Thanks, both of you.’
‘Any time,’ they said in unison.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Outside the woolshed, Ig was showing a group of the younger kids around the cubby. One of them wanted to dismantle it and start again. He was pulling at one of the boxes. Ig stopped him.
‘My cubby, my rules,’ Ig said.
At the end of the tour – it didn’t take long – they sat on the ground in a huddle.
‘Is this where you and that imaginary friend play?’ one kid asked.
‘Here. Everywhere,’ Ig said.
‘How do you get an imaginary friend?’ another asked.
‘You just decide to have one.’
‘So we could get one too?’
‘Of course.’
‘When? Now?’
‘If you want.’
‘What’s yours called?’
‘Robbie.’
‘I’m going to call mine Spiky.’
‘That’s your cat’s name,’ one of the other kids said.
‘It can have the same name as a cat, Ig, can’t it?’
‘It’s better if it doesn’t. Otherwise they get confused when you call their names.’
‘Oh. Right.’
They fell silent as they tried to come up with suitable names for their new imaginary friends.
Nick was at the bar with three neighbours. He hadn’t seen a lot of them recently. He said it was because he’d been so busy researching his family tree. They nodded. They’d read Angela’s Christmas letter too. In the days when Nick was working full-time on the station, once a week he’d go into Hawker for a few beers in the pub, a chance to talk about life and work, family and sport. He hadn’t been there in months. He hadn’t had much to say lately. No good news, anyway. He’d also heard too many stories over the years of men around here drowning their sorrows in the bad times, being too damaged to work again when the good times returned. He’d made the decision several months earlier to stop drinking. He’d only had Coke so far tonight.
He thought of the latest session he’d had with Jim, his psychologist. His doctor had been right. Their talks were helping. Jim looked like a farmer: sturdy, a bit younger than him. Like someone he’d see at the Hawker races, or the football. It made opening up easier. He’d been half-expecting someone who resembled a professor, an intellectual, someone who would look down on him. Instead, he’d been very down-to-earth.
He’d asked Nick questions. Listened. He’d talked more about Nick learning to take charge of his thoughts. About the importance of staying fit, keeping up the walking, any exercise at all. About staying careful around alcohol.
Nick had talked about the trip to Ireland. How he’d considered cancelling it when he’d read Angela’s letter. How he’d thought it over, realised how much money he’d spent on the research already, paying Carol to set up his itinerary, how it would all go to waste. More waste. He’d cut the trip short instead. He would go only to Ireland, not to London, Italy or France. There’d been no more discussion with Angela about her coming with him.
Jim had asked about Angela too. About their marriage. That had been harder to talk about. Nick had tried, but then the words had stopped coming. We’ll take it one step at a time, Jim had said. They’d made another appointment, for after Christmas. On the way out, Nick had felt something he hadn’t felt for a long time. A faint stirring of hope.
‘Beer, Nick?’
It was another of his neighbours. One he hadn’t seen in months.
‘I’m all right, thanks, mate,’ he said, holding up his glass of Coke. ‘Let me get you one.’
Celia was in a corner of the shed, sitting in a row of chairs with three women of her age. A disco of sorts was planned for the younger ones later, but for now, the music was still quite low.
All their talk was of Angela’s Christmas letter.
‘I think you’re taking it very well,’ one of the women said. ‘I’d be livid.’
Celia remembered this woman being livid most of her life. ‘If you can’t have a sense of humour, where would you be?’
‘But Angela called you an interfering old bat. How can you even stay in her house?’
‘It was that or be home alone for Christmas. What choice did I have?’
The woman went quiet.
Lindy was at the bar when she felt him beside her. Richard.
‘Great shed. Great party,’ he said.
He smiled at her and she suddenly wanted to tell him everything.
‘I’m sorry if we seemed strange before. Genevieve and Victoria were just protecting me from Horrible Jane.’
‘Horrible Jane?’
‘It’s what we call her. We always have, ever since she started bullying me at school.’
‘So she hasn’t changed much over the years, then?’
Lindy blinked. ‘You’re talking about a friend of yours like that?’
‘She’s my flatmate, not my friend. And she’s a great flatmate, actually. A bit bossy at times, but she lives with three guys. Without her, the house would be chaos.’
‘Well, I think she must want you to be more than a flatmate or she wouldn’t have invited you home.’
‘She felt sorry for me.’
Lindy scoffed at that. ‘She just wanted to arrive here with a handsome man so everyone would think you’re her boyfriend.’
‘You think I’m handsome?’
‘I think you’re very handsome,’ she said mournfully. She shouldn’t have had that last drink. Gin always made her gloomy.
‘I wish you’d given me your phone number that night,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ she said, blushing.
‘Would you give it to me again now, instead? Maybe I could ring you when we get back from the camping trip. Come and visit you here before I go back to Melbourne.’
Lindy could see Horrible Jane making her way across to them. She would have said yes anyway. But knowing Jane was nearby made her put on an even brighter smile. And possibly also made her speak that little bit louder as she gave him her number.
‘I’d love you to come and visit, Richard. Any time you like.’
‘You okay?’ Joan asked Angela.
‘Fine. I think. How can that be?’
‘Maybe you’re drunk?’
‘I haven’t had a drop yet.’
‘Have you and Nick talked much tonight?’
Angela shook her head, then massaged her temple.
‘Is your head hurting again?’
‘No,’ she lied.
Joan gave her a sceptical look. ‘You take a break. Have a glass of wine. I’ll go and get some more sausage rolls.’
Angela took her advice. She went across to the bar and poured herself a glass. She was only alone for a moment. People started coming up to her to talk about her letter. Not just to say they’d read it, but to share their own stories. She heard about one neighbour’s difficult husband: ‘You should be glad Nick doesn’t talk to you. My husband never shuts up.’ She heard about another neighbour’s difficult children: ‘At least yours went away before they c
ame back. Mine have just never left.’ Another neighbour had strong opinions about family reunions: ‘The devil’s invention. Who wants to be stuck in a room with a hundred people who look just like you, only worse?’
‘And Nick’s really going to Ireland, is he?’ one said. ‘On his own? A reconnaissance trip?’
Another neighbour joined in. ‘I heard him talking about it too. In late February, is it?’
So he was still going. He hadn’t told her yet. ‘It’s a great idea, I think,’ she said brightly. ‘Someone needs to make sure the hotel doesn’t have holes in the roof before two hundred demanding Gillespies arrive for their reunion.’
‘He’s holding it in Cork, isn’t he? My great-great-great-uncle was from Cork. Or was it Carlow? It’s a fascinating story, actually. He came out to Australia in 1840, after he and his —’
Angela took her chance. ‘Can you excuse me? I just need to heat up some more sausage rolls.’
On her way out to the kitchen, Angela looked around for the twins, hoping one of them could give her a hand. She spotted Genevieve in a far corner, a crowd around her, hanging on her every word. Angela could only imagine what Hollywood gossip she was sharing. It took her longer to spot Victoria. She eventually saw her at the edge of the woolshed. She was sitting down on one of the long benches, deep in conversation with someone. Not just in conversation, but smiling and laughing. It was a man. A blond-haired man. A familiar man.
Angela stopped and stared. Could it be? She recognised him just as she saw Victoria throw her head back and laugh, as if she were the happiest person in the room.
It was Fred Lawson.
Angela hadn’t seen him in years. It had to be ten years, at least, since he’d upped and left, leaving Victoria in tears. Angela had been surprised when they broke up. She’d always thought Fred and Victoria had something solid.
She walked over to them. Fred stood up, smiling. He’s changed, Angela thought immediately. Not in height or build. He was still as stocky, still a little shorter than average. Still with the same blond hair, round face. But he seemed more sure of himself. More quietly confident.
‘It’s really good to see you, Mrs Gillespie,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the great party.’
Hello from the Gillespies Page 17