‘I haven’t even told you what the question is, have I? I feel like a teenager asking this, but I can’t think of another way to put it. Can we start seeing each other again? Go on dates? Have dinner? Get to know each other? And this time I promise I won’t suddenly up and go. This time I’ll be staying around. And I hope that’s what you’ll want to do too.
‘With love, Fred.’
Genevieve folded it gently and handed it back to Victoria. ‘I think I want to cry.’
‘I did.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I need to take it slowly.’
‘But why? It’s a declaration of love, Victoria. It’s almost a proposal. And you loved him, didn’t you? You were heartbroken when he left. You never heard from him again.’
‘Because I told him not to contact me.’
‘What? Why are you only telling me all of this now?’
‘It was a big deal for me back then, Genevieve. I needed to be sure I was doing what I wanted, not what you thought was best for me.’
‘But I always want what’s best for you.’
‘I know that. But sometimes we want different things.’
‘Did he try to stay in touch with you?’
Victoria nodded. ‘He emailed. I didn’t read them. I just deleted them. I eventually wrote to him to say he’d already made his decision by leaving. That he couldn’t have it both ways. That we had to move on.’
‘But what if you were wrong? What if after a year of him being away, you staying in contact, you’d decided to go and join him?’
‘But I didn’t, did I? I’d got the job in the radio station by then. I’d started my own new life.’
‘But you loved him. I used to be so jealous of the two of you. You were so solid. So well-matched. I was more shocked than you were when you broke up. Why are you having to think about this? Okay, you’re both ten years older, but you’re still the same people, aren’t you? Can’t you pick up where you left off?’
‘We’re not the same people. We’ve both been through a lot in the last ten years. And I also thought I was in love with Mr Radio, Genevieve; look what a mess that was. I’m still working through that. Yes, I know I loved Fred. I don’t think I ever stopped loving him. But I can’t just forget ten years, or go back to where we were. I need to think about it.’
‘Are you going to make him wait ten years for your answer? Punish him?’
‘I’d never do that. He’s punished himself enough as it is. He’s changed since he went away. In good ways. I could see it immediately. He’s grown up.’
‘I thought so too. I wanted to hate him when I saw him at the party, but I couldn’t. I always really liked him. I like him even more now.’
‘You do? Really?’
‘Really. You have my approval. Now or in ten years. Whenever you want it.’
‘Thanks, Genevieve. And please don’t tell anyone else about the letter. About Fred.’
‘You really have to ask me that?’
They swung in silence for a few minutes more.
It was Genevieve who stopped first, dragging her heels on the ground, sending up another cloud of dust. ‘We better go back. If Lindy really is making breakfast, I don’t want to miss out.’
They started walking down the hill and across the paddocks to the homestead.
‘I have had a small idea about some work,’ Genevieve said, as they picked their way through the scrubby saltbushes to the path. ‘It might get me into trouble but I figure I’m in trouble already. You know that gossip I passed on about the actress, the stuff that got me sacked?’
‘I remember something about it, yes.’
‘Do you know how many hits that piece got on the internet? Two million. For a sliver of news about an actress. I’m sitting on a goldmine. I think I should start a gossip website. I heard so many stories that would make your hair curl if it wasn’t already curly. It suits you like that, by the way. Don’t start straightening it again, will you?’
‘Did you really just combine a hint of salacious gossip with unwanted hair advice?’
‘That’s an even better idea. I’ll combine the two, play to my strengths. Isn’t that the thing to do in times of crisis?’
‘I thought your response to times of crisis was to get drunk and sleep with a security guard.’
‘He wasn’t a security guard. He was the director’s brother and also a location scout.’
‘You still haven’t heard from him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you okay about that?’
‘The truth? No, I’m not. I liked him, Victoria. Really liked him. And I hoped I’d hear from him. Not only hoped. I really thought I would.’
‘Maybe he’s been trying your mobile. He wouldn’t know there’s no signal out here, remember.’
‘But there is one in Hawker. I’ve driven in a few times to see if there have been any messages from him. Nothing. Sad, aren’t I?’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘So am I. That’s why I need a project. Even if I have to make up half the gossip now I’m stuck out here, a website would keep me out of trouble, wouldn’t it?’
‘Or get you into even more trouble.’
Genevieve waited while Victoria opened one of the paddock gates. There were no sheep left to get out but they’d been trained since childhood never to leave a gate open behind them.
‘No word from Mr Radio? Or any of your Sydney media pals?’ Genevieve asked as they walked on.
‘Not a single one. Oh, I lie. I heard from one, asking if he could be the go-between if I sold my story to one of the women’s magazines. He only wanted a thirty per cent cut.’
‘Classy.’
They were almost at the homestead now. In the big tree near the toolshed, a flock of galahs was squawking and fluttering. Victoria stopped as they reached the final gate.
‘Genevieve, there’s something else I need to tell you.’
Genevieve waited. ‘That sounds serious. Not another old boyfriend declaring undying love?’
Victoria didn’t smile. She shook her head. ‘You know how I told you about having sex with Mr Radio one more time before I left Sydney?’
Genevieve nodded.
Victoria paused. ‘I’m overdue.’
‘I thought you were on the pill.’
‘I had been. I stopped when all that stuff happened at work. When I got sacked. I didn’t think I’d need it any more.’
Genevieve blinked. ‘How overdue?’
‘Six days.’
‘That’s just stress, don’t worry. Look what you’ve been through lately.’
‘Do you think?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re right. Thanks.’
They had just opened the gate when Genevieve spoke again.
‘Victoria, you know how I talked about having sex with the security guard who was actually a location scout? In New York? About three weeks ago?’
Victoria looked at her twin.
Genevieve nodded.
‘Seriously?’ Victoria said.
‘Seriously.’
‘But you always use condoms.’
‘We did the first three times. Just not the fourth time.’
‘Four times? In one night?’
Genevieve nodded.
‘How overdue?’
‘Five days.’
‘It’s just the stress. The long flight. Jet lag. You couldn’t be either.’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘We’ll give it a couple more days, will we?’ Victoria said. ‘Before we really start to worry?’
‘Good idea. But then what? Ask Mum if she has any old pregnancy tests lying around?’
Neither of them laughed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Angela was on her way out to the pottery studio. She hadn’t been there since she’d read the email from the gallery owner. She’d missed it. The peace. The cool, dark shed. The feel of the clay in her hands. She needed
to get back to it, even if no one ever saw her finished work.
Inside the homestead, she knew that Nick was making his final plans for Ireland. They were still managing only the politest of exchanges. She could only follow Joan’s advice. Give him time.
The kids were being especially noisy today. Lindy had heard from her friend Richard, who wanted to come and visit her. She was in a state. Victoria had taken over the kitchen phone, ringing around to set up her radio interviews. Genevieve was still trying to convince Ig he needed a haircut. She wasn’t getting very far.
The old wooden door of the shed stuck as Angela tried to open it. It took three tugs. The blue paint had started to flake in the heat. Beside it, the rose bush was looking heat-exhausted. She filled a can with bore water and soaked it. Thirty-three years on, she couldn’t let it die now. It didn’t take much to draw parallels with her marriage.
Inside her studio, she hoped there hadn’t been a visit from a new spider. She looked across at the shelves, crammed with her attempts at sculptures – none of them successful. She decided to forget about trying to make a piece of art for now. She’d make something practical instead. A cup, or a small vase. She cut some clay from the large block, took a seat at the wheel and set it spinning. The wet clay felt soft and soothing in her hands. She rolled it into a ball, inserted her thumbs, felt the shape of a cup begin to form, the surface smoothing, the layers getting thinner. Then she pressed too hard and it collapsed in on itself. She stopped the wheel from turning, picked up the clay and slowly, methodically, began to roll it back into a ball again.
As she went through the familiar movements, feeling the clay in her hands, the silence around her, the cool dim light, her mind began to drift. So quickly, so easily. With such relief.
She imagined herself in her garden studio in London, Radio 4 playing classical music, frost outside the window, the room snug and warm from the heat of the kiln, the shelves around her laden with the latest of her beautiful, sought-after ceramic birds. She imagined herself and Will going for a long walk beside the canal near their Islington house, getting inspiration from —
Out of the blue, her imaginary life disappeared. She stopped working the clay as she found herself recalling a real memory. An outing with Will that had actually happened, when she was nineteen and he was twenty-one.
It was one of their first dates. They’d met in groups before that, going to the cinema together, or to bars to see bands or comedians. He’d always stood out, confident, knowledgeable. She had been thrilled when he singled her out one day. She’d thought he was more interested in another of the girls in their group. He’d come over and sat beside her, asked her questions about what she was studying, where she had grown up. She told him she came from Forest Hill, that she’d grown up across the road from the famous Horniman Museum, home to an eccentric natural history collection. It was her favourite place in London. She’d spent hours there, even volunteered as a guide one summer. He’d laughed at the name Horniman. People usually did. Then he told her he’d never heard of the place.
They met there the next day, just the two of them. She’d brought a picnic lunch. It was a beautiful spring day. He’d been impressed by the building, with its distinctive clock tower, sweeping stairs, the frieze on the front portico. The grounds were ablaze with flowers, the trees covered in fresh leaves after the long winter, the garden was busy with birds. She’d proudly shown Will around. He was always the one who seemed to have done so much and been everywhere. She felt like a tour guide as she led him inside to a big room containing dozens of glass cabinets, all filled with stuffed birds and animals, and over to the centrepiece of the museum, the famous stuffed walr—
‘Mum?’
Angela blinked.
‘Mum?’
‘Sorry, Lindy, I was miles away.’
‘You’re always miles away these days. Does this dress look all right?’ It was a vintage-style blue tea-dress. ‘I’m trying to decide what to wear when Richard visits, and I don’t want to ask Genevieve or Victoria.’
‘You look lovely.’
‘Really?’ Lindy beamed. ‘Thanks. But I can show you the other possibilities too, if you like?’
‘No need to,’ Angela said. ‘That one is perfect.’
‘I thought so too. What are you making?’
‘Nothing, really.’
‘Yes, you are. I can see a sort of shape. What is it?’
Angela looked down. On the stationary pottery wheel was the beginning of a bird shape. She swiftly moulded the clay back into a ball. ‘Just practising.’
Lindy pulled up a stool beside the wheel. ‘Mum, can I please talk to you about Dad?’
‘Lindy, I’d rather not —’
‘Not about your fight with him. Genevieve and Victoria told me to leave you alone about that. I meant something else. How did you know Dad was the one when you met him?’
‘Sorry?’
‘When you met Dad that night in Sydney, how did you know he was the one for you?’
‘The one for me?’
‘You know, the man you were going to marry, the man who was going to father your children.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Mum, come on. You turned your whole life upside down for him, swapped countries, left friends and family behind to move to an outback station and you don’t know why?’
‘Why are you asking?’
‘I told you, Richard’s coming to visit and I’m trying to work out how I feel about him. I’ve never felt like this with my other boyfriends. I feel all kind of, I don’t know, nervous when I’m with him. Excited but kind of anxious too. And I can’t work out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.’
‘Have you actually had a proper date with Richard yet?’
‘Not exactly. I mean, we’ve talked, just the two of us. And we kissed. Once. It was so incredible, he —’
‘Lindy, that’s fine, you don’t have to tell me everything.’
‘I just know I feel different with him than I’ve felt with any other guy I’ve gone out with. But how do I know for sure that it’s love? That it’s not just infatuation or lust?’
‘Darling, I’m sorry, I don’t know. It’s different for every person.’
‘Mum, please, help me. You must have felt something amazing with Dad when you first met him. Because you got it right, didn’t you? Whirlwind romance, married within a year, still together all these years later. You must have felt something that made you sure he was the one for you.’
Angela bought herself some time. ‘Let me think about it. You could try asking your dad too.’
‘I did,’ Lindy said, with a sigh. ‘Just now, in the kitchen.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He told me to ask you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The morning of Angela’s trip to Adelaide for her specialist’s appointment, Joan rang to wish her well. ‘You’re sure you’re happy to drive down on your own? I can be over to you in an hour if you need me.’
‘I’ll be fine, I promise.’
‘No headaches today?’
‘Not for two days. I’m starting to feel like a fraud.’
‘Ring and let me know how you get on. I’ll be waiting to hear.’
Ig carried Angela’s overnight case to the car. He had been like a shadow all morning, checking she had everything. He and Genevieve had taken care of the hotel booking, doing it online, getting an excellent last-minute deal in a very nice city-centre hotel.
‘You’re a genius, Ig,’ Genevieve had said as he pressed print and handed her the booking confirmation. ‘Who taught you all this?’
‘Robbie,’ he said.
In the kitchen, Genevieve adopted a serious expression as Angela ran through the details of her trip once more. ‘I think I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘You’re leaving now, driving to Adelaide to see your specialist this afternoon. You’re staying one night in a hotel, then coming back tomorrow, expected time of arrival five p.m.’
; ‘Or before. As soon as I can.’
‘And I’m in charge until then. How will I cope? Can you remind me, how do I switch on the lights? And that kettle thing, do I take it outside and wait for rain? Or do I use those silver things by the sink? What are they called, taps?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Mum, just go, will you? Get in the car, drive away, see your specialist, then go out on the town tonight and dance the light fandango.’
‘Fandango?’ Angela said.
‘Fandango, fantastic, however you want.’ She hugged her. ‘Just go. Forget all about us.’
Victoria was in her bedroom, practising interview techniques. She came out and hugged Angela too. ‘You’re sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?’
‘Thanks, but I’m sure,’ Angela said.
Lindy asked the same question. ‘I could be packed in a few minutes. Your hotel looks so nice. I’d love to stay there too. To help and support you, I mean. It’s not just about the hotel.’
‘I’ll be fine, Lindy, thanks,’ Angela said. ‘You stay here and do your sewing.’
Lindy held up her latest cushion. ‘Look, I’m nearly done. Isn’t it gorgeous? A perfect twentieth-anniversary present.’
Angela agreed. She decided this wasn’t the time to tell her there were two Ns in anniversary.
Soon after, Angela was ready to leave. She’d hoped Nick would come to find her. He knew her appointment was today. He’d been in the office all morning and the office window looked out onto the yard. He would have seen Ig carrying her luggage to the car. The guilt she’d been feeling about her letter was starting to twist into a different shape. The kids had managed to get over the letter, hadn’t they? Even Celia had thawed a little over the past week or so, especially after all the attention she’d received thanks to her hospital stay. But Nick? There had been no change.
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