Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  Nick saved him the bother of having to state the obvious. ‘I’ve been conned, haven’t I?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I think you have. Was it a lot of money?’

  ‘A bit,’ he said. More than he was ever going to admit.

  ‘Does she have your credit-card details? You might need to cancel them if she does.’

  That was one positive. She didn’t. He had sent her all the money via electronic transfer. To Dublin, he’d thought. To a bright, cheery office full of genealogists in Dublin. Not a tax haven on some island. Had she ever even been in Dublin? There was no way of knowing. But he knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t about to turn up.

  All the bad thoughts came at him again. He was an idiot. A fool. How had he been so stupid? Why hadn’t he realised? He’d been a stupid, sitting duck. How much money had he sent her? For nothing? What a —

  Stop those thoughts.

  He’d been taught how to. He had to remember the lesson now. They were just thoughts. He had to let them flow past. Yes, it was bad; yes, he’d been conned. But it wasn’t the end of the world. He hadn’t been hurt. It was only money. He concentrated on those rational thoughts instead, turned up their volume in his head. He began to feel calmer. He made himself imagine his psychologist talking to him. Yes, Nick, you’re in an unexpected situation. How are you going to react? Because you’re in charge of your own reaction. You can decide how to feel about it. Yes, you can feel humiliated. Stupid. Embarrassed. Now, move on. What else can you feel? Relief that it wasn’t worse? Even a small admission that somehow, deep down, you had always suspected Carol was too good to be true? Or was that hindsight, trying to salvage some pride? Yes. But it was all helping him to feel better. It was only money. He was still here, wasn’t he? In Ireland. The land of his ancestors.

  But what the hell did he do now?

  Back in his room, he was at a loss. He was tired, but he couldn’t sleep yet. He was tempted to go downstairs to that big bar he’d seen opposite the reception desk, to take a seat, order a pint. The first pint of Guinness on Irish soil that he had been promising himself. But this wasn’t the time.

  He went downstairs and took a seat on the other side of the lobby. He ordered tea. He would read while he drank it. Not a newspaper, not a book. He took out his uncle’s research notes. At the last moment, he’d packed them. He’d read through them all already, back in Australia, at Celia’s, at the hospital, in those bad first days after Angela’s accident. He’d needed all the distraction he could find then. He’d actually felt pity for his uncle as he read his notes. Everything in them was so different to the detailed information Carol had sent him. His poor uncle, getting it all so wrong.

  The facts in here could still be wrong. All these addresses of Gillespie homelands, birth certificates, other documents. Who was to say his uncle hadn’t been conned at some stage too? But they were better than nothing. And they were now all he had.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ‘That’s it,’ Ig said, leaning back in the office chair. ‘You’re all set up.’

  Genevieve shook her head. ‘How can you be ten years old and know how to set up a website?’

  ‘Because it’s easy. And I’m nearly eleven.’

  ‘It can’t be easy or I would know how to do it too.’ The screen in front of them was full of colour. The title was across the top: The Hair Raiser. Ig had found a cartoon of a woman under a hair dryer, wearing cats’ eye glasses and smoking a cigarette in a long holder. Under that, Genevieve had written,Your secret is safe with me. Not!

  ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ Victoria said. ‘You’re asking for trouble. After everything that happened in New York and to me. Seriously, Genevieve. It’s bad karma.’

  ‘It’s not! It’s just a bit of fun. I have to do something to stop my poor brain from atrophying. None of you lot will let me near your hair, not even Celia. I can’t just sit around waiting for Angela’s to grow again.’

  ‘Let’s get started,’ Ig said, pulling his chair close to the computer again. ‘Tell me some secrets.’

  ‘Okay, let me think. One of the actors on that first series I worked on went through rehab three times. He broke out each time, literally knocked down the door and made a run for it. We were all sent out to try to find him. I think I looked in every bar in Greenwich Village.’

  ‘The poor man. Why should anyone but him and his family know that?’ Victoria said. ‘He might still be going through treatment. You could set him back months.’

  ‘Fair enough. Too personal. What about that music video I worked on? That indie band from Seattle. The singer is gay. She’s not married to the bass player at all.’

  ‘So what?’ Victoria said. ‘That’s her business.’

  Genevieve spun around. ‘Stop heckling, will you? I’m trying to launch my career as a controversial gossipmonger and you’re making it very difficult.’

  ‘I don’t approve, that’s why.’

  ‘I think I liked you better when you were under my thumb.’ She winked as she said it. Victoria just rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, Ig. She wins. Forget the celebrity gossip. I’ll start with hairdressing horror stories from my past instead. If this site becomes the go-to place for hairdressers to swap tales, I’ll get loads of advertising from the big shampoo companies. Instant riches.’

  Ig waited. So did Victoria.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Victoria said. ‘Give us some horror stories.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything. Misbehaving film stars aside, I always really liked my clients.’ She took the mouse from Ig, googled a hairdressers’ federation and found the chat room. ‘I’ll ask other stylists to email their tales anonymously. I’ll get hundreds then.’ She typed quickly: Any horror stories? Badly behaved clients? Bleach disasters? Get it off your chest and on to my website!

  ‘What are you all doing?’

  Genevieve looked over her shoulder at Lindy. ‘Talking about you. Where’s Angela? I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on her.’

  ‘She’s outside with her camera. Mum never took all these photos before this, did she?’

  ‘I don’t think she ever turned her camera on,’ Victoria said.

  ‘Her photos are really good,’ Ig said.

  ‘How do you know?’ Genevieve asked.

  ‘I uploaded them for her. I’ll show you.’ He took the mouse back from her.

  ‘How do you even know the word uploaded?’ she asked. ‘You’re some sort of shrunken man in a kid’s body, aren’t you?’

  Ig ignored her, clicking until he found a folder marked Angela’s photos. He showed his sisters. There were dozens. No big sweeping landscapes but lots of tiny detail. The blue door of the pottery shed, with the red rose bush beside it. Sun shining on the metal bars of the sheep pens. The golden stone of the chapel. A pink galah feather on the ground.

  ‘They’re really good,’ Victoria said. ‘They’d make beautiful postcards.’

  ‘Any more word from Dad?’ Lindy asked.

  ‘Just that one email,’ Genevieve said. ‘He’s a bit jet-lagged but it’s all going well.’

  ‘Can I have the computer now?’ Lindy asked.

  ‘You’re skyping Richard again? He’ll be here soon enough, won’t he?’

  ‘He’s had to delay his trip. He’s still coming, but he’s gone away for a few days to do some intensive study first. Down to Phillip Island. A friend of Jane’s has a holiday house there.’

  ‘Do you mean Horrible Jane’s gone with him? It’s just the two of them away together?’ At Lindy’s nod, Genevieve gave a low whistle. ‘You’re very trusting. Or do I mean very naïve?’

  ‘Of course I trust him, Genevieve. Trust is the cornerstone of any good relationship. She’s just his flatmate. He’s my boyfriend. I actually need to check my website for new orders. I’ve finally finished the wisdom tooth one. It took ages.’

  Victoria pinched Genevieve. Ig smiled to himself.

  ‘Well done,’ Genevieve said. ‘Want me to run it through spellchec
k for you?’

  ‘Very funny.’ Lindy took a seat and clicked onto her website. The others were just leaving when she stopped them. ‘This has to be a joke. Is it you, Genevieve? Because it’s not funny if it is.’

  ‘Of course it’s funny if it’s me. What are you talking about?’

  ‘This order for twenty cushions. Oh, my God. It’s not for twenty. It’s for two hundred cushions. Two hundred.’

  ‘It must be a typo.’

  ‘It’s not a typo,’ another voice said.

  They turned around. Celia was standing at the door. ‘I ordered them.’

  ‘But two hundred?’ Lindy said. ‘Did you mean two?’

  ‘No, I meant two hundred. It could even be more. I thought your cushion covers would make perfect souvenirs for everyone who comes to your father’s Gillespie reunion. Something handmade, by a Gillespie herself. You can decide on the design, but I thought a few shamrocks might be nice. And simple wording, Gillespies Reunion, Ireland, and the date should do it, don’t you think?’

  All their mouths were now open.

  ‘But that will take me weeks. Months,’ Lindy said. ‘And it will cost you a fortune.’

  ‘You’ve got the time and I’m prepared to pay. It’s my contribution to the reunion. I loathe flying, so I can’t be there. This way I can play a small part. My husband would approve, I’m sure.’

  Lindy beamed. ‘I can’t believe it! I’ll be able to use up all my supplies. I might even have to order more!’

  ‘No!’ Victoria and Genevieve said as one.

  Lindy sprang out of the chair and threw her arms around Celia. ‘Oh, Celia, thank you! You’re a lifesaver. I’m going to get started right now.’

  Celia patted her hair down. ‘Careful now. No need to be quite so boisterous.’ But she couldn’t hide the fact she was pleased.

  Later that morning, Genevieve set out with Victoria to drive to a station sixty kilometres to the west of Errigal. They’d arranged the trip two days earlier. A joint mission, Genevieve had dubbed it. Victoria was going to interview all three generations of the station family, the Ryans. Genevieve was going to do their hair.

  Genevieve was soon in her element. They set up a production line in the house. All seven members of the family, male and female, old and young, took turns talking to Victoria in one room. After they’d been interviewed, they went to the sunroom at the back of the house to have their hair cut or styled by Genevieve. She even managed to do a perm, using the laundry sink. It all took her back to her earliest days as an apprentice hairdresser in Port Augusta, the chat, the constant activity, moving from one person to the next so quickly. Each family member asked about Angela, of course, but the conversation had quickly widened to cover everything from sport, health issues, TV programs, weather, celebrity gossip, relationship problems.

  ‘That was brilliant,’ Genevieve said as they waved goodbye, five hours later. ‘Maybe we should go into business together.’

  Victoria raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You’d last a month out here.’

  Genevieve shrugged. ‘Two months, maybe.’

  Shortly afterwards, the turn-off to Hawker and Errigal appeared. They kept driving. At Genevieve’s urging, Victoria had made an appointment with her former doctor in Port Augusta. She’d asked Genevieve to come with her.

  In the car they could talk without any fear of being overheard. ‘Is it a wasted trip, though?’ Victoria said. ‘Do I really need to do another test? I’ve done three. They’ve all been positive. How could they all be wrong? And I feel different, Genevieve. I’m sure I’m not imagining it. It feels like something is happening. Something inside me.’

  Genevieve reached across to squeeze her sister’s hand. ‘You’re going to need to see a doctor eventually. It may as well be now. Have you decided what you want to do?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I’ve changed my mind a hundred times already. But I’m nearly thirty-three, Genevieve. This might be my only chance to have a baby.’

  ‘But it’s —’

  ‘I know it’s his. I know what you think of him. What everyone thinks of him. But that’s not the baby’s fault. And he wasn’t all bad. He was smart and he could be funny and he —’

  ‘Was married. With kids,’ Genevieve interrupted.

  ‘I knew that. I knew it was just an affair. I knew there was no future in it. I knew all that at the time. But it was my choice, Genevieve. I still wanted it. And I’m not a complete innocent, no matter what Mum said in her letter.’

  ‘And Fred? Have you thought about him? What you’re going to tell him?’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about Fred. It’s all so complicated, isn’t it? But he has to know. I have to tell him. As soon as he gets back.’ She hesitated. ‘Even if he decides afterwards that he never wants to see me again.’

  Genevieve just squeezed her hand again.

  ‘Yes, you’re pregnant,’ Dr Reynolds said.

  This was the first time Dr Reynolds had seen either of the twins in nearly five years. Before she’d done the tests, Victoria had told her everything, all the circumstances. If she was expecting any sort of lecture, she didn’t get it. The older woman was matter-of-fact as they worked out the dates since Victoria’s last period. She was nearly eleven weeks pregnant.

  ‘Have you given any thought to your options, Victoria?’ Dr Reynolds asked.

  Victoria hesitated for only a moment. ‘I want to have it.’

  ‘And the father?’

  ‘He won’t be involved.’

  ‘Does he know you’re pregnant?’

  Victoria shook her head.

  ‘He has a right to, you know that,’ Dr Reynolds said.

  ‘I’ll be the father,’ Genevieve said. ‘I mean it, Victoria. We’ll do it together.’

  ‘It’ll be hard work,’ Dr Reynolds said. ‘It’s hard work for a cou­ple. It’s extremely hard work for a single woman.’

  ‘She’s not a single woman,’ Genevieve said. ‘She’s got me. I’ll be —’

  ‘Genevieve, are you still talking for your sister? I thought you’d have grown out of that by now.’

  Genevieve stopped talking.

  ‘I know it’ll be hard,’ Victoria said. ‘But I think I want to try.’

  Ten minutes later, they were on their way back to Errigal. Genevieve was now driving.

  Victoria turned in her seat so she was facing her. ‘Am I crazy? I can’t have a baby on my own, can I? I don’t have a proper job. I live at home with my parents. I’m in serious debt. I’m not even a grown-up myself. How can I take care of a baby?’

  ‘Because it’s a baby. It’s tiny. We can handle it. We’ve already practised on Ig. Look how well he turned out. Our baby will be a cinch after him.’

  ‘Our baby?’

  ‘Of course it’s our baby. You think I’d let you do this on your own? You won’t be able to keep me away. Except for when you’re going through labour. Then he or she is all yours. I’ll be outside with the cigars and the other dads.’

  Victoria’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What would I do without you, Genevieve?’

  ‘Wither and die?’ Genevieve became serious. ‘Let’s slow this all down, Victoria. Take it one step at a time. My advice is, we don’t tell anyone anything yet. Not Fred, not anyone at home, anyone at all. Let’s keep it between us for now, until you’re completely used to the idea. You’re beautifully womanly. You won’t start to show for a while yet.’

  Victoria nodded. There was plenty of time to tell everyone, after all. She looked down and placed her hand on her belly. ‘There’s a baby in there. Can you believe it?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Genevieve said. ‘It’s incredible. I always thought the nuns were making it up.’

  While Genevieve and Lindy drove Ig into school the next morning, Victoria and Angela went out for a walk. Angela had her camera with her. At breakfast, she’d asked about a wildflower she’d seen, a small blue one. She wanted to photograph it but hadn’t been able to find it
again since her first sighting. Victoria remembered there was a clutch of them at the foot of the hill that was home to their swings. They were on their way there now.

  It was a beautiful morning, clear and warm. A quartet of colourful birds was flitting around the trees nearby. Angela pointed them out, asking what they were. Native parrots of some kind, Victoria said.

  ‘I’ll ask Ig about them later,’ Angela said. ‘He knows a lot of birds. He should be a tour guide when he grows up.’

  ‘I think he wants to be a computer hacker, but that’s not a bad second option,’ Victoria said.

  There was a comfortable silence between them. Victoria tried to remember if it had been like that when New Angela was Old Angela. She couldn’t remember ever actually going on walks like this with Old Angela. Her mum was always doing something, planning something, getting ready for something or cleaning up after something. Was that just what life was like when you were a mother? You were so busy with your children you didn’t have time for your children? She felt a lurch inside her. Not the baby kicking, it was too early for that. But the realisation. She was going to be a mother. She was going to have a son or a daughter. By the end of the year.

  ‘I’m pregnant, Angela.’

  She said it without thinking. She said it because she suddenly had to tell someone other than Genevieve. She said it because she wanted to say it to her mother, even if she was the new version, not the old one.

  ‘Are you?’ Angela said. ‘Is that good news or bad news?’

  ‘I don’t mind being pregnant. But I’m not in a relationship with the father. I mean, I was, but I’m not now.’

  ‘Have you told your parents?’

  ‘Not yet. I don’t want to spoil Dad’s trip. And Mum’s away.’

  ‘You should probably ring her.’