Willow Tree Bend

by Kaye Dobbie

  When it came to my relatives, I was probably closer to my mother’s side, and in particular my grandmother. I was sorry when Lily, Faith and Hope sold off Willow Tree Bend, and the property was subdivided. Mind you, the sale made more than enough money for them to be able to move Lily into a unit in Golden Gully, which was the service town for a wide district that included farming properties and smaller settlements and protected bushland. Unbeknownst to me, there had been a chunk of the Willow Tree Bend property kept aside—I later learned that was Hope’s idea. When I turned twenty-one, and was considered mature enough to appreciate it, they told me it was mine.

  It was the kind of start many girls could only dream of. Now the memory of my good fortune, and my behaviour towards Hope, made me ashamed all over again.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, with a glance at my father. ‘I’m being difficult. I’ll make Hope so welcome she won’t even notice Mum isn’t here.’

  ‘I hope so, love.’ He hesitated, and I thought he was going to say something else, but then he changed his mind. He lifted his chin to indicate something in front of us.

  I narrowed my eyes against the glare on the dusty windscreen and took in my driveway and gate and, set back behind a fenced-in yard, the low silhouette of my house. There, waiting by the gate, was a diminutive figure in a floral frock.

  Lily Taylor had come for a visit.

  ‘Did you tell her?’ I asked my father, not taking my eyes off my elderly grandmother. She had an overstuffed bag, and I thought that was ominous. She was also wearing her best shady hat. ‘About Mum, I mean?’

  ‘She knew already,’ he replied, slowing the car.

  ‘The octogenarian grapevine.’ It was a well-known fact that the elderly ladies of Golden Gully knew what was going on before the rest of us.

  Dad’s mouth curled into a proper smile. ‘She’s got Pompom with her.’

  Pompom was a mixed breed and had been called the ugliest dog in the world, but not in front of my grandmother. She loved Pompom and never left him alone for longer than a couple of hours. That she’d brought her pet with her didn’t bode well.

  ‘Great,’ I muttered as I climbed out of the four-wheel drive. Pompom ran towards me and I tried to fend him off as best I could, while plastering a welcoming expression on my face.

  ‘Sam, there you are!’ my grandmother said, managing to sound simultaneously pleased and critical.

  ‘Gran, what are you doing here? It’s nearly forty degrees!’

  Something in her eyes shifted, as if she had an answer but had no intention of sharing it with me. ‘Pompom and I have come to stay,’ she said grandly, and stood back while I opened the gate.

  HOPE

  Monday 10 January 2000, New York

  Tonight was her last night in the tiny apartment on the Upper West Side, and the air was only marginally warmer than it had been a couple of nights ago. The furnace was supposed to have been fixed, but Hope had her doubts. She’d lived here for five years and she couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t going to be ‘fixed’.

  Sometimes the apartment had been nothing more than somewhere to drop into exhausted sleep after a long working day, especially over the past two years, with all the stresses of The Document. No, she wouldn’t miss this place.

  For the first time in a very long time, her work horizon stretched before her like a lonely country road, with only one stopping-off point. And let’s face it, even if it could, Looking Back wasn’t going to win her an Oscar. But that wasn’t her reason for making the program. Australians were always interested in those of their fellow countrymen who had made a success of their lives overseas, no matter how nebulous that success might be. There would be interviews with newspapers and magazines, television and radio. Not just for Looking Back—they’d arranged their own publicity—but stuff she could do on her own. She’d also been tossing up the idea of writing a book about her life and career, but she wasn’t certain. It was one thing to play the part of Hope Taylor, small-town girl made good, but another to deliberately lie on paper.

  No, not lie. She refused to think of it like that. She was simply airbrushing some of the wrinkles.

  Most of her personal belongings had been packed up in boxes and placed in storage until she decided what she was going to do with them. The apartment was to be let and eventually sold, and as for her future …

  It was as if she was drifting, at the mercy of whatever the gods decided for her, and that wasn’t a comfortable place for Hope to be. She’d tended to micromanage things—every detail had to be looked at and then looked at again.

  With a shiver, Hope pulled on the sweater Faith had sent her for her last birthday—emblazoned with a picture of Prince telling her to party like it was 1999—and climbed into bed. Propped up with several pillows, she reached for her book. She was attempting to read James Joyce’s Ulysses because someone had said everyone should try at least once, but not surprisingly found her mind wandering.

  Faith had gone AWOL.

  Why did that cause this squirm of guilt? As if Faith’s irrational behaviour was in some way her fault. As if her coming home and digging up the past had set Faith off and running.

  What was Hope supposed to have done? Refuse the offer? The truth was, Looking Back was the only offer she’d had since The Document came out.

  And flopped.

  The Document. Even the title sounded dull—but at the time she’d thought it had a gravitas that couldn’t fail to win over the thinking public. Her career, which to be honest had been pretty lightweight, could only benefit from a role that showed off her acting chops.

  Had she been deluded? Maybe. And yet the story itself was sound. It had seemed the perfect vehicle for Hope—the role for a mature actress wanting to lift her career to a new level. The younger crowd mightn’t be interested, but the serious film-goers and critics were sure to love it.

  Despite her belief in the project, and her certainty in her own ability to carry off the starring role, she had struggled to find investors. They didn’t see big box-office appeal even though she explained that wasn’t the audience she was aiming for. Eventually she’d ended up putting her own money into it, scraping together her savings and calling in favours from friends. Against everyone’s expectations, apart from her own, the filming went well. There were excellent reviews from the early showings. The film was launched into the smaller boutique and art-house cinemas, and it was looking good.

  And then it all went wrong.

  She learned that someone else had made a movie with the same storyline—small-town girl takes on a giant corporation in a David-and-Goliath situation—but the actress in this movie was a Hollywood sweetheart. It didn’t matter that The Document was well made and, according to the reviews, Hope was the best thing in it. Her film was never going to be able to compete. She lost a lot of money, and although she made enough to be able to repay her backers, everything else was gone.

  At one point, there was even a rumour going around that she was dead.

  And in that moment Hope had wished she was.

  ‘Come home,’ was Faith’s solution to the problem.

  ‘My life is here,’ Hope had protested.

  ‘But your family is here,’ her sister had argued.

  Then Looking Back had come along and Hope hadn’t hesitated. Not for a second. It was only later that she began to wonder if she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

  Faith must know she was going to keep to the script—in other words, the story of Hope’s life in Willow Tree Bend as it appeared in the public domain. Surely she didn’t have to spell it out? Surely Faith would realise she had everything under control, micromanaged as usual. Well, maybe in hindsight she should have discussed it with her sister before she’d signed the contracts, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she needed to. All she’d thought about was that the program was the perfect solution to her problems.

  No, Hope couldn’t believe her decision was the reason for Faith’s sudden departure. It must have
been something else. This was simply a coincidence.

  It’ll be all right, she tried to reassure herself again. The only possible glitch was her mother, but she’d told Looking Back that Lily was frail and elderly and mustn’t be bothered. Admittedly, she’d made it sound as if she was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s disease, but the important thing was that they’d agreed.

  Hope glanced at the clock and then put aside James Joyce with some relief. She had a plane to catch in the morning. She just hoped Faith would be home by the time her cavalcade rolled into town.

  Rearranging her bed, she removed her glasses and switched off the light, and tried to still her mind in preparation for sleep. But her mind wouldn’t be stilled. Why was it that the knowledge that she needed a good night’s rest seemed to sabotage her every time?

  Restlessly, she turned over. The linen was freshly laundered and she breathed in the sweet scent, knowing this was one of the things she would genuinely miss about the apartment. Clean sheets every night—what a luxury! Perhaps because it went against everything she’d been brought up to believe in by her mother. Frugality, making do, humility. Lily’s religion—always a big part of her life—had almost become a mania after their father had walked out. Hope didn’t remember it in detail—Faith, being that little bit older, remembered more.

  The endless prayers, the fervent longing to reach a level of perfection that would make her worthy in the eyes of God. Occasionally their father would drop in, but never for more than a day or two, and there was a cruelty in that. It had given Lily a sense of hope, when he would have been kinder to have stayed away. In later years, Faith used to speculate that their mother believed if she was good enough then their father would have to stay. He never did. And then one day he turned up and there was a tremendous argument. Hope didn’t know what was said, because they had been sent outside to wait it out. She still remembered huddling with Faith on the verandah while the angry shouting had turned to quieter resignation, and then watching his car driving away.

  They’d expected their mother to fall to pieces, but instead she’d come out to watch him go. White-faced, shaky, but with her green eyes hard as ice. ‘Good riddance,’ she’d said.

  After that she’d changed. She wasn’t interested in trying to please everyone else. She grew strong and stubborn and mouthy—people crossed the street when they saw her coming. The long prayers stopped. God wasn’t quite as infallible as he had been, and although she still went to church she no longer expected miracles.

  Lily worked hard and slept deeply, which was handy, because her daughters liked to stay awake long into the night. Hope remembered she and Faith lying in their beds, whispering in the darkness, as dreams were expressed and ambitions shared. She wanted to be a famous actress and Faith wanted to travel. There was a poster of London on the wall and even before it was fashionable Faith had a bucket list of the places she wanted to see. But the sisters had always planned to leave together. Hope still remembered the day her sister drove off in Joe’s car without her, and how upset she’d been. Faith was leaving her behind, and it took her a long time to forgive her for it.

  Of course, later on Faith had returned and it had been Hope who had spread her wings and set off into the big wide world. Yes, there was satisfaction in that, and in knowing she had achieved the goals she had set herself. But Hope admitted that there would have been more satisfaction if Faith had shown, even for a moment, that she was the teeniest bit jealous.

  Her mind began to drift to what else she would miss about living here in New York. Central Park in the spring, and the shops along Fifth Avenue. The opera at the Lincoln Center, and the ballet, things she enjoyed dressing up to be seen at. Clichés, she realised, but it was true, she had always loved the obvious about this city. God forbid, perhaps at heart she was still a wide-eyed girl from country Australia!

  A good line for the program. She must remember it.

  The producers were going to take her ‘home’ to Willow Tree Bend. They wanted to film her as she wandered misty-eyed through the old cottage, and reminisced about the past.

  Was it still the same?

  Samantha would know; she lived nearby. She could even see it from her property. When Sam had learned about her windfall, she had written to Hope. It was a very nice letter, but it was the sort of letter you might write to a distant relative. Stilted. One stranger to another.

  Well, she was a stranger, wasn’t she? Ten years ago, when Hope had last been home, she had looked forward to some sort of connection between herself and Samantha. Instead, she had found her niece very like the person Faith had become—same stubborn pride, same take-me-or-leave-me attitude. In that regard Faith had turned into Lily, and it seemed as if Samantha was turning into Faith.

  Hope began to drift into sleep at last.

  And then, as if a switch had been flicked, she found herself back on that hot summer afternoon in January, the road stretching before her …

  Everything seemed to waver, the heat rising from the earth, and the smell of dust and eucalyptus. Cicadas were humming, their song rising and falling, but there was no other sound. A narrow strip of bitumen ran down the centre of the road, but it was soft, melting, so they walked to the side, his hand in hers. He was laughing at something she’d said and his breath reminded her of the Fanta they’d shared beneath the willow tree. Afterwards.

  In the dream, the landscape was a washed-out gold and brown, while the sky was an amazing, eye-aching blue. She could feel the heat through the thin soles of her sandals, and the burn of the sun on her bare shoulders. She was already tanned, the deeper shade of her skin a striking contrast to her fair hair and green eyes. He told her she was beautiful.

  And then they heard the car.

  They both looked up and watched it coming towards them. A big black old-fashioned machine. Hope half recognised it, and she shaded her eyes to watch its approach. He rested a hand on her shoulder and said something that made her smile.

  Dust drifted towards them in the still air, and they moved sideways onto the dry crackly grass to get out of the way. Around here people weren’t often in this much of a hurry, and even when they were they’d always stop to chat and say gidday. So, it didn’t seem strange when the vehicle began to slow down.

  Hope’s gaze lingered on the shiny chrome bumper bar and the protruding headlamps. The car was like something her father might have driven when he was younger. Or maybe not. There was too much solid respectability about this car for her father, who had always preferred flashy. Like the women Faith said she’d seen him with in town, before he left for good.

  The car stopped beside them and she could smell the heat from the engine, and then the window slid down. That was when she saw the driver’s face and remembered who the car belonged to.

  ‘Can I give you a lift into town?’ He looked from her to the boy beside her, and back again. ‘A bit hot to be walking, isn’t it?’

  They exchanged a glance. Hope knew they were going to say ‘yes’, just for an excuse to ride in the car …

  In the New York apartment Hope stirred restlessly in her bed, trying to wake herself. She knew she wouldn’t be able to. She always had to follow the dream through until the very end. Every excruciating moment.

  She was climbing into the car, enjoying the sensation of the soft leather seat against her bare legs, when a sound woke her. Not the telephone this time, but someone outside singing loudly, followed by several complaints voiced by the neighbours.

  Hope sat up, trying to breathe deeply, as her heart gradually slowed its rapid beat. Despite the chill in the apartment her skin was hot, and as she listened to the insults drifting back and forth, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep again, not for a long while. Maybe not at all.

  She reminded herself that the road incident had happened thirty years ago. There was no need to be afraid that Looking Back would find out. And yet she was afraid. Frankly, she was terrified. Despite all of her careful planning and expressions of confidence, Hope k
new there was always a possibility that her foray into her past could go very, very wrong.

  FAITH

  July 1969, St Kilda, Melbourne

  This is the first day of my new life.

  Faith kept repeating the words to herself, over and over again, as she walked at a brisk pace down the street. It was busier now than it had been earlier in the day because people in this part of Melbourne didn’t get up until after noon. She knew that come nightfall things would really start jumping, especially around the Angel.

  She wasn’t sure when the Angel had been built, but Kitty said it was in the 1920s, when gangsters had roamed these same streets and prostitutes had plied their trade on every corner. It was a nightclub with a tarnished history; still, that didn’t stop famous people from flocking there.

  Faith was just so glad things had turned out okay. She hadn’t expected to find work so soon and had been prepared to horde her savings. Eke them out a cent at a time. Now she had a job and it would give her the sort of freedom she’d never had at home. She might have worked at the milk bar for the past year, but her pay packet—such as it was—had never been her own, not when she had to hand over half of it to her mother.

  At first Melbourne hadn’t seemed welcoming at all. Kitty wasn’t waiting to greet her when she arrived, and Faith’s aunt, uncle and other cousins were busy with their own concerns and uninterested in hers. She had the suspicion that Lily had already been on the phone expressing her displeasure, and they all thought it would be for the best if Faith turned around and went home.

  Well, she wasn’t going to let them beat her.