by Kaye Dobbie
Something about being home—that word again—was affecting her in ways she had never imagined. The very thought of travelling to Willow Tree Bend … the tightness in her chest made her feel breathless and slightly nauseous.
Don’t be ridiculous!
She had meticulously planned all of this in her usual OCD fashion. She knew what she was doing. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Tomorrow she had the meeting with the show’s director to get through, and the filming schedule to sort out. After that she could concentrate on Faith. Lily, too—the thought of seeing her mother face to face, of looking into those eyes so like her own … What would she see there? Love and regret? Fear and condemnation? Or would the shutters be down just as they had been the last time they’d parted?
A plate of sandwiches had been prepared for her, and her favourite brand of tea, and she nibbled and sipped, before jet lag kicked in and she decided she was too tired to bother finishing.
Perhaps, despite her promises to her family, her stay in Australia might be briefer than she had intended. After all, she had things to do back in New York, like finding somewhere else to live, and trying to whip up some interest in her stalled career. She could make excuses, tell lies. She was good at telling lies.
She lay down onto the comfortable bed and drew the cover over her. It might be summer, but the air conditioning was making her feel cold. Snuggling up, she sighed and closed her eyes, and almost immediately her body grew heavy and sleep claimed her.
This dream was different to the last one. She wasn’t back in the past, she was seeing the past as it was now—or as she imagined it to be …
The house, which she remembered with such clarity from that January day, was on the verge of falling down. She looked behind her, but the black car that had brought her here was gone, and she was quite alone. She didn’t want to go inside, and yet inexorably her feet were taking her there.
The brick walls were crumbling, the windows smashed, and when she pushed the door open it dragged on the ruined floor. Dust swam in the gloom, and the hall was like a tunnel, leading her through to the rear of the house. She knew the garden was out there and she didn’t want to see it, but somehow she couldn’t make her feet stop. A moment later she was stepping over some fallen masonry into the sunlight.
The perfume drifted to her, at first subtle and sweet, and then stronger. Still compelled by something unseen, she moved forward, towards the structure almost entirely clothed by the old rosebush. Bees clambered over the pale-gold blossoms, their humming monotonous. Hypnotic. As she stood watching them she felt someone behind her, standing so close that the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up.
He was there.
She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She was too afraid of what she’ d see …
Hope woke with a soft cry and sat up. It was still light outside. Though only just. The room was silent apart from the whisper of the air conditioner. And there was a scent in the air, subtle and teasing, a scent that brought with it memories.
Slipping from the bed, she padded across the thick carpet to the table and reached for the small vase of flowers that had come with the sandwiches.
And that was when she noticed the old-fashioned roses. She didn’t know the name of the pale-gold one, she never had, but she recognised it. Carrying the vase as if it was a dangerous explosive, she opened the door and put it outside.
Prue arrived to collect her just after nine, full of confidence and enthusiasm, and they made the slow journey through the city. The sky was a smoggy blue, and Hope watched the trams go by, covered in colourful advertising. Above the city streets she could see the construction work that seemed, all over the world, to be never-ending.
She knew it was paranoid and ridiculous, but when she woke that morning it had occurred to her that somehow the show’s producers knew. That the roses were put in her room to see how she would react, and now they were going to drag up that particular horror from her past and present it to her, all wrapped up in pretty paper and a bow.
Hope was doing her best to be charming as she listened to Prue talk about how much she was looking forward to working with her, but the suspicion wouldn’t be dismissed. It clung like one of the burrs that grew along the roads of her childhood, thorns digging deep enough to puncture the tyres of her bike.
The headquarters of Looking Back was an apricot-painted building, set in a leafy street in the inner-city suburb of South Yarra. It looked as if it had once been a large private residence.
She was greeted warmly by the production staff and taken into a cosy meeting area. They were young and casually dressed and very earnest. Hope felt old and overdone in her Prada suit, and knowing she’d needed enough concealer to fill the San Andreas Fault, just to hide the circles under eyes, didn’t help.
Over tea and biscuits, she learned that tomorrow morning she, Prue and their cameraman, Ken, were setting off for Willow Tree Bend.
Her heart gave a little jump, but she reminded herself that it was too late to back out now. She’d signed the contracts. There was the possibility of her refusing permission for them to transmit anything too invasive, but it had been made clear to her that the program was proud of its no-holds-barred approach. In some of the episodes she’d watched, the shocks had come thick and fast, from tears to laughter and back again, and she had the impression that was exactly what they were looking for from Hope Taylor.
‘My life is an open book,’ she said.
There were exchanged glances. ‘Well, the thing is, we prefer to air information that isn’t widely known,’ one of the team ventured. ‘We’ll be doing our own research.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘Your sister, for instance. We’d love to speak to her and her family.’
Faith isn’t here. She’s run away and I don’t know where to find her.
She almost said it aloud but stopped herself in time. Better if they found out for themselves and then she could pretend ignorance. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘We’ve arranged for your sister to be present at Willow Tree Bend tomorrow at eleven. To walk with you around the cottage.’
‘Lovely,’ she said with a smile. ‘Looking forward to it.’
‘You’re close to your sister, then?’ There were more exchanged glances. The air of expectation was making it hard to breathe.
‘Very. We live on different continents, but apart from that … She is my only sibling.’
‘We did hope to speak with your mother …?’
‘No. I explained. She isn’t well. I don’t want her involved.’
She sounded anxious and was annoyed with herself, knowing it would prick their curiosity. And she’d heard a strong hint of an Australian accent creeping into her usually crisp pronunciation. Time and hard work had tidied up her country-girl drawl, and she knew the only reason she was reverting to it now was stress.
‘We did agree that my mother wouldn’t be part of the program,’ she added more mildly.
‘Hmm.’
Deciding that she needed to get out before she unravelled completely, Hope rose to her elegantly shod feet.
At once Prue seemed to understand what was required and took the lead. ‘Thank you, I think we’ve covered all bases,’ she said smoothly.
Someone gushed about how much they were looking forward to working with her, which was followed by other versions of the same thing, and then finally Hope was free. She had a medical appointment in two hours’ time—the show insisted on a medical check-up before they got stuck in. A formality, they said, and Hope had no problem with it—she was as fit as a fiddle—but the last thing she wanted was for Prue to be trailing after her.
And there was something else she wanted to do. It was an idea she had been tossing up ever since Faith’s phone call, and last night, just as she finally fell asleep, she’d decided to go ahead. It meant sneaking off on her own, which was rather exciting, like that school excursion to the Melbourne museum, which she’d found so boring she�
��d gone missing for a couple of hours. She’d sat alone in a cinema and devoured popcorn and the film Georgy Girl. The teacher had been frantic, but it had been worth it.
‘I’m going to do some shopping,’ she said to Prue, glancing at her watch. ‘There’s a friend I want to catch up with tonight. What time will you be here to pick me up tomorrow?’
Prue gave her a look. Hope could see the cogs turning as the girl considered whether or not to make a fuss, but she was also clever enough and experienced enough to know when to let it go.
‘Seven should do it.’ She gave her friendly smile. ‘We’ll need plenty of time to spend at the cottage. We have permission to film inside, but the guy who owns it hasn’t been very accommodating.’ She waved a dismissive hand, as if she could handle him. ‘Then we’ll head into Golden Gully and get you walking about and so on. If we finish all of that tomorrow, it’ll give you a few days to spend with your family. After that, we’ll need you back here to do some more filming. Your early career and so on. We have some surprise reunions lined up.’
Hope kept her smile in place. ‘That sounds exciting. Any clues?’
Prue shook her head. ‘My lips are sealed,’ she said airily. She hesitated, as if she knew her next words weren’t welcome. ‘There was mention of dinner, Miss Taylor. To meet some of our backers. It might be nice for them. Do you think …?’
But Hope pleaded a headache in a tone too definite to be argued with, and that was that. She also insisted she would take a taxi to the medical appointment, and was glad to close the door on Prue’s slightly suspicious expression. Quickly, she changed into jeans and a blouse, put on a hat and sunglasses, and then waited impatiently for half an hour—just in case Prue was lurking outside—before she set out from the hotel.
There was a taxi rank at the end of the lane—she’d noticed it earlier—and she gave the address to the driver, instructing him to wait for her once they reached their destination. Then she leaned back in the shiny plastic seat that smelled faintly of antiseptic, and wondered again why this was such a good idea. She would never have thought of it if Faith hadn’t mentioned the name during that bizarre phone call.
The Angel.
Hope didn’t remember where Faith had lived during the time she worked at the infamous nightclub. She thought her sister might have been staying at her aunt’s house, but she’d soon moved out. Hope had memories of their mother being furious about the whole thing, although typically she’d refused to discuss it with her younger daughter. Faith hadn’t written, apart from sending a parcel containing some groovy clothes for Hope’s birthday—she’d worn the miniskirt a few times, despite it barely covering her bum.
Lily had fallen out with her sister—she was dead now—and Hope hadn’t kept up with her cousins. She’d never been as close to them as Faith was. The only thing she knew for certain was that Faith had been a cocktail waitress at the Angel, and something had happened to send her running for home. And when she got there she was a different girl from the one who’d left.
The taxi turned off St Kilda Road, and after a couple more turns, slowed to a halt. Hope leaned forward to stare up at the ruined facade against the pitiless summer sky. Her first thought was that, for an angel, it had seen better days. The windows at street level were boarded up, although she noticed that hadn’t stopped the vandals from smashing them in several places and covering anything left in graffiti.
‘Please wait,’ she told the driver, ignoring his dubious glance. ‘I won’t be long.’
The footpath was grubby and refuse had blown up against the frontage. There was a homeless man who’d set up shop, sitting on his rolled-up bed and surrounded by a selection of plastic bags containing his worldly goods. A metal bowl was set in front of him for receiving donations. She found a twenty-dollar note in her purse and tucked it in amongst the sparse selection of coins.
The orange-coloured bill caused him to sit up a little straighter, and he squinted at her as if wondering what she wanted in return. Hope walked past him, over to one of the boarded-up windows, and leaned forward to peer through a narrow gap in the hording. Inside there was only darkness.
‘Condemned.’ Her new friend called out to her in a gravelly voice. ‘They’re tearing it down to build apartments. There’s been a fair bit of protest about that. Wonder you haven’t heard about it.’
The place was empty and forgotten. She remembered some vague story, from the early days of her acting career in Melbourne, about it being closed down for a time and then reopening again under new management. Well that hadn’t lasted.
The homeless man was still watching her with interest and she went back to him. Pointing a finger at the building, and unable to hide her disgust, she asked, ‘Why would they want to save it?’
He laughed, showing more than a few missing teeth. ‘That’s a change! Usually I get the bleeding hearts. They say it’s a part of our heritage. Just so happens it’s a part not many of the people who were there wanna remember.’
Now that she was closer to him, she saw that he was about sixty, although he could be younger and living rough had taken its inevitable toll.
‘That bad?’ she said.
‘Worse than bad. I’ve heard it called the Fallen Angel.’
‘Did you call it the Fallen Angel?’ She smiled.
The smile did it; he opened up. ‘Used to work there.’ He grinned back at her.
It seemed almost too good to be true, and she had to ask. She even crouched down in front of him, and then got a whiff of his unwashed body and last night’s drinking session and wished she hadn’t. ‘Did you know someone called Faith Taylor? She was here in nineteen sixty-nine.’
‘What, in the Penthouse?’
‘In the cocktail bar, I think. Something like that. She was a waitress.’
‘Lot of girls worked here,’ he said flatly, ‘and Jared always put the prettiest ones in the Cocktail Lounge. Was this Faith Taylor pretty?’
Hope thought of the young Faith, with her blonde hair and big green eyes. Her sister had been beautiful in a way that Hope had never quite achieved, and it didn’t hurt to admit it now.
‘Yes. She was.’
Maybe she’d taken too long to answer because he was eyeing her curiously. Or maybe it was more than that—maybe he remembered Faith. She was memorable.
‘Then she would have worked in the Cocktail Lounge for sure,’ he said, and cracked his knuckles, but at the same time she could see his mind working. ‘What is she to you?’
‘You don’t remember her?’
‘Nah. Too many drugs, too much booze. I hardly remember my own name, love.’
He was lying. Being an actor herself she had learned to read the signs.
Behind her the waiting taxi driver tooted his horn. Glancing over, she saw that a van was wanting to get into his parking space, edging impatiently closer. When she turned back to the vagrant, she realised he had pocketed the money and was now packing up his gear.
‘Can you tell me anything? Did something happen?’ She knew she sounded desperate and thought that if he did know something then he would use it as leverage for more money.
‘You could try Jared Shaw,’ he said, to her surprise. ‘He’s in a nursing home now, the one over in Acland Street. Still making trouble from what I’ve heard. He might remember this girl. If you get him on a good day. Yeah, you could do worse than try him.’
‘Thank you.’
He gave a strange half-bow, and she wondered again who he was, or who he had been. No time to ask though—a glance at her watch told her it was getting close to her medical appointment—and the taxi driver called out for her to hurry up. Briefly, she considered cancelling and going to the nursing home instead, so that she could question this Jared Shaw, but it was impossible. The show’s crew would wonder why she’d changed her mind, and she didn’t want to do anything to encourage their suspicions.
It could also be a pointless exercise.
What did she think Jared would know about her sister,
and even if he did, how could it be relevant to events happening now? She needed to focus on the here and now, on the program, and doing her job.
On keeping her own life under control.
FAITH
July 1969, St Kilda
Faith felt as if she was really settling into her new life and new job. The Angel was an exciting place, especially at night, with the lights blazing and the dance floor heaving to the thump of the music. Everything sparkled and everyone had a good time. But there was also an edginess to the place, as if danger lurked in the shadows, and it was better not to look too hard in case you saw something you’d rather not.
Apart from the Cocktail Lounge on the ground floor, there was the Mezzanine dining room and entertainment area, and a small private room called the Lounge Bar, which seemed empty most of the time. There was an intense rivalry between them all, although according to Kitty, the Cocktail Lounge was the hands-down winner. Faith was certainly kept busy.
The music on Fridays and Saturdays was aimed at a younger audience, but Faith noticed a lot of older men turning up, as well as the inevitable prostitutes at the table near the door. Kitty said they liked it there because they could hurry any clients away to their digs, before they had a chance to change their minds. Women selling sex weren’t permitted in the Angel, well that was the rule, but Kitty said rules were meant to be broken. Faith had seen her take money from the girls in return for allowing them to stay, but she was also just as likely to demand they leave if there was any trouble.
Most of the staff at the Angel wore uniforms, except the girls in the Cocktail Lounge. They were allowed to dress in their own clothes—it was thought it made the place more ‘hip’—which was why Kitty had insisted Faith go to Circe. Kitty had brought that innovation in, as well as the music, and both seemed to be working. She was the person in charge and known as the captain, although no one called her that—it seemed an archaic term to Faith.