by Kaye Dobbie
The woman brushed past her in a cloud of perfume, a sheet wrapped around her nakedness, her hair hanging down her back. The bathroom door shut loudly and a tap began to run in the bath.
Faith took a step into the room. ‘Who is she? What is she doing in your bed?’ Her voice went up and down, wobbling like a little girl whose best friend had dumped her. Stop it, she told herself. Shouting and screaming, weeping and sobbing, none of that would get her through this. She tried to remember her mother the day her father finally left for good. That white face and tight mouth. ‘Good riddance,’ she’d said.
Faith understood now. It was either that or collapse in a puddle of grief.
‘She works at the record company’s office in Sydney,’ he said. He was sitting on the bed, pulling on his shoes. She wondered why he was bothering. ‘She came back with me. She’s nice, actually. This isn’t her fault.’
‘No, it’s your fault.’
He looked at her as if he wished he could think of something to say, something to make everything better. That was the thing about Ray, he wanted to be everyone’s friend.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Not about … this.’ She swept her hand in repugnance. ‘Something has happened.’
‘What’s happened?’ he asked, and there was a thread of irritation in his voice.
Faith took a breath and told herself she had to make this good or he wasn’t going to believe her.
‘Jared’s been arrested. He has a book with details in it about Dalzell. Things that Jared has done for Dalzell. They’re going to arrest Dalzell, too, and charge him with murder. Gaz told me to find you and tell you. You can’t go to the Angel, it’s not safe. Lenny is spreading rumours about you being a police informant. If Dalzell thinks this is all your fault …’
He shook his head at her.
‘Ray, you have to get away. Hide. We … you have to hide.’
He laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Dalzell is a weird one, that’s for sure. But he isn’t my problem. This isn’t my problem, luv.’
‘Ray, listen to me!’ She was beginning to sound hysterical and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. ‘Listen to me,’ she said, dropping her voice, taking another breath. ‘Gaz has gone, he knows it’s not safe. He was talking to the cops. Me, too.’ He looked at her, eyes narrowed. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I was worried you’d tell someone or … I didn’t want to involve you.’
‘I see.’ He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, leaving the buttons undone over his thin chest. ‘You’re a bit of a surprise packet, Faith. Here I was thinking you were hardly more than a schoolgirl, and all the time …’ He shook his head, smiled. ‘It could be that you’d done me a favour.’
Faith didn’t understand. Behind her, in the bathroom, the water stopped running.
‘Jared is a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but you were right when you told me he was only in this for himself. I’ve outgrown him. The record company and the tape, and all that, I’m grateful. I could have done it on my own, but he paid the bills and got me there sooner. But I have other friends. Friends of Jared’s. They’re looking after me now.’
‘You mean Dalzell?’ she whispered, aghast.
‘No. You’re obsessed with that man,’ he said, chuckling. ‘No, not Bert. I mean the men who actually own the Angel and half the other clubs in Melbourne. Bert only thinks he does, and that’s because they let him think it. I won’t give you any names, Faith.’
‘Criminals,’ she said in disgust.
‘Criminals go to jail—they’re too clever for that. They’re backing me now.’
There was something confident about him she hadn’t seen before, or maybe she’d missed it. She’d come here to save him and he hadn’t needed saving.
Ray stood up and began to button his shirt. ‘I have a meeting to go to. I was going to see you afterwards, at the Angel.’ He gave her a regretful look. ‘You should have waited and then we could still have been friends.’
‘I thought we were more than friends. You asked me to go to Sydney with you. What if I’d said yes?’
‘I don’t know.’ He seemed to be trying to imagine that scenario, and then he shook his head. ‘Too late now anyway. You’re a lovely girl, Faith, but it wouldn’t have lasted.’
‘Didn’t any of it matter to you?’ she asked, her throat aching with tears. She wouldn’t cry.
Good riddance.
‘’Course it did. We had fun, and you were … Well, I won’t forget you, Faith.’
He was smiling and he appeared to genuinely mean it. Maybe he had loved her for a while, until he forgot about her and moved on.
She almost didn’t tell him. A few moments ago she’d decided she wasn’t going to. She didn’t think he would change his mind, they were beyond that, maybe it was just that she thought he had a right to know.
‘I’m pregnant.’
He went still, then something passed over his face. Regret, maybe, and indecision, too, but then his expression closed down. ‘Your problem,’ he said.
She didn’t wait to hear any more. She let herself out of the house just as she’d done many times before and walked the few blocks home. Kitty wasn’t there, but she’d come home eventually, and Faith would need her help then. So she sat down on her bed and waited.
SAMANTHA
17 January 2000, Golden Gully
It felt important to be practical. Being practical was something I was good at, and then I could set aside my anger and my hurt, and feel as if I was in control. I didn’t want to think about what that woman had shouted at me, before Pompom bit her. I didn’t want to believe that I wasn’t who I’d always thought I was, but actually the secret love child of my famous aunt and my dead uncle.
After the Porsche drove off, leaving my gatepost with a serious lean, all the puff went out of the situation. Dad jumped in his four-wheel drive and took off after them without even speaking to me. I hoped he wasn’t going to try to run them off the road, but he seemed angry enough to do anything.
Lincoln made me a coffee, at the same time telling me how he’d been outside his cottage and noticed the unusual activity going on at my place. He’d come over to see if he could help.
‘Do you feel all right?’ he asked for the seventh time, setting the mug down in front of me. ‘You look shattered.’
‘I don’t know how I feel. I’m trying to pretend I didn’t hear what that woman said, and then I won’t have to deal with it.’
‘Sam,’ he murmured, and I knew he was going to be sympathetic and give me some heartfelt advice, or maybe he was just going to kiss me again. And I knew if he did then I would crumple into a sobbing mess and I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to be strong. I couldn’t just go to pieces.
There were people depending on me.
‘Gran!’ I shouted, making him jump. I looked at my watch and groaned. ‘I have to pick her up,’ I explained, lowering the volume. ‘I should have been there ten minutes ago.’
‘I can do that,’ he offered.
I tried to smile. ‘Yeah I know about you and Gran. She’s your muse.’
He shook his head at me. ‘No, Sam, as much as I respect your grandmother … You’re my muse.’
I stared into his eyes and I could tell he wasn’t just trying to be nice. I was Lincoln Nash’s muse. Well, how about that? A bubble of happiness rose out of my whirling emotional soup, and I clung on to it.
‘Oh.’ I gave him a real smile this time.
He smiled back. ‘A bit of a surprise, hey? Probably for you as well as me. When I moved here I wasn’t expecting to meet a woman who would be occupying my thoughts night and day. And I didn’t expect to feel jealous of Michael Hutchence, just because he was on your bedroom wall, how many years ago?’
‘Quite a few,’ I admitted. There was a warm sensation in the pit of my stomach. ‘We’re more or less strangers,’ I told him, my practical self reasserting itself. ‘And I dumped my last boyfriend because he preferred cars to animals.’
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br /> ‘I like animals, particularly your animals.’
That seemed a reasonable start.
‘We need to talk,’ I said, taking a breath. I felt shaky, and my inner anger hadn’t gone away, but I was better than I had been a moment ago. Whatever happened, however this story about my parents panned out, Lincoln Nash was willing to stick by me. ‘We need to talk, but not now. I have to go and get Gran.’
He nodded, letting me have my way. That was a good sign, I told myself. Lincoln knew when to be in charge, like the man I’d seen jumping onto the verandah to rescue me, and he knew when to let me be in charge, like now. It boded well for the future.
‘I’ll see you when you’re finished,’ he said, as I collected my keys and bag.
‘That would be nice.’ I sat down to do up the buckles on my sandals, watched closely by the two dogs. They were almost leaning on each other. Frances Durant would be remembered for one good deed—she’d taught Pompom and Mitch the meaning of friendship.
‘Come to the cottage.’
That man’s eyes! Maybe it was the aftermath of strong emotion, but the warmth in the pit of my stomach travelled further afield and I struggled to tamp it down. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I murmured, as I straightened up.
His breath warmed my lips and then he kissed me, but only lightly. I was simultaneously sorry and relieved. If he kissed me properly I might forget about Gran altogether and that would never do.
‘Later,’ he said, and it was a promise.
Although Gran was all packed and ready, there was a wait for the doctor to sign her out. The social worker tried to draw me aside for another chat, but Gran took charge, insisting she couldn’t wait any longer.
‘My mother will be wondering where I am,’ she complained.
I couldn’t look at the social worker’s face. I knew I’d burst out in hysterical laughter. As it was I was barely out of the door before I started to giggle.
‘He’ll think you’re even battier than he already does,’ I warned her.
‘Why? My mother could still be alive.’
I shook my head at her. ‘You’re incorrigible, Gran.’
At least Lily was still my grandmother. At least she hadn’t been taken away from me.
‘Sam? What is it?’
Something in my expression must have given me away. Gran was looking up at me as she walked out of the front door by my side. It whooshed shut behind us and the hot dry air was a shock after the overly cool air conditioning.
I took her arm, leading her towards my vehicle. I’d been told Gran would need someone with her for the present so she was going to stay at my place.
‘Pompom is already there, but you’ll need a couple of changes of clothes, so we’ll stop by the unit on the way.’
I’d successfully distracted her, and as we drove to the unit I told her that Mitch and Pompom were now friends—although I didn’t explain exactly how this incredible event had been achieved. She nodded and smiled, listening without interrupting, and soon we were pulling in to the kerb outside her unit.
Gran was busy collecting her mail, and then she had to sort her catalogues, checking the specials. I went to pack her bag.
The small bedroom was clean and neat, the floral quilt and matching curtains as crisp as ever. I opened her cupboard and then her drawer, taking out what I thought appropriate for the next few days. There was a row of photographs along the windowsill. Lily, Faith, Hope and me. I’d seen them a thousand times before, but it felt as if this was the very first time I had really looked at them.
Our faces were similar, some of the features repeated, some of them not. Green eyes and my blue eyes, and all fair-haired. The Taylor women, Dad called us, half joking. And then, if we did something to annoy him, You Taylor women!
I moved closer, examining the faces, trying to see something, anything, that would answer my questions. But the more I looked the more I just didn’t know.
Back in the car we headed for my place.
I’d left the air conditioning on, and it was nice and cool inside. Gran had been using the third bedroom, and that’s where I took her stuff now. ‘I’ll turn down your bed,’ I called to her. ‘You’re supposed to rest.’
‘I’ve been lying down in hospital,’ she called back. ‘I’m sick of resting.’
I came out to read her the riot act, and found her sitting on the sofa, Pompom and Mitch at her feet.
‘You were right,’ she said, eyes sparkling. ‘They’re friends.’
‘Gran,’ I sighed, and sat down.
And just like that the barricade of strength and purpose I had built around myself began to fall apart. I felt overwhelmed by it all.
I was aware of her hand on mine, her knuckles swollen with arthritis, and realised she was staring at me with concern. ‘What is it, Sam?’
She was an old woman, I reminded myself, and it wasn’t fair to dump this problem on her. She may not even know the answer. Hope seemed to have been very successful in keeping her secrets to herself.
‘Pete Cantani,’ I finally said, more because I was interested in what she had to say, rather than with any expectation she would suddenly cry out: But he’s your father!
Gran pursed her lips, eyes looking into the past. ‘I didn’t like Pete. I didn’t trust him. He reminded me of Rex.’ Then, with a frown, ‘Your grandfather.’
Well, I had asked. My conception was beginning to feel more and more like a one-off in the backseat of Pete’s car.
‘Joe’s mother, Mrs Cantani, didn’t help matters. She wouldn’t hear a word against him, especially after he died. I could have told her that no man is perfect, far from it. I probably did.’
‘Yes, you probably did.’
Gran sighed, and squeezed my hand. ‘Perhaps I will have a little lie down after all, Sam.’
I jumped up. ‘Of course. You need to rest.’
‘I wish … I wish it was all over.’
A tingle of shock ran through me. ‘What do you mean?’ Surely she wasn’t talking about her life?
‘That man,’ she murmured, ‘that awful man.’
I stared. ‘Pete?’
Gran turned to me, looking confused. ‘Pete? No, no, not Pete. He was never awful, he was very nice. Too nice when it came to the girls. No, I was talking about Bert Dalzell.’ She rubbed her cast and grimaced. ‘I think I might need some of the painkillers the doctor prescribed. My arm is aching.’
‘Sure.’ Confused, I wanted to ask her what she meant—why she was talking about the Honourable Hubert Dalzell—but I could see she was in pain.
I went into the bedroom and found the box of painkillers with directions attached. ‘You’re only allowed two every six hours,’ I said, bringing them with me into the kitchen.
I carried the tablets and a glass of water over to where Gran was standing, looking out of the front window. As she took them from me I saw a car pulling up behind my ute.
‘Who’s that?’ I said, thinking it might be Ken again, and the woman with the hole in her stocking—thank you, Pompom. Maybe they’d hired a new car? I really, really hoped not, because there was no way I was letting them in.
Gran took her tablets and sipped the water. ‘It’s that nice girl with the pink hair.’
Then I saw Hope climb out of the passenger side.
I thought she looked a little less perfect than usual, but then we’d all been through a rough patch—I was sure I wasn’t looking too good myself. She must have far exceeded the speed limit to get here so quickly. What did that mean? She was eager to see me, or was she just desperate to stop the truth from getting out?
‘Hope!’ Gran said, sounding genuinely pleased.
It was pointless hiding, I knew that, although I was momentarily tempted. But I had always preferred to confront my demons—or in this case my famous aunt, who may in fact be my mother—and I went to the door and opened it.
HOPE
17 January 2000
Hope stared ahead at Sam’s house, feeling as nervous as sh
e did at any important audition. She tried to look upon it as a positive—she did some of her best work when she was nervous—but then again it wasn’t as if the director could step in and say ‘Cut’ and give her another take. She knew she only had one chance at this and she wanted to get it right.
Mitch spotted her as she came up the steps onto the verandah, and began running around her legs and wagging his tail. Over at the fence the donkeys were braying.
The door opened and Samantha was standing there. Hope gave a breathless laugh. ‘It’s like Noah’s Ark,’ she said.
Sam didn’t smile back. She was pale, her eyes wide, a bit like a car-crash victim. Immediately, Hope felt guilty.
Why was she feeling guilty? Hope told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. She could never have been a successful actress if she was tied down with a baby, and then a toddler, and then a child. Some women did it, she had seen them, but she wasn’t one of them. She would have had to give up her dreams, taken a job that offered reasonable hours and security, and her life would have turned out very differently.
‘I think we need to have a little talk, Samantha,’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Hope!’ Lily came trotting towards her, looking a great deal better than last time.
She told her so, and at Lily’s insistence she examined the pristine cast and promised to autograph it, all the while aware of Sam standing watching them. Her daughter—how long since she’d allowed herself to call Samantha that?—was wearing her pretty dress, and with her fair hair down and her blue eyes, she looked so much like Pete that it almost stopped Hope’s heart.
‘I’ve been so worried,’ her mother was saying, lowering her voice. ‘You probably don’t understand, Hope. You probably don’t worry about anything. But I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Hope whispered, and she put her arms around her mother’s frail body and for a moment just held her.
‘We might need some advice,’ Lily said, her voice muffled against Hope’s shoulder. ‘Legal advice. What do you think?’