The Shadow Behind Her Smile
Page 25
“It’s not as though she would have actually died,” said Kate modestly. “The ambulance men were on their way. But I helped.” She mixed the potato and gravy together into a pile of brown mush and inserted a spoonful into her mouth.
“You did more than help,” disagreed Jane, swallowing the last forkful of her own dinner and looking across the table at Kate. “Heather told us Larissa couldn’t breathe, so she's extremely lucky that you of all people happened to be there. You did a really good thing today, sweetheart.”
“Absolutely. Good job, young Kate,” reiterated Lou stiffly, clearly not convinced of Kate’s supposed “ability”, but trying to be a good sport about it, since he couldn’t afford to push Jane’s children even further off-side than they already were.
Jane’s latest beau was an itinerant insurance salesman, boarding with the McDermotts while he attempted to drum up new business and expand his client base. He had initially planned to spend a month in the region, but after four weeks, decided he needed more time to take full advantage of the opportunities he had unearthed. No one knew what Jane saw in him, but he was pathetically grateful for her attentions.
The boys called him “Loser Lou” when they thought he couldn’t hear. It wasn’t anything personal; they simply wanted their mother's old boyfriend, Frank, back. They had been devastated when Jane broke it off with Frank for getting “too serious”. Two years on, they steadfastly refused to be wooed by any of the other men Jane became involved with, no matter how much they tried to bribe them, suck up to them or pretend to like them. Frank was the standard against whom they judged all contenders. Lou, especially, fell wide of the mark.
Sam sniggered softly at Lou’s obviously insincere remark. The adults didn’t hear, but both his brothers gave him a grin of encouragement. “Frank said Si played his best game of the season today and is sure to get into the rep side.”
Frank had been coaching Simon’s rugby league team for the last three seasons – a fact that made it even harder for the boys to warm to any of his replacements. He was the closest thing to a father any of the McDermott children could remember having, and they weren’t about to give him up without a fight.
“And even better than that,” chimed in Jack, “Bulldog played like a real dog!” He grinned at his lame pun and waited for the groans to die down. “Frank didn’t even play him in the second half! He hasn’t got a hope of making the team.”
“Bulldog’s a good player,” said Simon, ever the good sportsman. “It’s a shame he had an off day.”
“Hopefully he’ll stop all his bragging now and the bus ride to school will be a little quieter from now on,” said Sam.
“Geez, I hope so,” agreed Simon with a knowing grin.
“If you boys are finished, you can wash up,” instructed Jane firmly. “Kate’s having a night off from chores; she’s worn out from this afternoon’s little drama.”
“I’ll give you kids a hand,” offered Lou, hastily pushing his chair back from the table.
Jack groaned. Jane heard and glared at each of the boys in turn, not sure who was responsible. They smiled innocently and began clearing the table noisily.
“Come on, sweet-pea,” said Jane, holding out her hand for Kate. “Let’s go and set up the Monopoly board. What do you say, boys? A quick game before bed?” As if the McDermotts ever played a quick game of anything. It was as likely as Kate getting to sleep before midnight.
“Bags the car!” called Simon eagerly.
“Horse!” got in Sam quickly.
“You two always get the best ones,” grumbled Jack. “I suppose I’ll be the shoe then.”
“That'll be a yes, then,” remarked Jane, pleased.
While the boys and Lou washed and wiped up, Jane and Kate set up the Monopoly board. Kate chose the Scottie dog as her token and sat down on the lounge, patiently waiting for the boys to finish the dishes. Her mother pottered about, chatting intermittently about this or that, happily requiring no response from Kate, who felt contentedly lethargic.
Kate answered triumphantly inside her head,
replied Kate,
Emerging from the kitchen with a plate of chocolate crackles, Jane took one look at her daughter’s immobile figure and stopped dead in her tracks. Something about the way she was sitting, so still and so intent, made her catch her breath.
Damn it! Was that bloody “voice” back? Had the stress of today's events precipitated a backslide? She had been so relieved when Kate finally stopped talking to her imaginary friend. It had been cute when she was little, but now it was borderline disturbing. The unfocused stare was a dead giveaway. Unable to avert her eyes, Jane was still staring when Kate blinked, refocusing her eyes on her mother and giving her a tired smile. Jane was no longer sure what to think. Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she asked tentatively, “Are you all right, sweetie?”
Kate smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine, Mum. Just a little tired.”
Frowning slightly, Jane placed the plate on the table and tried to make sense of her impressions. Maybe she was seeing things that weren’t there. She hoped so. But what if Kate had simply become more adept at hiding the signs?
“Can I ask you something, Mum?” asked Kate in a low voice.
“Of course, baby.”
“Why am I so different to everybody else?”
The confusion on Kate's face was heart-breaking to see. A small, almost inaudible sigh escaped Jane’s lips. Taking a seat on the couch beside her, Jane picked up one of her daughter's hands, stalling for time as she formulated an answer to the question she had been dreading for the longest time. She held the small hand reassuringly between her own larger ones and gave it a gentle squeeze, awed by its delicacy and size. It reminded her just how young Kate really was. Though mature for her age – and sometimes when she spoke, Jane could swear she was going on forty, not ten – she was still only a little girl; not much more than a baby really. Those ten years had flown by so fast and she knew if she turned away for even a second, shifted her focus just a millimeter, Kate would be all grown up and Jane would have missed out on something special. It was the same with the boys. Time was so precious; she couldn’t afford to waste a minute of it.
Time, and the finite amount of it, was why Jane had always endeavoured to keep her relationships with men casual. Superficial even. If she could have, she would have done away with sex altogether, but unfortunately, it was as necessary to her as...chocolate. Sure, she could live without it, but it was oh, so sweet. It made her feel good all over and was totally addictive. From the age of fifteen she had enjoyed the attentions of men and the whole silly game of love. And most importantly, the fulfillment of her physical needs. If she went too long without sex, she became crabby, irritable and not at all pleasant to be with. And no one wanted a crabby mother.
But falling in love was another matter. She couldn’t afford to become immersed in a relationship with someone who didn’t share her single-minded focus. Kate and the boys meant the world to her, and she refused to compromise their needs for anything more intense than
a casual dalliance. After finally committing herself to motherhood, Jane had vowed the children would take priority over everything else. Sure, if their fathers had been around, it would have been a different matter altogether, but the men she became involved with were committed to no one but themselves, and likely to remain so. Jane knew if she gave them the slightest encouragement, they would start demanding more of her than she was prepared to give. Any long-term relationship was doomed before it even began.
The liaison with Frank had begun in the usual way; just a bit of fun with a like-minded body. Jane hadn’t even realised her heart was in danger until it was too late. Frank was just so easy to talk to and so comfortable to be with. They were like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, fitting seamlessly together, meshing like they were made for each other. And Frank seemed to truly care about the children. For a time, Jane forgot her promise to herself and indulged her own desires. But good sense prevailed in the end. Regrettably, by the time she got around to cutting him loose, it was as painful as chopping off one of her fingers. It was a high price to pay, but still a sacrifice she was willing to make, knowing as she did that the family as a whole was better off. It was true she had fallen in love – still loved him, if she was quite honest. But to her mind, the whole affair merely proved she had been right in setting such strict rules to begin with. Love distracted you from what was important. It blurred your focus and divided your loyalties. It wasn’t to be tolerated.
Still, Jane selfishly hoped Frank was still available in a few years, once Kate went off to university and she was free to give her heart away. But she knew the odds were slim. Men like Frank were hard to come by, even in towns much larger than Fiddlers Creek. Out here, in the back of beyond? He was a rare and fragrant blossom, attracting lonely, single bees from miles around with the tantalizing lure of his nectar.
“Everyone’s different, baby,” said Jane at last, casting aside all thought of romance and returning to the reason she got out of bed in the mornings. “But not everyone is special like you...”
Lazy Afternoon
May 1964
The two small figures crested the long rise of the hill and came to a gradual halt. A vast patchwork of farms and bushland stretched ahead all the way to the foot of the western ranges. Behind them, the deep blue expanse of the Coral Sea sparkled in the sunlight. A light breeze tugged at their shirts, welcome relief from the heat of the day.
Kate and Jack climbed off their bicycles and turned to look back down the hill to gauge the progress of the third member of their group. True, it was a hard slog to the top of the hill, but Heather didn’t usually have any trouble keeping up. For some reason she’d been lagging behind all day.
“Come on, slowcoach!” Jack called impatiently. “At this rate it’ll be teatime before we get there.”
“Shut up, Jack,” remonstrated Kate mildly, used to his ill-humour. “Patient” was a word that would never be used to describe her brother.
Puffing with exertion, Heather finally reached the top and pulled up beside her friends. Kate gave her a sympathetic smile, and waited for her to catch her breath. Jack was almost jumping out of his skin in agitation. Finally, he’d had enough of their dilly-dallying and climbed back on his bike. Without warning, he took off down the other side of the hill. “I’ll race you to the gate!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Never able to refuse one of Jack’s dares, Kate immediately took off after her brother, leaving Heather behind. Hurtling down the hill behind him, her legs working the pedals like giant pistons, she tried desperately to close the gap between them. “Not fair!” she yelled at his back, cross at him for stealing the lead, but nevertheless refusing to give up. “You cheated!”
At the base of the hill, the narrow road stretched ahead flat and straight for nearly a mile before curving out of sight behind a dense stand of Melaleuca trees. A little-used back route, the road meandered quietly westward toward the main north-south highway, bordered on either side by a jungle of leafy green sugarcane. The cane was almost fully-grown now and stood as tall as two men, arching over the road and giving Kate the illusion of speeding down a long, green tunnel.
The McDermotts were still arguing over Jack’s alleged cheating when Heather drew up beside them at the gate to her parents' property. Kate frowned at her friend’s uncharacteristic pallor and gave Jack a meaningful glance. By unspoken agreement they put aside their argument and the three of them began discussing what they were going to do for the rest of the afternoon. In single file, they turned off the road and walked their bikes up the long, rutted driveway toward the house.
The Colacino's double-storey farmhouse, surrounding gardens and out-buildings were strategically laid out upon three acres of cleared land. At this time of year, it was a quiet island surrounded by an undulating sea of green. Heather was the fourth generation of Colacinos to live here, since her great-grandfather emigrated from Italy at the turn of the century with his new bride, building the house with his own two hands.
The design of it was atypical of this part of the world, but its high ceilings, wide doorways and tiled floors were nevertheless cool and airy, even on the most intemperate summer day. The tiles continued outside onto a spacious front courtyard, more akin to a Roman piazza than an Australian patio, bounded by tall hedgerows of native Lilli-Pilli and smaller-statured Japanese Box. Exotically pruned topiary plants and standard roses, with blooms varying from pale pink to bright scarlet, added a touch of the dramatic, but the predominant feature of the courtyard was a monolithic fountain, complete with sculptured, toga-clad maidens. Bearing tall, glazed urns, they poured endless streams of water into a circular pool, large enough for a family of four to bathe in.
‘Flavia’s Folly’ was the name Heather’s mother had christened the fountain, or if she was feeling less charitable, ‘that concrete monstrosity’, but never within hearing of her husband’s elderly grandmother, whose inspiration the fountain had been. For a homesick, culture-shocked young woman, this small piece of Italy had been a panacea, a fragrant Mediterranean breeze blowing away the malignant odours of an uncivilized land. For an hour each evening, she sat within its shady confines, listening to the soothing tinkle of trickling water, saying the rosary and searching for some semblance of contentment.
The soothing tinkle of trickling water now gave way to childish voices raised in excited anticipation. The sun-bronzed trio ran the last few metres into the yard, dropping their bikes carelessly beside the fountain and impatiently pulling off their shoes and socks. Laughing and shouting, they climbed into the concrete pool and splashed and cavorted with gleeful abandon. Her earlier indisposition seemingly forgotten, Heather played as energetically as the other two.
Taffy, Heather’s West Highland Terrier, ran disapproving circles around the base of the fountain, yapping incessantly at the frolicking children. Jack kicked up a spray of water in an attempt to silence the little dog, but it had the opposite effect.
Jack paused suddenly, his nose twitching like that of a hound-dog catching the scent of blood in the air. “Can you smell that?” he demanded. Curious, the girls sniffed the breeze, which had just that minute changed direction, and smelled it; the delicious aroma of baked goods, fresh out of the oven. Exchanging a brief ravenous look, they leapt out of the pool amidst a flurry of icy droplets.
Their predicament was clear as soon as they stepped, dripping wet, onto the back verandah. Heather squeezed the end of her ponytail and water puddled on the smooth tiles at her feet. There was no way her mother was going to allow them inside the house, sodden as they were. Jack’s stomach growled loudly in response to the tantalizing aroma wafting through the screen door. The girls burst out laughing and Jack turned bright red with embarrassment.
“So I’m hungry!” he retorted, daring them to make something of it. His stomach gave another loud rumble, just as the screen door opened and Heather’s mother stepped outside.
“Of course you’re hungry, Jack,” sympathised Rosa Colacino with a kindly smile. “
You’re a growing boy! You can’t help it if your stomach insists on letting everyone know about it.”
Jack poked his tongue out at the girls, but they just looked down their noses at him, as if he was beneath their notice.
Affecting not to notice the silent interaction between the three youngsters, Rosa wiped her hands on her apron. “I was going to suggest you come inside for a bite of afternoon tea,” she remarked, running a disapproving eye over their dripping clothes. “But as it’s such a lovely afternoon, perhaps you'd like to have it out in the garden instead,” she finished with a smile.
“Thanks, Mum,” said Heather gratefully, a sentiment whole-heartedly echoed by the other two.
“After all, I can’t have Jack going home and telling his mother I didn’t feed him – and him a growing boy! Off you go now and sit in the sun. By the time you’ve finished eating you’ll be nice and dry and Nona need never know you’ve been cavorting in her fountain again.”
Twenty minutes later, their stomachs full of warm apple-cinnamon cake and ice-cold milk, the trio were dry enough to be allowed inside. Jack and Heather flew straight up the stairs to Heather’s bedroom.
Lingering in the kitchen, Kate wandered across to where an elderly woman sat at a long kitchen table, shelling peas into a bowl. Her grey hair was fastened in a neat bun with the help of a pair of elegant silver combs. She wore a navy skirt and a hand-knitted twin-set, despite the heat of the day. A silver crucifix hung from a chain around her neck.
Flavia, Heather’s great-grandmother – or Nona, as she was known universally – gave Kate a warm smile and greeted her in Roman-accented Italian. “So the three musketeers have returned from their adventures! What have you been up to on this beautiful day, Kate?”
Kate bent over and gave the old lady a kiss on her wrinkled cheek, then took a seat at the table beside her. Picking up a pea pod, she split it open with deft fingers. “We were fishing down at the creek, but didn't catch anything,” Kate replied easily in the same language. Not only did she speak fluent Italian and Romanian, she was learning French from Mrs Ballesteros at school and teaching herself Spanish from a library book. Languages came easily to her. She scraped the peas into the bowl and picked up another pod.