by Janene Wood
Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. “Is that what you really think? That it's your fault?” It was too dark to see Simon’s face properly, but he could sense his anguish. All this time the guilt must have been tearing him apart and Sam never suspected a thing. He had assumed Si was just broken-hearted, like the rest of them. So that’s what the martyr act is all about.
“Didn’t you hear what the doctor said, you idiot?” Sam berated his brother. “The aneurysm could have ruptured at any time. It was a ticking time-bomb, and it happened to go off when you were being a selfish dickhead. You didn’t cause it, and it’s not your fault Mum died. She would want you to follow your dream!”
Simon exploded suddenly, leaping up off the bed and yelling, “It’s not my fucking dream, okay? Not anymore! I hate it down there! I hate the people, I hate the work, I hate being away from home. Not even the footy makes up for it. My team-mates are arseholes and the coach is a moron. There’s not a decent bloke among them. There! Now you know the truth: I’m a failure! A goddamn waste of space!”
“Shut up!” whispered Sam urgently, “you’re going to wake Jack and Kate. They don’t need to hear any of this!” Sam was rocked by his brother's confession. Simon had always known what he wanted to do with his life, and had trained and studied hard to meet the goals he set himself. This changed everything!
“It’s going to come out sooner or later. I’m not going back,” insisted Simon obstinately.
“Maybe, but they don’t need to deal with it right now, in the middle of the night.” Sam shook his head, amazed by the incredible stubbornness of his elder brother. “You idiot! Why didn’t you say something when you first came home?”
“I was too ashamed. Mum and Frank kept telling me how proud they were and I couldn't stand letting them down.”
Sam nodded, knowing how that felt. He understood Simon’s reluctance to disappoint them. He gave a brittle laugh. “We thought you were acting like a tool because you were suddenly too good for us.”
“Ha! I could barely look anyone in the eye, in case they saw the truth. It was easier to keep to myself. I was going to tell Mum after the party, but I never got the chance.” An agonised expression came over his face. “She died thinking I was an ungrateful shit.”
Sam smiled and there was real laughter in his voice. “Bruv, she didn’t love you any less because of it. You’ve always been an ungrateful shit.”
Simon snorted his amusement. “Gee, thanks bruv, that makes me feel so much better.” He considered for a moment and emitted a wayward sigh. “Actually, I do feel a bit better. Baring your soul is more therapeutic than I would have thought. Maybe I’ll even get some sleep tonight.”
“That's good; you’ll need it. We’re going to have to talk to Holly tomorrow, and she's not going to be happy when we tell her what we're doing. Then we have to get you a job. It’s not gonna be easy.”
“I disagree,” said Simon, almost happily. “The hard part’s already behind us. If we can survive burying Mum and losing Frank, we can survive anything.”
I hope you’re right, bruv, thought Sam, but I wish you hadn’t said it out loud.
Kate struggled to hold onto the dream, but it slipped away from her like smoke through her fingers, so elusive that she could barely remember it, even seconds later. Only the essence remained. She had been dreaming of her mum, just as she’d done every night since Jane died. It had become her nightly ritual: going to bed early and crying herself into a fitful sleep, then slipping into that wonderful, ephemeral, dream-world where her mother was alive and they were all together once more, blissfully carefree. It was certainly preferable to the world she left outside her bedroom door, a world of tears and loneliness and uncertainty. If she could, she would spend most of the long days sleeping and dreaming, yet no matter how frenetically she tired herself out, she still never managed more than three or four hours at a time. It was the first time she had ever envied her brothers their need for a full eight hours of sleep each night.
Annoyed at being woken so disagreeably, she wasn't sure at first what had done so. Then she heard it. Felt it, too, in her own heart, which was linked so intrinsically to her friend’s.
George was crying again.
Except it wasn't just crying, the way you cried if your friends were being mean, or if your mum wouldn't buy you a new pair of shoes for the school dance. It was crying the way Kate cried every night, as if her whole world had shattered and there was no way to put all the tiny pieces back together again.
It was too much for Kate to deal with.
The first time George had cried like this, Kate had tried to be sympathetic, even though she was in the middle of her own earth-shattering crisis and had no patience for anyone else's problems. But when she asked what was wrong, she got no reply and the crying grew even worse. This concerned Kate so much she momentarily forgot about her own pain and begged George to tell her what the matter was, saying there was nothing they couldn't deal with, together. But no matter how much she cajoled or argued or reasoned, George remained immutable.
Kate became angry after that and crawled back into her shell, turning the radio up to drown out the sounds of her friend's despair. That was only half a fix, but she soon found that if she focused her mind really hard on something else, like her writing or a book she was reading, her awareness of George’s pain diminished to almost nothing. Over the past week, she had almost perfected the technique. Whenever her friend cried, Kate simply pushed the sound out of her mind and returned to whatever she was doing.
But apparently it didn't work so well when she was sleeping. Very determinedly, Kate tuned George’s crying out and focused instead on her mother, lying all alone in her coffin in the ground in the middle of the cemetery. The tears started immediately. After a short while she slipped into a fitful sleep and began dreaming again.
Life Goes On
May 1966
For half an hour between three-thirty and four o'clock each weekday afternoon, you couldn't move inside Holly Woodford's general store for all the children yelling and laughing and milling about. Tayo Meunier in particular seemed to have bottomless pockets and plenty of time on his hands, habitually staying long after his friends departed, chewing the fat with Holly until it was almost closing time. Remarkably worldly for one so young, Holly considered his insightful opinions and observations to be at once refreshing and just the tiniest bit disturbing.
They would chat for an hour or so, and then at exactly 5.15pm, Tayo would buy a packet of sweets or chips and be on his way. Occasionally he bought cigarettes as well, swearing black and blue they were for his aunt, though Holly didn’t buy his story for a minute. She knew the smokes and snacks were bought for the express purpose of sharing with Sam McDermott, who was no longer in a position to afford such luxuries. Since Frank Carelli’s disappearance, Sam had taken over the running of the garage, and every last cent, after the bills were paid, went straight into the household kitty.
Today, Tayo lingered even longer than usual, and not just so he could enlighten Holly on the secret motives behind the shire council's controversial decision to allow the development of a huge five-star resort, just a few miles from Fiddlers Creek. Clare O'Malley and her younger sister, Kathleen were hovering indecisively around the ice-cream freezer and consequently, Tayo was dragging his heels.
The O’Malley family owned the Cutter’s Arms, the one and only pub in Fiddlers Creek. They were a large Irish Catholic clan, known for their loud mouths, quick tempers and poor judgment; deficiencies which repeatedly landed them in trouble with the police and their neighbours. The glaring exception was old Bride O’Malley, a tough old bird who ruled the roost with an iron fist, ensuring the rest of the clan didn’t gamble away the roof over their heads or drink themselves into an early grave. That the O’Malleys arrogantly considered themselves better than their neighbours, due to their regular attendance at mass and their children's expensive religious education – conveniently forgetting they only attended at Bride’s
insistence – merely proved what everyone else already knew: that the entire family had been sleeping off a hangover on the day God handed out common sense.
Clare O’Malley was a year younger than Tayo, and pretty in a fragile English rose fashion, a fashion that obviously appealed to the lad, observed Holly, if the vacant look in his eye and the stupid grin on his face was anything to go by. He gravitated toward her without seeming to realise his feet were even moving. Holly shook her head, vastly amused. She had never seen him so besotted. Watching them make awkward conversation made her glad that the days of furtive glances, fumbling first kisses and acting like a brainless dolt to impress a boy were forever behind her. Her Roberto made her happier than she had thought possible, and she was immensely grateful he was in her life.
Leaving the young people to talk and flirt and make eyes at each other, she headed out the back to put the kettle on one last time before closing for the day. While waiting for it to boil, she mused idly on the unlikely prospect of a smart boy like Tayo being attracted to vain, empty-headed Clare O'Malley – although she supposed it wasn't Clare's brains Tayo was interested in. He wouldn't be the first boy to abandon all sense of reason in pursuit of a pretty face. She'd thought his interests lay elsewhere, but what did she know about the fickle nature of a young boy's heart?
Cup of tea and biscuit in hand, she was returning to the front of the store when the suddenly derisive tone of Clare's voice sent an ice-cold tingle up her spine.
“Look, Teddy, it's the weirdo demon-girl everyone's always talking about!”
Holly saw Tayo wince at Clare's use of the diminutive he so despised, but noticed he refrained from telling her so. Such was the power of young love; even Tayo Meunier wasn't immune to its stupefying influence.
“What are you doing here, freakazoid?” demanded Clare. “You've got a nerve showing your face in the same place as respectable people like us! Go back to the crypt where you belong!”
Holly's gaze shifted toward the door, not surprised to see it was young Kate McDermott whom Clare was disparaging. Poor Kate looked mortified at once again being the unwelcome centre of attention. The poor child had already endured more grief than any one person deserved. It broke Holly's heart to see her looking so forlorn, and made her mad as hell. She opened her mouth to tell Clare to pull her head in, but the O'Malley girl spoke first.
“I thought demons were creatures of the night,” taunted Clare, looking smilingly up at Tayo, seeking his approval. “But I guess she's too stupid to know that.”
The look Tayo gave back to Clare was full of contempt. “Kate's no more a demon than you are, Clare, and she's certainly not stupid. “Even an airhead like you should be able to see that.”
Unsurprisingly, Clare didn't like being criticized or insulted, or Tayo taking Kate's side when he was supposed to be interested in her. “Father Peter didn't think so,” she shot back. “Why else would he try to exorcise her? He saw her for what she truly is. Father Peter’s a proper God-fearing man, and she used her evil influence to get him sent away.”
It was clear to Holly the silly girl was repeating old Bride's words verbatim, since she didn't have enough imagination to come up with them herself. Holly moved to Kate's side and placed a protective arm around her waist. “Ignore the silly besom, sweetheart. Everyone knows the O'Malleys have no more sense than that cabbage over there.”
Kate gave Holly a wan smile of gratitude.
Incensed at being likened to a brainless vegetable, Clare sputtered insensibly for several seconds before blurting, “My granny says you're frigid and stuck up and it's your own fault your husband hit you!”
Without batting an eyelid, Holly retorted, “Trust me when I tell you, Clare, no one in this town gives a flying fig what your granny says, least of all me. And you'd be better off thinking first before opening your trap to spout any more of that nonsense,” Holly admonished her. “Now, isn't it time you were off home for your tea?”
Clare was speechless, but only momentarily. “Are you going to let this old cow talk to me like that, Teddy?” she demanded of Tayo.
“Stop being a bitch, Clare,” replied Tayo calmly, “Holly's right. And if you call me Teddy one more time, I'm going to tell your granny, in excruciating detail, what you and Michael McTavish were doing in the bushes behind the pub last Saturday afternoon.”
“You wouldn't!” cried Clare, turning a bright shade of beetroot. Almost immediately, her calculating side reasserted itself. “She'll never believe you,” said Clare smugly. “Granny trusts me.”
“I think your granny's smarter than you give her credit for,” remarked Holly quietly.
That gave Clare pause, but only for a moment. She decided it was time for a tactical retreat. Lifting her chin proudly, she flounced across the floor, her sister trailing behind her with a sly grin on her face. Clare glared at Kate and Holly as she passed by, then turned to address Tayo stiffly before reaching for the door. “I wouldn't bother coming in to work tomorrow, Theodore. Your services are no longer required.”
But Holly had the final word. Before Clare could make good her getaway, she called out to her, “By the way, Clare, it was actually my evil influence that got Father Peter sent away, not Kate's. And you can tell your granny so, with my blessing.”
A bemused silence fell over the shop following the departure of the O'Malley girls as Kate attempted to process the unpleasant exchange of insults and threats that still echoed in her ears. The lull was finally broken by a muted rumbling sound, coming from deep within Tayo's chest. It took Kate a moment to realise it was the sound of suppressed laughter. Frowning, she realised that Holly, too, was trying desperately to hold back a smile.
“That Clare O'Malley sure is a piece of work,” chuckled Holly. “Thick as two bricks, but spunky; I'll give her that.”
“How can you either of you think that was funny?” demanded Kate. “It'll be all over town by tomorrow, and things will start all over again.”
There was no need to ask what “things” were.
Taking a firm hold of Kate's shoulders, Tayo gave her a gentle shake. “Little M, you've got to stop worrying so much what people think of you. You'll never make everyone like you, and most people aren't worth impressing anyway.”
After three years in his adopted country, Tayo still spoke with a strong French accent, though it was tempered here and there with odd little inflections that were distinctly Australian. Today, mused Kate, after the way he had stood up for her so gallantly, it was almost endearing. Not that she completely understood why he had defended her against Clare. Out of some sort of misplaced loyalty to Sam, she supposed. He was still full of himself, but today she was prepared to forgive him almost anything.
“Teddy's right, love,” agreed Holly, shooting Tayo a cheeky smile. “Everyone who matters already accepts you for who you are, and they’ll go on loving you no matter what the O'Malleys of this world think. If folk can't get over their prejudices, then they can bugger off.” Holly was nothing if not blunt. One always knew where one stood with Holly.
But if it was so simple, thought Kate, why did she find it so hard?
“Do you think she meant it, about getting you fired?” Kate asked Tayo worriedly. Tayo worked at the pub before school and on weekends, cleaning up and restocking the bar. In a town where work was hard to come by, he was extremely fortunate to have a job that allowed him to continue going to school and study for his matriculation.
Tayo let out an amused chuckle which Kate found incomprehensible. “Don't worry about me, Little M, my job's safe for as long as I choose to work there. Old Bride knows when she's on a good wicket, and she's not going to let a snip of a girl like Clare tell her what to do.”
Kate hoped he was right. There were plenty of people in town who would kill for his job. But then, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Tayo had charmed Old Bride into believing he was irreplaceable. He had a way with words and wasn't unpleasant to look at. Old ladies liked it when young, attractive men pa
id them attention. “I've always wondered why they hired you to work there when there are so many O'Malley kids who could do the job.”
Tayo snorted derisively. “You’re kidding, right? The O'Malley offspring get off their backsides and work for their allowance? Not bloody likely. They're spoiled rotten; why would they bother?”
Kate shrugged, wondering what it would be like to be given money for no reason at all. She and her brothers had always worked for their pocket money and so valued it all the more.
Glancing down at her mother's slightly-too-big watch, Kate realised it was getting late. She had taken to wearing the watch since...well, since Jane didn't need it any more. It made her feel less alone, as if her mum was still here, watching over her. “I should be going,” she said, unable to keep the melancholy out of her voice.
“Was there something you needed, love?” Holly asked kindly.
Holly's question reminded Kate of the reason she had originally stopped by. “Oh, I almost forgot! I was going to make a cake and surprise the boys, but we don’t have any flour.”
“Plain or self-raising?”
“Plain please, Holly.”
Holly measured two pounds of plain flour into a brown paper bag and wrapped it securely. “That'll be twelve cents, Katy love.”
Kate handed her a twenty-cent piece and received eight cents back in change. Eight whole cents! It was tempting to check out the lolly counter and see what eight cents would buy her, but she knew every cent was important these days and it would be selfish to spend it on herself. Besides, soon there would be cake!
“Thanks, Holly. I'll let you know how the cake turns out.” She turned to say goodbye to Tayo and was surprised to see him standing by the front door waiting for her.
“See you tomorrow, Holly,” called Tayo, giving her a brief wave.
Kate walked out onto the street and placed the bag of flour into the basket of her bicycle. Tayo waited while she turned the bike around and pointed it in the direction of Creek Road, and ultimately, home. Looking up, she was disconcerted to find him watching her. “Are you going to the garage to see Sam?” she asked, guiding the bike along beside her as she began to walk.