Stone Castles

by Trish Morey

  She gritted her teeth against an ill-timed pang of lust. Luke had awakened something in her today, a desire she associated with her past. A desire she’d always attributed to youth and an excess of hormones. But she was a grown woman now. Things should be different. Things usually were different. Back in New York she might have sex as little once a month, and that was enough to keep any untoward urges at bay, but she’d made love to this man twice today and was already thinking about ripping off that T-shirt and jeans and getting tangled up on the floor. Or the table.

  Both ideas appealed.

  She squirmed on her chair and reached for a potato gem. What the hell was wrong with her?

  She nibbled at the gem and hauled her mind back into line as she looked down at her list.

  Focus!

  Deep breath. ‘I don’t have that much to report. According to the phone book, there are no Armisteads on the Yorke Peninsula at all,’ she said, ‘although they could have private numbers or mobiles, of course. And a check of the White Pages reveals ten C Armisteads spread around the rest of the country, only two in South Australia, but when I called them – those that did answer – well, not one of them is called Colin or knows anyone called Colin.’

  She took a breath and finished off the gem, brushing her hands and reaching for her beer to wash it down. ‘And before I called every other Armistead in the phone book, I checked Facebook and didn’t get much further than a bunch of American teens with biceps and tatts. So, after a lot of dead ends, I’m wondering if this Colin has a social media presence at all. Maybe I’d be better just getting back on the phone.’ She looked across at Luke, all freshly washed with a two-day growth of stubble on his jaw and a white T-shirt that hugged his biceps, and figured the bowl of gems in the centre of table was the lesser of two evils. She helped herself to another one.

  ‘Yeah, well, we’re talking someone who’s thirty years older than when he wrote that note, and we don’t know how old he was then.’

  ‘He couldn’t be that old. Surely Mum wouldn’t have done it with someone . . .’ She shivered and stuck out her tongue. ‘Ugh.’

  ‘Well, that’s assuming our Colin Armistead is the one. What young bloke would have a handy five grand hanging around back then? Besides, look at the language he used.’ He picked up the note from the table. ‘“Appreciate your discretion.” It doesn’t sound like a kid who’s just got someone’s daughter banged up.’ He looked up. ‘Sorry, that sounded a bit rough.’

  But Pip nodded, daunted by the size of the task and the sheer number of unknowns. Having a name had seemed like an answer but all it did was raise more questions. ‘No, you’re right. Maybe Colin was his father?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been wondering the same thing.’ He looked down at his laptop. ‘Anyway, so here’s what I’ve got. Google tells me there’s a Colin A Armistead JP in Newcastle, a footballer aged twenty-eight in the UK who I think we can safely rule out, and I found a death notice for a Colin Armistead from 1997 somewhere in Perth.’

  Pip blinked. ‘That could be him. He could be dead by now, right?’

  Luke shrugged, but the frown tugging his brows together told her he wasn’t half as casual about the prospect. ‘Yeah, he could,’ he said, reaching for a couple of gems, flicking one to the waiting Turbo at his feet. ‘I think the JP in Newcastle might be worth following up on.’

  Pip glanced at her watch. It would be after seven in New South Wales by now but tomorrow afternoon was the funeral and she was running out of time. ‘I might try calling tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Do you really want to be doing that on the day of the funeral?’

  ‘I can’t leave it any later – not when I’m leaving in two days.’

  She reached over and picked up another potato gem, crisp and golden in her fingers. ‘I’ll be up for excess baggage if I keep eating my way through these babies.’

  She crunched into it. Oh god, she was going to pay for this. ‘I never realised how much I missed these.’

  He shrugged. ‘Nobody’s making you go back.’

  She stopped crunching and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Maybe this sex thing had been a mistake after all. Maybe he was getting the wrong idea. ‘My job is making me go back. My life is in New York now. I like it that way.’

  He held up one hand. ‘Hey, don’t be so sensitive. It was a throwaway line. I’m not on some kind of mission to bring you back. Believe it or not, we all get by perfectly well when you’re not around.’

  She blinked and took a deep breath. So okay, maybe she’d overreacted. ‘Good to know,’ she said, even though his words had stung. Had she really needed to hear they coped so brilliantly without her?

  Well, she’d get on fine too, just as soon as she was back in New York.

  ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘There’s probably not a whole lot more we can do tonight, and I’ve still got to finish off my words for the service tomorrow.’

  ‘Already? I thought we had a deal.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dinner and sex.’ He glanced at the bowl. ‘Admittedly the dinner’s been a bit of a let-down, but I’m hoping to make up for that in the sex department.’

  She smiled warily, her overreaction having taken the edge off her earlier surge of lust. ‘You know, this is probably a mistake.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, with his own smile that warmed her all the way to her toes. ‘But they reckon you learn from your mistakes, so I’m figuring it can’t be all bad.’ He cocked an eyebrow as he leaned over, snaking an arm around her neck and drawing her closer. ‘Want to teach me a lesson or two?’

  ‘Well, if you put it like that.’

  ‘I’ll put it any way you want.’

  ‘Now you’re just bragging.’

  And he smiled and pulled her mouth against his. ‘Yep.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘You were back late last night.’

  Pip had let herself into the house the next morning and was sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and working a list of phone numbers, crossing off those she’d already called, when Tracey walked in, still wearing her dressing gown.

  ‘Was I?’ she answered innocently, and then frowned when she noticed how bleary-eyed her friend looked. ‘What happened to you?’

  Tracey stood by the sink with the kettle in one hand and a tap in the other, her head on her chest, rolling it to left and right. ‘Chloe’s teething. We had a rough night. Which is why I was up at two o’clock and noticed your car still wasn’t back.’ She put some water in the kettle and snapped it on.

  ‘How’s Chloe now?’

  ‘Sleeping like a baby, of course. Not a care in the world.’ She turned around and arched an eyebrow. ‘So, how was dinner?’

  ‘I’ve had better.’

  ‘Shame. So I guess you had to talk about how disappointing it was until two in the morning, huh? That makes sense.’

  Pip smiled. ‘Trace, after we spoke, Luke found something hidden under the Singer. Stuck to the bottom of a drawer.’

  ‘Really? Show me.’

  She pushed the note across the table and Tracey picked it up, her eyes opening wide as she read.

  ‘There was a bankbook too, in Mum’s name, where the money got deposited. Looks like she used it for expenses over the next few years.’

  Tracey looked up. ‘Oh my god. Do you think this Colin Armistead could be your real dad?’

  Pip frowned. ‘I don’t know. Luke think he sounds too old. Maybe it was his son.’

  Her friend shook her head and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone from around these parts with that name.’

  ‘That’s what Luke said. I couldn’t find any in the local phonebook, and so far I’ve checked every C Armistead in Australia apart from one I was about to call. I’m going to work my way through the rest of the Armisteads this morning.’

>   ‘How many are there?’

  She grimaced. ‘Only about ninety.’

  ‘You want a hand?’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Hey girlfriend, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re heading back to the States the day after tomorrow. If you want to track this guy down before you get on that plane, we’d better get started.’

  ‘You are the best.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I was imagining you doing the dirty with Luke all night.’ She looked over, clearly expecting Pip to share the joke, but she was keeping her lips shut and her face blank. ‘You DID do the dirty with Luke! Priscilla Martin, I am shocked!’

  ‘Hey, I never admitted anything.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face.’ She shook her head. ‘I should have known by that glimmer in your eyes! So are you two back together again? How is that going to work? Oh my god,’ she said, looking around for the portable. ‘Where’s the phone? I’ve got to tell Fi. She’ll be so excited.’

  ‘Tracey,’ she said, reaching her hand across the table to latch onto her friend’s arm. ‘For god’s sake, don’t tell Fi! We are not “back together” or anything, and if there is any glimmer in my eyes it’s about finding a clue about who I am.’

  ‘But you and Luke made love, right?’

  ‘We had sex, it’s a bit different.’

  ‘How do you do that?’ said Tracey throwing her hands into the air. ‘Call it sex, like it’s nothing more than taking an aspirin? I don’t get that.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s just a physical urge. So you fix it. Like taking an aspirin.’

  ‘But this is Luke and he is not just some random guy.’

  ‘It’s lust, Trace. It’s just a physical urge. We all need to get off somehow.’

  ‘But Luke? You have history with him.’

  ‘Trace, you yourself said I was leaving in two days. Nothing’s going to change that.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Nothing is going to change that. Now, do you want to help me make some calls?’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Pip had promised herself that she was done with tears, that she wouldn’t cry again, and that Gran was in a better place, but it was hard.

  It seemed like half the population of the Yorke Peninsula had turned out to farewell Violet Cooper. The funeral parlour chapel was standing room only, and there was still ten minutes to go before the service started. Shelving running around the walls heaved with flowers, bright and beautiful, and the coffin at the front was piled with more. There were so many flowers that the air was sweetly scented with them. Pip gave a wistful smile. Gran would have loved it.

  Everyone there, it seemed, wanted the chance to pass on an anecdote or to tell her how much Violet had meant to them. So many people with so many beautiful stories to share. So many people whose lives Gran had touched in one way or another.

  With the backdrop of ‘Abide With Me’ playing softly on a loop, it was almost overwhelming.

  Molly Kernahan was there with a number of staff from the nursing home, and even some of the residents, those who could manage with their walkers or in wheelchairs. She wrapped Pip up in one of her signature hugs and Pip felt the love the woman had for her gran right there.

  There was a group of women who’d served alongside Gran in the local Country Women’s Association for many long years, creating magic out of toilet rolls and kewpie dolls and raffia, or baking trays and trays of scones and fairy cakes to raise funds for worthy causes.

  Even Luke’s old English teacher from high school was there. ‘I’m so sorry about your gran, dear,’ said Jean Cutting, holding her hand in between her bony and surprisingly strong fingers. ‘But we’re all so proud of you. Have you seen much of Luke at all since you’ve been back?’

  ‘I do believe he’s coming today,’ she said, evading the question, and Jean Cutting looked pleased with herself until Adam arrived and wrapped an arm around Pip’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek like they were best friends.

  I really did give him the wrong idea, Pip thought with a stab of guilt as he introduced her to his mother, who worked at the nursing home too. She listened while Betty Rogers told her about Violet’s favourite dessert of crushed up shortbread in custard – how she’d made it specially for her towards the end, when she’d lost interest in just about everything else.

  So much love. It was humbling to know how well loved her gran had been, even though she’d been gone, for all intents and purposes, for years.

  And yet despite all the love in the room, Pip still felt nervy and on edge. Not because she had to deliver the eulogy. But because the one person she’d been looking for wasn’t here.

  Surely Luke wouldn’t let her down today?

  Sally Buxton rushed in and gave Pip a hug. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m late. How are you, sweetie?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’ She would have let the other woman get seated but then she remembered. ‘Did Tracey tell you I had a lead about my father?’

  Sally blinked. ‘Er, no. No, she didn’t. Did you get a name?’

  ‘Yes. No. Well, we’re not sure. But it looks like someone paid Mum off before she married my dad.’

  Her eyes opened wide and then kind of vagued out, looking into the middle distance. ‘Really.’

  ‘And we found a bank book – it looks like someone paid Mum and Gran off to keep quiet about me. So it’s exciting. I might even find out while I’m here.’

  And Sally smiled thinly as Sam Riordan joined them then to pay his respects, the farmer her father had share-farmed with and who she hadn’t seen for years. A widower now, apparently, he was a big burly man with a deep voice and a grip like steel, and he pumped her arm like he was hoping to draw water. ‘Good to see you again, Pipsqueak,’ he said, calling her by the childhood nickname Gerald used to call her – a name she’d long forgotten.

  She smiled widely, warmed at the memory. ‘Thanks for coming, Sam.’

  ‘G’day Sally,’ he said to the woman standing next to Pip, like he’d only just noticed her.

  Sally nodded and blinked.

  ‘I actually thought I might see you at the CFS Christmas do the other night.’

  And Pip felt slightly superfluous when the older woman shook her head and Sam and Sally continued as if she wasn’t there. ‘I was too busy.’

  ‘Ah well, always next time. How about we grab a seat while there’s still a couple left?’

  And then the funeral director indicated it was time, and Sally sat in the seat Tracey had saved next to Chloe’s pram, and Sam squeezed into the seat she’d half planned would go to Luke. Pip took a seat between Tracey and Fi in the front row.

  And then the music stopped and the funeral service began.

  A few minutes later it was her turn at the lectern. Pip was about to begin the eulogy when a movement caught her eye and she glanced up to see Luke threading his way through the people crowded along the back wall. Their eyes connected and he smiled and her heart gave a little flip. With relief, she told herself, because he had made it.

  Nothing more than relief.

  And she took a deep breath and began. ‘Violet Eliza May Cooper. Aged ninety years and seven months, four days. Today is truly the end of an era.’

  She took them through Gran’s life: daughter of a miner who’d married a farmer when the economy of the Yorke Peninsula was moving so rapidly from copper to grain, a woman who’d suffered six miscarriages before bearing her husband their one child, only to lose her husband way too early and then her only daughter, her son-in-law and her grandson.

  Her voice broke on the word grandson.

  Because it hadn’t only been Gran’s daughter and son-in-law and grandson.

  It had been her mum and dad and little brother.

  Damn. She paused and looked up at the c
eiling and reminded herself to take a sip of water. Across the rim of her glass, across the room, she saw Luke’s creased brow, his lips hitched to one side, but she saw also his nod, willing her on and she felt his encouragement infuse her as she breathed in and found the strength to carry on.

  It had been a hard life for Violet, she continued. A tough life filled with more grief than any one person should bear. But Gran had stoically taken it in her stride as people did in those days because that’s the type of person she was raised to be and that’s how people were made out here.

  But it had been a rich life too. A life filled with love, despite the tragedies that had befallen her.

  Because of the friends she had in the community and the activities she’d undertaken.

  Pip talked about how blessed she was to be her granddaughter – how Gran had taught her to cook fairy cakes on a wood stove and how, as a young child, she’d watched her make butter from cream she’d separated from milk straight from the cow she’d milked herself, the way she’d always done.

  And how her gran had taught her to sew first a straight line and then create something beautiful on a treadle sewing machine that her mum before her – her great grandmother – had bought in the nineteen-twenties when Gran was just a baby herself.

  Finally she talked about her disease, and how unfair it was that Gran had spent the last years of her life never recognising a familiar face. After the life she’d led, she had deserved better, but thankfully she’d been surrounded by love and caring support for as long as she’d needed.

  She misted up about then, but somehow managed to finish by saying how lucky they had all been to know Violet. Then she retook her place between Fi and Tracey and they squeezed her hands and Trace whispered, ‘Not a dry eye in the house.’ And Pip had to take her friend’s word for it, because she’d been too blinded with tears for the last few minutes to see anything further than her notes.

  There was tea and biscuits after the service and another hour flashed by in a whirl of conversation and condolences before the cortege moved off to the cemetery.