‘Dunno.’
‘I’ll have to ask Hilary. It’s strange she hasn’t said anything,’ said Nina.
‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Lachlan asked.
‘You’ll learn.’ Moira shook her head. ‘Hils is not real good at sharing,’ she chuckled.
‘This is great, Auntie Moira,’ said Nina. ‘Nothing escapes you.’
‘Nothing that matters, love.’ Moira whistled and called out. ‘Tea’s up, you lot!’
‘I’d like to welcome Ms Izzy Rainbow to the Scattered Leaves book club,’ said Ben.
Maureen from Walgett, Cassie from Wee Waa and the McPherson sisters from Louth were already on screen when Izzy’s face popped up in the Hangout box.
‘Hi, everyone,’ her voice sounded reedy. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. Calling in from Scone – my tour group’s just gone on a wine-tasting-slash-drinking-binge, so I’m all yours. Thanks for letting me be part of this.’
Ben leaned towards his computer screen.
As he introduced Izzy to each of the other members, he was surprised how glad he was to see her. Even in the unflattering up-light from her computer, her fresh face and bright eyes warmed him somehow.
‘Bob couldn’t make it this time – he’s elbow-deep inseminating,’ said Cassie.
Ben watched the corners of Izzy’s mouth twitch as a brief discussion of cattle anatomy took place.
‘Okay, come on,’ he called at last. ‘Let’s get onto the book.’
Everyone settled into place.
‘This is your pick, isn’t it, Ben?’ said Maureen. She was his favourite, with a humour as dry and sharp as her face. ‘Why don’t you kick us off?’
‘Yep – Gone Girl. Everyone read it?’
A scatter of assents.
‘Right. Well I picked it because I love an unreliable narrator,’ he continued. Was he sounding smart? Impressing her? ‘You don’t know who’s telling the truth.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ said Izzy, holding up her hand. ‘I was always sure who was.’
‘No way,’ exclaimed Ben.
‘Sure, she was no angel. But he never put in any effort. He just took her for granted and she was expected to just give up her life and become this bored housewife when she was only in her 20s …’
‘Yeah, but that doesn’t justify …’
‘What she says about being a good sport,’ air-quoted Izzy. ‘It’s totally spot on. You’re expected to do everything the bloke’s interested in and overlook it when he cheats or ignores you. If you ask for commitment or attention, then you’re a demanding shrew. You can’t win.’
‘Oh, c’mon, Izzy, most blokes aren’t like that.’ Ben was startled at her vehemence.
‘Listen, if you two pups keep snapping at each other, I’m gonna have to get the hose out,’ said Maureen. ‘I thought both the characters took home the prize they deserved.’
‘There wasn’t enough sex,’ offered Cassie.
‘She always says that,’ explained one of the McPhersons.
‘She said it when we read The 120 Days of Sodom,’ chimed in her sister.
‘There’s never enough sex,’ said Cassie flatly.
‘Or enough men. Now, back to the book,’ said Maureen.
Long after the others had logged out and gone back to their lives, Izzy and Ben stayed on line, talking about books that had changed them. For Ben – The Razor’s Edge, Somerset Maugham and Eden’s Lost, Sumner Locke Elliott. And for Izzy – To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf and The Slap, Christos Tsiolkas.
‘Sorry if I came on a bit strong in the discussion, Ben,’ she said at last.
‘Totally fine. That’s what book clubs are about.’
‘Actually, I thought she was just as bad. I think I was just working out a few man issues of my own.’
‘Book club as group therapy, then?’
She laughed. ‘Probably. Anyway, I really enjoyed it. Thanks for asking me.’
They paused.
‘Guess I’d better go to bed,’ said Izzy.
‘Yeah, it’s getting late.’
‘Okay.’
He waited for her to press the hang up button but she didn’t.
‘Hey, before I go,’ she smiled, ‘you never did tell me what you really thought of “So Much Water So Close to Home”. You know, the one about the bastards.’
‘Just the chardy then, love?’ asked the barman.
‘Yes, thanks, Davo,’ said Nina. ‘Actually you’d better make that a schooner of Old as well.’
‘No worries.’ The barman followed her gaze to the Commercial’s glass door where Heath had just arrived.
‘Staying for dins?’ he asked, as he poured the beer. ‘Roast is good tonight, pork with crackling.’
‘Yum,’ Nina replied.
‘Right on cue,’ said Heath, kissing her on the top of the head.
‘Roast pork. I’m starving. What do you reckon?’
Heath nodded.
‘Two, thanks, Davo.’ Even though it was just a counter meal at the Commercial, Nina had been looking forward to this for a week. She’d even worn her new favourite top – navy blue silk with pink polka dots. She’d made Heath promise that from now on they would try to go out for dinner at least once a fortnight.
They needed to talk. She looked at the lines of tiredness around his eyes as he paid for their meals and chatted with Davo. He’d been working too hard.
‘Pretty quiet for a Thursday night,’ Heath said, as he carried their drinks to a corner table. They usually ate outside when they came to the Commercial, but it was too cold tonight, even though there were a couple of outdoor heaters. Nina had loved coming here when she first moved to Wandalla. She would spend long afternoons painting at the edge of the beer garden which backed onto the river. Inside was not quite as atmospheric, with moulded plastic chairs and a jukebox in the corner that still offered the likes of Status Quo. No music was playing at the moment – probably a good thing – and the only sounds were the low murmur of other diners, the odd clink of a glass or the click of a cue on a ball from the pool tables in the adjoining room. Nina nodded to a couple of young families with children enjoying an early dinner and said hello to one of the Campbell girls, who appeared to be on a date.
Nina and Heath sat opposite each other and sipped their drinks.
‘So, I …’ Heath began.
‘I was wondering …’ Nina interrupted.
They both laughed.
‘You first,’ said Nina.
‘Okay.’ Heath took a deep breath. ‘I had a meeting with Trent Campbell from the bank this arvo,’ he said.
You mean a second meeting, thought Nina.
There was a pause as if Heath was waiting for her to say something. He continued. ‘Anyway, the gist is I was hoping to take out a business loan – a small one – just to tide us over with the regeneration project. I got those last few thousand trees for Peg Myers’ place at a great price, but I didn’t want her to pay for the whole lot at once – want to get it established first.’
He took a long drink of beer.
‘I’m going to be spending heaps more time on these properties in the next few months, so I’ll need to hire a couple of people, short-term. Then there’s the avgas, expenses – you know how things add up. Even Trent said there’s no point scrimping at the start of a project, that’s when you need to really invest some good …’
‘Here you go.’ It was Davo bearing two huge plates of food. ‘You both right for drinks?’
‘I’ll have another,’ Nina and Heath replied at once, though this time they didn’t laugh at the timing.
‘Sure, I’ll bring those over. Surprised you went for the pork, Heath. Thought you might’ve turned vego on us or gluten-free with all the greenie stuff you’ve got goin’ on,’ Davo chuckled.
‘Hilarious,’ smiled Heath as Davo headed back to the bar.
‘Where was I?’ he continued. ‘Oh yeah, Trent thought a loan was no problem, if we made it against both Kurrabar and The Springs businesses. I think $
100,000 ought to do it.’
He cleared his throat. ‘That would be $100,000 as an absolute maximum.’
Nina sipped her wine.
‘You’re quiet,’ said Heath finally.
‘Yes,’ said Nina. ‘I was just waiting for you to tell me this was your second meeting with Trent Campbell.’
Davo appeared with the drinks. He looked as if he might be about to make another quip, scanned their faces and thought better of it. He headed back to the bar.
‘Yes, it was actually. How did you know that?’ asked Heath.
‘I heard you and Ben talking when he first got back from Sydney.’
‘Well, you should have said something, asked me about it,’ said Heath, suddenly very interested in his roast pork.
Nina started on her next glass.
‘I just happened to catch him in the street one afternoon,’ said Heath. ‘He was asking about flying lessons for Jayden and we got talking and he told me we’d be much more likely to get approval if we put both businesses up as collateral. Just because the powers that be reckon any new venture can be a bit risky at first. No big deal.’ He started on his vegetables.
Nina put her glass down on the table a little too hard. ‘No big deal? Since when does borrowing $100,000 not become a big deal!’ she said. ‘You should have discussed it with me right from the start. Are we supposed to be a couple or what?’
‘Whoa,’ said Heath, putting down his cutlery. ‘Pot. Kettle. If anyone’s shied away from acting like we’re a real couple it’s you. The only reason I didn’t bring it up straight away is that I knew it’d be too big a step for you. You just can’t commit to anything that might officially tie you to me. Are you ever going to properly move in with me? Are we ever getting married?’
‘Stop it,’ said Nina, gulping her wine, though she knew he had a point. The vision of Heath’s great-aunt Kathryn at dinner at Kurrabar came to her. Her excited expression ebbing into disappointment as it became clear that there would be no engagement announcement.
Nina turned to see a three-year-old at the next table staring at them, her thumb in her mouth. ‘Heath, people are watching,’ she continued. At another table the Campbell girl was gripping her date’s hand and looking at them smugly as if to say: ‘This is true love – a roast dinner and no arguing.’
‘Come on. Your dinner will get cold,’ said Heath, turning back to his meal.
‘I’m suddenly not hungry.’
Heath took a sip of beer. ‘I know what your problem is. It’s not about me talking to Trent without you. Your problem is you don’t want to put The Springs up for collateral at all. Full stop. You don’t believe in my project and you never will.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Nina, but the words rang hollow, even to her own ears.
Heath looked at her.
‘Are you sure they won’t lend you the money without it?’ she asked. Her gaze not meeting his.
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ he said bitterly. ‘Despite how many years the Blacketts have done business with them, they somehow see responsible, sustainable farming as risky. Ha! I’ll tell you what’s risky. Risky is continuing to do things the same way we’ve been doing them for years. Since when did this town become so frightened, so piss-bloody-weak?’ He downed the last of his beer.
‘You don’t understand, Heath,’ sighed Nina. ‘The Springs is the one thing I can really call my own. It’s part of my family history, it’s so tied up with Dad, I can’t risk it. I just …’ Nina felt her eyes start to fill. Heath’s shoulders slumped.
‘That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I’m not family to you. Don’t you believe in me, or my work?’
‘It’s not that, it’s …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Fine. I’ll tell Trent to forget it. I wouldn’t want to risk your precious property,’ he said. ‘I’ll just have to put my plans on hold.’
‘Heath, please …’ said Nina. But he was already standing.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
They had made up, of course.
Nina had apologised and then Heath had said no, he was to blame. She had practically begged him to use The Springs as collateral and he had agreed, but only after stressing they would meet Trent Campbell one more time to see if he could come up with any other solution first.
Things were sorted. So why couldn’t she sleep?
Nina moved quietly out of bed, threw a thick shawl around her shoulders and headed out to the verandah. They would get through this, but tonight she just needed to lose herself and her problems in that big sky, painted with a billion stars.
CHAPTER 12
Snow swirled in soundless eddies, covering Izzy’s tracks almost as soon as she had made them. The stand of pines that screened her parents’ home was stark black against the whiteness. Beyond it, wood smoke was rising from each of the five dwellings that shared this communal site in the Blue Mountains. The scent of smoke and pine resin was so familiar it hurt. For good or bad, this place was home.
Izzy shouldered the stuffed garbage bag and creaked open the gate, her white breath hanging in the air. Friends at the Blackheath Dramatic Society had let her raid their wardrobe for Settlers’ Ball outfits, and many hours of fixing and washing lay ahead of her. Not to mention tracking down that locket.
‘Isobel! First-born!’ Izzy’s father leaned out of the attic window of the mud brick house.
‘Jehoshaphat, Jehoshaphat, let down your beard!’ called Izzy. The facial hair in question had grown a good couple of inches since she had last been here and it now hung in a salt-and-pepper cascade.
‘Come on up. I’m weaving.’
In the lounge room, Izzy dropped her bundle and tossed a log on the fire. The place was much more conventionally furnished than when she had been a child. Flat-pack Swedish furniture had replaced the velveteen beanbags where she’d had her first teenage pash sessions. Sensible white paint covered the gaudy murals of mushrooms and strange winged beasts. But a dream-catcher still hung at the room’s centre from a coloured-glass mobile that caught the afternoon light and scattered a rainbow wash over everything.
Her father sat cross-legged at his loom in the craft studio that had once been her bedroom. He sold his rugs and tapestries at the local market, supplementing Tulip’s three days a week working in a nearby garden centre.
‘Hey, Joe,’ she kissed him on the head. ‘What’s this one all about? Looks a bit hocus-pocus.’ The design incorporated a pentacle in its centre and runic symbols in the top corners.
‘It’s a commission from the Wiccans. They need it before Imbolc apparently, so I have to get cracking. Why are witches always so disorganised?’
‘When’s Mum back? I need to talk to her.’
‘Oh! I forgot to phone you. She got called in to lead a women’s sweat-lodge weekend in Katoomba. Coralie has the flu. And there’s nothing like a sweat lodge to incubate germs. It’s like a primal swamp in there.’ Joe bit off the end of a skein of wool.
Izzy felt a sharp tug of annoyance. She had told her mother she needed to talk about something important. ‘Bummer.’
‘Sorry. Can I help?’
‘That gold locket she used to have. You know, the old oval one with the markings?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Has she still got it?’
‘I think so, but I haven’t seen it for years. Maybe it got sold with the other stuff. Or she could’ve stashed it anywhere, I suppose.’
‘Mind if I turn the place upside down then?’
‘Go for it. What’s this all about anyway?
‘Long story. I’ll tell you later.’ Izzy sank into a rocking chair. Snowflakes pattered on the window, briefly revealing their spidery shapes before slipping away. ‘Have you heard from the girls?’
‘No, not much.’ Joe paused. ‘I was going to ask you the same question.’ He sat silently for a moment and went to speak. Stopped. Then cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Isobel,’ he said finally, long-held regret on his face. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do
more to protect you and the others. That was a bad time.’
Izzy nodded and rocked herself slowly. How often had she and her sisters lain in their bunks in this very room, hoping that tomorrow there would miraculously be bread in the bread bin and milk in the fridge? How often had she opened the front door to find Shorty, with his fox face and nimbus of stale cigarette smell, deliver another plastic sachet of oblivion for her mother? And then those sickening nights when he would back her into a corner of the lounge room, with her mother nodding off by the fire and her father god knows where and …
‘You okay? I know what you need – some of my soup. I dug up some parsnips this morning.’ He unfolded his long skinny legs and got to his feet in the odd way that always reminded her of a concertina opening up.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she smiled. ‘That’d be awesome.’
The stair creaked a familiar tune as he descended.
That locket. She recalled the first time she had seen it in the crumpled palm of Miss Grace Morphett, who lived in a grand, if dilapidated, house down the hill from them. Those same blue-veined hands had always calmed and reassured her, whether they were pulling a knitted owl tea cosy over the pot, or working at a tapestry, or stroking Izzy’s hair as they sat on the sofa by the fire playing ludo.
Miss Morphett had always encouraged Tulip to bring her children along on her gardening visits. But Izzy’s younger sisters had found the old place too spooky and the old-fashioned toys too dull. So while her mother planted and raked outside, the child and the old woman formed a friendship.
Miss Morphett’s stories of her great-grandparents forging their way through the barely-charted land to become amongst the first settlers in the area had captured Izzy’s imagination. It was by her side that Izzy’s yearning for that mysterious place out west – as far as you could travel from Sydney before you hit the desert – was born. She had lingered over photographs of Durham House, the mansion built on the rivers of gold that came from the wool trade. And then another image a few years later when it lay in ruins, only a blackened wall still standing and blocks of stone scattered in the grass.
‘There were no roads then, Isobel, just tracks,’ she remembered the old lady saying. ‘And they had no idea what they would find when they got there. They didn’t even know where “there” was! They just believed that one day they would reach a place that felt like home and there they’d stay.’
The Shifting Light Page 10