‘Mum,’ she mouthed. No sound. No answer.
Another scattering of stones, rocks. She was by a waterfall now, aged about 10, her hands caressing the smooth river stones. That gushing water. So thirsty. Nina shook herself and clung more tightly to the cave wall. Back at the river. There were birds too, high up in the tall trees. She craned her neck to look up – up there. Fresh air. They were calling her again. So loud.
Now she could sense Hilary moving, stumbling.
‘Nina!’
Her eyes opened wide.
‘Nina!’
Even with the echoes and distortions in the upper cave she knew his voice.
‘Here, here!’ she croaked.
Beside her in the darkness she could hear Hilary throwing rocks, making a racket.
Then, miraculously, in the pale grey patch above them, came the outline of a head.
‘It’s me,’ he shouted. ‘Wait!’ After a few seconds, a torch beam dazzled down. After so long in the dark, the brightness was agonising.
‘Oh my god, oh my god.’ His voice was broken. ‘I’m coming down.’
The rope appeared briefly as he threw it over the edge and was rapidly swallowed by the darkness. Hilary sat beside her and took her hand. Her mother’s whole body was trembling with silent sobs, but Nina felt strangely calm.
‘I knew he would come,’ the words repeated and repeated in her head as the pair watched his silhouette move over the lip of rock.
Seconds later, she felt his arms go around her, lifting her upper body onto his lap. His familiar scent enveloped her. As more shouts and Syd’s incessant bark rained down from above, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked urgently.
‘I am now,’ she whispered in reply.
CHAPTER 32
Nina’s paintings sang from the huge white walls. Spotlights hung along metallic frames below the ceiling’s exposed beams, gleaming on the polished concrete and glass surfaces.
Gallery owner Phoebe Mitchell strode through the applause to the microphone. ‘Thank you for that inspiring introduction, Possum. We’re thrilled to have you here tonight. And now to the woman of the moment – and the 30th birthday girl – Nina Larkin.’
The room erupted as Nina stepped forward, a grin almost split ting her face. She still loved Sydney, its pace and glamour, and here she was, at her exhibition opening at one of Paddington’s smartest galleries. Ninety guests and media sparkled in front of her. Her collection seemed to have wowed them. Already, eight canvasses had small red stickers in the corner.
‘… And finally, thank you, Heath, my husband of a whole 10 hours!’
On cue, Izzy showered her with pink rose petals. Gasps and squeals filled the room, followed by applause and whistles.
‘What? When?’ exclaimed Moira, as she shouldered her way through the throng, though Nina could barely hear her over the excitement.
‘This morning. We eloped!’ Nina had to shout.
‘How?’ Moira’s face was astonished.
‘Fort Denison with Ben and Izzy as witnesses. And Mum gave me away,’ said Nina as Hilary joined them.
‘Seems like no matter how many times I try to give her away she comes back.’ Her mother smiled wryly.
They all laughed. ‘Good one, Hils,’ said Moira, slapping her on the back.
Tears stung Nina’s eyes as her mother hugged her. She would never have believed they could be this close. She would not be here – a wife, a mother and a celebrated artist – if not for her care during those dark hours. Hilary touched her cheek and kissed it.
Soon, Nina and Heath were carried away with a hundred other hugs and questions from well-wishers. Kathryn and Mac swooped on Heath, while Nina felt a gentle pull on her sleeve.
‘Well, what do you know – another Larkin stirring the pot.’ Harrison Grey, her father’s old flame, hadn’t changed a bit since he and Terence had moved from Wandalla to the coast. ‘And these paintings … Jim would have been proud. Julia too.’
Nina took his hand.
‘We’ve already baggsed “Waterhole IV”,’ continued Harrison.
‘Phoebe Mitchell said she wants to take the show to her Melbourne gallery,’ Nina told them.
‘Phenomenal.’ Harrison’s blue eyes danced and the lines around them crinkled as he tightened his grip. He might have stood right in the middle of Jim and Julia’s marriage but he had always been like an uncle to Nina.
Her mind raced to another man who at one time she had hoped might play that same role, but she banished all thoughts of her cousin and the havoc he’d brought.
Harrison grabbed three champagnes from a passing tray and offered her one. ‘Oh, and I like the baby’s name,’ he added.
‘Thought you might!’ Nina smiled and glanced over to Hilary who was now parading around with James, just over three months old. There was no shortage tonight of willing holders, cooers, changers and jigglers for Nina’s baby boy.
‘James Barnaby Blackett – just about wraps the whole story up, I’d say,’ said Terence.
‘Maggie,’ Nina called, when she saw Maggie Mainwaring, whose sketch of Lachlan had started it all. ‘Over here. I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘Oh, there you are, dear.’ Maggie seem disoriented. ‘The kind lady from the restaurant up the road brought me down here. I spent half an hour in there and I’ve got to say, they’ve got some good stuff on their walls.’ She turned and scanned the exhibition, then continued: ‘Lovely. Last time I saw your work hanging in Sydney was the Flynn Prize exhibition. I met that chap that looked so like your father. Did I ever tell you about him?’
Maggie headed off to inspect the paintings. Harrison caught Nina’s eye and raised his brows but she had no words.
When she had finished yet another media interview, Nina slumped next to her old art-school friends, who had taken over a corner, devouring canapés and drinking bubbly. Olivia was in the process of sliding a plate of sushi into a plastic container in her evening bag while Dom, Martin and Lin covered for her, laughing.
‘Old habits die hard, eh?’ she called across the babble.
‘Way to go, Mrs Blackett. So proud of you,’ said Olivia, leaning over from the next low chair. ‘After everything you’ve been through. I’m in awe.’ Olivia’s voice threatened to break. The two held hands and sat in silence.
Despite the cool night, Olivia wore little more than a black leather corset with leggings in the same mauve hue as her partly-shaved hair. Steel-cap boots completed the effect.
‘I like Ben’s new girl,’ said Olivia, pointing across the room to where Izzy and her parents stood. ‘You should start charging him for introductions – you’d make a fortune.’
‘Better go and say hi,’ said Nina, jumping up. ‘See you all at the after-party.’
‘Nina, I’d like you to meet my mum, Tulip, and this is my dad, Joe,’ said Izzy, as she joined them.
‘Stop right there,’ said Tulip, holding up her bangled arms dramatically, making the wings of her batik kaftan flap.
‘Your aura is exactly the same colour as the sky in that painting behind you,’ she continued. Nina suppressed a laugh. ‘No wonder – you’ve been such a good influence. Izzy has the right man in her life for once, and she and I are actually talking.’
‘I’m still trying to shut her up,’ interjected Izzy.
‘Never known Izzy to be so happy,’ added Joe, stroking his unruly beard with one hand and putting his other arm around his daughter. ‘Happy birthday, Nina, and congrats on getting hitched without all the frills and fuss too. That’s the way to go about it, I reckon.’
‘Well, we knew everyone we loved would be together tonight, so it made sense to share the celebrations,’ explained Nina.
‘It was really special being there with you and Heath this morning, Nina,’ said Izzy. ‘Thanks.’
‘Of course you had to be there!’ said Nina.
Izzy grinned. ‘And guess what? I’ve just been talking to Millicent Campb
ell and she’s putting me in charge of bookkeeping for the whole Campbell empire. The money’s great.’
Nina smiled. The Springs had become a real family home again since Izzy and Ben had moved in there.
‘Here’s your mummy, Baby Barkin’.’ It was Moira, with James at her shoulder, his open mouth sweeping the air like a young bird’s. His whimpers increased in volume once he saw Nina.
‘Don’t call him that, Auntie Moira,’ laughed Nina.
‘Oh, gorgeous boy.’ Tulip stroked James’s face, but he only had eyes for his mother. The Rainbow family made their farewells.
Nina removed her silk jacket and sank back down into the armchair, releasing her bursting breast from her lace-up maxi dress. She took James who homed in, latched on and closed his eyes. Nina relaxed into the moment.
‘I can’t tell you what it feels like looking at you right now, Nina,’ said Moira. ‘When I think of those hours we waited by your hospital bed.’
‘I don’t remember much. But I do remember that every time I woke up, one of you was always there.’
‘Always will be, love.’
‘Look at that Phoebe Mitchell! What’s she wearing? A yeti?’ It was Hilary. ‘And this sushi – so 2011. You’d think she would have splashed out a bit.’
‘She should have got me to cater,’ said Moira.
‘I wish I’d thought of that – how’s the café going?’ Nina asked.
‘Great guns, thanks to your mum. Jayden’s just got his barista certificate. And Chey’s finally starting her business course, so it’s all happening,’
‘Who? Mum? How?’ Nina asked.
‘Come on, Moira,’ Hilary blustered, brushing the question aside. ‘Let’s go see Deborah’s girls. Bonny and Mo can never get enough of you.’
‘Yeah, we’ll give Deborah and Matty a break,’ Moira agreed, looking over at the couple, who were flat out containing the toddlers who seemed intent on finger-painting the walls with soy sauce.
While her baby fed, Nina took in the scene around her. Possum and Shona wandered around the gallery with Roy and Alfie – his first visit to the big smoke. Occasionally they stopped to discuss one of Nina’s pieces.
Ben wheeled up next to her. ‘Hi, diva.’
‘Hey, less of that. I’m your big sister now.’
‘I’m shaking in my boots.’
Nina laughed. ‘You know, I got a good-luck call from Janet, just before the opening,’ she continued. ‘We haven’t spoken since she visited me in hospital.’
‘And …’
‘She’s alright but I don’t think she’ll ever get over losing Lachlan, or come to terms with what he did. Apparently Steph and the boys have moved up to be near her.’
Heath approached across the room, his tall, lean figure exuding a quiet authority, even in this unfamiliar setting. ‘Well done, you,’ he said as he reached them.
The three clinked glasses and smiled.
‘Hey, Ben.’ It was Izzy. ‘Let’s do one more round, so we can say we knew Nina Larkin when you could almost afford one of her paintings.’ The pair headed off and Heath took the seat next to Nina and James.
In the low light of the corner, Heath kissed his son’s brow and lay his head on Nina’s shoulder.
Nina’s footsteps echoed through the empty gallery as she felt for the bank of light switches. There was a flicker as one by one the beams lit up the canvasses on the walls, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted. There it was. James’s shawl, under the chair where she had fed him.
She hurried over and picked it up. She didn’t want to keep Heath waiting in the car.
Her eyes swept the gallery. A last check for discarded belongings, anything out of place.
Nothing.
As her hand reached for the switches again, she turned to face her paintings for the last time. Had she really created all of these? She watched as with a click each one disappeared into darkness until there was just one left in a pool of light.
It was the portrait of her father at Durham’s fountain, the one she had spent months trying to perfect when she had first arrived at The Springs – a lifetime ago.
Nina walked towards it and looked up at the face. That expression. Sometimes puzzled, sometimes aggrieved, sometimes amused – forever shifting. How many times had she tried to capture this man, who had lit the way ahead for her, and yet almost simultaneously blocked it. At one point she’d even given up, and with a smudge of paint had turned him away from the viewer, only to finally bring him back around.
But he remained as elusive as always.
All that angst, when she now knew that whatever she chose to see on that face was usually just a projection of her own feelings.
She stood back a little.
So, how are we today, Dad?
She smiled as she registered something she had never seen on that face before.
Peace.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to those individuals who fact-checked and advised us in all areas from historical accuracy, to mathematics, cultural and geographic matters and all things rural: Brian Davey, Gillian Fraser, David Green, Ron James, Alinta McGinness, Brad Manera, Jaffa St Vincent Welch, Lawrence Shearer, Pookie & Richard Webb and Richard Welch.
Also to our sounding boards Tony Falkner, David Green, Dan Hassall and Nick Torrens.
To our test-readers who were generous with their time and feedback. We’d be lost without you. Thanks Gillian Cahill, Louise Lathouwers, Alinta McGinness, Jenny Marchionni and Lawrence Shearer.
To Beverley Cousins, our publisher at Penguin Random House, for her continued guidance – thank you. And also to our editor, Patrick Mangan.
Finally, a huge thanks to our families for their constant support and belief in Alice.
The Shifting Light is the work of four friends and members of a Sydney book club, writing under the collective pseudonym Alice Campion.
Jenny Crocker is a communications manager who uses her work to create positive change in the world. She has been a journalist and non-fiction author and likes to escape to her small hazelnut farm in Northern NSW.
Jane Richards is a senior editor and journalist at Fairfax Media. She loves mysteries and secrets.
Jane St Vincent Welch spent her childhood on a rural property in the New England region of NSW. She now works in Sydney as a documentary editor.
Denise Tart is a civil celebrant with a background in performance, comedy scriptwriting and event management. She loves a good yarn.
The first Alice Campion novel, The Painted Sky, was co-written with Madeline Oliver and published in 2015. ‘Fifth Alice’ Madeline left the group before The Shifting Light was written.
Q&A
WITH ALICE CAMPION
Warning: These answers contain spoilers, so we recommend reading them after you finish the book.
Who is Alice Campion?
Alice Campion is a pseudonym for four friends and fellow book club members – Jenny Crocker, Jane Richards, Jane St Vincent Welch and Denise Tart – from Sydney’s inner west. This is our second collaboration. More than six years ago on a book club weekend away five of us decided to have a stab at writing a novel. The result, The Painted Sky, went on to be published in 2015 by Penguin Random House in Australia and Ullstein in Germany. Since then – well, read on to find out what Alice has been up to – a lot has happened!
What inspired Alice to write a sequel?
Alice’s readers kept asking us for a sequel because they wanted to find out what happened to our characters. And, given those characters had been our companions for so long, we missed them! What stumped us was the question – what happens after ‘happily ever after’? Without a strong enough idea, we turned our hands to a couple of other projects which were going along quite well, until … One night over a few drinks we discussed some possible sequel ideas and an intriguing one jumped out. What would happen if a sketchbook landed on Nina’s lap? A sketchbook containing an image of her long-dead father painted just weeks before. Once this idea to
ok hold we got excited – we wanted to know what would happen – and we could not NOT write this story. And so a sequel, The Shifting Light, was born.
How did Alice Campion do it?
From publishers, to reviewers and readers, people have consistently been amazed that The Painted Sky was written by more than one person. We were able to achieve this ‘single voice’ through a process where we divided our overall story into a series of scenes. We would then each take one of these away to write and later these scenes were added to and reworked by the others.
We wrote the first book at our leisure and took three and a half years to finish it. But with The Shifting Light, things were different – we had a publisher and a deadline! Given we all work and have families, we had to develop a strict schedule of meetings – at least twice a week – where we would review, edit and plot. Our time had to be used wisely.
Luckily, by now, we all had a clear sense of ‘Alice’s voice’ and those of our returning characters, so there was nowhere near the amount of rewriting required. We also had a better understanding of our individual strengths and were more robust in ensuring we submitted quality work from the first draft onwards. This meant we could devote more time to tightening the text, building the tension and ensuring our prose sang. What helped was our clear goal: to produce a page-turning novel with characters that would stay with our readers.
What are the main themes of The Shifting Light?
In The Painted Sky we really wanted to present a modern view of life in the outback. People there have the same fears, hopes and dreams as people anywhere and face many similar challenges, yet they are often portrayed in fiction with limited world views. We revisit these themes to an extent in The Shifting Light. Art is a constant theme through both books. In the first, Nina is just starting to follow in her father’s footsteps as an artist and in the second her challenge is to stop comparing herself to him – to find her own style. This is just one of many parent/child tensions in the book. Hilary, of course, marched into the new story and demanded our attention. She insisted we explore the relationship and the lingering tensions she had with her new-found daughter, Nina. We also look at how Izzy is affected by her mother’s character and life choices.
The Shifting Light Page 34