by Helene Young
It had been a bit of a culture shock for them when Felicity went south to study nursing. And for her. The rule in Ivy’s house was you finished your homework before dinner and when you sat down at the table you ate until your plate was empty. Then you cleared the table and did the dishes. No negotiations. They didn’t appreciate her laying down the law. Charlie always ended up in the middle. Peacemaker, he was.
Then there was that dreadful tug of war when their parents went their separate ways in a truly awful divorce. Charlie paid over $30 000 fighting that for Ken. Ivy was furious.
‘Do for one what you do for the others,’ she’d fumed. ‘We didn’t pay a cent for Georgina’s divorce and nor would she have asked.’
‘If she had, we would have helped,’ he’d retorted. Thank the dear Lord Felicity seemed to be managing, because there was no money to help her.
While she’d loved her Charlie with every fibre of her gnarly old being, she’d never asked his permission if a wrong needed righting. Ken may have convinced her to sign the mortgage papers in a moment of weakness, but it was not over yet. Still, she should have told the girls.
She squinted at the hands on the cut-crystal clock. Good heavens! Esmay would be here soon to drive her to church. There was a christening today so they needed numbers. One didn’t want to see a baby inducted into the Lord’s way with no one as witnesses except that dour-faced organist and a smattering of geriatrics who didn’t even own a Sunday best.
She struggled into her pantyhose, then slipped a top over her head, before sitting to slide the matching skirt up her legs. The blue fabric was soft, worn, but still pretty. It took three attempts to fasten the pearls around her throat and only minutes to puff powder on her face and colour her lips a pretty coral.
‘There.’ She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Pearls belonged on a smooth décolletage, not nestled against a web of lines. She angled her chin, tightening the skin and smiled at her vanity. Who would have thought she’d outlive her six siblings? She was the last of the Majors and the Dunmores of her generation.
A smaller house would make so much sense, but she couldn’t bear to part with her memories just yet. ‘Really, Ivy,’ she said to her reflection, ‘if you want to, you can make it all go away. You just need to tell the truth. That will put an end to it.’
If God would just answer her prayers and let Ivy be with her Charlie, then it would all sort itself out anyway. He’d answered them before, when he brought Charlie home safe from the war, so there was still hope he was listening.
She made her way to the kitchen, grateful for the gleaming benchtops and the loaf of fresh baked bread the girls had left behind.
The sound of car tyres crunching on gravel drifted in through the window. Esmay was punctual to a fault. She’d joined the Women’s Auxiliary Australian Air Force just before Ivy, as soon as she turned eighteen. While Ivy wept as she wrote condolence letters to bereaved families, Esmay found herself coordinating a huge warehouse on the outskirts of Melbourne that dispatched supplies all around the world. Logistics, they call it now. She’d brought all of that skill and more to running the Heritage Hotel in Limestone. Everyone knew it was her, not Freddie, who was the brains in that marriage.
‘Ivy, love, you ready?’ Esmay called.
‘Coming.’ Ivy collected the Tupperware containers from the bench and placed them on her walker.
‘What’d you bake?’ Esmay held the door wide.
‘Scones. I still had some of that rosella jam left from last year.’
‘Oh, that’s delicious. I did passionfruit slice. Shouldn’t have. The Lathers will only complain they have seeds stuck in their teeth.’
They shared a smile at that. Nothing wrong with a little bit of fun.
‘You been doing some gardening?’
‘Felicity.’
‘Be good to have her around again.’ Esmay stayed just in front as Ivy trundled down the ramp. ‘Nothing like a bit of company to make getting up worthwhile.’
‘It’s not settled yet. She’ll need to find work.’ That might be harder than Felicity thinks, Ivy acknowledged.
‘Hmm.’ Esmay opened the door without comment. She stowed the walker in the back of the Pajero and climbed into the driver’s seat. Ivy envied her that freedom of movement. Old bones don’t knit so well, the physio had told her during their post-accident rehab sessions. She should have believed her. She’d watched both of Charlie’s parents slide into old age. And her own mother, God rest her soul. Her father was felled by a stroke, taken in his prime. And not a moment too soon, in her opinion. Ivy didn’t go to his funeral. She was no hypocrite.
They settled in to the drive. The autumn blue sky went on forever like a giant dome with nothing but the sun to mark its height.
‘I hear Ken’s been to see the big real estate agent in Mareeba,’ said Esmay.
Ivy only just managed to control herself. ‘He’s always talking to people, Esmay. I wouldn’t place too much store in it.’
Esmay didn’t answer.
‘If he sells Arran Downs, it might be a small mercy. I’ve never thought of it as our land anyway. He’ll get more than the bank would in a fire sale.’
‘I know the girl who works on reception, Ivy. It wasn’t Arran Downs,’ Esmay said, casting a sideways glance at Ivy. ‘Anna also said her hubby who runs the RSL sees Ken in there until all hours.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, love, but better you hear it from me.’
‘I see,’ Ivy said quietly. Her head hurt. Ken was no gambler; he was hardly the risk-taker. Then again, he’d gambled with his political career, backed the wrong party faction and found himself sidelined. He’d taken a punt with Arran Downs when he restocked with Black Angus cattle even though everyone in the area was selling off or buying Droughtmasters. That was four years ago, when the drought was only just sinking its teeth in. Now that Ivy thought about it, everything Ken did had a flamboyant edge to it. It was why people loved him. Or hated him.
Ivy rubbed the centre of her chest. Could she really lose her home because her son was an addict? She, of all people, who’d lived a life without vice. This had to end.
They pulled up outside the church, an austere wooden building with a steep roof and a small front porch.
Esmay looked distressed as she parked the wheeler in front of Ivy, who reached over and patted her hand. ‘Thank you for telling me, Esmay. You’re right, I’d much rather I heard it from you.’
‘Maybe it explains a lot.’ There was relief in her smile.
‘Maybe it does.’
‘Did you tell Felicity about the . . .’ Esmay wiggled her nose and Ivy almost giggled. If only it were that easy to make the mortgage disappear.
‘No. But I will when she’s back. Perhaps we both need to see the lawyer.’
‘Sounds like a plan, love.’
The organ was wheezing as they made their way down the aisle. Ivy smiled fondly at the beautiful marble baptismal font which had been donated by Charlie in honour of his three brothers. Their names were carved around the base among the roses and cherubs.
Settled on a polished pew she picked up the hymn book and flicked to the numbers listed on the wooden board. They’d chosen one of her favourites, ‘Oh God Our Help In Ages Past’. She hummed a little, still distracted by what Esmay had told her in the car.
She needed a shot of courage. It wasn’t enough to know why Ken had done what he’d done. She needed to stop him before he lost all that she’d worked so hard to build. Shakespeare had it right. ‘Truth will out.’
‘Okay, Mum, I’ll ask Ken for the books myself. Don’t worry about it,’ Felicity said, the phone tucked under her chin as she folded laundry.
Ivy sighed down the phone. ‘If you must, but he won’t be happy.’
‘It’s your property, Mum, not his.’ Felicity’s jaw was rigid. ‘And you need to know what’s actually going on. Leave it with me and I’ll see you next week. Love you.’ Her hands trembled as her mother said goodbye. She balled the tea towel in he
r hand and flung it at the living room wall. It didn’t help.
How dare Ken try to bully Ivy into cancelling the agreement with Mitch? She hit call before she could chicken out. Her hand splayed across her tightening stomach as the call diverted to message bank. She almost disconnected, but her nerve held. Ken’s message was warm and friendly. ‘Thanks for calling Ken Dunmore, you know I’d love to talk, but I’m either on another call or out of range. Leave me your number and I will get back to you.’
Felicity gulped a mouthful of air as the beep sounded. ‘Ken, it’s me. Mum says you’ve taken the account books for Roseglen. I need to see them and the monthly statements, please, to work out where we stand. Mum’s a bit worried about things and she doesn’t think Mitch should take his cattle off the property. I know you’re busy so let me know when’s a good time to collect them. See you soon.’
She stabbed at the phone and disconnected. She hated how conciliatory she sounded. Right now, she wanted to rip his head off. But she should have waited until she was back at Roseglen rather than rushing in like this. She felt so useless, so damn incompetent. Georgie would have handled it better. But she was just so cross!
Her anger had been building since she’d left Roseglen two days ago. She’d been saddened by the empty hanging rack in Ivy’s wardrobe. Fewer than a dozen items were left on their hand-crocheted hangers. Why hadn’t she noticed her mother’s dwindling wardrobe? Being well dressed was an Ivy trademark, like lipstick and heels. She never went to town looking anything other than fashionable. Was that why she rarely left the house anymore? Because she had nothing left to wear?
Felicity continued to fold clothes, remembering the shopping trips to Cairns. Ivy would march into the largest department store and purchase a season’s worth of clothes. Depending on Ivy’s mood the sales assistants thought it was their lucky day or their worst nightmare. More recently she’d taken to online shopping. Felicity should have checked sooner, should have known Ivy always seemed to be in the same couple of dresses when she came to visit.
Those bloody credit card statements showed how little Ivy spent on herself. Yet Ivy had waved away Felicity’s concerns when she asked her. ‘Don’t you worry about me and my clothes,’ she’d countered tartly. ‘You should spruce yourself up, now you’re a single woman.’ Ivy, queen of the put-down, was still on song.
Her computer pinged with an incoming email. She swung the laptop around and opened it.
I have no idea what you’re talking about, Felicity. Dad left Mum and the property in my safekeeping and that’s what I’m doing – keeping it safe. Mum’s just confused. No need to bother yourself. It’s under control.
Ken.
Felicity knuckled her eyes. The gnawing frustration of impotence made her head pound. How could anyone do this to their own mother and then come out swinging when their bluff was called? Wasn’t it a duty, an obligation, to look after a parent in their old age, whatever that entailed? But then looking after those weaker than him had never been Ken’s strong point.
She remembered the day she’d convinced him to take her swimming in the caves. Charlie was away. She was ten, Ken was twenty-two. They’d barely arrived at the lake when he demanded they leave again. She’d been slow to climb out of the water, but when she emerged from the track Ken had gone, leaving her there with the sun on its way down. With bare feet and no hat she’d started the long walk home.
Mitch, out checking a bore on horseback, found her sobbing, hauled her up behind him and cantered home. Ken was sitting on the front verandah reading a newspaper. Eleven-year-old Mitch had lowered her to the ground and then helped her hobble up the stairs.
When Ken looked over his paper and asked why she was crying, Mitch had flown at him, fists whirling like a windmill. He’d landed several blows before Ken sat him on his backside and bloodied his nose. She’d seen the fury in her brother’s eyes and feared for Mitch’s life as she’d flung herself between them.
‘Hoy!’ Ivy had come roaring out of the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The little savage from next door attacked me,’ Ken replied angrily, straightening his clothes. ‘No idea what his problem is.’
‘Mitch?’ Ivy had come down the stairs. ‘No need to fight, lad. Let me look at you.’
‘I’m right, Mrs D,’ he’d said, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he backed away.
He’d vaulted onto his horse and Ivy had watched him go in silence, then turned to Felicity. ‘What are you crying for, missie? Ken said you wanted to stay too long at the caves. You know you had to be back before Charlie comes home.’ She’d shaken her head and gone back to cooking dinner. Ken had smirked, resumed his seat and rustled his paper. Felicity had made herself sick with crying and missed dinner.
Two days later Mitch’s Jack Russell, Buster, a present from his mother before she died, was found dead from a gunshot wound. Felicity and Mitch knew who was responsible. The animosity between the two men had only grown over time.
But life in the Dunmore residence had often been volatile. To Georgina and Ken, an argument was a game of chess to be won through tactical manoeuvres and, if all else failed, then he or she who shouted loudest won. For Felicity it was a bloody battlefield from which she’d always run, back to her bedroom and her books, back to make believe where families didn’t argue. She hated the holidays when her siblings were home.
Her approach to mothering was all Charlie. Love them into line, mediate, cajole and influence. She had two beautiful, relatively well-adjusted children and rarely even needed to raise her voice – well, until recently, anyway. She frowned. To be fair, Sean was still poleaxed by the divorce. She was giving him all the space he needed and that included not criticising his decision to move in with his father.
All she could do was try that approach with Ken. She was never going to win a full-blown argument.
She drew a breath deeply, sat a little taller and started typing.
Hi Ken,
I appreciate your concern for Mum’s wellbeing. Perhaps you can meet the Aged Care people when they come to assess Mum’s suitability to live alone? Her GP believes it’s time for her to move into care. I do hope there are sufficient funds in hand to pay for that move.
Look forward to working with you to safeguard Mum’s future.
Yours,
Felicity.
She reread it, corrected a couple of typos and hit send. As it whooshed away she felt the heat flooding from her toes. Maybe she should have allowed the doctor to put her on hormone replacement therapy. Surely stress couldn’t heat her body up like a volcano erupting?
She reached for the half-drunk glass of water as her mobile beeped and she glanced at the screen. It was a reminder she was due at the hairdressers shortly. It was a very thoughtful gift from Paula, but Felicity wasn’t sure she was up for such a pampering. Not with all this going on with Ivy and Ken.
She cupped the glass in both hands, sipping as she stared out at the pool. Since she’d made the decision to return to Roseglen, the view no longer taunted her so much. She felt the icy water slide down her throat. There was still so much to do – a job to find, a house to pack up and sell. At least she’d managed to get six weeks’ leave approved, which gave her some breathing space.
The front doorbell made her turn. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It had better not be Todd.
She set the glass down by the laptop as she passed. Her breath caught as she dragged the door open.
‘Georgie! What are you doing here?’
Her sister held out her arms. ‘This.’ The hug was tight, almost suffocating, but the wave of relief was instantaneous.
‘It’s so good to see you. I never expected this. But how did you get here?’ Felicity could see the fatigue in her sister’s face, the lines bracketing her mouth deeper than usual, her short gunmetal hair spiked as though she’d just run her hands through it.
‘What’s the point of being in aviation if I can’t pull a string or three?’
‘When you didn’t
answer your phone you scared me, to be honest.’ Felicity fought down an irrational surge of anger. She’d worried needlessly. Georgina was fighting fit and just not bothering to return calls.
‘I lost my phone and with it all my numbers. Lucky I still remembered your address or I’d have had to give the taxi driver directions all the way from the airport.’ Georgina hefted her backpack onto her shoulder and Felicity stepped aside to allow her in, then closed the door. There was strength still in her sister’s straight shoulders and long legs. She looked closer to fifty than sixty, with an elegance that was bone deep, etched into the high cheekbones and the arching brows. She had Ivy’s presence and then some.
‘Come through. You can have Ella’s room,’ Felicity said as Georgina stopped by the lounge.
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Okay, I think. Still loving the job, although I’m not sure it’s what she expected.’ She led the way to the bedroom.
Georgie grunted. ‘Airlines aren’t for everyone.’ She dumped her bag on the bed and smoothed a hand over the chenille throw rug. Felicity couldn’t help but remember the times those hands had soothed her when she’d been upset. She’d always thought of herself as a happy kid, but the memories at the moment seemed to hold more sadness.
‘You want a shower now or coffee?’
‘I’d kill for coffee. You didn’t have to relinquish that great machine to Todd, did you?’
He had tried, but the fight for the machine had been tame compared with the one looming over the superannuation. Pick your battles, Charlie had always told her. With so many fronts on offer, it was a difficult choice.
‘He didn’t stand a chance,’ she said, leading them back to the kitchen. ‘Black, strong and two sugars, right?’
‘Yep. No point in ruining good coffee with milk.’ Georgie perched on a stool and hooked her feet over the polished bottom bar. ‘So you’d better start from the top again. I could barely hear you when you called. Bloody tarmacs are noisy.’