What Matters Most

by Dianne Maguire

  With Molly’s constant barking splintering the street’s silence, Steve stepped up to Mia from behind. Covered her body with his and wordlessly pressed against her. She turned. And he kissed her in the same marshmallowy, lingering way he had last time — until Molly’s barking eventually broke them apart.

  ‘Steve, this is Molly,’ Mia said chirpily as the dog whined and wagged energetically from the moment they stepped inside the door. ‘Molly, meet Steve. I’m going to teach her to shake hands,’ Mia said her smile fading as she looked up at Steve’s bemused expression.

  He finally stepped forward and gave Molly a cursory dab to the top of her head. ‘Hi, Molly,’ he said with a glaring lack of enthusiasm as Mia fought the urge to inform him that dogs did not like being touched on their crowns.

  ‘Drink?’ she said to Steve over her shoulder, leading the way to the kitchen. She instantly forgave him and acknowledged she was being unrealistic if she expected everyone to fall in love with her dog. Molly’s excited panting, the sound of her claws clicking along the tiled floor filled the moment’s silence until they reached the kitchen and Steve wrapped his arms around her again. She took his hand and led him in the darkened space towards the living room. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the sofa in front of the fire and I’ll bring the drinks?’

  ‘If you insist,’ he said with boyish charm. Mia looked back at him and smiled. Wondered why he had come to an abrupt stop at the entrance to the darkened living room. Followed his stony-faced stare.

  He was sitting in the darkness, in the armchair closest to the fire, loosely holding a brandy balloon, the flames glinting off his eyes and throwing a sinister glow across his surly face. He had put on weight.

  Mia grabbed Steve’s arm, feeling as though her legs were about to collapse from under her.

  ‘Eric!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  When he awoke and lay there listening to the loud warbling of the magpies and the belligerent, repetitive cawing of the crows, Tim had no idea it would be a day full of surprises.

  He kicked off his doona when he remembered, with a surge of excitement, that he and Ellen were going out on their second date tonight. Sprang out of his bed and pulled on jeans and a workshirt to tackle the list of jobs Annie wanted done around the house. Whistling his favourite song he bent to his dressing table and smoothed his hair with his hand, stopping suddenly to listen for any activity in the house. Checked his mobile for the time. Annie would be up for certain and probably Ben as well. But Rachel was bound to be in bed.

  The moment they had arrived home from the hospital yesterday, Rachel had retreated to her bedroom and had remained there ever since. He thought of ways he could entice her out and ached with worry at the memory of how, for the entire drive home, she had sat straight and still, shrouded in silence and sadness in the passenger seat beside him. He recalled the responses she had given to his questions about her meeting with Declan O’Leary, or about how she was feeling in general, had been dismissively monosyllabic. In the end he had given up asking questions or making comment about anything. He wondered now if he should drive into town and buy a large block of her favourite chocolate, or the latest edition of the girly magazine she loved, since she no longer showed interest in the equestrian magazines that had once been her favourite.

  The sounds of morning activity floated from the family room as he made his way along the passage and knocked softly on her door. He peeped in to see her sleeping soundly, her doona pulled high up over her head and allowed himself to be consoled that at least she seemed to be at peace. He decided to leave her for the time being, even though he hated the idea of her languishing in her bedroom day after day for the rest of her life.

  ‘I want to have that talk with you today, love,’ Annie said, glancing up from the slice of buttered toast she was arranging neatly on a breakfast tray — obviously meant for Rachel.

  ‘Yeah, okay. Whenever, Mum,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you worried about the way Rachel is just sleeping and hiding in her room all the time? Why don’t you encourage her to get out of bed and have breakfast with us? It’d be good for her.’

  ‘I don’t want to push her, love. She has so much on her plate, poor little pet. Declan O’Leary said she is riddled with guilt. And Peter’s refusal to acknowledge anything he has done to her means it’s like she’s stuck in a deep quagmire, unable to move either back or forward … that’s what Declan said, at least. He said it would help her no end if Peter at least confessed and even better, if he apologised,’ she said tutting and lifting the tray. ‘I’d bet on finding Elvis alive before I’d bet on that,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Ben,’ she said loudly as she passed him dawdling over his breakfast in front of the television, which sparked with the bright colours and endlessly irritating sound effects peculiar to cartoons. ‘Go clean your teeth, please lamb. We need to leave for soccer practice in a couple of minutes.’

  Tim loped over and switched off the television once Ben had sauntered away, doubt churning in his guts when he sat at the breakfast bar to finish his cup of tea. Annie’s words flagged the distinct possibility that she was again blissfully ignorant of the significance of Rachel’s screamingly obvious weight loss — not due to her ambivalence, as before, but, ironically, because now that professionals were involved she seemed to step back and leave it all to them.

  ‘Rachel’s asleep,’ Annie said, running past him seconds later to hurriedly stack the dishes. ‘I left her tray on her bedside table. Check on her later will you, please love. Oh — and as I was saying, we need to have that little talk when Ben and I get back from soccer.’

  ‘What talk?’ he said.

  ‘You know. I told you,’ she said rushing from the house, steering Ben out by his shoulder and leaving an eerily noiseless void once the back door had slammed shut and the Holden had driven off.

  Tim sipped his tea, unsettled over why his mother was making such a big deal, given they had no history of heart-to-heart talks on any subject — until now. His head began to hurt from pondering what the hell his mother wanted to talk about and he made the decision to concentrate instead on his date with Ellen tonight.

  Later, in hindsight, Tim would realise that his mother’s persistent chirping about the big discussion they would have that afternoon had been the teaser for his second eye-opener of that day.

  But the first came an hour after she and Ben had left and Tim had been ticking the jobs off his list, starting with chopping the pile of firewood near the shed, which was the size of a building and all redwood, so the excuse for a break was not unwelcome when his phone rang, especially once he saw the call was from Ellen. He immediately dropped the wood-splitter and sat on the chopping block to take her call.

  ‘Hello,’ he crooned, aware he was smiling.

  ‘Hi, Tim.’ Ellen sounded harsh and agitated.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, instantly aware that they would not be going out tonight after all.

  ‘It’s Craig. He’s been admitted to hospital with meningitis. His parents are overseas and he is really, really sick, Tim. Would you mind if I cancelled tonight? I’m so sorry. I can’t possibly leave him alone. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ he lied, unable to comprehend why she had jumped at the chance to be with her ex-lover before him — unless it wasn’t really over between them. And yes, he minded. He minded a lot. ‘I hope he gets better soon,’ he managed to say before she hurriedly ended the call.

  Tim tossed his mobile onto the old potting table and picked up the splitter, gritted his teeth and managed to chop through a ton of firewood in record time, admonishing himself every second for failing to listen to his inner voice when it had told him from the very beginning that Ellen was too good to be true.

  The second surprise came in full regalia that afternoon, half an hour after Ben had run into the kitchen, disheveled and beaming, with Annie puffing and struggling in his wake, several brimming shopping bags in hand.

  ‘Ben, you should
help Mum carry in the shopping,’ Tim called, rushing up and taking the bags from her.

  ‘Thanks, love … phew,’ she said, pulling off her parka and lumbering over to the breakfast bar, watching Ben climb up on a stool and pull the biscuit tin to his chest. ‘Ben, go and have a shower, please lamb. I’m about to cut you a sandwich. You can watch TV while you eat it. Tim and I need some quiet time on the verandah — okay?’

  ‘Why do you and Tim need quiet time?’ he said helping himself to a biscuit.

  Annie took the biscuit out of his hand and dropped it back into the tin. ‘Because we need to have a talk. Now into the shower, please.’

  Tim walked slowly along the passage carrying a tray with coffee, tea and ham salad rolls, stepping past Annie who held the front door open and onto the wide concrete verandah. The smell of fresh ham teasing his appetite, he sat on one of four timber chairs around the matching table and stretched his legs in front of him, watching Annie pour his tea. She slid the mug towards him and he gazed out at their rolling pasture, only just starting to brown off in stretches, their black Angus cattle like clusters of ants under a perfectly cloudless sky. He breathed in slow and deep, knowing the air would never be as pristine in the city or even in town, and watched a gang of magpies cavorting in the grass less than a metre away from where they sat.

  ‘It’s hard to get used to the idea that this will soon belong to someone else,’ Tim said, taking a large bite of his roll. He hoped his mother would embark on a diatribe about their impending life changes and that she would possibly forget the conversation that seemed to have been burning at her from the moment she and Ben had returned. He knew from her solemn manner that she was preparing to deliver more bad news. He was adamant he had received enough earth-shattering news for one day with Ellen’s phone call.

  Annie’s tremulous voice finally broke through his thoughts. ‘This is a very hard thing for me, Tim. But I understand now that you have a right to know. Ever since you said that thing the other day it’s played on my mind.’

  ‘What thing, Mum?’ Tim said, immediately regretting his impatient tone.

  ‘That thing you said about inheriting your father’s genes.’

  ‘Oh, that — don’t worry,’ Tim said. ‘Didn’t I tell you that Mia Sandhurst helped me sort that out?’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t have helped you with this, Tim. Just listen, please love. The truth is … well …’ She rolled her eyes and stared down at her uneaten roll. ‘The truth is, I was pregnant with you when I married Peter.’

  Her blue eyes bored into Tim’s waiting for his response. He frowned, trying hard to reconcile her obviously gut-wrenching anxiety with the pissy news that she had been pregnant when they had married. ‘That’s nothing nowadays, Mum,’ he said, pushing aside the eye-watering image of his mother and father doing it in the back seat of a car.

  ‘No, love. I got pregnant before I met your father.’ She glanced at him. Turned to stare out over their pastures as he struggled with this news, especially since she was no longer looking at him. Whatever she is trying to tell me can’t be that important if she can’t even look at me, he thought.

  She turned back and faced him, her brow crinkling into a thousand tiny waves of concern. ‘Do you get what I’m saying, love?’

  Her stare bore deeper into his soul and he wished she would stop. How can I take in all this crap you’re feeding me, with you glaring at me like an insect under a microscope? he thought. His life, already a bog of confusion, had instantly blown into an incomprehensible study of insanity.

  ‘Tim,’ she said grabbing his arm, ‘I am telling you that there is no way on this Earth you could have inherited Peter’s genes because he is not your biological father.’

  Tim watched her chin shake before she burst into tears. I can’t help you, he thought, aware he was staring. I can’t even help myself. I know there has to be an upside to this, but I’ll be buggered if I can think of it right now.

  They sat in silence as Annie took mechanical nibbles at her roll and sipped her coffee, intermittently tossing anxious glances his way. Her persistent sniffles annoyed the hell out of him, but he could do little more than stare mindlessly into the distance where their cattle fed, unfazed, as though nothing remarkable at all was happening in the world. With a bizarre jolt, Tim remembered those times when he had taken a blinding knock on the footy field and had fought to stand upright again after unconsciousness had presented itself as a far more enticing option. That’s how I feel now, he thought.

  In an instant, things changed and it all came together like a jigsaw puzzle in front of his eyes. Suddenly he understood why he had the same tawny curls as his mother, rather than the dark sleek manes of Rachel and Ben … why his eyes were blue and theirs were dark brown like the old man’s. Why he was tall and Peter was such a short-arse. His mind immediately recalled what Laurie had told him about all the blokes wanting his mother when she had been young. About how everyone had taken it for granted, up until the time Jack had left to play State league, that she and Jack Carmichael would get hitched. It hit him then, like a bolt of lightning, but still he could not fathom if the news was good or bad.

  ‘It’s Jack Carmichael, isn’t it, Mum? Jack’s my biological father, isn’t he?’

  She nodded. Looked down at the tissue she had been shredding in her lap.

  It was on his lips to ask, why? Why of all the blokes on the peninsula had she chosen Peter, instead of Jack? But he knew his mother and he knew the answer. And besides it was not the kindest question he could have asked her at this time.

  ‘If you had not been pregnant with me, would you have married Peter?’ he asked rapidly, dreading her answer one way or the other.

  Again her blue eyes bored into his, softer this time. ‘I don’t know, love. But it’s beside the point because I did. It was my decision, my responsibility.’

  Tim thought he saw a sense of deep pain and regret cross her face before she dropped her eyes and just as suddenly looked up at him again. ‘Lordy Tim, I truly hope you are not blaming yourself because I had to get married.’

  ‘It’s not about blaming myself, Mum. It’s about “what if”? What if Jack hadn’t gone away for footy? What if Peter had hooked up with someone else? What if you had chosen to have an abortion? But I know it’s bloody pointless to think that way.’ He rose from his seat and slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Slowly paced the verandah. ‘Does Jack know?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. We haven’t spoken about it. But he certainly didn’t know I was pregnant when he left. I didn’t even know. It was a few weeks after he left that Dr Shepherd confirmed you were on your way. I had already met Peter by then. And then, well … the rest is history, as they say.’

  ‘Did Peter know?’ Tim said, a collage of memories passing through his mind … countless smacks across the ears, spittle flying from Peter’s thin lips with shouted orders and constant put-downs … no wonder Peter had always seemed resentful of his very presence on this Earth.

  ‘I don’t know. He could easily think you were his child because the dates were so tight, if you get what I mean. But, he has never asked and I have never told him.’

  Annie’s words faded in his mind and blinding turmoil morphed into stabbing anger. ‘You mean I could easily be Peter’s son after all, then. Jeezus Mum, what are you trying to say? One minute Jack is my father and the next it could be Peter. Which one is it, for chrissakes?’

  Annie stood and laid her hands on Tim’s forearms. Looked him in the eye yet again. ‘Jack is definitely your father, Tim. I know that without any doubt.’

  ‘I’ll be in my room,’ he said, shaking his arms free and storming across the verandah. Barging through the front door, leaving it to slam disapprovingly after him.

  Tim threw himself on his bed. Lay back with his arms behind his throbbing head and looked up at the caked cream paint of the old timber ceiling, reminding himself he should be over the moon with happiness at not being biologically related t
o Peter Hooper. But this was yet another secret that had surfaced to make his life, his very identity, as disjointed and confused as a Picasso painting. His hatred for Peter was suddenly rivaled by his disdain for his mother. She had deceived and betrayed him, making a unilateral decision that he had no right to the truth, even about himself. Instead, she had found it perfectly acceptable for him to grow up with her own fabricated version of who he was, because it was easier for her that way.

  He lay there as his guts stewed and his heart ached as though he was the last person left on an apocalyptic Earth. He tried to make even a dot of sense from his mother’s decision. But his mind repeatedly reverted to thoughts of how different his life would have been had he known his real father. And immediately these thoughts entered his mind he would push them out again, because they were far too unbearable to contemplate.

  An hour later he changed his jeans and shirt, pulled on his runners and grabbed his jacket. ‘I’m going out,’ he sniped, storming past Annie and Ben in the kitchen.

  ‘Where are you going, love?’ Annie said alarmed.

  ‘I’m going to hang out with my mates. I need to do something normal.’

  ‘I thought you were going out with Ellen tonight,’ she called after him.

  ‘I was. She fucking cancelled,’ he said before the screen door slapped closed behind him.

  Tim made the local pub in record speed. Pushed through the heavy timber door of the front bar and looked around. Felt placated by the smells of malt and boiled vegetables that filled the space, as though something was going right at last — as though nothing much had changed after all. And felt even more that way on spotting a huddle of footy mates at the jarrah bar.

  He noticed Shanksie was among them when he leaned over and said something to the others in the group, who subsequently looked in Tim’s direction with curious expressions before turning back again. With a sinking feeling, Tim decided he should drink at the bar. ‘I’ll have a pint thanks, Thelma,’ he said to the grey-haired owner who greeted him with a smile.