Doc Shepherd nodded. ‘I cannot confirm any of that with absolute certainty, Tim. But I do know that your mother did what she thought was best under the circumstances.’ Leaning back in his chair, his pen rolling between his fingers, a deep frown crinkled the doctor’s forehead further. ‘I even talked to her about abortion. She certainly gave me a piece of her mind at that suggestion,’ he chuckled. His smile quickly faded. ‘Try not to judge her too harshly, Tim. Just believe me when I tell you that from the very beginning she loved you with all her heart and she loves you the same way now. That, my dear boy, is truly a gift from heaven.’ He sat momentarily watching Tim over the top of his glasses before dragging himself up from his chair. ‘If you take the antibiotics I’ve prescribed, your throat will be back to normal within a couple of days.’
Tim sat behind the wheel of his stationary car and pondered the genesis of Doc Shepherd’s heartfelt and timely disclosure. Wondered if the doc had known all along about Jack and through some sixth sense was now aware of how difficult things were on top of the numerous other family secrets slowly coming out into the open like ghouls emerging from a crypt.
Tim tried to imagine the gut-wrenching isolation his mother must have felt at the time of his conception. Was not surprised by her obvious joy at the thought of impending motherhood because he had no argument about her being a good mother, despite her head sometimes being in the clouds. ‘I just wish her timing was better,’ he muttered, starting the ignition. ‘If you had been honest with us all from the beginning, Mum, imagine how different everyone’s life, including your own, would have been.’
On the road home, Tim decided on a whim that he would double back to the southern end of town. He cruised along the street, passing the immaculate weatherboard home twice before stopping out the front.
‘G’day, Tim,’ Jack said at the front door, his broad smile reassuring Tim he had made the right decision. ‘How are you feeling, mate?’ Jack chuckled, stepping aside for Tim to enter.
‘I’ve been better,’ he said, following Jack down the passage and looking ahead to where the sun spilled through tall glass doors into a blue and white kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly-baked biscuits. Elvis Presley crooned in the background.
‘Hello, Tim, Sharon said, flicking a switch to cut off the persistent beeping of a timer and pulling a tray of biscuits from the oven. ‘Just in time for fresh peanut butter cookies and a cuppa.’
‘We were just talking about you,’ Jack said returning to a stool the other side of the kitchen bench and gesturing for Tim to sit on the stool beside him.
‘Oh yeah. What were you saying?’ Tim asked, uncertain, given the circumstances, what Jack’s response was going to be.
‘Do you remember our conversation last night?’ Jack said.
Tim watched Sharon fill a kettle and plug it in, seemingly nonchalant about the entire conversation. ‘I remember bits and pieces,’ Tim said, suddenly ashamed. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way,’ he added.
Jack laid his hand on Tim’s shoulder for the briefest moment before saying, ‘There’s no good or bad way of breaking that sort of news, Tim. I’m just glad it’s out in the open. And I have to say, the more I think about it the prouder I feel.’
‘Well, I knew all along,’ Sharon said proudly. ‘Tea or coffee, Tim?’ She held up the teapot and the coffee jar.
‘Coffee, thanks,’ Tim said.
‘You two even walk the same way,’ she added before spooning instant coffee into the mugs.
‘I thought you would be more upset than anyone,’ Tim said to Sharon.
She smiled. ‘Tim, now come on … You’re talking to a childless woman who is besotted with children. All I can think about is the grandchildren you are going to give Jack and me one day.’
Jack chuckled. ‘I sort of had an idea the first time I saw you play footy — even though you were only a little tacker.’ His smile faded and he turned his blue eyes to Tim. ‘So many times I was close to saying something to your mother. But it seemed like I’d be stirring up all sorts of trouble. Even when people I knew would hint at the similarity between you and I — never directly, of course — I would blow it off because I didn’t want to give potential rumours any oxygen. It wouldn’t have been fair to you or your mother.’
‘That often happened to me as well,’ Sharon said placing their coffees down. ‘Parents or other teachers would say things about the way you played footy, or how much taller you are than your mother and father … I learned to ignore them all in the end.’
Jack nodded. ‘That’s what we did. We just conditioned ourselves to let it pass. I’m as much to blame as your mother,’ he said.
‘But now,’ Sharon said lifting her chin, ‘I’m going to say, “Yes, that’s right. Tim is Jack’s birth-son and we feel truly blessed.”’ Sharon’s voice wavered. ‘Now I’m blubbering,’ she said swiping at her eyes and shoving the plate of biscuits at Tim.
An hour later, Tim climbed into his car, still feeling unsettled by the bloke-hug Jack had just given him at the front door. Its effect had been profound — like a feather gently reaching down to touch the very depths of him. It made no sense, he thought, because he hugged his mates all the time. Then it occurred to him — yes, he was familiar with bloke hugs. But never before had his father hugged him. He carefully settled the lunchbox of peanut cookies Sharon had insisted he take home onto the front seat. Started the ignition. And looking out at the tidy weatherboard he felt uncannily satisfied and safe in the knowledge that this was to be his home away from home for the rest of his life.
The sun was a golden orb lying low in a cloud-streaked sky when Tim drove past the sale sign at the entrance to their property. He slowed and idled across the bridge, stopping to listen to the purr of his motor and to look down at the creek bed for what was possibly one of the few remaining times. Only a thin trickle shimmered along the muddy length to collect in occasional puddles, but the orchestral croaking of frogs and chirruping of crickets gave the creek a different form of life. He eventually gunned the car across the bridge and watched the rearview mirror with joy as he skidded to a sudden stop outside the back door, sending a plume of rubble up behind to clatter against the walls of the house.
‘I thought I’d told you, Tim. You’ll break a window doing that, love,’ Annie said, bending at the oven to check the roast lamb. Tim left the box of cookies on the breakfast bar and kissed her on the cheek. ‘They are from Sharon Carmichael,’ he said striding towards Rachel’s room and ignoring his mother’s perplexed expression.
‘But … why? Where are you going?’ she called.
‘To see Rachel.’
‘She’s not in a very good mood, Tim.’
‘She’s never in a good mood, but she’ll be glad to see me because I bear gifts,’ he called.
He knocked softly and listened. Opened the door a crack when he heard her sobs.
‘I got you these,’ he said, placing the bar of chocolate and the magazine on the bed, with little effect. He sat down slowly on the side of the bed.
‘Thanks,’ she finally said, hardly managing a smile. Tim knew from the state of her eyes that she had been crying for hours.
‘What’s up with you?’ he said, bracing for a tirade of expletives.
‘Trevor Carson’s lawyer has talked him into pleading not guilty. That means he’s going to say to everyone that it was my fault.’ Her face twisted and tears tumbled down her cheeks. ‘Everyone is going to say I’m a slag.’
‘How can he say it was your fault when he’s already owned up to the police?’ Tim said, his elation sucked up and swallowed by a black cloud of anger.
‘I don’t know, but he can and he is. Noah Tamblyn told Mum. And on top of that, Dad is still saying he can’t remember doing anything.’
Tim jumped to his feet. ‘Don’t worry about the old man. He’s covered. We all know what he did. But it’s time I had another little chat with that fucking bastard Trevor Carson.’
‘Tim, be careful. D
on’t make things worse,’ Rachel called to his back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Molly ran ahead as Mia picked her way along what was left of the stone path, through overgrown bushes and knee-length grass. Panting and whining, she jumped up on the scrappy timber verandah and looked back excitedly at Mia who cautiously stepped over missing planks and toe-tested those still in place before finally reaching the front door. By now Molly was practically turning in circles with excitement. Mia rapped sharply on the faded timber door.
Molly’s whines grew louder by the second, and Mia began to worry. But the police had said the owner was expecting her at this time, so she knocked again. She waited, then stepped back to observe that a shiny new sedan, incongruous with the property, had been parked under a double carport that had one side leaning precariously because the metal support had been bent from a vigorous ramming on more than one occasion.
Mia pounded much harder on the third attempt and not long after that, footsteps thumped towards them from behind the front door which opened to reveal a woman with pearl earrings and grey hair twisted into an immaculate French knot, both seriously at odds with her dusty dungarees and shabby runners. Mia and the woman both watched Molly push by them and run feverishly along the passage, nose down on full alert as she scurried from room to room.
‘You must be Dr Sandhurst,’ the unsmiling woman said. ‘I’m Claire Barnett, Clarence’s daughter. Come in.’
Mia followed Claire along the dank passage and past darkened musky rooms to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Molly continued her frantic search. Mia fought the biting urge to calm her, but in her mind she had handed ownership of Molly back to Claire the moment the woman had opened the front door — so she held her tongue, feeling numb and powerless to do anything about Claire’s total lack of sympathy or even awareness in the face of Molly’s obvious anguish.
The kitchen was a musky, shambolic collection of brimming packing crates — pre-war crockery and cutlery spilling from open cupboards and drawers, and littering every benchtop.
‘Dolly, stop that,’ Claire finally chided, her coldness towards the frantically distressed dog upsetting Mia further. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ she said, trying to clear a chair. ‘My father was in his 80s and a hoarder. So you can imagine how difficult this is.’
From where she sat at the laminex table, Mia could see rusted taps dripping steadily over a stained enamel sink. Exposed pipes coated with decades of dirt and grease ran horizontally along the wall. Age and deficient care had dulled the metal sideboard to a grimy, grey slab. Large patches of the once-yellow linoleum had worn away to reveal bare boards or yellow crumbling newspaper. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Claire said.
‘No, I’m fine thank you.’ Mia peered through a film of grime over the kitchen window to see a rotary clothesline, eaten away by rust and leaning to one side, but providing the only focal point in what was basically a dense jungle of weeds.
Nevertheless, Molly was adamant she now wanted to search outside, scratching and whining vigorously at the door, occasionally looking at Mia with desperate eyes. Claire seemed uninterested as she made herself a cup of tea, moaning about the mountain of work she still had to do before her father’s property could be placed on the market.
‘Is it okay if I let her outside?’ Mia said, unable to tolerate Molly’s anguish any longer.
‘I wouldn’t. There would be snakes out there for certain.’
‘She’s obviously looking for your father,’ Mia said. ‘It’s upsetting to see her so distressed.’
‘She’ll get over it. She’s just an animal,’ Claire said. ‘But of course she’s upset. She and Dad went everywhere together. I have no doubt whatsoever that this dog is indeed Dolly,’ Claire said, lighting the gas hotplate and creating an alarming puff of fire.
Mia watched Claire wordlessly place the kettle on the hob. She felt certain real affection would have existed between Clarence and his dog in this modest, outrageously neglected but, in all probability, bounteously loving home. But she felt highly reluctant about leaving her in the care of Claire. ‘Have you had much to do with Dolly?’ Mia asked.
‘We didn’t see a lot of Dad or Dolly,’ she said, seemingly unaware that the dog was persisting in her attempts at getting out of the house by scratching feverishly at the door. ‘He couldn’t travel much. But still, he drove himself everywhere before he died. We asked constantly if he would move to Queensland to be near to us. But of course, he grew up on the Peninsula — as did I. So it would have been too much of a wrench for him.’ She looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Claire,’ Mia said, frowning as Molly began chewing energetically at the bottom edge of the door. ‘Molly, I mean Dolly. Stop that,’ she said, acutely concerned for the dog’s teeth. She rose from her seat and pulled the dog back to the floor beside her, all without Claire missing a beat in her monologue.
Having made her tea, Claire lowered herself with a groan onto the vinyl and chrome chair opposite Mia. Patted the back of her French twist. ‘Yes, the dreaded phone call people talk about is precisely that,’ she said. ‘But at least ours came during daylight hours. Dad was on his way to Ackland Point to play bowls. They said he had a heart attack and hit a tree. I’ve been to the site,’ she said, her eyes shining, threatening tears. ‘There are still pieces of chrome and plastic scattered on the ground. But judging from the damage to the tree the impact wasn’t massive, so he obviously wasn’t travelling very fast.’ She swallowed hard. Sipped her tea. ‘Dad would never wear his seatbelt, no matter how much we told him and no matter how many times the police pulled him over. So of course he was thrown from the car. Dolly was obviously thrown out as well.’ Claire sighed and her eyes misted again. ‘Dad wasn’t the most fastidious housekeeper, as you can see, but I’m very proud of the way he managed so well on his own for the 28 years that have passed since Mum died.’
Claire paused and heaved a martyrish sigh, which Mia dutifully acknowledged with a sympathetic look. Like a car refuelled, Claire continued. ‘We were worried about Dad being lonely so we bought Dolly for him when she was a pup. Every day without fail he would cook up cheap meat scraps and vegetables for her. And even though he was not terribly mobile, he would walk her along the full length of this street and back again each morning.’ Claire sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘Where did you find her?’ she asked.
‘She was running along the beach at Ackland Bay. I understand now, that she had been spooked by the accident, but I had no idea what she had been through until the police contacted me.’ Mia bent to pat Molly and her voice softened. ‘I’ve enjoyed having her.’
‘So you don’t mind keeping her then?’ Claire said, draining her cup.
Mia frowned at Claire, certain her brain had finally given up.
‘Didn’t the police tell you? My husband and I travel a great deal and our children already have dogs. There is no way I can take her home.’ She clucked. ‘The police are hopeless. I thought they would have told you that much at least.’
Mia could not suppress her smile. ‘I don’t care. I know now. That’s all that matters.’
‘Dad would have loved you, Mia. He’d be chuffed that you are the person who found Dolly. He may even have had something to do with it,’ she said only half-smiling as she glanced upward.
Minutes later, Claire bent to pat Molly goodbye at the front door. Unable to believe how well this visit had finally turned out, Mia bundled Molly into the front seat of her car — something she had never dreamed she would be doing again — and pulled away from the kerb. ‘That’s it, Molly. No one can separate us now,’ she said, glancing at her dog’s profile, ears forward and eyes on full alert as she surveyed the passing landscape, wired with anticipation.
Mia found the Hooper farm easily with the GPS, turning into the driveway through the stone and timber entrance shrouded by blossoming apple and pear trees. A For Sale sign loomed large, causing a stab of sadness for Mia on behalf of the Hooper fa
mily.
Dolomite crunched under her tyres cruising towards the large stone house, obviously once a most imposing residence. Mia immediately thought how much she and Annie Hooper had in common with regard to splitting assets and living on less in the future. At least her beloved fibro on the coast was safe, but she knew she could never afford to buy Eric out of their main residence in North Adelaide. Her empathy for Annie was more profound because she knew her divorce would be complex and the subsequent challenges painstakingly arduous.
Molly instantly broke into ear-piercing whines and fits of barking at seeing the Hoopers’ two red kelpies bounding up to the car and running noisily alongside as they followed the car past the back door to the front where a circular parking bay of worn gravel sprouting with weeds appeared not to have been used for some time. Embarrassed by their chaotic arrival, she parked the car and looked anxiously up at the house before gathering her handbag and the pink folder. ‘Be good, Molly,’ she said, lowering the windows a little before she locked the car doors.
As she climbed the stone steps and looked along the stretch of wide verandah, she imagined the grandeur the house would have enjoyed in its day. The large brass knocker made her hand seem frail as it thumped against the timber door. She turned to glance at the lush green hills dotted with cattle, the wide expanse of baby blue sky with only an occasional puff of white over the darker blue sea. The Hoopers were sacrificing more than a home because of Peter’s selfish betrayal — it was their livelihood and their lives.
Annie wore a nervous smile and a fitted brown tracksuit when she opened the door, with Ben peering doe-eyed at her side. ‘Hello, Dr Sandhurst. You’re right on time,’ she said.
Mia followed Annie along an imposing passage, with Ben occasionally turning to smile at her. They finally entered a sparsely furnished, but hugely spacious, expanse of slate and tiles comprising the kitchen and family room. ‘Rachel is in the shower,’ Annie said as she shuffled and cleared a pile of magazines and papers from a large oak table. ‘She should be out soon.’ She gestured for Mia to take a seat at the space she had just cleared, then lumbered into the kitchen to fill the kettle.
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