Even before he switched off the ignition in Mia’s driveway, she and Molly stepped through the wide glass doors and made their way across the deck to greet him.
‘I really appreciate you doing this, Tim,’ Mia said watching him from the deck as he unloaded his toolbox from the back of the ute, Molly clambering at his feet for attention. He gave her a cursory rub then gestured with his hand for her to sit, which she immediately did.
‘Even though there hasn’t been rain for a while,’ Mia continued, ‘the constant tapping of the iron is worse for my sanity than a water drip torture.’
‘No worries. Won’t take a minute,’ he said running up the steps to the deck, and quickly pulling a pair of khaki overalls over his shorts.
‘I want to pay you for your time,’ Mia said, brushing a fly away from her face.
‘Yeah — right Mia. Like I paid you for the hour you spent talking to me. No money — it’s what friends do,’ he said, jumping up onto the deck railing and climbing from there onto the roof where he straightened and looked down at Mia. He picked his way carefully across the thin metal, its heat radiating up to meet him. ‘Is the knocking about here?’ he called down, indicating with his foot.
‘Yes. You’ve found it,’ she said, shading her eyes from the sun.
‘Can you stay for coffee or a cool drink?’ Mia asked, watching Tim five minutes later slip down from the roof onto the railing.
‘Iced coffee would be great if you have it,’ he said jumping onto the deck and immediately ripping his overalls off. The breeze drying his sweat brought immediate relief.
‘I should bring my line down again soon,’ Tim said, from where he sat at one end of Mia’s extraordinarily long and chunky timber table, her binoculars up to his eyes. Mia sat in a deckchair opposite his, the uber-sized umbrella casting shade over their drinks and a basket of cold grapes, along with magazines, sunglasses and sunscreen. Tim adjusted the binoculars. ‘They are actually catching squid and salmon out there.’
He eventually placed Mia’s binoculars down on the table and drained his iced coffee, scooping up the dregs of melted icecream with the spoon and washing it down with the last mouthful of sparkling water.
‘I’m looking forward to your birthday lunch on Sunday,’ Mia said, when he knelt and reached for his tools scattered on the deck and packed them into their individual places in their metal box.
‘Do you have Jack and Sharon’s address?’ he asked.
Mia nodded. ‘I’m looking forward to their dog and Molly finally meeting.’
‘What about Noah? Is he coming?’ Tim asked, snapping the locks to secure his toolbox to the ute’s tray.
Mia swallowed the last of her coffee and shook her head. ‘He’s working unfortunately.’
Blinding disappointment tore at Tim from knowing he would be unable to thank Noah in person for his Herculean efforts at collecting the evidence the prosecution needed in order to successfully argue that Peter was indeed fit to stand trial. The frustration that had enveloped them all over recent weeks tore at Tim now. He rubbed the back of his head and walked down the steps to place his toolbox in the back of the ute. The matter would go to trial soon, but despite that, the bastard remained relentless in insisting he could not remember abusing Rachel — yet he was willingly pleading guilty on the kiddy porn charge.
‘It’s a pity Noah can’t be there,’ Mia said making her way down the steps. ‘He’s leaving for Canberra soon.’
‘What — to live?’ Tim was astounded by the casual way in which Mia announced what had to be an earth-shattering wrench for her.
‘He was given an opportunity too good to refuse. With the Federal Police … something he’s always wanted to do. He leaves at the end of this month,’ she added, her sadness finally detectable.
‘But I thought you two were sweet.’
Mia smiled. ‘We are. I’ll miss him. He asked me to go to Canberra with him.’ She turned her face up to the sun seeming to enjoy the warmth on her skin. ‘But it’s still early days for me. I’d have to give up my job, my friends, my lifestyle, all this …’ She waved her arm towards the sea. ‘Anyway, Canberra is not that far away. We’ll stay in touch. Not like Perth,’ she said, almost as an afterthought.
‘Perth?’ Tim said puzzled.
‘Another good friend who lives in Perth was a great help when Eric left. He and I saw each other a couple of times, but the tyranny of distance — and me meeting Noah, of course — soon put an end to that. Will Ellen be there Sunday?’ she said after a moment’s silence.
Tim nodded. ‘Yeah. She even swapped a day shift for an early.’
‘Now that has definitely got to be love,’ Mia said.
Tim secured the lock on his toolbox, wondering why Mia was letting Noah go. He couldn’t understand anyone not choosing to be with someone they loved and who obviously loved them — above all else, including work.
Soon he cruised through their driveway, the apple and pear trees now lush with foliage and laden with what appeared to be perfectly plump and ripe fruit, until closer attention revealed the result of incessant feasting by rats, parrots and ants. It was the same every year. But more disturbing to Tim was the garish SOLD sticker now plastered across the sale sign at the entrance. He still didn’t know what to feel about the finality it heralded, and even more unsettling was how the entire family had been forced to relinquish their passionate pledge and finally sell the property to an overseas buyer. It had been gut-wrenching for them all, but the representative of a faceless overseas company had made an offer at least 30 per cent above any other.
The creek was totally dry now and Monnie’s yard virtually unrecognisable. The grass had dried off and what had once been a special place to them was simply an unremarkable section of the property with two small sheds draped with copious spiderwebs waving like silk in the northerly breeze.
The screen door slapped shut and Tim stepped into the family room to be met by Ben waving a piece of red and blue material at him. ‘It’s my Batman suit,’ Ben said his face shining gleefully. ‘Mum said I used to wear it before I could even walk. Look how tiny I was,’ he said, holding it up where he stood among countless cartons, some sealed, others half filled, competing with eclectic piles of household clutter scattered haphazardly across the floor. Tim wondered how everything would fit into the Hamilton place, which was half the size.
‘Oh there you are, love,’ Annie said wandering in with her arms full of sheets and towels. Only days ago Annie had decided to visit the local hairdresser after decades of cutting her own hair and had been talked into a shorter, trendier bob with darker highlights. There was a new peace about Annie as well, Tim thought, as he watched her scan the boxes before bending to one of them with a groan and packing the linen inside.
‘The broken flyscreen in the lounge room needs fixing when you have a minute, love,’ she said, straightening. ‘And the washer in the tap over the bath needs changing as well. I’ll make lunch.’
Tim gritted his teeth as he tightened the tap over their green enamel bathtub and wondered what changes the new owners would make, or whether they would simply knock the house over and start again. Annie had done her best to siphon this information from the agent, but nothing had been forthcoming. In the end, it didn’t matter seeing as how the money they were paying entitled them to do anything they liked. Tim wondered if his mother felt the same way.
‘Where’s Ben,’ Tim said minutes later, stepping out onto the verandah and wiping his hands down the sides of his jeans.
‘He wanted to watch TV for a while. No harm in it now and then I guess,’ Annie murmured.
‘This may be the last time we do this, Mum. Do you reckon you’ll miss it?’ Tim said, biting into a roast lamb and tomato roll and taking in the emerald green of their irrigated sections of pasture, in stark contrast to the more frequent stretches of summer’s sienna brown.
‘No, love. I’m used to the idea now. I’m looking forward to a new life. And I know Ben can’t wait to be closer to
his schoolmates. Having said that he also made me promise I would drive him to play with the Bollen kids whenever he wanted. I only hope Rachel adjusts. How do you think she’s coming along?’ Annie said, turning to him.
‘It has to be a good sign that Declan only needs to see her once a week now. And I think she’s gradually putting on weight.’ He thought about the Rachel of months ago, compared to the Rachel today. She was still troubled, still broken, but Peter hadn’t totally robbed her of her spirit. ‘I reckon she’s doing pretty well, Mum. It’s just slow going, that’s all.’
Tim watched Annie’s pensive profile as she spoke. ‘Sometimes I feel guilty that I seem to be enjoying life more than before. And certainly more than Rachel. She’s still young, yet she has so much more to deal with.’
‘We can’t look after Rach if we don’t look after ourselves first, Mum. Don’t feel guilty just because you have less to worry about,’ Tim said blowing across his coffee and sipping.
There was something that had been preying on Tim’s mind for months now, ever since everyone’s secrets had started sliding out into the open, like rats finally venturing from their holes. He and Annie had almost finished their lunch and, in the silence, as he flicked through a magazine and she read today’s paper, Tim decided to come out with it. ‘Mum, I get why you didn’t say anything to me about Jack being my father, but don’t you think he had a right to know about it earlier — and so did I.’
‘I know that now, love. But at the time there didn’t seem to be any point. All it would have done was kick up a hell of a storm with Peter.’
‘But didn’t it get to you, like make you feel bad, that Jack and Sharon could never have a baby — and here you were with his little kid hidden away like a dirty secret?’
Annie silently stroked her arm, melancholic eyes staring ahead. She clenched her jaw, but did not turn to face him.
‘Maybe you didn’t say anything because the truth was harder for you to tell, than it was for us to hear,’ Tim said softly. ‘Maybe that was the real problem.’ He rested his forearms on his splayed thighs and stared down at the concrete slab, trying to sort through his thoughts. ‘The irony of it is that the truth has turned out to be a whole lot easier to deal with than the ugly gaps created by all the lies and silence,’ he said.
Annie took a deep breath. ‘I know, love. You’re right. I’m sorry.’
Nothing more was said and they returned to their reading for a few minutes, when Annie slapped her palms down on her thighs, beaming. Tim realised he hadn’t seen his mother smile that way for as far back as he could remember.
‘Oh my gawd, Tim. I almost forgot. A letter came for you today,’ she said, throwing the screen door open and disappearing, her footsteps thundering down the passage, returning moments later with a white envelope.
The sight of the logo caused Tim to hold his breath, his heart thudding in his chest as he carefully pulled it open. He unfolded and skimmed the contents, desperately searching for the words he sought. It felt surreal once he understood properly what the letter was telling him. He looked up at Annie’s anxious expression.
‘Well?’ she asked.
He knew his smile was her answer, but he wanted to hear the words out loud. Dear Tim, he read. We are pleased to offer you a place within the Bachelor of Environmental Science at this university. Please see the attached information and confirm your wish to accept this offer by blah blah … He rushed over and pulled his mother out of her chair. Hugged her and set her down again before grabbing the sides of his hair and staring up in amazement, unable to speak, almost unable to think from the wonder of it. Never in a million years had he expected his mature-age application to be successful.
‘I’m so proud of you, Tim,’ his mother said, her smile never abating.
‘I’m going to ring Ellen,’ he said, digging his phone out of the pocket of his shorts and scrolling for her number.
Tim ignored the thundering of footfall along the passage as he pressed Dial. He listened to the ringing on the other end and ignored the harsh thud of the screen door against the stone wall as Ben came tearing from the house. Even ignored Ben as he shouted, ‘Mum, would you please tell Rachel to get out of the bathroom?’
‘Alright, Ben. No need to shout. We are just here,’ Annie said, massaging her ear. ‘Just ask Rachel nicely and she will come out of the bathroom.’
‘I did. I asked her nicely lots of times. The door is locked and she won’t even answer.’
A feeling of déjà vu gripped Tim. Tossing his phone on the table he leapt from his chair at precisely the same moment as Annie. Pushed past Ben to throw the screen door open and tear down the passage towards the bathroom.
And Ben thumped along behind them, shouting, ‘Get out, Rachel. Mum’s coming to tell you off.’
Tim shook the bathroom handle hard enough to rip it from the door, but to no avail. He could hear Annie’s rasping breaths behind him, the wringing of her hands.
‘Rachel, open up,’ Tim shouted, continuing to shake the door with every ounce of energy he could muster. Suddenly he made the decision this was not working and put his ear to the thick timber. Heard nothing other than Annie pacing the floor behind him. Her constant mutterings, ‘Rachel, please open the door, pet.’
‘Rachel, open up,’ he shouted at the top of his voice finally kicking the door with enough impetus to severely dent it but nowhere near enough to force it open. ‘Jeezus, Rachel. Not again. Please no.’ He stopped kicking. Stopped pounding. Leaned his head against the door in anguished defeat. Then stepped back to hip and shoulder it open.
‘For chrissakes. Why don’t you all just leave me alone,’ Rachel’s voice echoed from inside the bathroom.
‘Oh, Rachel. Are you alright, pet? Please open the door.’
‘No way. I’m in the bath. Leave me alone.’
‘It’s not just your bathroom you know. You have to share,’ Ben said.
‘At least unlock the bloody door,’ Tim said more loudly than he intended. ‘We need to know you’re okay.’
‘Oh, get off my case. I’m okay and I’m not unlocking the door. Just go away.’
Tim desperately wanted to go ahead and push the door down. Flatten it to the ground in order to see through his own eyes that she was not sitting shoulder deep in hot water, a blade hovering above her upturned wrist.
But instead, he let her be. Turned and wandered slowly towards the front door. Stepped onto the verandah and gazed out over the pasture whose beauty he had taken for granted his entire life, until now.
Suddenly he was a child again. Memories flooded back. Memories of paper party plates loaded with marshmallow-fresh fairy bread. Home-made sponges with home-made strawberry jam. Personalised stockings magically appearing on their tree overflowing with colours every Christmas morning. Embarrassingly intricate hand-knitted jumpers — a new one every year right up until high school when Tim begged his mother to stop. Abundant hugs smelling of vanilla and washing powder. This was their childhood.
And this is their life — including Rachel’s, he thought. This life is as real and as powerful as Peter Hooper’s insidious degeneracy. Even for Rachel, damage done by evil can be diluted by goodness. And from now on, he thought, rather than making decisions she is forced to make through fear or wretchedness, Rachel can decide what she wants. But Tim knew deep down that would never happen. Not until Rachel finally realised she has choices — and that her choices can only be taken from her if she allows it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
What Matters Most is the book I have wanted to write for six years. Thank you to the many children who are my inspiration.
Thanks also to the dedicated people at Adelaide College of the Arts, especially Sue Fleming, Bill ‘Swampy’ Marsh, Jane Turner-Goldsmith and Katherine England for helping me shift from policy writer to creative writer. To Bunty Parsons for the faith you showed in asking me to co-write It’s About Time.
To my first trial readers, Laura Andary and Ruth Summers; thank you for your end
urance and diplomacy. And thanks to subsequent trial readers Lynne Albrow, Chris Whyatt and Robyn Goldsworthy for your time and encouragement. To Sharon Giles and Carolyn Rowe, thank you for having well-read friends.
To Dr Michael Goldblatt, a good man to know in a medical emergency and when writing a book–thanks for sharing: and to psychologists Dr Vedrana Kopecki and Claudia Grosset from ‘Life Without Barriers’, your knowledge added new dimensions to this story. To Sheena Gray, thanks for your usual lightening response against the odds.
Then there is Fiona McIntosh, author and mother hen extraordinaire without whom What Matters Most, would still be searching in the dark for its voice. Merci Fiona. Words will never be enough. And to Rochelle Fernandez and her dedicated team at HarperCollins, especially Stephanie Smith: thank you for transforming my story from manuscript to novel.
And thank you to the most important men in my life, my husband, Jerome and our son Ryan, whose support and encouragement did not waver. To Helen Pappas, thank you for helping to keep them in line.
Finally, thank you to my parents, Shirley and (the late) Doug Rowe who taught my sisters and me the value of family and always kept us safe. This book is dedicated to them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dianne Maguire is a social worker turned novelist with over 20 years’ experience in child welfare and protection.
In 2008 she won the Pauline Walsh Prize in the Eastwood/Hills Regional Annual Literary Awards and was highly commended for a second entry. A collection of non-fiction short stories, It’s About Time, she co-wrote as a benevolent publication for children’s charity Time for Kids was first published in 2010 and again in 2014. Her articles have been published in state and national newspapers and magazines.
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