by Jennie Jones
Tomorrow? ‘Okay.’ Of course he had to leave. He’d always been going to leave. ‘Did something else happen?’
‘Scott’s talking. He’s admitted responsibility for the accident. I need to see him. I want to see him, obviously, but I need to persuade him to take the money.’
‘What money?’
‘My house in Canberra. I sold it.’
‘To pay for Scott’s care?’
‘That, and a lot of company bills.’
‘You’re a good, honest man, Tom, I told you that too. And I meant it.’ She couldn’t believe that the words were pouring out of her so easily, as though she were in the middle of a general conversation about the price of meals at the pub.
‘Yeah, well. That’s me,’ he said. ‘Generous to a fault.’
Suddenly, he looked different. He stood in the usual way—his manner offbeat and gruff, weight on one hip, sardonic kink to his half-grimace—but it was different. It was a pose.
She took a deep breath, which seemed to fill her before her lungs were ready to carry such a load.
‘So I was wondering if it would be all right for me to still see Ali,’ he said. ‘You know—when I come back to town. I mean—on those occasions I come to visit Imelda. Or maybe I could talk to her on the phone sometimes. I’d like that.’
He was ending it. The surprise shouldn’t have shocked her, she’d known this would happen.
‘Of course you can contact Ali, Tom.’ Her voice sounded normal. No catch in her breath, no tremor in the words. ‘And of course you can see her. But not me. Obviously.’
His eyebrows shot up in query, or maybe surprise. ‘Obviously?’
Adele steadied herself. She was standing in the middle of the room; there was no table to hold onto, no chair to sit on. She kept her hands at her sides, her fingers unclenched. Her features hadn’t changed. She wouldn’t be giving him any clues to the feeling of rejection that was beating in her chest. You’re not good enough. You’re a nuisance. ‘Well, obviously,’ she said, ‘we won’t be seeing each other again—not in any intimate way. I recognise that. I understand what you’re saying.’
They were standing apart and the room wasn’t big, especially with someone of Tom’s stature in it, but the gap between them felt as uncrossable as a six-lane freeway, the traffic rushing between them, deafening her in its roar. Even if he were to speak, try to mend this, attempt to persuade her differently, she wouldn’t hear him.
***
Tom’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘intimate’. He took a second to think about that. The only time he’d experienced palpations were at times of high risk in his job, and that was adrenaline. This wasn’t adrenaline. He didn’t know what it was. Some new experience, and damn it, he was sick and tired of being tested with new experiences. His world had been shattered this last few weeks, his friend had been emotionally and physically crushed, his employees had gone through difficult times of uncertainty. And Tom? Well, it didn’t matter what he’d lost because he was strong enough to get it back. In control enough to look after himself, sort himself out, start again—from the bottom.
‘Can I suggest that the telephone contact isn’t too much?’ she said. ‘I mean—once a week, maybe.’
‘Just once a week?’ he asked. He hadn’t given any thought to this, but he supposed now that he’d expected it to be a whenever-we-feel-like-it deal.
‘So are we agreed?’ she asked, as though she were finalising a meeting about school rosters.
Problem was, she just looked so fresh and ladylike all the time. The kind of woman who should be cared for body and soul, who should be revered and loved, and Tom wasn’t the kind of man to give everything to another. He never had been and didn’t know how or where to start. He wasn’t sure he wanted to give himself over to a person in such a way. What experience did he have? Zilch.
Nobody had ever called Tom Wade a coward. He’d always fended for himself. From the age of eight—from Ali’s age—he’d recognised that his family wasn’t as good as other kid’s families. Had he turned bitter and resentful? No, he hadn’t. Tom Wade could look after himself and watch out for others. But he couldn’t handle this new argument going on in his head. Just stay, you bloody jerk.
But for what? And with what? He had no money left, no job, nothing to offer. He couldn’t stay and keep Adele at his side, tethered to poverty for another ten years, and with him gone most of the time because his new business would demand he travelled wherever the work was. What good would that be to Adele? A man who was never home. They’d tear each other apart with the pain of the constant separations.
And even worse, he didn’t know how to give. Nothing he could do about it. That’s who he was. He recognised both the failing and the fact that it was a failing. He couldn’t change now—hell, he’d been left at age four. His mother hadn’t wanted him, his grandfather had hated him and his grandmother had given only what she was able to give.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Understood. I’ll only call Ali once a week.’ He backed to the door. ‘I won’t pick her up from Imelda’s as I promised I would. Let her get used to me not being around. So often,’ he added.
She nodded, once. Her lips stayed closed, maybe firmly closed. Did she have stuff she wanted to say? Was she holding onto something? Was this a new experience for her?
Hell, he didn’t know.
Adele wouldn’t know what all these new experiences were doing to him either, and neither should she be concerned by it. He couldn’t do much more for her that he already had.
He turned for the hall and let himself out, somehow managing not to slam the front door behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Mummy, Lisa has a pink scooter and can I take mine to her house today?’
‘Yes, of course, sweetheart.’
Ali skipped down the hallway and Adele went back to the boxes full of Dulili’s memorabilia. She dragged another from beneath the window in the living room and began carefully extracting the treasures wrapped in brown paper and newspaper. She paused, and let her hands drop to her sides. Thoughts of Tom were never far away.
Pleasure at having her child returned to her, fully healed as though nothing bad had ever happened, brought pleasure and thankfulness to her soul and to her being. Every time Ali spoke to someone Adele’s heart swelled in gratitude. But it was to Tom her thanks had to go, and she didn’t want to think about Tom.
He’d been gone nearly a week and she still expected to see him stomping out of his house, or banging on her front door with a suggestion that they all have dinner at the pub.
Ali hadn’t mentioned him, but she was so absorbed in her new friendship with Lisa that everything else had taken a back seat. Tom had said goodbye to Ali though. The morning he left, he’d come out of his house a few seconds after Adele and Ali had exited theirs, about to go to school. Adele had wondered if he’d been waiting and listening for their front door to open and close.
He’d told Ali he was off to the city, and that he’d be back occasionally, but not soon. He’d held his arms out to her and Ali had gone to him. They’d whispered to each other. Adele wasn’t sure what they’d said, and she hadn’t prodded Ali. She didn’t want to know. It was enough that the big man had shown his care by taking the time to say goodbye. When he released her, he promised they’d talk on the telephone, but maybe not for a week or so.
Then he’d looked up at Adele. He hadn’t smiled but she thought she’d seen regret in his eyes.
She’d forced a smile. Hopefully a polite, pleasant smile and not one that gave him any clue to how much pain he was leaving behind in her heart. She didn’t want to think about their affair, or about how brief their affair had been. Really, she might as well have had a one-night-stand. That’s how brief her encounter with love had been.
‘Mummy—what time are they coming? I’m ready now.’
Adele came out of her reverie. ‘Another hour, sweetie.’
‘That’s ages.’
‘Have you pac
ked your overnight bag? Got your toothbrush?’ She walked to the door and took Ali’s hand, squeezing it and smiling down. ‘Why don’t we check? And maybe we should spend the next hour making a nice thank you card for Lisa’s mum. How about that?’
‘Okay.’
They made their way to Ali’s bedroom.
Adele wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be fighting the loneliness. Moving to Dulili had been the right decision—just look how much it had done for Ali. Adele too had made friends, and she had work colleagues. People who cared.
She wasn’t in any way ungrateful, but she hadn’t expected to fall in love. There was a new fear gnawing at her belly: that this town would now forever be tainted. That she might never get over Tom. That she might have to spend the rest of her life alone with the grief of losing him, creating a façade for those around her.
She’d done that before, of course. Not one important man in her life had stuck around. Her father—for whom she’d always been a nuisance—disowned her. The father of her child hadn’t made even the tiniest suggestion about helping her bring up Ali, he’d simply scarpered—not that she cared now. She hadn’t loved him, although she’d have stuck at the relationship if he’d stayed for Ali. And now Tom had gone. He’d been the most important man in her life. Because of what they’d shared. Because of Ali. Because she loved him and had never expected a man to come into her life that she could love with such depth without reservation. Except that now, she’d never be able to show him.
***
‘You want me to what?’ Tom stopped pushing the packing crate he’d been moving across his one-bedroom unit in the heart of Canberra, and straightened, swapping his mobile phone to his other hand.
‘A quote,’ Imelda said. ‘For the four houses.’
‘For doing them up? Why are you asking me? You want me to find a builder for you?’ Whatever it was Imelda had in mind, he could see problems. She didn’t have the capital to do up the houses. If she attempted to make a start, she’d be stuck in renovation hell for a decade. And she’d never sell them in their current state.
‘I want you to do it.’
‘I don’t live there.’
‘So? Is that going to hold up whatever high-flying business plans you’ve got underway.’
Tom grimaced. ‘I haven’t got any plans underway. They’re all in my head.’
‘Which means you’re free.’
He clenched his jaw before answering. ‘Not yet. Scott’s talking,’ he added, wanting to change the subject from Dulili and everything he’d left there. ‘He’s agreed to the money, although I didn’t give him much opportunity to back out of the deal. I told him if he didn’t take the money I’d give it to his ex-wife.’
Imelda chuckled. ‘Have you got enough left for yourself?’
‘Of course I have. Enough to see me through, if I’m careful, for a year or so. That was a damn big house, that palace I once owned.’
‘And what are you going to do until your new business kicks off?’
Mope, drink too much beer. Sink into lethargy or use the apartment-block gym five times a day. ‘I’m going to take on a few property reno jobs. Might as well make use of my skills.’ Truth was, he didn’t want to start a new rigging business. It didn’t appeal, and for the life of him he couldn’t work out why.
‘So come back and do that here,’ his grandmother suggested.
‘You can’t pay me, and I need some income to keep myself afloat so that I can use the money I do have for my next business.’
‘You just said you don’t need the money,’ Imelda argued. ‘Which is it?’
His thoughts went immediately to Adele. She was never far away, not even when he tried to kick the mental pictures of her out of his mind. He’d spoken to Imelda most days since he’d left town, but this conversation was different. She was looking for something from him in her usual roundabout manner. He hoped there was nothing wrong in the far corner house on Thompson Street. ‘How’s the kid?’
‘Haven’t you called her?’
Tom lowered his head and blew his breath out. ‘Adele asked me not to, not for a week or so.’ Just saying her name brought the mental pictures back. ‘How is she doing anyway?’
‘Adele? Not so bad.’
‘That doesn’t sound good.’ He’d told Imelda to let him know if Adele had any problems, any issues, anything at all that he, Tom, could help with.
‘She’s like you, Tom, she’s putting up with what she has instead of going after what she needs.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you unpacked yet?’ she asked.
Tom ran an eye around his apartment. Boxes and crates everywhere, except for his tools. His builder’s tools. ‘I’m getting around to it.’
‘You did the same thing in Dulili, Tom. You didn’t unpack.’
‘That’s because I knew I wasn’t staying.’
‘Same thing’s happening again. You’re just too damned stubborn to make sense of it.’
Tom started when the line went dead. He stared at his mobile. She’d hung up on him? He threw the phone onto the sofa and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky was full of grey clouds, spitting heavy raindrops on his window.
He put a shoulder to the window frame and leaned his weight against it.
He didn’t have time to contemplate his grandmother’s weirdo theories about him not unpacking. There was something bugging him and he needed to discover what it was—because right now, he didn’t want to start a new rigging business and he didn’t know why or how that had suddenly crept up on him from nowhere.
He was now planning to start off with a renovation business. Building, using his hands and putting his back into it. But why was he pushing away the thought of a new rigging business? It didn’t make sense. It was something he’d wanted. He’d built up Wade Rigging from scratch ten years ago, and he’d lost it. He’d planned on starting again, and he hadn’t done the first goddamned thing about it.
He scowled at the rain. What had Imelda said, back in Dulili? She’d known he was about to leave, because of the fear on his face. Did she think he was scared of what was in front of him?
Before he could answer himself, a stray thought entered his head and got stuck there. How was Adele going to do up her house on a part-time income? And what would happen to the house next door? The one Imelda had given to Tom.
‘Jesus, you idiot.’ Understanding came to him. He didn’t want the rigging business because he didn’t need it. It was no longer his everything.
So what was Tom Wade’s need? The answer was there, before he’d even asked the silent question.
‘You jerk.’ His everything was right in front of him. Or it had been.
Total jerk.
He lifted his tool belt from the plastic-wrapped armchair by his side and stared at it.
Suddenly, he had plans. They came to him swiftly and in order. It would take a few days to execute them, a week maximum.
His first project would be a house. One with a high-pitched roof and a chimney pot.
***
‘Heard from Tom.’
‘Oh? Hope he’s well.’ Adele averted her eyes, but handed Imelda a pamphlet from the box on her kitchen chair.
‘Not sure,’ Imelda said, perusing the front page of the pamphlet. ‘That’ll all depend.’
‘Is it his friend, Scott? Or just the difficulties involved with setting up his new business?’
‘Scott’s coming around. He’ll get there, although it won’t be quick. I told Tom he was going to have a very difficult time setting up his new business. But you know what he’s like.’
Imelda scanned the inside of the newly printed pamphlet, peering at the few photographs and the descriptions beneath. ‘Did you find the parents you were looking for?’
‘No,’ Adele answered. ‘The school won’t give out personal information.’ She’d tried to get in touch with Katrina’s parents, not to admonish anybody but to check that Katrina hadn’t stopped
talking too. ‘They said they’d pass on a letter though, so I wrote one yesterday. I suppose if there’s been an issue with Katrina, her parents might get in touch. I didn’t put blame on anyone’s doorstep though, I just said that Ali had been through some worrying times.’
‘Like as not the other young girl didn’t go through the same troubles.’
Like as not, Adele agreed silently. Katrina had been an overly confident young girl whereas Ali had been a shy follower. But Katrina was a child too, and had obviously had her own worries. Perhaps she’d needed to hand them over to another—to Ali—in order to try to forget them or overcome them. There could be no blame. Not as far as Adele was concerned.
‘These are good.’ Imelda put the pamphlet onto Adele’s kitchen table. ‘I began working on the little labels you wanted for the sweet goods for the café. I kind of enjoyed it. I’ll let you take a look later this week.’
‘Fabulous. And I bet they’re fabulous too.’ Imelda had started giving Ali drawing lessons and Adele had managed to coax Imelda into thinking about designing the labels.
‘So you’re taking up the offer to buy the house now, instead of waiting out the year?’ Imelda asked.
Adele smiled, warmth enfolding her. ‘Yes. I can manage the small monthly payments, and Cath told me that next year, she might need a Teacher’s Assistant. She said if I trained in Orange and did my practice work in the local schools, she’d endorse me for the position. Of course, I’d need a car.’
‘Sounds good. If you want me to drop off and pick up Ali from school, that’s fine too.’
‘Thank you.’ If Adele trusted anyone with her daughter, other than Cath and Tom, it was Imelda. The two had forged a good companionship, and Adele knew that Ali had played a part in breaking through Imelda’s reserve about re-starting her artwork.
‘You’ve got everything you need,’ Imelda said, and Adele’s mind travelled to the everything she didn’t have.
‘So is Tom starting up his new business soon?’ she asked, annoyance at herself for bringing the subject back to Tom catching in her chest.
‘Depends on how stubborn he gets.’ Imelda glanced up and studied Adele with what could only be keen interest in why Adele had asked.