The note expressed the hope that she hadn’t met with any trouble on her journey and after some friendly words of welcome and their home telephone number, went on to explain that the key was with Mrs Ethel Bennett across the road at number twenty-six. And, Mrs Squire had added, as an apparently hurried postscript, that the basket contained a few goodies for Jacqueline to enjoy over the weekend as shops wouldn’t be open again until Monday.
Jacqueline smiled wryly and tucked the note in the side of the basket between a clear package of lamingtons and small jar of homemade apricot jam with frilly paper doily decorating the lid. Without checking what else the basket contained, she headed down the driveway and across the road, wondering as she went if it was really true that country people were always inviting strangers in for cups of tea.
Suddenly she was aware of being very weary and felt the last thing she wanted was to be sociable – the first being a nice soak in a hot bath scented with lavender. She dragged her feet up the smooth concrete path towards the welcoming but unnecessary porch light; another simple weatherboard cottage, this time painted in cream and brown tones.
As she raised her arm to knock, the door opened to reveal a slightly stooped, yet robust-looking elderly woman with silver-rinsed hair and a dusty pink, loose weave crocheted cape around her shoulders.
‘Hello dear, you must be Jacqueline Havelock …’
‘Yes, hello, Mrs Bennett?’ Jacqueline enquired.
‘Call me Ethel. You just missed Doctor and Mrs Squire. They were a bit concerned for you. I said you’d probably stopped for a break – very wise on such a long journey. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look exhausted, dear. I’ve just put the kettle on, come in for a cuppa.’
Jacqueline groaned inwardly and longed for the bath she would run as soon as she got into her own little cottage. ‘Um … I …’ she began.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, listen to me going on like a silly old woman. Probably the last thing you want is to sit about chinwagging. Having just driven so far, you’re probably dreaming of a nice hot bath. Forgive me.’
Jacqueline smiled – she loved Wattle Creek already and knew she was going to get on really well with Ethel. She sighed deeply. ‘Actually Ethel, I’d love a cuppa – it’ll give me some energy for all that unpacking I’ve got waiting.’
‘Great. Come in,’ Ethel said, a broad grin spreading across her face. ‘Here, these are your keys before I forget.’ She took a ring with two keys on it from on top of a dark Edwardian-style hallstand.
As Jacqueline stepped into the hallway she breathed in a mixture of lavender, eucalyptus, naphthalene and furniture polish that reminded her strongly of her grandmother’s house back when she’d visited as a child. Her grandmother had been gone for over ten years but still she held on to that fragrant memory.
After sipping tea from delicate rose-patterned china cups Jacqueline felt recharged. She said goodbye and thank you over and over to her new neighbour, then set off across the road to her new home clutching a round pyrex casserole filled to the brim with meat and vegetables in a thick gravy, and a fruity jubilee cake covered in cling wrap sitting on the lid. The words, ‘Call me if you need anything at all dear, I’m almost always here,’ rang in her ears and she smiled broadly. She had to admit it felt kind of nice to be fussed over just a little bit, especially by someone who was not her mother. She wasn’t sure how, but Ethel’s fussing was different.
As Jacqueline opened the door and flicked on the light the soft scent of the roses wafted in after her. On the mantel in the small lounge room sat a welcoming vase of more of the multi-coloured roses. After deeply breathing in their sugary scents, she felt ready to tackle the unpacking of her car.
Finally the car was empty and the hallway and lounge were cluttered with untidy piles of her worldly possessions. She closed the front door, slumped heavily into the welcoming plush cushions of the closest of the two moss green and white striped sofas and gazed about her. There was something nice about renting fully furnished, she thought, like living in a hotel except you have to make your own bed and keep the place clean yourself.
Jacqueline had hardly ever stayed in hotels, well, nothing above three-star, and that’s what made the illusion so much better. She reached over to the coffee table and began flicking through the carefully laid stack of papers. There were various maps of the town and surrounds, information on local industries and markets, details of where to find essential services and when things were open.
After setting the steaming water running at a furious pace into the bathtub, Jacqueline dragged her plush towelling robe out of the largest of her four mismatched suitcases and put it on, then wandered around snooping in cupboards and drawers while she waited for the bath to fill. It was a chilly midsummer evening but the house was retaining the day’s heat well – a bit too well; it was actually quite stuffy, Jacqueline thought. She went through the three bedrooms, lounge and kitchen opening each of the double hung windows and securing the pins to lock them in place. She was pleased someone else had clearly been security conscious too. It really was too warm to sleep with the house all closed up, and thanks to Jacob she wouldn’t be able to sleep if they were open. Lying back in the bath, Jacqueline thought how at home she felt already; the house had a really nice feel about it.
After enjoying a long soak in the tub and a hearty bowl of Ethel’s chunky lamb casserole, Jacqueline realised how exhausted she really was and decided to reject the idea of watching a movie in favour of having an early night. Lying in bed, she wondered how she would spend her Sunday with no shops open to look at. She hoped the town was bigger than she suspected and that driving around its streets would entertain her for longer than five minutes.
The next morning Jacqueline awoke with a start from dreaming of miles of endless straight bitumen road and dotted white lines splitting plains of saltbush that stretched to the distant quivering horizon.
‘What the hell is that?’ she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, trying to work out where what sounded like a wailing siren was coming from.
Picking up her watch from the bedside cupboard she was surprised to find she’d slept through her body clock’s usual six-thirty wake up. It was exactly nine o’clock. She noticed the siren seemed to be winding down but as she sighed with relief it started up again, getting louder as if winding up to something really big.
Panic began to rise in her like a giant bubble. It sounded just like an air raid siren from old war footage.
‘Shit, what do I do?’ she groaned, clutching at her head. What if I have to evacuate? What if it’s a fire warning? She remembered hearing something about country areas having such things.
Ethel’s words urging her to call for ‘anything at all’ suddenly cut clear through her panicked thoughts. She leapt out of bed, pulled her robe over her pink and green striped pyjamas and bolted down the hall and out the front door.
Ethel was standing in her front garden watering flowers with the hose. On her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat with three plastic daisies in a row across the front. The same pink crocheted cape was around her shoulders and buttoned at her neck. She looked up, surprised, as Jacqueline bounded across the road, her dark, naturally wavy shoulder-length bed-hair puffed out in all directions and her cheeks reddening.
‘Ethel, thank goodness,’ Jacqueline breathed.
‘Whatever is the matter, dear?’ Ethel asked, the hose with its silver stream still concentrated on a bright red flowering bottlebrush.
‘What’s that noise?’ Jacqueline shrieked.
‘Oh that’s just the fire siren,’ Ethel laughed.
‘Shouldn’t we do something?’ Jacqueline said, looking about her frantically.
‘It’s just a practice run. Right on nine o’clock the last Sunday of every month, the CFS does a test. After a while you’ll hardly notice it,’ she said, giving Jacqueline’s hand a reassuring pat. ‘Did it wake you, dear?’ she asked tenderly.
Jacqueline nodded sheepishly.
; ‘Must have slept well, that’s a good sign. I was just about to have a cuppa, would you like one while you’re here?’
Suddenly Jacqueline realised how ridiculous she must look, and self-consciously pulled her robe tighter around her breasts. Looking around, she realised half the street was out watering their gardens – and all staring at her.
‘Um … no thanks, lots to do,’ she mumbled, then turned and fled across the road, noticing for the first time how sharp the road was on her bare feet.
The front door slammed behind her and Jacqueline leant against it breathing deeply, and then laughed when she caught sight of herself in the oval mirror above the hallstand. ‘And half the town saw me like this,’ she groaned, and slumped onto the nearest sofa.
After dressing and slowly recovering from her embarrassment, Jacqueline cooked a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs in true Havelock tradition. She sat at the kitchen table looking out the window onto the verandah at the glorious sunny day beyond.
Having finished her breakfast and put her plate in the sink, she made herself a coffee and took it outside. She settled into one of the two director chairs under the kitchen window on the small back verandah beside the laundry. Birds tweeted and frolicked in the morning sun, picking at the patch of lawn growing underneath the clothesline.
The view from the back wasn’t anything particularly exciting. All the way around was a high traditional grey corrugated-iron fence and, other than the lawn, old Hills hoist and a shed about half the size of a single car garage – which looked most likely to be made of asbestos – the small yard consisted of concrete. But it was nice to feel the warmth of the sun on her legs and not be under the scrutiny of the whole street. And the birds were relaxing to watch. Other than the birds and the whisper in the branches of the trees hanging over both the side fences, it was quiet. Nothing like the constant car noise she’d had to get used to living on a busy dual-lane road.
As she sipped from her cup, Jacqueline realised she felt more relaxed than she had for ages. She had a few nerves about starting work the next day – Doctor Squire had seemed a bit of an old grump when he’d interviewed her – but she was free of Jacob and wouldn’t have to be looking over her shoulder all the time. And that’s what mattered. Yes, she was free to settle into her work and concentrate on really making a difference to people’s lives, rather than just providing an hour’s respite and entertainment for prison inmates.
Jacqueline thought about the day ahead. As much as she would love to spend it walking around window-shopping, or even checking out a few of the nearby wineries and antique shops the tourist brochures spoke of, finishing the unpacking and getting the house organised was her priority. She liked that despite the house being on the smallish side, it had plenty of storage; each of the bedrooms had a wardrobe, there was a built-in linen press beside the bathroom, plenty of cupboards in the kitchen, and a decent-sized broom cupboard in the laundry.
Jacqueline Havelock was an advocate of the tidy life, tidy mind principle. Boxes and suitcases left lingering, cluttering up her life for the next few weeks, was not something she could live with. Nor was general clutter.
It was what had driven her nuts about share houses at university and afterwards. She’d enjoyed living on her own for the past couple of years. A tiny, shabby flat had been all she could afford, but at least she didn’t have to deal with others not doing their share of housework and leaving their stuff scattered all around the common areas.
Though perhaps if she hadn’t been alone Jacob wouldn’t have frightened her so much. A shiver travelled down her spine, and she pushed the thoughts aside. That was all over now. She was here in Wattle Creek, and had a whole new life ahead of her.
Meanwhile she had dishes and the rest of the unpacking to do. She hadn’t seen any weather forecasts, but the way the air was already heating up around her, it would be a hot one. The birds were starting to disappear. She’d get the house in order and herself prepared for her first day of work, and then collapse in front of the TV with the air conditioner in the lounge room wall on. Maybe she’d go for a walk in the evening when it got cooler if she could be bothered. If not, she’d leave it until the morning.
Jacqueline spent a few more moments enjoying the tranquillity before draining her coffee, getting up, and going inside.
Early on Monday morning Jacqueline set off for an hour’s brisk walk, a weekday ritual she’d started at university that had stayed with her when she’d started her working life. She found she enjoyed the fresh air, regardless of whether it was the hot stifling north breezes of summer or crisp southerly chills in the middle of winter. The walk was her time to mentally prepare for the day ahead.
But this Monday she had an extra-light step to her long stride as she took careful note of her surroundings so she could find her way back. Through deep breaths she inhaled the country air and from the wafting aromas identified lemon-scented gums, pine trees and freshly cut grass. A hint of brilliant cobalt blue was visible through a wash of ashen cloud yet to be burnt away by the morning sun.
Having consulted her town map, Jacqueline knew to follow her street across to the westernmost street that abutted the golf course. According to the brochure she’d read, the course used ‘sand scrapes’ instead of greens. Having had the odd round of golf with her father she was keen to see what this meant, and set off.
There was no one around so she crossed the fairway, which was anything but – just weeds and grass kept short, and certainly not watered. As she made her way towards the nearest flag set within a round area of what looked from a distance to be black tar, she decided that ‘sand scrapes’ must be rural courses’ answer to water restrictions.
She stood at the edge of the round area that was about the size of a normal green, but nothing like anything she’d seen before. She bent down and put her fingers in the black, gritty substance. It wasn’t sand at all, more very fine gravel. It smelt quite like tar, but was dry and not at all sticky. Nearby, leaning against a steel upright was an apparatus that looked to be both for raking and smoothing the area, given the rake marks and smoothed out sections on the gritty surface. Jacqueline made a mental note to ask someone about it sometime, and moved on.
Following the outer fairways around the edge of town to the northern boundary, she made her way along the back of the hospital, into West Street then around the corner into her street, Second Avenue.
It was almost impossible to get lost; each boundary street of the main town was named north, south, east and west. Between these boundary streets running east-west were the streets in order – first, third, fifth and seventh – and then running north-south were second, fourth, sixth and eighth streets. From this basic original plan it seemed the town had grown out into a number of small subdivisions south towards the cemetery and west beyond the golf course.
In forty-five minutes Jacqueline was back at her front gate, flushed and invigorated. Tomorrow morning she would try to find a route that would take the whole hour.
After showering and enjoying a bowl of muesli, she half wished she hadn’t been so organised the night before and ironed a shirt; she was ready for work far too early. She remembered Doctor Squire saying he did hospital rounds from eight until nine each morning and that the surgery was open from eight-thirty. Jacqueline checked her watch again – seven forty-five – loaded her boxes of office stuff into the car and sat down to watch morning television. It would be so much better when she had her own key to the surgery and could come and go from her office as she pleased.
Half an hour later, Jacqueline parked in the medical centre’s empty car park where she had a view of the front door. At exactly eight-thirty the two receptionists she’d met on the day of her interview arrived and unlocked the door. While Jacqueline waited a few more minutes for them to go inside and get organised, she tried to remember the names of the women, both in their early thirties she guessed.
Cecile and Louise, that’s right, she finally remembered. She locked her car and walked to the
office, carrying the lighter of the two boxes with her black leather satchel-style briefcase laid on top. She’d get the other box later. Both women turned towards the door as Jacqueline entered, the surprise on their faces spreading into broad grins as they recognised her.
‘Hello again, Miss Havelock,’ they said in unison, thrusting hands out over the counter.
‘Doctor Squire likes his staff punctual, you’ll get on well,’ Cecile said.
‘Please call me Jacqueline,’ Jacqueline said. She put the box on the counter and returned their handshakes and friendly grins.
‘Right. Great to have another woman in the place,’ Cecile said. ‘I’ve gotta fill his highness’s jellybean jar. Louise, can you show Jacqueline around?’
‘No worries, come on,’ replied the shorter and slightly younger-looking of the two.
Jacqueline’s office was at the opposite end of the simple, open-plan building to the reception desk. She remembered Doctor Squire telling her that the rooms down her end were used by the optometrist and chiropractor who came every month, and in the interim anyone else who needed to rent space occasionally. Apparently she’d been given the largest of the rooms, which the physiotherapist had vacated six months ago to set up in larger premises elsewhere in town.
They made their way through the central waiting area, which consisted of two rows of chairs facing each other. A long low table covered in piles of magazines sat in the space between the rows, and had to be passed in order to get to the other end of the building. She hoped she could change that; she had seen other doors outside when she’d driven through the car park before parking. But all in good time.
The room was smaller than she remembered, but pleasant and clean enough. She dumped the box on the dark brown laminex desktop and went to the cord beside the window and opened the cream-coloured vertical drapes.
Wattle Creek Page 2