Their father had been a hardworking man whose number-one priority was always financial security, often to the point of penny-pinching. Frugal was probably one of the first words Sid had learned as a child. Reliable and loyal, she liked to think she took after him in that way. Father and daughter were both high achievers. They were also trusting, which meant disappointment came easily and too often. On the contrary, her mother trusted no one. Fiercely protective, Natalie took no prisoners–no fight too big when it came to family. That often meant arguing with her husband about not spending enough on the children, especially when they finally had the funds.
Sid cared less than her mother about the material things money could buy, but there was no denying she shared Natalie’s creativity and her drive to succeed. Sid hadn’t realised how fiercely protective she could be, and how much like her mother she really was, until standing in front of Damien a couple of months back. What a moment of absolute clarity that had been. The look on his face was still etched into her brain.
‘You should’ve told me before, Sid,’ Damien had said that day.
‘I’m telling you now. I’ve only just found out myself. It’s not like I could have looked in a crystal ball and seen it coming.’
‘No, Sid, but there is a thing called contraception. I thought you had that detail covered.’
‘I did. I do. It just happened.’
‘And you haven’t done this to make me marry you?’
‘Make you marry me?’
‘Sorry, Sid, that sounds a bit harsh. It’s just . . .’ Damien paced back and forth between the breakfast counter and the window of their tenth-floor apartment with a view of Melbourne’s Yarra River. ‘We never discussed kids.’
‘Yes, we did actually, Damien, at Lloyd and Justine’s baby christening. Lloyd had asked you to be godfather and you told me you loved the idea of raising a child.’
‘Yeah, sure, Lloyd’s child. On a weekend. Every now and then. Shower the kid with gifts and hand it back–that kind of kid. Besides, my best mate asked. What else was I supposed to say? Thanks, but no thanks? I thought you knew I was being polite.’ When Damien reached out for her hands, Sid searched desperately for something to keep them busy, like tucking her shirt in the top of her trousers. She couldn’t look at him. ‘You know I don’t have what it takes to be a father full time. I’m too busy growing a business. Our business, babe.’
‘So what do you expect me to do?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I thought we wanted the same thing. Now I’m . . . stumped.’ He shook his head in a way that reminded Sid of her mother.
‘And I’m pregnant with your child–in case you were looking for a way to ask.’
‘Sid, come on.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she said, both hands now clawing her waist. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
Silence.
‘Say something, Damien.’
‘Sid, this isn’t my call. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and unduly influence your decision.’
‘My decision? I see.’ Sid knew then just how strong she had to be. ‘So I’ll be making the biggest decision of my life on my own. Fine.’
Jake shovelled a spoonful of muesli into his mouth and chewed it down before giving Sid a cocky grin. ‘Did you hear me, sis? I said I’d like this recipe. It’s good.’
‘Sure, whatever.’
‘Ooh, who got out of the grumpy side of the bed this morning?’ Jake continued to talk through the last mouthful of muesli. ‘Wanna know about the job, or not?’
‘Yes, Jake. When you’re ready. I have all day to watch you eat breakfast.’
Looking smug, he slid his cereal bowl to the centre of the table as though the dish might pick up the spoon and run away to the kitchen sink all on its own. ‘Cushy caretaking job, only a few days a week–with perks,’ he added.
‘Perks?’
‘For a start it’s some sort of tourist operation that has accommodation and a gallery attached. Pretentious prancing around an art gallery is right up your alley, sis, whereas I get to do the hard yakka and keep the property maintained.’
‘And we get to live in?’ Sid raised her voice over the sound of water running into the kitchen sink and the clatter of cutlery as she rinsed plates. ‘Sounds too good to be true. Who’s offering the job?’
‘Pearl referred to the place as The Greenhill Plantation, so I’m guessing it’s the Greenhills’ place.’
‘And where exactly do we find these Greenhills?’
Jake wiped the back of his hand across the milk droplet on his chin. ‘Last night you were curious about who lived in that house you can see on top of the highest hill? Well . . .’ Another grin, even more smug. ‘If we pass muster, sis, you and me will be living there–that’s who.’
‘Seriously?’ Sidney bent over to peer out the villa’s rear window, through tall palm trees, towards the distant mountain behind. The steep hillside was a patchwork of green in the morning’s golden light. Some sections were planted out with banana trees, others left bare, only a dirt track snaking its way back and forth, linking both areas. Her gaze travelled the narrow, winding ribbon of roadway to the dwelling perched at the very tip. ‘And you’re sure the job is for the two of us? Who told you?’
‘Come on, Madam Sceptic, I’ll take you to the fish co-op and you can hear it all yourself from Pearl’s lovely lips. Then you can tell me how smart I am. In fact . . .’ Jake took the tea towel from Sid’s shoulder and started wiping dishes. ‘Maybe you can hold off and praise me after Pearl’s done talking. I’d kinda like to make a good impression.’
‘Pearl?’ Sidney pictured a little old lady with mauve hair and a matching twin-set busily wrapping up smelly fish in paper.
‘Pearl’s the chick at the co-op. Come on, get yourself ready. She said she wanted to meet you first.’
• • •
Pearl was tiny, as Sid had imagined, but young and pretty, though in an unusual way–her skin colourless and her hair as white as the shaved ice she was scooping around the fresh fish on display. She waved from behind the counter when Jake blustered into the shop, Sidney close behind him.
Cold and reeking of seafood and saltwater, the place ponged a lot like Jake when he’d worked at the Sydney Fish Markets, coming home to Natalie’s on a Monday with a week’s worth of laundry sealed in a plastic garbage bag. Sidney preferred her fish cooked and on a plate, especially when Jake practised a new dish. His Monday night cook-up had been the one positive thing about moving back into her mother’s house. But when her brother brought home his smelly clothes Sid had wanted to hold her nose. She wished she could do the same now.
‘Hey-ya, Jake.’ Plump, sexy lips painted bright red smiled. ‘And you’re Sidney?’ The girl extended the palest of arms, tattooed from her shoulder to her elbow with a purple climbing rose. Up close, her hair, currently in a ponytail with the fringe held back by a pair of dark sunglasses resting on top of her head, was white, not simply over-bleached as Sid had first thought. One thing was for sure–Pearl wore her complexion beautifully.
‘Nice meeting you, too.’ Sidney shook hands, regretting the cold, wet contact instantly. ‘Jake said you know about the Greenhill place offering work and accommodation.’
‘I know it all right. I’m up on the mountain a few times a week. I do remedial therapy–like massages and stuff,’ Pearl said.
‘You mean like a masseuse?’ Jake’s eager enquiry received the same eyebrow-raising reaction from both women. Sidney knew what his pea-sized brain was doing with that bit of information. Her brother was about to burst just picturing the very pretty Pearl in a very particular masseuse mode.
Pearl grinned at him. ‘Not quite. There’d be even less call for that line of work here. There are a few local customers in need of healing hands who come to me. I’ve got a room in my place. But some I visit, like the bloke who runs the gallery up on top of the mountain. I enjoy the work, plus he pays me to mind the shop, so to speak. It’s a nice change.’
She could tell from Pearl’s small snicker that fishy comments were right up there with her brother’s masseuse misunderstanding. He’d been so keen to make a good impression, too. Sid wasn’t sure either of them had managed to achieve that so far.
‘I’ve had years to get used to the smell here. No longer bothers me.’ With the front of the red gumboots she wore over faded and torn jeans, Pearl kicked a crate of fresh milk across the floor, lowered her sunglasses to her face and commenced stocking the self-serve fridge, at the same time talking over her shoulder. ‘So anyway, yeah, the job . . . Well, Greenhills was one of the earliest banana plantations in the district, and for years the most productive–a third-generation family business. But things changed a lot in the slump of the 1990s, about the time I was born. These days the main house is an overpriced B & B for snobs throughout summer and a gallery for artistic snobs all year round. The place also provides an outlet for local artists to display and sell their work, so that makes it easier to put up with arty-farty folk, as long as they bring their money with them.’
Jake butted in. ‘Sid’s keen to know about the accommodation.’
‘The property has a couple of old worker cottages, while the main house has six guest bedrooms with two share bathrooms. The two of you can share the smaller, self-contained caretaker cottage.’ Pearl kicked the now empty milk crate and it skated over wet tiles to the far end of the counter, while the smile on her face suggested she’d seen the look pass between the siblings. ‘Past managers have been a hubby-and-wife-type deal. There’s a pull-out sofa bed.’ She shrugged. ‘Or you can arrange something different. Best to play things by ear for a few days. You can make your own accommodation arrangements in town, of course, but take it from me, a villa will send you broke.’
‘Don’t we know it!’ Jake said, his eyes on the display of fresh fish Pearl was back behind.
‘Besides, I can tell you from experience, having helped out since the last workers bolted, travelling up that road every day gets tiresome, which makes me very happy you’re interested in the job.’
‘Have there been many past managers?’ Sidney was beginning to wonder if this offer was too good to be true.
‘There’s nothing sinister about the place, if that’s what you’re thinking. Mostly people are travellers, like you. They come and go. Although . . .’ Pearl seemed to scan the shop before leaning over the counter, a finger beckoning Sid closer as she slid the sunnies to the top of her head again. Pearl’s eyes, blue and framed by strikingly white lashes, were the most dazzling Sid had ever seen. ‘The owner can be a bit stroppy. He dislikes art snobs and elitists equally. As the gallery gets a few of them, he mostly keeps to himself and never mixes with the guests when they’re staying.’
Or the help, Sidney figured. Fine with me!
‘So when do we meet him to talk about the job?’ she asked Pearl.
‘You’ve already got the job. He lets me hire, and as I’m a jill-of-all-trades up there until the jobs are filled, you can consider yourselves hired–unofficially.’
Sidney was confused. ‘Unofficially?’
‘By that I mean don’t go telling the taxman or anything. You’ll be paid cash in hand. Good cash, too. What he calls isolation money. Easy money at this time of year. Well, for the next few months, anyway.
‘Why the next few months?’
‘The B & B is closed until the end of winter, and the gallery is only operating Thursday to Sunday at the moment. To be honest, I reckon he’d shut the place down if the gallery wasn’t on the council’s cultural trail. Gets a few day tourists, either coming from Coffs Harbour in small groups by bus, or sightseers in their own cars. Others take the trip up to the gallery simply because the road is there. They see the trek up the mountain as a challenge for their city four-wheel drives. But no matter, as long as they buy something at the gallery before they go. That’s where you come in. You’re basically minding the shop.’
‘I see.’ Sidney looked out the front window of the co-op at the rough mountain road, winding its way up until it disappeared from view.
Isolation money or danger money?
4
Watercolour Cove, 2015
As arranged, Sid parked and waited at the bottom of the mountain, car rumbling at idle to blow warm air, Jake grumbling about the temperature. He stopped complaining and perked up when Pearl arrived, pedalling a recumbent tricycle over to the closed gate. She left the bike and unlatched the wide, metal farm gate that seemed sturdy and practical, although hardly fancy.
After unhooking the chain, she shoved the gate and rode it all the way back until it stopped. Then she walked over and changed the welcome sign to read GALLERY OPEN, while the lower B & B section remained unchanged: CLOSED FOR WINTER.
‘Looks like we have a job, little brother,’ Sid said, seeing Pearl give a thumbs-up from a quad bike that had been stowed in a small shed to the left of the gate. As Pearl waved, urging them to follow her, Sid shifted her shiny new Jeep into gear and felt a small thrill as the tyres clawed their way slowly up the winding dirt road. While the lower section had been graded, the higher they climbed, the skinnier the track and the sharper the bends. ‘You glad I bought a four-wheel drive now, Jakey?’ Sid asked, remembering how he’d teased her when he discovered she’d bought a Jeep.
‘Yeah, now you only have to learn to drive the thing properly. Look at that chick go.’ Jake nodded towards Pearl powering ahead.
‘I’d say she knows the road well. But by all means, Jake, feel free to get your own wheels and drive them any way you want. Until then, shut up in the passenger seat and get your foot off my dashboard.’ She took a swipe at his knee. ‘Or you’ll walk the rest of the way up.’
‘You and whose army are going to make me?’
‘Oh, when are you going to grow up?’
‘Forever young, that’s me.’ He cast one of his cheeky grins her way. ‘And forever your family, sis. Too bad you can’t pick your relatives, eh?’
Did little brothers, even twenty-five-year-old ones, ever stop being so annoying?
5
The Greenhill Banana Plantation, 1979
‘Here! Now quit annoying me.’ Matthew shoved another empty banana carton into David’s chest. ‘You can ask me all you like how much longer this will take–my answer will be the same. Until the bloody job’s done. I’m sick of you skiving off with that girl all the time.’
‘You’re jealous. You wish it was you Tilly liked and that Dad was sending you to university.’ David knew he shouldn’t get such satisfaction from goading his brother about Tilly. Even if she’d liked Matthew more than him, his older brother sucked when it came to actually keeping a girlfriend. ‘Once I have my arts degree I’m going to come home to the country and marry Tilly.’
‘Ha! Over Dad’s dead body. He doesn’t like you hanging around her.’
‘Got no reason.’
‘Has too. For a start, she’s older than you. And don’t even get him started on where she came from.’
‘I s’pose you reckon she’s just right for you?’
‘Davo, if I was keen on Tilly you wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘Yeah, right!’ David squinted up at his brother stacking heavy cartons on a pallet. ‘Like any of that stuff matters anyway. Dad can’t control me once I turn eighteen. That’ll be next year.’
‘And by then she’ll be twenty.’
‘So?’
‘So, Davo, she’ll have worked out you’re an immature twerp and a dreamer who does nothing but tell everyone how clever he is and how famous he’s going to be one day. She’ll also be long gone from this place. There’s no pinning a wild spirit like that down on a banana plantation. For us, bananas is our family business. Dad might be paying for you to live in Sydney while you go to uni, but only if the business continues to make a profit. There’s no getting away from the fact you’re still part of this family and that means doing your share of the work.’
‘You’re wrong about Tilly. Besides, we have plans. Dad has you to take over the business and you can have it–money and all. I’m not a farmer. I’m an artist. One day I will be famous and make my own money. You wait and see.’
‘You can’t paint a profit, Davo,’ Matthew said. ‘And these bananas don’t pick and pack themselves. You also can’t have too many workers on a place like Greenhill. If nothing else, you’ll have to come back on your uni breaks to do your bit in the packing shed. One day, when I’m running this place, you won’t get off so easy.’
David studied his brother, older by ten years and still living at home. ‘Matthew, did you never want to get away from here and study something–anything?’
‘Education wasn’t free then, you know. Not like it is now. Besides, some of us are smart enough without all that uni crap,’ Matthew said. But something in his shrug, the way he’d change the subject whenever David started spouting about his planned arts degree and his future with Tilly, suggested he did care.
Matthew was smart. His brother’s business acumen left David for dead. The guy was super-clever, especially when it came to numbers, and super-precise with the letters he’d write to council whenever Dad had a barrow to push. Why their father had never seen the benefit in furthering his eldest son’s education, David didn’t know. Then again, that wasn’t David’s concern, as long as he got to university to study his art. Sometimes he wondered if their old man simply didn’t think Matthew needed to be any smarter.
‘Do you see yourself still carting forty-kilo bunches of bananas until you’re old, Matthew?’
Other Side of the Season Page 3