Other Side of the Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  It had been Brushstrokes that had brought Natalie back to life after her husband’s death. A small B & B with a gallery for local artists was perfect for her. Not even the occasional drama–like the thieving weirdo artist who broke into the main house, last year’s firestorm that had the neighbourhood evacuated, or the septic system that somehow got blocked and overflowed during the Christmas holiday season–seemed to ruffle Natalie’s feathers. What had been her undoing–what had sent her mother into a downward spiral–was finding a man hanging from the rafters in the loft, and the drawn-out police investigation that had followed.

  Poor Natalie. Compared with the officious cop who had taken statements, returning to the B & B time and time again to go over the same information, Sidney’s interrogation methods seemed relaxed. Mother and daughter might’ve been at odds more often than not, but seeing the indomitable matriarch falling to bits had made Sidney want to be there for her, even offering to hold her mother’s hand each time the police arrived. But the Natalie of old–the one who every now and again shut down to everyone–would shake her daughter’s hand away and berate her for being clingy. It was much better for everyone that Natalie spend time away from Brushstrokes. Tasha’s place was perfect. Aunty Tasha always knew the right thing to do.

  18

  The Greenhill Banana Plantation, 1979

  ‘I didn’t do the wrong thing,’ Matthew sobbed. ‘We didn’t fight and I wouldn’t hurt David.’

  ‘Of course not, and your dad shouldn’t blame you.’ Tilly had climbed over the breakwall to sit on an adjacent boulder. Now she edged closer to rub a hand on his back. She felt so sorry for Matthew. Not only was he mourning David and condemning himself, his parents made him feel responsible.

  ‘Why couldn’t I go with Mum? I heard Dad on the phone. If they switch off the machines I have to be there to say goodbye. I have to see my brother.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Seeing a person like that won’t bring them back. Nothing does and you need to stop thinking of David in that way.’ Tilly said this as much for herself as for Matthew, trying to push the image of David lying in a bed with hospital staff hovering, waiting like the sea eagle about to swoop down on the helpless sand crabs scurrying sideways over the sand the low tide had left exposed. ‘He’ll be okay, Matthew. He’s not dying,’ she said. ‘He can’t die.’

  ‘But David’s not waking up. And I heard Dad crying in his room last night. He’s leaving for Sydney in the morning and he won’t let me go with him.’

  ‘Well, maybe . . .’ Tilly launched the first pebble missile at the sea eagle, to no avail. ‘Maybe your dad knows best. Do you want to remember your brother the way he is now, all lifeless and pale?’ She launched another, larger pebble. Still, the eagle soared, unperturbed. It was out of range, just like David was out of reach. ‘Well?’

  ‘No,’ Matthew sobbed. ‘I keep telling Dad I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what? David slipped in the mud and fell. It had been raining. He took the wrong path on the worst night. It was an accident.’

  ‘Ha! Try telling that to my old man. I want to tell him where to get off and to leave me alone or I’ll nick off for good. Let him try to look after this place without me to boss around.’

  Tilly forgot about the sea eagle, her back rub quickening. ‘You’d leave the plantation?’

  ‘Bloody oath! I would now.’

  ‘Then tell your dad,’ Tilly suggested. ‘We can go to Sydney together. We can see David.’

  Matthew’s shoulders drooped and he lowered his face to his hands. ‘But I did move him,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I found Davo he was conscious and whingeing about the pain in his head. I asked him what else hurt and he said, “Nothing, just my head”. Now I keep thinking, what if by moving him I–’

  ‘Shh, Matthew,’ Tilly soothed.

  ‘But I keep seeing him lying there against the tree and I hear Dad yelling, “You’ve killed your brother”.’

  ‘He’s not dead.’

  ‘You heard Dad. If they manage to wake him, he’ll probably never walk again. He’ll be stuck here forever, dependent on Mum and Dad for everything and it’s all my fault. If only I had of called Dad to help first.’

  Stuck? Here? Tilly felt the flutter in her belly. Nerves or baby? She didn’t know. She’d never been pregnant before. She’d never even had all-the-way sex before that day in the cave with David.

  David, oh David! What do I do now?

  A thousand questions fought for space in Tilly’s head, but only one answer. No way could she allow herself to be stuck here forever. What would that mean for the baby? Even if David was to live, if he couldn’t walk or talk how could he be a father? Ted and Rose would make Tilly give the baby up.

  ‘Matthew, listen to me.’ Tilly moved so she was squatting in front of him. ‘Now, look at me.’ She gave his shoulders a desperate shake, but he didn’t lift his head from his hands. ‘Look at me. We have to stick together.’

  ‘David loves you, Tilly. You had such big dreams. I’m so sorry.’

  Tilly could not say what she needed to say with Matthew a blubbering mess. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands away so he’d lift his face to hers.

  ‘You know staying in this place will remind us every day.’

  Matthew pulled one hand away and swiped at his tears with a shirtsleeve. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I can’t stay on this mountain, or in this town. The place will never let us forget.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  ‘Matthew . . . ?’ She took one almighty breath in and exhaled, her words rushing out before she could change her mind. ‘We can go away–together. You can make David’s dreams come true.’

  ‘I-I don’t know how. I don’t paint.’

  ‘You can support me while I paint. We can save up and establish David’s perfect gallery. We can live his dream for him.’ She didn’t allow Matthew time to object. ‘I can’t stay here and I can’t be alone. And you don’t have to be alone either. If you stay in this place, you’ll never be with anyone. Look at you. You’re almost thirty.’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘You can be with me, Matthew. Don’t you want to marry and have a family?’

  ‘You told me one day you’d never be a mother. Has something changed your mind?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She settled into his body on the rock by the breakwall and they sat that way, staring at the distant horizon.

  ‘I’m not like David.’

  ‘I know,’ was all Tilly said.

  ‘You and him . . . You have your paintbrushes. The closest I come to being creative is writing letters to council for Dad. Davo and I couldn’t be any more different from each other.’

  ‘David would tell you paintbrushes or pens are simply different ways of telling a story. I know you can do so much more by getting away from here, Matthew. You only need decide what you really want. If your brother can’t live his dream, you owe it to David to live yours.’

  ‘And help David’s dream come true through you?’

  ‘That’s right. Just say you will and we can pack your car and go.’

  Matthew seemed to be staring at a surfer in the distance. Was he wondering what life might be like away from Dinghy Bay?

  Without glancing her way, he asked, ‘What would I tell Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Do you think they’ll care? Look how your father’s treating you, Matthew. You’ll always be the reason David never came home. They’ll never forgive you. Never. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be here when your parents get back. You don’t deserve to be your dad’s whipping boy. Say you’ll come with me and I promise we’ll be family forever.’

  Matthew’s nod stayed small, so did his smile, but that was enough for Tilly. If she couldn’t have David, she’d at least be safe with Matthew.

  ‘Are you sure this is best?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Day after tomorrow,’ she replied. ‘We’ll wait till dark. It’s th
e longest night of the year.’

  19

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  ‘The winter solstice what?’ Sid asked, adjusting the fancy window louvres to allow the morning sun to warm the gallery.

  ‘The winter solstice picnic,’ her brother replied. ‘There’s this thing Pearl does down by the breakwall to celebrate the longest night of the year. I gatecrashed and it was so cool.’

  ‘Last night? On the breakwall? I imagine it was freezing, Jake,’ Sid smiled.

  ‘No, I mean Pearl is cool–really cool,’ her brother called from outside where he was helping by hanging a striped hammock between two uprights on the veranda. ‘It’s like we have nothing and yet everything in common.’

  Sid brought out three hand-painted pillows and arranged them in a row on the hammock. ‘For example?’

  ‘Well, most importantly, we both love our food.’ Jake chuckled. ‘But while I grew up worshipping the sun, Pearl had no choice but to worship the moon, which is pretty obvious when we compare our complexions. When we’re side by side she reckons we’re the human equivalent of a neenish tart.’

  ‘Pearl worships the moon?’

  ‘Well, maybe worship isn’t the word she used. That kinda makes her sound a bit, you know, zombie apocalypse, when she really is a pretty regular girl on the inside. Not only that, the woman can cook!’

  ‘Ah, the true attraction, eh?’

  ‘Seriously, Sid, she’s been cooking forever. When they were kids, her five brothers all played outside, leaving Pearl stuck indoors helping her nonna in the kitchen. She’s been cooking up family feasts all her life. These days, her winter solstice picnic is usually a feast for one, but . . . Whoa, if that’s what she cooks for one, then . . . Sheesh! I won’t need to eat for a month.’ Jake forced his gut out, turned to the side and rubbed his stomach. ‘Hey, who do I remind you of?’

  Sid smiled when she realised she’d been standing there rubbing her own belly as she listened to her brother rave on about his date last night. ‘Oh, you are such a funny guy.’

  This trip away with Jake was turning out to be the best decision Sid had made in a long time. So, her purpose for coming was no more, but she was getting to see another side to a brother who she’d only ever seen as an annoyance. She liked the grown-up version and if Sid couldn’t have her happy ever after maybe she could live vicariously through her brother’s blossoming romance with Pearl.

  ‘I like her a lot, Sid.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed. You go for it, Jake. At least one of us is getting laid.’

  ‘You got laid all right, sis!’

  ‘Who got laid?’ Pearl asked, appearing around the corner and walking straight up to Jake, planting a kiss on his mouth, sound effects included.

  Sid didn’t want her pregnancy disclosed to casual acquaintances, but her bump was not so little anymore and it was becoming clear Pearl was quickly moving from the casual to the close friend category.

  ‘Morning, Pearl. Jake’s giving me a hard time about getting pregnant.’

  ‘I was wondering, but ever since I made the ultimate gaffe with a client one day, I’ve avoided making assumptions,’ Pearl laughed, walking over to hug Sid. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Mmm,’ her brother hummed, still licking his lips. ‘You’ve been snacking on the left-over smoked fish bits from last night. They were my favourite.’

  Pearl heaved herself into the hammock and hugged one of the cushions to her body. ‘My nonna had an old Estonian saying: Better a salty morsel than a square meal of sweet.’

  ‘I am loving your nonna.’ Jake planted another kiss on Pearl’s mouth before addressing Sid. ‘I’ll whip some up for you to try sometime, sis, as soon as Pearl shares the recipe.’

  ‘Sorry, family secret.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? I bet I can get it out of you.’

  With that, Sid decided three was a crowd. She left both of them giggling, the hammock in full swing, and Pearl trying to squirm out of Jake’s grip.

  20

  The Greenhill Banana Plantation, 1979

  ‘Quit with all the squirming in your seat, Matthew,’ Tilly said. ‘I know how to drive. Relax.’

  ‘But you don’t have a licence, Tilly. You can’t just do whatever you like.’

  ‘Not having a licence doesn’t mean I can’t drive.’ Tilly could feel Matthew’s stare. Three hours ago she’d felt his apprehension as they packed the car under the cover of night. He’d left a note for his parents. Tilly didn’t ask what he wrote–the detail didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting away so they could both forget and start over. ‘Besides, Matthew, if you’re going to marry me there’s something you should know.’

  ‘What should I know? And why are you turning off here?’

  Tilly steered the Torana away from the highway and into a rest bay, pulling the car into the heavily wooded area. She turned off the ignition. She would have climbed into the back seat had there been room amid the suitcases and banana boxes bursting with their belongings.

  ‘Tilly?’ Matthew’s voice shook. ‘I asked you–what should I know?’

  She leaned across, drew his face to hers and kissed him deliberately hard on the mouth. ‘That I can do whatever I like, when I like. And right now I really like you.’

  21

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  ‘He likes you, Sidney,’ Pearl announced from what had become her favourite place–the striped hammock hanging between veranda posts outside the gallery.

  ‘Who?’ Sid leaned on the broom until the small gecko had scurried away after its forage among the crunchy mound of leaf matter that had gathered in the corner by the door.

  ‘The boss, of course. He isn’t used to having someone around who can even see his work, let alone someone who knows the kind of stuff you do. I’m afraid these snazzy specs I have to wear hardly do justice to a fine work of art.’ She nudged her dark glasses and made a face.

  ‘Albinism means you’re sensitive to light?’

  ‘Among other things. The worst part is not being able to drive, though. That sucks, big time. I’m lucky most of my out-of-town clients can come to me. The one thing I regret is that we’ll never have the chance to hit the highway together. Just me and Marilyn.’

  Sid stopped sweeping again. ‘Marilyn?’

  ‘My Kombi van.’ Pearl sighed, and let one leg drop down the side to set the hammock into a swing. ‘I love Marilyn. If only I was allowed to drive.’

  Sid was confused. She’d followed behind as Pearl had scooted up the hill on the quad bike that first day, and every day since. ‘You can’t drive?’

  ‘Oh, I can drive. Just not legally. Not on public streets. They won’t give me a licence with these peepers.’ Pearl lifted her sunnies above her eyes and let them drop again. ‘The tricycle gets me most places around town and keeps me fit at the same time.’

  ‘But you have a car?’

  Pearl had rolled off the hammock, her focus on two hanging mobiles in a knotted mess–more evidence of strong wind gusts overnight. ‘I’ve always wanted a Kombi van and my parents have always been, like, well, “Don’t let albinism stop you from doing whatever you want, Pearl”. So when Dad heard they were stopping production a couple of years back he decided to get me one. We’ve been working on restoring Marilyn to her former beauty. The boss did the artwork.’

  ‘Oh, the Marilyn Monroe graphic!’ Sid said over the clanging sound as Pearl worked on releasing the tangle of hollow bamboo tubes from the ceramic shards of a second mobile. ‘Yes, I saw that car while walking back from the breakwall, parked near the mechanical workshop.’

  ‘That’s her. Hard to miss. She’s a beauty. A real legend who’ll be back on the road once she’s passed rego inspection.’

  ‘Why a Kombi?’

  ‘My dad had one when he was young. He called it a hippy van, but said it symbolised all the important things in life: freedom, independence, peace, love. I can relate to those things. So, the family helped me do h
er up and six weeks from now, after my niece passes her driving test, I’ll hand the keys over. I will have done my job of preserving the legend that is Kombi for the next generation and I’ll have someone else to bribe into driving me around to my massage clients.’

  Sid stopped sweeping to help Pearl, who seemed to be making little progress disentangling the two mobiles.

  ‘And can I ask why remedial therapy?’ she enquired, taking the weight of the bamboo tubes as Pearl poked and pulled.

  ‘At first I’d wanted to study beauty therapy. But let me say, the word therapy is totally inappropriate these days for what goes on in some beauty salons. The way I see the business, being waxed and bleached and zapped with lasers is not therapeutic. Especially for my clients. With this eyesight, who knows what I might’ve ended up waxing off some poor woman.’ Pearl laughed and pushed her face so close her nose almost touched the knotted mess of strings. ‘Anyway, I went through a pretty rough stage in my early teens when I thought the key to feeling good about yourself was how you looked. I used to try to change my appearance by painting my eyebrows and lashes.’

  ‘Didn’t we all,’ Sid suggested.

  ‘Only I think I wanted to fit in and look like everyone else. And I actually thought I was fooling people. A lot of albino girls struggle to come to terms with how they look. But who we are is not what people see–or what we let them see. It’s what’s inside. My parents are awesome, and being around David I’ve realised I’m capable of being more and doing more with my life. He’s also let me see it’s our inner strength that’s important, and if we accept life’s challenges we can more easily adapt.’

  ‘Improvise, adapt, overcome,’ Sid said.

  ‘Sounds about right.’

  ‘Jake taught me that not very long ago.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

  Really? Sid wanted to say. This trip away with her brother was doing everything to surprise her.

  ‘My hands become my eyes and while I’ll be buggered if they can unravel this lot,’ Pearl said, her patience waning, ‘these hands of mine are perfect for remedial therapy. I would’ve preferred a full-on personal trainer gig, but I’m restricted in what I can do outdoors and working in sweaty gyms nine to five is not my idea of fun. This way I get to work in dark rooms with soothing music. Working with muscle and tissue, thinking that my hands can help heal or ease someone’s pain and make them feel better, is rewarding.’