‘As a teenager I pestered Mum so much, always asking her about this and that and about things when she was my age. It would drive her crazy–we kind of drove each other crazy. Still do, I guess. I once overheard my aunty Tasha suggest it was because we were too alike. Not to look at so much, but our personality.’
‘You have an aunty?’
Strange question, Sid thought, but she could hardly object to him asking. ‘Not a real aunty, but I’ve known her just about all my life. She’s fun, like the naughty one in the family.’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’
‘I remember Mum cried the day Tasha suggested she and I were alike. Later I heard her tell Tash I was so much like my father that it hurt.’ Sid shrugged the memory away. ‘What can I say? I was a curious kid.’
‘Curiosity killed the cat, Sidney.’
‘And satisfaction brought it back again,’ she grinned. ‘Doesn’t every kid, at some point in their lives, develop curiosity about their roots and dig around the family tree for information?’
‘And sometimes the surface is all we’re meant to see. Accept things as they appear.’
‘I simply don’t agree.’ She sat up, ready to argue. ‘Why would you think such a thing?’
‘Digging around and exposing the roots can kill what was a perfectly happy plant. Leave things alone. We’re protected that way. Think onions.’
‘Onions?’
‘An onion is an onion, Sidney. It’s not beautiful, but nor is it repulsive. There’s no more scrutiny required than that. It’s an onion.’
‘Am I supposed to be following this?’
‘If you leave it alone, an onion will not hurt you. But peel too many layers away and you risk ending up in tears.’
‘But you never see what’s at its heart, either.’
He seemed to contemplate her argument–briefly. ‘You really don’t agree that we’re better off if we do not delve too deeply?’
‘I really don’t.’ Her mother’s recent refusal to answer Sid’s questions about her grandfather came to mind. ‘Your onion analogy sounds like something my mother would say.’
‘She must be a wise woman,’ he told her. ‘A daughter would be just as wise to listen to her mother.’
Sid shoved the unused bits of gauze and other paraphernalia back into the red bag. ‘If I’d listened to her, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, you don’t know my mother.’ Sid applied a second dressing to the cut.
‘What about your father?’ he asked.
‘I was closest to my dad. Much easier to get along with. How about you, do you have children?’
‘You do ask too many questions.’ David managed to slide his chair back so he could stand, surprising Sidney when he managed the walk to the sideboard without his crutches, using one hand to support himself on the backs of well-placed furniture. ‘And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really a tea drinker. I have red wine and scotch. Do you have a preference?’
‘I’m not drinking right now, but one more Tim Tam can’t hurt.’ Sid reached across, nabbed a biscuit and nibbled the corner like a mouse savouring a tiny bit of cheese.
‘So, to answer your question,’ David called over his shoulder. ‘No, I do not have children, but I suspect you will do soon enough.’
The Tim Tam barely stayed in Sid’s mouth. ‘What?’
‘Either you’re pregnant, or the tea and Tim Tams are playing havoc with that belly you keep rubbing your hand over. I assume that’s also why I’m drinking alone.’ He carried a bottle of scotch by the neck and eased himself back into the armchair before pouring a shot into the empty mug, downing the lot in one go.
‘I haven’t been showing so much until recently, even though I’m quite far along. Kind of hoping that means a small baby and an easy delivery.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking you something.’
She shrugged. ‘Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide–now.’
‘Are you happy to be pregnant?’
She eyed him for a moment. ‘I’m getting used to the idea. It’s taken me a while to comprehend the enormity, unlike Jake when I told him. He can’t wait. Jake will be one of those naughty, fun uncles.’
‘He’s young–everything’s exciting when you’re that age.’ David was relaxing, his mouth slipping into a smile more often, the effects of another good-sized shot of scotch kicking in. ‘I remember being young and passionate.’
‘And he’s in love,’ Sid added.
David’s smile dropped away. ‘I remember that, too.’
‘Shall I pour you another?’ she asked.
‘You want to see me legless?’ David’s smile was short. ‘Sorry. Bad gag. Sometimes seeing the funny side helps you through the tough times.’
‘There’s a funny side?’
‘Funny might be the wrong word, but there’s another side to everything,’ he said.
‘You’ve had lots of tough times, I take it?’
‘I stopped keeping tally.’
‘Mind if I ask what happened?’ Sid was prepared for a brush-off–no less than she deserved for being a stickybeak.
‘Most people want to know,’ he said. ‘But rarely do they ask outright. They usually ask other people.’
‘Sorry if I’m coming across as nosy.’
‘Don’t apologise. I like that you asked directly. I’m just not sure . . . It’s been a long time since I told the full story.’
‘I’m a good listener. First, though . . .’ Sid reached over and took the scotch away. ‘I’ll rustle up a toasted sandwich and some more tea.’
• • •
The alcohol had helped loosen both his lips and his inhibitions. He even laughed–a lot–though there had been melancholy moments in his story, like when he spoke of the isolation and loneliness of living on the mountain when, as a young man, he’d wanted to be living a fun life in the city. Over copious cups of tea, the entire packet of Tim Tams, and some cheese on toast, he described life on a banana plantation in the seventies and eighties, and how he had lost his heart to a young local girl. Sid learned his accident was no accident at all, but a one-punch fight that went horribly wrong when David lost his footing and slipped after taking the hit. Bleeding on his brain and swelling on his spine had forced doctors to induce a coma, warning his distraught parents of the risks and the inevitable and tragic outcome.
‘That’s what happens when a body tangles with a tree trunk after a few tumbles, at speed, down one of those hillsides, and why I’m so grateful Jake is okay,’ he explained. ‘Things were apparently touch and go for a long while, not that I knew anything. Eventually I woke up, got into rehab and then found out my brother had run off, and the girl I was sweet on had taken off as well. Can’t blame her for not sticking around. I never saw either of them again.’
‘I wouldn’t want to see them, let alone forgive them.’
‘Forgiving someone’s not hard, but it doesn’t erase the memory, or change the past either, sadly.’
Sid thought about how angry she’d been at Damien when he’d failed to live up to her expectations. All he’d done was admit to not loving her enough and not wanting children. He hadn’t lied or abandoned her.
‘How can you not be angry at the people you loved leaving you behind?’
‘According to Confucius, there are three methods by which we learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest. Second, by imitation, which is easiest. And third, by experience, which is the most bitter,’ David said. ‘Hurt fades over time. Sometimes, as much as we might want to, we can’t stay angry. I choose to forgive people, even when they don’t deserve it.’
‘Wish I was like you.’
‘Who do you need to forgive?’
‘Damien.’ She rubbed her stomach. ‘How can any man not want to be involved in their baby’s life, especially once they’ve held them and felt the warmth of their velvety skin against their own? I still wonder if he’ll feel differently when she’s born.’
‘You said she. You know the sex? The
baby’s a girl?’
Sid shrugged. ‘No, I don’t know for sure yet. Not certain I want to know. But my GP’s receptionist back home is convinced that when babies don’t show until the last minute they’re girls.’
‘And Damien is the father’s name?’
Sid nodded, sighing. ‘He was my boss, and I fell in love with him. Yeah, I’m the cliché.’
‘And he is the idiot.’
‘The question is, will he smarten up and change his mind when he does see her? And, if he does choose to be in the baby’s life, could I ever truly forget the hurt he caused me?’
‘Forgiving is not forgetting. It’s choosing inner peace over pain.’
Sid thought about what David had said, breaking the melancholy moment when she laughed. ‘Speaking of inner peace!’ Pablo had rolled onto his back, all four legs pointing to the ceiling, mouth open, tongue hanging limp, a noise–like a quiet motor running–coming from his nose. ‘I am curious . . .’ Sid said.
‘Yes, what you can hear is Pablo snoring and you need a brass band to wake him up.’
‘That’s not what I’m curious about.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ he grinned. ‘Ask away.’
‘What made someone angry enough to punch you and leave you unconscious?’
David seemed to contemplate his answer. ‘What else do two young men fight over?’
‘A girl?’
‘When you grow up in a small town, it’s not unusual to have multiple blokes all vying for one girl. I was cocky and life was all about what I wanted. I thought she and I shared the same dreams.’
‘What happened?’
‘I discovered we didn’t. Not long after, a fight and a punch landed me in hospital. I never saw her again.’
‘That girl doesn’t sound very nice.’
He smiled. ‘As I said before, sometimes good people do bad things. Her dreams were important. I don’t blame her for chasing after them, especially knowing about her life before we met.’
No wonder she and David were connecting. Wasn’t the demise of her relationship all about Damien putting his dream to build the business before Sid and their baby? Hadn’t Natalie cared more about her own career than parenting? Maybe meeting David was going to be a lesson in healing for Sid. She needed that. Maybe, as bitter an experience as it might be, she would learn a little wisdom along the way.
She’d blamed Damien for not being more truthful with her from the beginning, while Damien had accused Sid of trapping him into marriage. The real problem was that they never talked about the personal stuff. When they did, neither listened. The one thing Sidney knew for sure was that she would never, never, never blame her baby for the split with Damien.
‘Dreams have to change sometimes, and we have to adapt to new ones,’ David was saying.
Sid patted her belly again. ‘This baby is going to test that theory.’
He took a swipe at the crutches leaning against the arm of his chair. ‘These blasted things were my test. Every day they remind me.’
‘Of course, they would. No wonder you were so concerned for Jake after his fall, but he’s fine. I’m the one who needs protecting now my mother’s in town.’
‘Why don’t you and your mother get on?’
Sid explained how she and Jake were supposed to be in Byron Bay, leaving out the bit about her felonious grandfather.
‘It was my idea to stop in Watercolour Cove. I had my reasons, but I didn’t tell Jake and I was never planning to tell Mum. Jake’s fall forced me to fess up and now . . . Well, if I was in her bad books before, things just got a lot worse. But that’s a whole other story.’
‘Then I think maybe we’re going to need more cheese sandwiches.’
35
Watercolour Cove, 2015
When the faintest of early morning light outside the cottage window had barely turned the dark sky a stormy indigo, Sid shivered, pulling the featherweight doona tight around her neck and puffing warm breath on icy hands. She didn’t remember falling asleep last night and felt mortified, hoping she hadn’t nodded off, or joined in Pablo’s snore-fest, while David had been talking.
‘Good morning!’
‘Hi.’ Sid startled, the sudden movement cramping legs that had been tucked up for too many hours. As awkward as a burgeoning belly had made curling up in the big velveteen armchair, having Pablo curled in a ball and still dead to the world nestled snugly in the crook of her knees, wasn’t helping.
‘Need to warm the room,’ David said, opening the door to the fireplace. He poked scrunched-up newspaper into pockets between the still smouldering blocks of wood and immediately flames began to lick the logs. ‘I didn’t want to make a noise. You both looked so comfortable.’
‘Someone is. Come on, little fella.’ A gentle nudge had Pablo awake and on the floor and stretching, while Sid rubbed away the pins and needles in her legs.
‘You obviously haven’t heard the saying about letting sleeping dogs lie.’
‘Ha!’ Sid returned. ‘I did sleep like one of those logs, though.’
David wore a striped woollen jumper that was old and several sizes too big. The type made with love, Sid decided. The sheepskin boots looked warm, but water-stained like the hem on his blue jeans.
‘Today’s turning out cold and miserable. Too wet for visitors and perfect for a fire.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Sid had managed to straighten both her legs, wincing a little. Under the doona she still wore the thin shirt she’d had on yesterday and jeans that had cut into her hips overnight.
‘Tea?’ David asked.
‘Water is fine. I’m all tea’d out.’ Sid reached for a throw rug, the colourful crocheted type that someone had spent hours making. Less cumbersome than the doona, she wrapped the blanket around her. ‘Besides, I really need the bathroom.’
‘You know where it is.’ He pointed. ‘I need a strong coffee.’
‘Then maybe we can talk more about your art,’ she called back from halfway along the corridor. ‘I’d like that.’
• • •
Caffeine was another treat Sid was giving up to ensure her baby got the best start in life. So, naturally, David’s coffee smelled amazing, drawing her to the kitchen.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
She was hugging her stomach and probably looked like she’d just thrown up. ‘Sorry about that. Morning sickness, although mine doesn’t seem content to be confined to mornings. I think I’m going to be one of those women who experience it all the way until the end.’
‘Bananas,’ David said, nudging the mosaic dish full of fruit from the centre of the table towards her.
‘First onions, now you’re going to lecture me on bananas?’
‘No lecture other than a nutritional one. A banana is a natural remedy for many things. Here, you can wear this jumper if you like.’ He pointed to the one draped over the chair. ‘It’s warm and roomy.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, tugging the neckline over her head.
‘Bananas are rich in potassium, which can help with morning sickness. You should try one.’
Sid took the yellow fruit he thrust towards her and commenced peeling the skin away–one strip at a time. ‘My dad used to tell me bananas are the reason monkeys are so happy.’
‘He did?’
Sid had thought she’d get a laugh out of David over that. But, no. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person either.
‘Yeah. My dad came out with lots of funny things when we were young. We believed him, of course.’ Sid bit gingerly into the soft, fleshy fruit, hoping the cure-all would work quickly. ‘Dad could spout off a list of every vitamin and mineral contained in a banana, but then again, he was a bit obsessed by facts and figures. Someone once suggested to Mum that he had a mild form of Asperger’s.’ She chuckled as she took another bite. ‘Not sure that was right. Poor Dad simply drove mum crazy without even realising it. I remember one argument they were having . . .’ Sid went to take another bite, stopping to say, ‘You p
robably aren’t interested in long-ago tales from a very ordinary childhood.’
‘What if I told you I was interested in your old stories?’
‘Ha! Touché!’ she said. ‘After last night, I guess I do owe you a tale or two.’
‘Exactly, so why don’t you grab a seat and tell me?’ David gestured to the chair opposite and seemed to settle back in his own seat as though preparing for a long story.
Sid was happy to sit and happier still with the scented tea David had poured.
‘Well?’ he grinned. ‘You said “poor Dad”.’
‘Oh, right, where do I begin? Poor Dad didn’t relate so well to people. Sometimes even Mum struggled to cope with his moods. She’d get so frustrated when he’d take everything so literally–like the day Mum ended a fight by telling him to get lost. Dad went stony-faced and stopped arguing so he could discuss why she would want him to get lost.’ Sid couldn’t hold back the small chuckle as she recalled her mother’s exasperation. ‘He’d looked at Mum and said, “I don’t understand. Even if it were possible for a person to actually lose himself–or herself–I’m not sure why you would want me to. I suppose if a person were hiking and they unconsciously strayed from their path, you might consider they got themselves lost.” By then Mum was so frustrated she told him to forget she had said anything. To which Dad, by now genuinely confused, replied something like, “Again, my love, can you not concede that it might be equally as difficult for a person to forget on demand as it is to get lost on demand?” That’s my poor, funny, lovable Dad,’ Sid said, smiling in fond memory. ‘Mmm, I think the banana is doing the trick. I’m feeling much better. I’m glad there’s more where these came from.’ David’s smile seemed contemplative, as though he wasn’t even listening. ‘I’m boring you with my story.’
‘No, no, you’re not. You were saying?’
‘I was saying I’m glad you’ve got more bananas. These are good.’
‘Yes, right, well, lots more where they came from. Nowhere near as many as twenty or thirty years ago,’ he added, coming back to life. ‘The industry is changing. What was once two banana businesses on this mountain became one. We stopped growing for commercial purposes quite a few years ago. No money in it.’
Other Side of the Season Page 22