by Cathryn Hein
‘Great.’ He placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder, unaware of the pained expression it brought to her face.
‘Do you want to stop for lunch?’ asked Callie, ignoring Anna’s sharp look. ‘I’ve enough bream for four.’
Anna’s gaze turned withering.
Callie swung away, still trying not to laugh. Poor Anna. She might spout that Bruce was a mistake but that didn’t seem to stop her bringing him home. To be fair, Bruce was sweet in a geeky sort of way, and although she refused to recall the incident, Anna had once drunkenly admitted that he was even sweeter in bed, a quality she blamed for her lack of resistance.
‘Thanks, but nah. Too much work on. I’ll catch ya all later.’ He nodded at Rowan and Callie before farewelling Anna with a gentle kiss on the cheek and a cute wink. ‘Soon, I hope.’
When the door clicked shut, Anna sank onto the lounge, dropped her head into her hands and groaned. ‘Why, why, why do I do this to myself?’
‘I don’t know, Anna,’ said Callie. ‘Why do you? Perhaps because you actually like Bruce?’
‘He’s a dork.’
Rowan stood and began wiping down the weight bench’s vinyl padding. ‘He’s all right.’
‘So he’s a bit dorky,’ said Callie. ‘He’s also sweet and likes you. A lot.’
‘You could do a lot worse than Bruce,’ said Rowan, tossing the towel over the bar and heading for the door. ‘You need anything? I’m going for a run.’
Callie shook her head. ‘Anna?’
‘Amnesia pill?’
‘There’s always the hair of the dog,’ said Rowan, laughing when Anna made a retching noise. ‘Don’t expect any sympathy from this end. It’s your own fault.’
He left them to it. As soon as the door clicked shut, Anna issued another despairing groan and flopped to her side, wrapping hanks of tangled blonde hair over her eyes as though to shield herself from the world and all its misery.
Callie crossed to the lounge, sat down next to her and stroked her forehead. ‘Poor baby.’
‘Don’t patronise.’
‘I’m not. I’ve had enough regret-filled mornings after to know what it’s like.’
Letting go of her hair, Anna rubbed her red eyes and focused them on Callie. ‘Why do I keep going back to him?’
‘Because you like him.’
‘But he’s so . . .’ She made a face. ‘He’s a nerd! He fixes computers! I want a man who wrestles crocodiles and rides bulls and drives a proper car. Bruce drives a Hyundai, for god’s sake.’
‘So you’d trade someone who loves you for some cowboy who probably shags anything that moves?’
‘He doesn’t love me.’
‘Why not give him a chance and find out for sure?’ Callie leaned forward, smiling a challenge. ‘What have you got to lose?’ She glanced at the wall clock and patted Anna’s shoulder. ‘Are you up for lunch? Only I have to get a wriggle on. My shift starts at two.’
‘I think so.’ She sniffed then grabbed Callie’s fingers, squeezing hard. ‘Thanks.’
A choke threatened Callie’s throat as she wondered if this was how things would have been with her and Hope, had her sister lived; intimate talks made cosy with friendship. Callie swallowed the roughness down. ‘You’re welcome.’ She squeezed back, emphasising the heartfelt truth of her words. ‘Always.’
Half an hour later, Rowan returned wet with sweat and with every exposed centimetre of his pale freckled skin glowing. He threw a large yellow envelope onto their pine dining table before raiding the fridge for cold water, overspill sluicing down his neck as he gulped straight from the jug.
‘Stinking out there,’ he said between gulps. ‘Going to be filthy in the bar this arvo. Letter there for you, Callie.’
‘Thanks.’ Callie continued slicing cucumber for their salad, in no hurry to check the post. ‘Lunch won’t be too far away.’
‘Good,’ said Anna, leaning over the breakfast bar, almost human again after some paracetamol and a long shower. ‘I’m starving. I hardly ate anything last night.’
Callie tossed the last of the cucumber into the salad bowl along with the red onion, rocket and tomato, before grabbing a bottle of French dressing from the fridge and splashing it over. The foil-wrapped fish were baking in the oven, the slices of lemon she’d inserted into their cavities already releasing enticing citrus smells. Her stomach rumbled in response. Breakfast was hours ago and salt air always made her hungry. She tossed the salad, pinching a juicy tomato quarter as she worked and wishing Rowan would hurry up in the shower so they could eat properly.
She placed the salad on the table and, for want of anything else to do, picked up the envelope Rowan left for her. She turned it over and glanced at the Alice Springs post mark. Frowning, she retrieved a knife from her place setting and slit open the pasted- down end. Another envelope slid out followed by a torn-off sheet of notepaper upon which her old flatmate, Andrea, had scribbled a cheerful ‘howdy-do’ followed by an apology and a ‘give me a call some time’. Mail had come for Callie then been misplaced in the usual household chaos, but Andrea was forwarding it now, better late than never.
Dropping the note, Callie picked up the other envelope. A few seconds passed before her brain registered the familiar tight scrawl of the handwritten address.
Dad.
She inhaled deeply, hand fluttering to her mouth.
Over the past eight years, contact with her parents had dwindled to Christmas and birthday phone calls. Short conversations marred by hurt and confusion and too many references to the past. Even when Hope wasn’t mentioned she cast a shadow, reminding Callie of what she could never escape.
The last call was eighteen months ago, to her flat in Alice Springs. An out-of-the-blue call from her father ‘just to see how she was’. They’d been awkward, careful with their words, and though Callie wanted to reach out she saw that her continued withdrawal had gouged a rift too wide for them to bridge.
Straight afterwards, gripped by restlessness, she’d left the Alice and headed for the coast, wandering until Airlie claimed her. This time, whether by accident or subconscious design she wasn’t sure, Callie broke her habit and failed to forward her parents a postcard advising them of her new address and phone number.
‘Who’s it from?’ asked Anna, moving close, her voice full of concern.
‘I think it’s from my dad.’
Anna said nothing. Callie had carefully fobbed off any talk of her family. All her housemates knew was that she’d had a sister who died. She hadn’t even wanted to reveal that except doing so was impossible with Hope’s name permanently encircling her wrist.
The shower stopped. Rowan would be out any minute – they’d have lunch then head off to work. Callie had to open the envelope now or she’d never make it through her shift for anxiety about what her father had to say.
Nervous but resigned, she slit it open. A letter sat inside, along with another, folded over envelope. She pulled both out, walking toward the balcony as she did. Anna didn’t follow, but Callie could feel her scrutiny as sure as she felt the scented sea breeze against her skin. She opened the letter and scanned the contents. Once, then again, as disbelief at the words jumbled their meaning. Hand over her mouth, she reached for the plastic chair and slumped down.
Nanna. Dead. Over a month ago. Alone in Glenmore’s kitchen.
Tears fought with anger. How could she have been so selfish? For the sake of a postcard she’d missed Nanna’s funeral, and more. She jammed the letters between her legs and covered her face. Nanna had died alone. And Callie never had the chance to say sorry. That she loved her. That she never meant for any of this to happen.
‘Callie?’ Anna stepped out onto the balcony, Rowan close on her heels. ‘Are you okay?’
She sniffed and tried to hide her turmoil, the returning swirl of fear and guilt, and the overwhelming need to run from her friends before she let them down too.
‘My grandmother died last month.’
‘Oh, Callie, I’m so
sorry.’ Anna made to reach for her but Callie turned her shoulder and tore the other envelope open as Anna and Rowan exchanged looks.
She read this letter more slowly, absorbing each word, grief and disbelief rising like a wad of thick dry cotton in her throat. She let the letter flutter to the ground, her brow furrowed as she tried to take it all in, tried to understand. She, of all people, didn’t deserve this. Surely Nanna had understood that?
A sob threatened. Callie rolled her lips together, pressing hard against its rise. Seeking calm, she stood and faced the ocean, fingers tight around the rail, attempting to think, but her mind kept skittering, emotions darting between gratitude, fear and guilt.
She snatched up the letter and read it again, bland words explaining an unfathomable legacy. The paper in her hands shook, partly from the breeze, partly from her hold.
‘Callie?’ It was Rowan.
Conviction settled as Callie traced the outline of her sister’s name on her wrist. So Nanna’s benevolence was misguided, but that didn’t mean Callie couldn’t correct the mistake.
She stooped to pick up her scattered papers, hair curtaining her face as she willed her stoic mask into position. It was an expression Callie had spent years perfecting, a calm normalcy behind which she hid her turmoil, showing the world that she was strong. With deliberate endeavour, she folded the letters and slid them into their envelopes before facing Rowan and Anna.
‘I’m sorry, but I have to go.’
Anna’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean, go?’
‘I mean I have to leave. Here. I have to drive south.’ Callie took a shuddery breath, forcing herself to say the words. ‘I have to go home.’
Anna threw a fretful glance at Rowan. ‘But why?’
Callie looked at them both, heart aching with loss – for Nanna; for her housemates; for what she was about to do.
‘My grandmother, in her will, she left me Glenmore.’ She swallowed hard, fingers creasing the envelopes. ‘Now I have to give it back.’
MICHAEL JOSEPH
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2012
Text copyright © Cathryn Hein 2012
The moral right of the author has been asserted
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ISBN: 978-1-74253-509-8