Gazing out over the paddocks, she stood on the side of the hill waiting for a reply, until dusk made it difficult to pick her way back to the house.
It was another three days before the flash of Denise’s name on the screen made Roni’s heart leap as though she’d been waiting for a lover’s message.
No luck. Turning into a drama of major proportions. Would be an easy fix but I’ve lost my credit card, so had to lock my accounts. No money = no fix. Blah xxx
The garage won’t extend credit? She’d have expected a country town to be easygoing.
They’re weird about it round here. Not a problem, just takes a few days for the new card to arrive. No biggie, it’ll sort itself, I’m just stuck for a while xxx
Roni headed back down to the house where she busied herself feeding Scritches his second breakfast and Goat a handful of Weet-Bix before watering the vegetable garden, lush and green in the early-morning sun, then mucking out the chicken coop. After lunch, she strode up the back paddock again. I can come in today if you need running somewhere?
No, that’s fine. I’ll work it out. Just have to wait until Thursday. Hard, though! xxx
Disappointed at the rejection, she spent the remainder of the day reading in the back garden, Scritches curled on her lap. But she couldn’t concentrate. What else could she have said that would show Denise she was prepared to at least explore their relationship?
Wednesday morning she walked down the yard, holding her phone until she found a spot with signal. Tracey’s name flicked up on the notifications, but she opened the text from Denise first.
Good morning! xxx
She turned her back to the sun climbing between the trees at the bottom of the yard so she could see the screen more clearly. Morning! x There, she’d done it. And it felt … good. There was no weakness in appending that one tiny letter.
Had a thought. Can you get in today? Soooo looking forward to catching up, can’t wait. We could make it lunch and settle in for a nice long afternoon xxx
Roni rubbed a palm against her chest, trying to calm the nerves that kicked in like she’d been asked on a first date. Sure, sounds great! Address? x
There’s a cafe on Main. Ploughs and Pies. See you there at noon xxx
Still smiling, Roni opened Tracey’s message. Hi love, are we still on for tomorrow? Did you want me to show you where the library is? I’ve popped together a Tupperware of lamingtons and a few other bits—from what Matt tells me, I’m worried you’re working too hard to feed yourself properly.
Roni tutted, sending a quick note to say she wouldn’t be available. She couldn’t go in to town today, tomorrow and then again on Friday for the CWA meeting.
With her mother’s elegance in mind, she took a white collarless blouse embroidered with tiny wildflowers from the wardrobe and pressed it. Teamed with the black three-quarter pants she’d picked up at the Salvos—and never had anywhere to wear—it was a little thin for the chilly breeze that whispered around her ankles but the nicest one she owned. And it meant she could wear her cheap, strappy sandals instead of the sneakers that were taking a beating in the yard.
Had it not been for the cartoonish rendition of farm machinery and a steaming pie painted on the window, she could have confused the cafe with the sandwich bar directly opposite. Denise wasn’t there, so Roni took a seat.
‘Be right with you,’ a woman rearranging the cake cabinet trilled. A job Roni had done hundreds of times, though the cellophane-wrapped commercial desserts Rafe stocked didn’t look as tempting as the cream-filled concoctions lining these shelves. Despite the familiarity of the setting, she didn’t feel the least homesick.
The middle-aged woman bustled over, holding up a palm before Roni could speak. ‘Even if strangers weren’t unusual around here, I’d have noticed you. Marian’s niece, right? Such a striking similarity.’
Odd everyone associated her with Marian rather than her mother. ‘Roni,’ she offered.
‘Samantha. How do you like our corner of the world? Finding your way around?’
‘It’s been … interesting. And yes, it’s not too hard to navigate.’
The woman settled into the chair opposite, her elbows on the red-chequered plastic tablecloth. ‘I suppose you’re used to the city. Marian said you were in Sydney for years.’
Not only had Marian shared the secret of her existence but her details as well? ‘My whole life, actually. First time away.’
‘Oh, goodness, this must be exciting, then. Are you alone, or did you bring your significant other?’
She must have looked surprised because Samantha laughed, slapping a hand onto the table. ‘Oh, don’t mind me being nosey! Anything that isn’t a secret in this town is up for gossip. Well, not that secrets are exempt. Tracey tells me you’re joining the CWA?’
‘Not so much joining as checking it out.’
‘You’ll love it. We have tons of fun. Did she tell you we have bingo at the end of next month? Rebecca from the butcher provides a meat tray prize. Just in time for the summer barbies, so it always gets a good turnout. Then there’s the Christmas raffle—oh, listen to me, rattling on like a road train, and you’re probably dying for a drink. What can I get you? First one on the house, a little welcome to town.’
‘That’s really lovely.’ Rafe could take a few customer-service notes here. ‘But I’m meeting my m-mother for lunch.’
Samantha’s smile tightened. ‘Oh. Denise? She doesn’t usually bring her business here.’ She jerked her chin at the sandwich bar across the street. ‘Did Tractors and Tarts cut her off?’
They both looked toward the door as the bell jangled. Samantha rose. ‘I’ll see you at the meeting on Friday, Roni.’ She pointedly ignored Denise, who didn’t seem to notice as she wound between the empty tables.
Roni half-stood and Denise wrapped her in an expensively perfumed, one-armed hug. Her other arm clutched a bundle of white fluff. ‘Veronica. Thank you so much for coming in. Sorry I’m late. I forgot I’d have to walk here.’ She winced as she pulled out her chair.
‘You should’ve called, I’d have picked you up.’
Denise sat slowly, free hand pressed to the small of her back, the other wrapped around the white Maltese terrier she placed on her lap. ‘It’s fine. I’m sure it’s good for me to walk, despite what the doctor thinks.’
‘Doctor?’
Denise waved a hand at the dog. ‘This is Bonnie. I know, I know. It’s a little odd carrying her around with me. But really, she’s my baby. All I have. At least, until now.’
Denise stood again, flinching and closing her eyes for a second before smiling at Roni. ‘We need to order from the counter. Samantha’s funny like that. Any idea what you want? I’ll go.’
‘Whatever you have is fine.’
‘Would you watch Bonnie?’ She lowered the dog onto Roni’s lap, patting it as it settled. Scritch was not going to love that smell.
Roni chewed on her lip as her mother made her way across the cafe. Denise’s impeccable make-up didn’t disguise her pallor, lines of pain etched from the corners of her eyes down to her lips.
‘Croissants and coffee. We shall pretend to be in Paris, no?’ Denise affected an accent and dropped the ‘s’ in Paris as she scooped up the dog and resumed her seat. ‘Have you been overseas?’
‘Only if a ferry across the harbour counts.’
‘Well, you’re still young, plenty of time. Oh! I’ve just had the best idea!’ Denise leaned forward, her free hand covering Roni’s on the table. ‘I’m headed to Europe next month. Why don’t we go together?’
‘I don’t—’ She used the interruption of Samantha sliding the coffees onto the table to collect her whirling thoughts. Not that she could think logically. The hope and joy threatening to explode within her at the whirlwind ride of the past few days—going from no family to talking of travelling the world with her mother—battled with her innate wariness, her years of experience. She couldn’t afford to take her mother’s words to heart, not yet. She dese
rved some answers first. ‘That sounds great. But I wouldn’t be able to go for a while.’ She would have no funds until the property settled.
Denise tapped a packet of stevia into her cappuccino. ‘Well, how about I push it back a few weeks? I’ll lose some money on my reservations, but the chance to spend time with you, at long last, is something that can’t be counted in dollars.’
Roni wanted to leap from her chair, to make promises, to rush to the travel agent right away. But she had to be cautious. According to Marian, this woman had deserted her—although, the more she spoke with Denise, the less credible Marian’s story seemed. Roni knew what it was to be manipulated by those who should care; whoever Denise had been at sixteen, whatever mistakes or choices she had made, she now seemed a warm, compassionate woman.
Denise pulled out her phone. ‘Let me make a note to call my agent when I get home. I don’t have her number on me. Or the itinerary, but I’m sure I can remember most of it—it was always the trip of my dreams. Except now, oh, I can’t believe this, Veronica. Now it’ll be simply perfect.’ Her voice throbbed with emotion and she pressed her fingertips beneath her eyes. ‘I’ll tell you what I remember and you let me know if there’s anywhere you’ve ever desperately wanted to go. I’ll have the agent create an entire new itinerary, especially for the two of us.’
By the time the flaky, golden croissants arrived ten minutes later they were still in France together, Denise waxing lyrical about the wineries in Bordeaux, where they would spend a week before heading to Spain, and making careful notes in her phone of anywhere Roni mentioned. Which really wasn’t many places, as she’d never allowed her imagination to wander overseas. But now … there would only be a short window to travel before Roo arrived, and she would have to check with the doctor that it was safe, yet it would be so wonderful for her child to have her grandmother already a mainstay in her life.
Roni had finished eating, although Denise had only crumbled pastry onto her plate, feeding it to the puppy on her lap, and they had ordered a second coffee before she realised that, swept up in the fantasy Denise wove, she had learned nothing about her mother’s life. Contagious though Denise’s enthusiasm was, Roni still needed answers. As Denise finished an animated tale regarding the somewhat inebriated patriarch of a family she’d been seated alongside on a flight to South Africa, Roni seized her opportunity. ‘Marian mentioned my father died nearly ten years ago.’
Denise arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh? I thought she hadn’t told you anything about Andrew?’
‘She left me letters.’
‘Really?’ Denise clapped her hands lightly. ‘Such a practical idea, so very Marian. You know all the family secrets, then?’
Roni shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I’m hoping you’ll fill me in.’
‘Of course. Anything you want to know. You’ll find I don’t believe in keeping secrets.’ She bent her face close to the dog’s, who licked at her eagerly.
The tension drained from Roni’s shoulders and she leaned her elbows on the table, cradling her coffee between her hands. Could Denise really be such an open book, so forgiving of the sister who had planned to use her as a brood mare to provide an heir for Peppertree Crossing? Roni closed her eyes, releasing a sigh on the pretext of blowing her already cool drink; their future relationship could so easily have been destroyed had Roni only considered Marian’s side of the story.
Thanks to Marian’s letters—or maybe because of them—there was one detail she needed to hear directly from Denise. ‘Was there a reason you had me fostered out? I mean, I know you couldn’t raise me, and I understand the circumstances of my conception must have been awkward, but why fostering?’
‘You mean as opposed to adoption?’ Denise gazed at her, a tiny frown between her brows. ‘Oh, believe me, I considered both options. I had counselling, you know, before I could place you. So even though I was terribly young, I tried to weigh up what was best for you.’
‘Wouldn’t “best” have been adoption, so I’d spend my life with one family?’ Instead, by the time she was nine she’d been terrified of harsh words within her foster family, worried they would divorce like the first set, or that she would make a mistake, break a rule, disappoint her foster parents, and be kicked out of the family. Again.
Although, eventually that had been the preferable option.
Tears starred Denise’s eyes and she bit at her lower lip until her even teeth left indents. She hid her distress in Bonnie’s fluff, her voice muffled. ‘Oh, Veronica. I wanted to keep you so very badly. If I was given one wish it would be that you never know the pain of being punished for a tiny mistake by having to give up something you love more than life itself.’
Roni’s hand instinctively dropped to her flat belly.
‘But there was no way I could keep you.’ Denise straightened, meeting her gaze unblinkingly. ‘So I decided on fostering. I knew if I allowed you to be adopted, there was no chance I could ever claim you back.’
Roni’s heart thumped so painfully, she shifted her hand to her chest. This story was similar to Marian’s, yet so very different. In the most important way possible. ‘Claim me?’
Denise nodded earnestly. ‘Fostering is only until the birth family can take the child back. So I thought that was the best chance for me—for us, Veronica.’ The dog twisted to lick at her hands as she slid her fingers into the fur, her nails glittering like rubies in snow. ‘I figured I would finish high school and then go to university so I could get a decent job. Provide for us both. But when your grandparents died, Marian took control of—well, that detail doesn’t matter. There’s no point laying blame now, is there?’
She knew what her mother had been going to say: Marian took control of the money. Her aunt had made no secret of that fact.
Denise continued quickly, minimising Marian’s betrayal. ‘It’s just, without the funds for education, I could never hope for a career where I would earn enough to be able to raise you properly. I knew you’d be better off with the stability of both a mother and a father.’ Her voice broke and she took a deep breath to steady it before she continued. ‘You know I never married, Veronica? That’s because I never found a man I believed was good enough to be your father. Oh,’ she waved a dismissive hand, ‘plenty of them would have been fine as husbands. But I wanted more for you. For us.’
Roni nodded, biting her lips together. A tiny part of her wanted to push a little more, to ask why her mother hadn’t searched her out more recently. But there would be time enough for that in the future. Denise’s final sentences were all she needed, an instant balm soothing the pain she had held inside for nearly thirty years.
Chapter Twenty
Thursday, she headed back into town to find the stock market. She’d intended to save the fuel, but the desire to tick off the tasks burned within her: free of Marian, and therefore Matt Krueger’s oversight, she could focus on her relationship with Denise.
On the drive, her fingers kept straying to the phone on the seat beside her. She was tempted to call Denise but, departing with a hug and kiss despite Samantha’s glowering presence, her mother had promised she would be in touch as soon as her travel agent sent through the new itinerary.
Roni felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of using Marian’s money to build a relationship with a woman her aunt had clearly despised—and yet, hadn’t Marian sought to harm that relationship to suit herself?
As long as she met Marian’s demands in regards to the tasks, which were little enough to ask in return for the inheritance, surely she was free to decide whether she should communicate with her own mother? Maybe, whatever was between Marian, Denise and Andrew was not her business. That was their history. She would build her own story.
The market was a vast, open-sided shed filled with pens of bleating, lowing animals of every description, the air tangy with manure and fear. She instinctively wanted to flee but steeled herself as she approached a short, weather-beaten man who, judging by the broken veins in his nose and reddened cheeks, might b
e a farmer.
He seemed confused by her request. ‘Hobby farm, is it? So what is it yer wanting? To keep the grass down, then? You don’t really need a poddy, a bobby calf will suit you.’
‘Uh, yeah.’ She’d been proud to use ‘poddy’ correctly, and the new term threw her. ‘Okay, I guess so. Problem is, I need it delivered to Peppertree Crossing.’
The farmer pushed a filthy towelling hat further back on his head, assessing her from the toes of her sneakers up to her breasts. No further. ‘Name’s Stan. Can let yer have one of me own bobbies, if that’s the case. I’ll drop it round termorrer morning, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she agreed uncertainly. They hadn’t discussed price, and maybe she should have left it to Matt: after all, he had said he’d get the poddy—but he’d clearly been unwilling, and she didn’t want to owe him any thanks.
‘You’ll be wanting to head over to Daish’s and pick yourself up some calf-raiser and tits.’
‘I still need to bottle feed it, then?’
‘Sure do. Unless you have a better idea.’ He leered suggestively at her breasts, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Bottles it is. See you tomorrow.’
Finding the thick black rubber teats—not tits, as Stan called them—on a dusty shelf in Daish’s Farm Supplies, alongside the calf milk replacement mix, she was spared the humiliation of asking for them. The long-haired guy behind a counter covered with grubby-looking bits of equipment took her money with a marked lack of interest. She stashed the teats in her bag, glancing hopefully up and down the street as she stepped out into the sunshine. Running into Denise in the town wouldn’t be needy, simply coincidental.
Daish’s was on a backstreet, and there was nothing to be seen except for a dog on the tray of a ute parked opposite. After she’d dropped the sack of calf-raiser into the boot of the car, she strolled along the street, taking in her surrounds as she drank in the soft warmth and air, which seemed fresh despite the bitumen and cement surfaces. Tracey had given her directions to the library, but realistically, she could have driven around for five minutes and found it. Sited in a valley, the town was laid out in a grid pattern, one end bordered by the river, the other by a steep, tree-studded hill. Main Street was the heart of the town, a secondary street on either side boasting miscellaneous shops, many of which edged toward being light industry. Daish’s Farm Supplies, electrical and refrigerator repairs, pump supplies, hardware, a second-hand shop, print and ink supplies, a doctor’s office. It seemed that despite the size of the town, almost anything she could need would be available.
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