by Isla Evans
PS: I’ve decided against the flashes of insight. Better to avoid the subjective altogether.
The traffic over the Westgate Bridge was heavy, but it started to clear once Kate drove beyond the new housing estates that had sprung up on that side of the city. She had the airconditioner on already because the temperature overnight hadn’t dropped below the mid twenties and was warming up quickly again. To her surprise, according to Angie, Auntie Faye had been delighted that Kate was about to pay her a visit. Even insisting that she come for lunch, and promising something delicious.
On the back seat were an overnight bag, her pillow, laptop and a box of liqueur chocolates. And Kate had chosen her outfit with some care. Conservative enough for lunch with an elderly relative-by-proxy, yet comfortable enough for a relaxed drive. Black strappy sandals, an Aztec-patterned layered skirt and a black silky singlet top. She reached forward and turned the radio on, the gravelly tones of Jimmy Barnes immediately breaking the silence. Kate smiled to herself because the weekend lay before her like a gift, full of potential. Apart from the lunch today, she had nothing at all planned. In the end she hadn’t even contacted the friends casually referred to in the conversation with Angie. Infinitely more appealing, at this time, was a lack of direction and a night in a motel somewhere along the way.
Kate took the bypass into Bacchus Marsh and stopped for morning tea at a lovely little café, which had number plates from all over the world plastered to the walls. While she drank her coffee, she amused herself by imagining the steady stream of tourists who stopped here for sustenance, only to have their number-plates stolen by the unscrupulous hosts. Perhaps there was even a Psycho-style motel out the back. She paid for her coffee and returned to her car, grinning at herself as she automatically checked to ensure her own number plate was still intact. A little over an hour later, Kate hit the outskirts of Ballarat and pulled over to check the map that Angie had drawn. Twenty minutes after that, she reached her destination.
It was a fairly small house of white clinker brick, set back from the road and with louvre shutters adorning each of the windows. Much of the front yard was concreted and what little lawn left was mown to within an inch of its life, with far more grey patches than green. Roses of every size and colour, with an assortment of garden gnomes, ringed the lawn area and edged the driveway in a curve from road to house. An extremely ugly garden gnome, which looked rather like the one Caleb had given her for Christmas, sat by the front door. Kate knocked and stood back to wait.
‘Coming!’ The voice was accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps and then the door was opened wide. ‘Kate, honey! What a pleasure!’
Kate smiled at the elderly woman who was beaming at her with obvious delight. She looked very much as Kate had remembered, a large, big-boned woman with what her uncle had once rather rudely referred to as ‘Neanderthal hips’. Facially wise, there was a vague resemblance to Angie. Similar brown eyes, wide mouth and round face. But her aunt’s features had long since been wreathed with deeply bedded wrinkles and her hair was now short and snowy-white.
‘Don’t just stand there! Come in!’ She reached forward and grasped Kate by the arm, assisting her somewhat forcefully over the threshold and then slamming the door behind her. ‘Now then, let me have a look at you. Aren’t you maturing nicely then!’
‘Thank you,’ replied Kate, keeping her smile in place. She wondered whether she should return the dubious compliment.
‘I suppose you’re wondering what to call me, huh? But why don’t we just stick with Auntie Faye. That’s what you always called me when you were little. Not so little now, huh?’
‘No, unfortunately.’
Auntie Faye immediately frowned, letting go of Kate’s arm at last. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those ones who gets all hung up about their size? Don’t be a fool, honey. If you ask me, a little bit of padding never did any harm. Be proud of your curves and to hell with anyone else.’
Kate smoothed her singlet self-consciously. ‘Um, okay. Thank you.’
‘Now, follow me!’ Auntie Faye immediately strode away into a neat, compact lounge room and went straight up to a set of French doors at the side. These were flung open to reveal a sunroom, each wall lined with white weatherboard up to waist height and then with louvred-glass windows to the ceiling. More multihued roses, this time in pots, took up most of the space except for the very centre, where a table had been set for lunch. With the expanse of glass the room was like a sauna. Perfect for a hothouse, not so great for anything else.
‘Lovely roses,’ said Kate politely.
‘Yes, aren’t they? One of my hobbies. And I often eat out here, it’s so lovely and cosy. Snug. Now make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back in a bit with our lunch.’
As her host left the room, Kate got the chocolates she had bought out of her handbag and then sat down on one of the old-fashioned, thickly padded kitchen chairs. She saw that Auntie Faye had gone to some effort, with a single apricot rose in a crystal vase in the centre of the tablecloth and silver cutlery either side of what looked like Royal Albert tableware. Kate wiped her forehead and then stared down at her damp fingers, sending a brief plea skyward that the meal would not be a hot one.
At that moment, Auntie Faye came bustling in, bearing a tray with two bowls of steaming soup and a cane basket full of bread. She placed it on the table with a flourish. ‘Here we go, honey. Just the thing after a long drive.’
‘Oh, excellent,’ said Kate weakly, the heat of the soup wafting up as it was placed before her. She remembered the box of chocolates on her lap and lifted them, her thumb immediately pressing down on one corner. ‘Um, for you. Chocolates.’
‘You shouldn’t have!’ Auntie Faye took the box gingerly. ‘But thank you anyway. Perhaps I’d better put them in the fridge.’
‘Good idea.’
Auntie Faye was back within seconds, closing the French doors behind her. Kate shook out a white napkin and laid it on her lap, staring down at the soup. It was a transparent dull-yellow colour, disturbingly reminiscent of urine, with small glutinous chunks of something pink floating on the surface.
‘Well then, dig in, honey! Enjoy!’
Kate mustered up a faint smile and obediently dug in. While the soup didn’t taste quite as bad as it looked, it didn’t taste all that good either. After about four mouthfuls, Kate found herself glad that Angie didn’t cook, because there was always a chance this sort of culinary ability was genetic. She laid her spoon down and sighed with exaggerated contentment. ‘Lovely, thanks! Did you make it yourself?’
‘Certainly did,’ replied Auntie Faye, tipping her bowl forward and scooping up the last of her own soup. ‘Family recipe.’
‘Ah.’
‘If you were going straight home, I’d give you some to take back with you. But Angie says you’re going on to stay with friends?’
‘That’s right,’ said Kate quickly. ‘Otherwise . . .’
‘Never mind, I’ll send some down with her next time she comes up.’ Auntie Faye stood up and collected the bowls. ‘Ready for the second course?’
‘Second course?’
‘Coming right up!’
Kate watched the older woman leave the room again and then tucked her hair behind her ears and used her napkin to mop her forehead. It was very hot in the sunroom, and very humid. A throbbing had started at her temples, emitting vibrations that echoed around the eye sockets. She looked around, almost desperate enough to drink the water out of a watering can if she spotted one, but there was nothing except ridiculously healthy roses and a box of snail pellets in the corner. She stared at the warning signs plastered across the box, and wondered how many pellets would put her out of her misery.
Auntie Faye came back into the sunroom, carrying the tray again. She placed it down on the side of the table and to her immense relief Kate saw two long glasses full of iced water. One was immediately passed over, followed by a plate of meatloaf and vegetables. ‘Here we go then. Eat up before it goes c
old!’
Kate smiled her thanks and then forced herself not to act too eager as she drank some water, the iciness providing an almost painful bliss. Within seconds, the throbbing in her head lessened to a dull resonance that felt heavy, but bearable.
‘So Angie tells me you’re staying with her while you’re writing a book?’
Kate picked up her cutlery. ‘Well, yes. That is, I’m trying to anyway.’
‘I’m sure you’ll succeed. You always were a determined little bugger.’ Auntie Faye paused for a moment. ‘And I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to your father’s funeral last year. I wasn’t well myself at the time.’
‘Yes, Angie told me, and we got the flowers. Hope you’re much better now?’
‘Of course,’ replied Auntie Faye airily. ‘Food poisoning, you know.’
Kate stared at her meatloaf.
‘Just one of those things.’ Auntie Faye deftly sliced her broccoli into bite-sized pieces. ‘Unfortunate timing though.’
‘Oh, well. It happens.’ Kate surreptitiously pushed her meatloaf to one side and began eating the mashed potato instead.
‘Dreadful business. I was shocked.’
Kate knew that she wasn’t talking about the food poisoning, and she also knew that she needed to head this conversation off. ‘This is lovely potato, Auntie Faye. Unusual taste though. Is it another family recipe?’
‘Heavens, no. I’ll tell you a secret, it’s just powdered stuff with condensed milk. That’s the trick.’
‘I’ll have to remember,’ said Kate, nodding.
‘I always liked your father. Lovely man. Made me so angry that it had to come to that.’ Auntie Faye glared down at her plate. ‘Should be a law against it.’
‘There is,’ said Kate expressionlessly. ‘That’s the point.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Auntie Faye looked at her searchingly. ‘So how are you holding up then, honey?’
‘I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’
‘Did you know . . . beforehand?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Kate knew exactly what she meant. She kept her voice light, conversational. ‘Well, I didn’t know that particular day. But he never made a secret of it, from the time he was diagnosed. It was only a matter of time. Before things got too bad. I suppose Angie told you all that. Everyone knew.’ Kate paused in an effort to stem the flow of words. She finished lamely: ‘It was his choice, after all.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Auntie Faye shook her head. ‘But still . . .’
‘So what sort of things do you get up to? I mean hobbies and all that.’
Auntie Faye grasped at the change of subject. ‘Oh, I keep myself busy. I’m the secretary of the community centre, you know, and then there’s the bowls and my book club and pottery. Never a spare minute, that’s how I like it.’
Kate took another sip of water and then continued eating slowly. If anything, it felt even hotter in the sunroom now than it had before, but she knew she had to swallow her growing lethargy and lead the conversation towards Sophie. She glanced across at Auntie Faye, who laid her cutlery down and looked at Kate’s plate.
‘Sure you’ve had enough, honey?’
‘More than enough,’ said Kate heartily. ‘It was delicious, thanks.’
‘My pleasure.’ Auntie Faye stacked the two plates and put them both back on the tray. She stood up with a groan. ‘Back in a minute with coffee and dessert. No, no, you stay there.’
Kate, who had half risen to assist, sank back into her chair and watched the older woman leave to fetch course number three. It would have been nice to let the food settle a bit, but her host clearly favoured the rapid-serve, speed-eat mode of dining. Accustomed as she was to a sandwich or two for lunch, and with her appetite already lessened by the heat, Kate had been full after the soup and bread. Everything else was now simply coagulating in her stomach. She drained her glass and resolved to segue the conversation before she was somehow ushered out the door with the same forcefulness with which she had been ushered in.
The French doors shot open again and Auntie Faye came through with the tray, this time bearing a coffee plunger, mugs, two shallow bowls of what looked like trifle and, to Kate’s enormous relief, a glass jug full of water.
‘I saw how thirsty you were.’ She put the jug down by Kate’s empty glass. ‘Now, how do you have your coffee? Black? White?’
‘White with one,’ said Kate, refilling her glass. ‘Thanks.’
Auntie Faye prepared the coffee and passed a mug over to Kate with one of the bowls of trifle. Then she pushed the tray to one side and sat down again. ‘You’re lucky, I hardly ever make trifle nowadays but I did some for the bowls yesterday and there was heaps left over. So when Angie rang and said you were coming, I thought well! How fortuitous!’
‘Fortuitous indeed,’ replied Kate, poking at the trifle with her spoon.
‘Oh, I forgot the cream! Did you want some?’
‘No thanks. It’s lovely just as it is,’ said Kate, finally breaking off a small piece and popping it into her mouth. It was surprisingly tasty. ‘Listen, Auntie Faye, could I ask you a question?’
‘Certainly, honey. Anything. Except about my love life of course!’
‘Ah, of course.’ Kate slammed that mental door closed quickly. ‘It’s actually about a relative of my father’s. I was going through his papers and came across this name I’d never heard. So I was worried that it was someone I should have notified. Last year. And it just occurred to me that you might know.’
‘I’ll do my best. What’s the name?’
‘Thomas Painter.’
Auntie Faye paused, with a spoonful of trifle halfway to her mouth. A piece of jelly wobbled on the rim and then fell off onto the plate with a soft plop. She put the spoon back down, still full. ‘Thomas Painter, hey? Yes, I know him. He was your father’s cousin.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. He even lived next door to your father for a while. Back in the sixties, it must have been.’ Auntie Faye looked at Kate pensively. ‘There was a bit of a scandal, see. Did no one ever tell you?’
‘No,’ said Kate with absolute truthfulness. ‘Could you?’
‘Of course I could,’ replied Auntie Faye without hesitation. As delighted as she had been to have Kate visit, she was clearly even more delighted to be the one to impart this piece of family gossip. She pushed her trifle away and leant forward slightly. ‘Now, you wouldn’t remember my sister, would you? Angie’s mother? No, of course not. Well, this is where Thomas Painter comes in. You see, Sophie was engaged to him before she met your Uncle Frank. Broke it off about two months before the wedding and married Frank instead. I can see you’re surprised.’
‘I am.’
‘And I can tell you it was a huge scandal at the time. Frank’s mother, your grandmother, was absolutely furious. You see, it affected her relationship with her own sister, who was young Thomas’s mother. And your grandmother wasn’t the forgiving type. She made Sophie’s life hell until the day she died.’
‘Sophie died?’
‘No, your grandmother. Pneumonia, I think it was. But I haven’t got to the good bit yet.’ Auntie Faye leant back, pausing as she relished the moment. ‘I wouldn’t be telling you all this, but we’re all adults here now. You see, young Angie was born around that time and I came down for a while to help out. New baby and all. Anyway, soon’s I arrived, I knew something was up. It was the way she was acting.’
‘Oh?’ encouraged Kate.
‘I always could see right through Sophie. Hopeless liar, my sister, always wore it over her face. I took one look and said to myself, hello! Something’s up!’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Asked her straight out. When Frank wasn’t there naturally. Just sat her down and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So she admitted it.’
‘What?’
‘That she’d fallen for Thomas again. Was even visiting him up at his house every other afternoon. You see, they were having An Affair.’ Auntie Faye smiled,
rather smugly. ‘Now I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’
Kate nodded impatiently. ‘You have. Then what happened?’
‘Well, nothing. Not for a couple of years. That is, I let Sophie know what I thought of her behaviour, but there wasn’t much more I could do, was there?’ Auntie Faye looked at Kate questioningly, as if she had an answer, even after all this time. ‘So I just went home again and left them to it. Then your father came back and maybe that brought everything to a head. There was a huge fight and Sophie shot through.’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Do you know where she went?’
‘Next door, of course,’ replied Auntie Faye promptly. ‘Moved in with Thomas.’
Now Kate was shocked. ‘Next door? They lived next door?’
‘For a while anyway. But your uncle made it so hard for her, seeing young Angie and all, that they just gave up. Shifted away.’
‘Hang on.’ Kate put up a hand. ‘Are you saying that while they lived next door, Sophie saw Angie? Like with child access?’
‘That’s right. You see, she was supposed to have her every weekend. But, as I said, your uncle made it so difficult. He was a bit bitter, I suppose.’ Auntie Faye made a snorting noise at this before continuing. ‘Plus there was a lot of talk around town of course, and feelings were running pretty high against them. Once someone even threw fruit at the house, smashed a window. Another time, the windshield of their car had eggs tossed at it.’
‘How awful.’ Kate stared at Auntie Faye, aghast, as she tried to imagine what life must have been like for the young couple. Sophie would only have been in her very early twenties. About the same age as Shelley was now, with little Emma.
‘So she just gave up. And don’t ask me why she didn’t try to take Angie with her. I’ve never been able to understand that bit, but I think she felt guilty for deserting Frank. I’ll tell you a secret. I think leaving the baby with him was like a penance.’
Kate nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. ‘Didn’t Thomas only have one eye?’