by Di Morrissey
The mantle of keeper of the stories, the one who held remnants of a life that might otherwise be forgotten, settled gently and easily on Shirley’s shoulders. She ordered books by mail and wrote copious lengthy letters to academics and specialists to learn more about the detritus of the lives that ended in the pockmarked landscape of unfulfilled dreams and hopes.
More and more people called in to see her, and Shirley always insisted that she was fine, telling them that she was keeping busy, doing the things she’d been planning to do for years. As if to prove it, she even set up a bit of a vegetable garden in a section of galvanised tank, and erected a shade cloth over it to shelter her plants from the sun. Visitors always knew that Shirley kept a pot of tea on the go and homemade biscuits to share. People would check at the store and the post office to see if there was anything for her before they went to see her and sometimes a visit with her could stretch over many hours.
*
Shirley looked into the remains of the cold tea in her cup and was silent, remembering. Then she sighed. ‘Those old men gave me a reason to be here. So I stayed in Opal Lake, in my dugout, and I tried to forget Stefan and what had happened.’
‘What do you think did happen to Stefan?’ asked Kerrie.
‘I never heard from him again. I blame myself.’
Kerrie waited a moment. ‘Do you know if he saw his mother?’
‘I don’t know but, as I said before, it was hard to find out anything. I tried ringing his cousin Franko again, in desperation, but I got nothing new. I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Surely you don’t believe there was anything in an old flame or a family marriage setup?’ said Kerrie. ‘Milton used to always tease me about the girl he knew when he was ten years old who he thought he’d marry. He said that she probably grew up to be hairy and fat.’
‘The trouble was that his disappearance seemed so out of character, but I couldn’t get any information.
I called everyone I could think of at the Ridge in the Yugoslav community and no one was helpful. Even Zoran wouldn’t speak to me. They’d closed ranks, you see. I was an outsider.’
‘Did you contact the embassy?’
‘Yes. They told me the date that Stefan had arrived in Yugoslavia, but said that they had no date for his departure, so he was still in the country.’
‘But you believed Stefan never stopped loving you?’ said Kerrie, imagining Shirley’s pain.
‘I was in agony, wondering. But as time went on I began to doubt. I thought that if he had loved me at all, he would have got a message to me to explain what had happened. But nothing.’
Kerrie looked at Shirley sympathetically. ‘And you’ve never stopped hoping, have you.’
‘I’ve never stopped hurting,’ Shirley corrected her.
‘You didn’t want to move from here?’
‘Stefan was the love of my life. Yes, I was hurt. I wish I knew what had happened. But he had decided not to come back, for whatever reason. I’ve done all the rationalising, analysing, blaming and justifying I can. I locked myself away until those old miners rescued me. I was hurt and wounded and embarrassed and I felt foolish, but people treated me with kindness, even though I know some of them speculated about me behind my back. It was only later, when new people moved here who didn’t know Stefan, that things became easier. But deep down I never, never forgot.’
‘So that’s why you’re still in Opal Lake?’ asked Kerrie softly, deeply touched by this woman’s love story.
‘I know that he won’t come back, but I think I always hoped he would, and I’d be here when he did. He was the love of my life. For better or worse.’
‘Oh, Shirley. That’s so sad.’
‘I’ve lived with it for a long time, and I’ve gradually come to terms with how my life turned out. I had a great love. More than I ever dreamed possible. Some people never have that. I’ve made a life for myself, which I enjoy, in a place that I love.’ She smiled. ‘Now, Kerrie. Enough about me. I seem to have talked for hours. Tell me, how is your painting coming along?’
‘Actually, I think a couple of them are okay. Not sure about some of the others. But I’ve enjoyed doing them. It’s like a light has gone on in my heart and soul and mind.’
‘I’m glad. Could I see one?’
‘Of course. You’ve shared so much with me, how could I refuse? And I won’t be offended if you don’t think much of them,’ added Kerrie. ‘I’ll bring one or two of them to show you. And I’ll bring a good bottle of red. I’ve finally managed to find a half-decent one at the pub, but next time I come to Opal Lake I’ll bring my own.’
‘That’s music to my ears. Next time . . .’ Shirley paused. ‘It’s nice for me that you escaped having Christmas with Milton’s girls, but when you go back they’ll still be there. You’re going to have to sort out your relationship with them.’
‘Don’t I know it. I love being here without the hassle of dealing with them, but I can’t just ignore them.
I feel a sense of responsibility towards them because they are Milton’s children and I loved Milton more than I ever thought it possible to love anyone. But you know, since Milton’s death, I’ve thought about our marriage and I realise that it was very one-sided.’
Shirley straightened up. Kerrie realised that they had come full circle. Shirley was once again her strong, practical, sensible self. But Kerrie was not prepared for what Shirley had to say.
‘Kerrie, we have talked night after night and I know a lot about your marriage and I have come to a conclusion about you. I think that you were a bit of a wimp and you let Milton subsume you! Why didn’t you stand up to him? Surely you must have felt and known how he dominated you.’
Kerrie shifted uneasily. ‘I guess I did, deep down. But I didn’t want to rock the boat. He could be quite volatile. He was much older than me and he frequently made me feel like I was a stupid schoolgirl. I think he knocked my confidence around. Even the girls accused me of being a doormat. But overriding everything was the fact that I was in awe of him! He was so talented and so highly regarded all around the world, and I was in his slipstream. People idolised him and I guess I did, too.’
‘There’s the public persona and the man at home. You shouldn’t have let him bully you – which, from what you have told me, is what he did. It sounds to me as if Milton was arrogant and selfish. And you let him get away with it. That might be partly why things are so bad with the girls. Why would they respect you, Kerrie, when it seems that you didn’t respect yourself?’
‘Shirley! You don’t understand! I was a very young bride, with very little experience of life, stepping into an established household, with a famous husband and stepdaughters not much younger than me. It was hard,’ said Kerrie defensively.
‘Of course it was. And I understand how you loved Milton, but I think that your relationship with him was at some cost to yourself, I have say,’ said Shirley. ‘And I can’t help but think that he spoilt those girls on a superficial level, which didn’t really help them, either. The fact that he left the bulk of his estate to you is a thorn between you and the girls, and it’s put you in a difficult situation. Now the question is how should you be dealing with the present poisonous relationship between you and his daughters?’
‘I just haven’t known what to do. It all seems too late. I wish that Milton was still here to sort it out.’
‘Well, he isn’t here and, far from sorting things out, he’s left you holding the bag. It’s up to you, Kerrie, but I think that you need to decide whether you want to persevere with your relationship – such as it is – with your stepdaughters or just move on with your life. What do you want to do?’
‘Oh, Shirley, what’s the point?’ sighed Kerrie.
‘You haven’t answered my question. What do you really feel about those girls?’
Kerrie thought a moment. Shirley was being quite confronting. ‘I would like to have an amicable relationship with them. They are Milton’s children, and I never had children of my ow
n. And, I suppose if I’m truthful, I’ve always been very fond of Alia, the youngest. I thought that we could be good friends, but her sisters seemed to overrule everything.’
‘Aha! There you go then. Concentrate on Alia,’ said Shirley.
‘That’s easier said than done. What do I do?’
‘What’s she doing now?’
‘She dabbles. The girls have always had money so they’ve been under no pressure to earn a living. But of all of them, Alia has been the most interested in her father’s field. She was a fine arts student, and she worked in a studio for a while. Then all the girls opened a trendy fashion boutique, but that didn’t last. The best thing she did was work in a friend’s art gallery in Paddington, and now she’s talking about setting up one of her own.’
‘Can’t you help her do it?’
‘I could but I really don’t know if she’d appreciate my involvement. At this stage there’s nothing definite about the gallery. It’s still all talk.’
Shirley looked thoughtful. ‘You said there was a retrospective planned of Milton’s sculptures?’
Kerrie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes. Wonderful plan, but it’s a lot of work.’
‘Why don’t you get Alia to help you? Get her involved. She’ll get experience setting up an exhibition, which, if she wants to open a gallery, she’ll need, and it will make her feel that she still has a role in her father’s life. And her help will certainly free you up a bit,’ said Shirley.
Kerrie thought for a moment and smiled. ‘That is a brilliant idea. You are so practical. And smart. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I’m sure that if I approach her carefully and along the lines you’ve suggested, it might just work. Shirley, you are a gem.’
‘Maybe you could take the girls back an opal each.’
‘If they wanted jewellery they’d go to Tiffany’s in Castlereagh Street,’ said Kerrie.
‘Okay, not such a good idea, but do approach Alia about the New York retrospective.’
‘You’re right. I’ll give it a try.’ She smiled at Shirley. ‘You have the knack of making me see things a little differently, a little deeper. You’re a good friend, so I guess that’s why I worry about you.’
‘Nothing will happen to me. My opals and my secrets are safe.’
Nevertheless, Kerrie was still concerned that a physically unfit older woman living in a dugout in a hillside in an isolated spot hoarding valuable opal, which others knew about, could be a sitting duck for a robbery. ‘You’re so trusting, Shirley.’
There was a noise at the entrance and Davo stomped into the dugout, calling out to Shirley.
‘See what I mean? Your open-door policy could get you into trouble,’ said Kerrie in a low voice.
‘Davo is a mate,’ said Shirley and called back, ‘In here, Davo.’
‘I saw your outside light on. Not like you to leave it on, so I thought I’d check. Hello, again,’ he said to Kerrie.
‘Hi. Well, Shirley, I’d better go. I’ll see you tomorrow, with the promised bottle of red.’
‘If I’d known you wanted wine, I’d have brought some up,’ said Davo affably.
‘It’s fine, Davo.’
Kerrie kissed Shirley. ‘See you later. And thank you.’
Shirley nodded. ‘See you, sweetie. Bye, Davo, thanks for checking up on me.’
On a whim, Kerrie took a drive out to Opal Lake. The shimmering silver sand was, as usual, deserted. Through her dark glasses it glittered like some mirage. She pulled on a hat and walked a little distance, thinking of Shirley as a little girl with her father playing in the waters of the magical lake and, later, Shirley and Stefan camping here under the stars. She paused, shading her eyes to stare at a rusting coil of old barbed wire and a rotten fence post, the last man standing at the end of a hopeless march across the desert.
The beauty of this silent sandy lake now above the ancient inland sea still fascinated her. She planned to come and paint here when she returned in the cooler months. Maybe one day she, too, would see Opal Lake filled with water. She squinted, trying to imagine the surface covered in shining water with flocks of birds dancing upon it.
Maybe it was her specially tinted sunglasses but it suddenly looked as though the endless lake was smeared in muted colours as if a layer of opal lay just beneath the surface. In the sky above the same hot bright colours flashed like a reflection. It must be the glare of the hot sun, she decided, and turned and retraced her steps.
Kerrie left a note for Ingrid, thanking her for allowing her to use her dugout and saying that if she were ever in Sydney she was more than welcome to stay at Rose Bay. Then she propped up the small sketch she’d done as a gift beside it.
She packed the car and drove the few doors to Shirley’s dugout. As she looked across the little town and the plains beyond, she committed the primary colours that burned on her retina to memory – deep blue sky and white clouds; russet red rocks; soft, deep green trees; the flash of scarlet flowers; the golden light; the soft-looking, tufted balls of grasses.
‘I’ll remember all this on a rainy day in Sydney,’ she said to Shirley as she came inside.
‘My muddle?’ said Shirley as she pushed books aside on the kitchen table. ‘Time for a cuppa?’
‘Thanks, but no. I’ll get a coffee in the Hill. I don’t want to prolong the agony. I hate saying goodbye.’
‘It’s au revoir. This is your second home. You have unfinished business here.’
‘I do?’ said Kerrie. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, I brought you a parting present. Just a small thing.’ Kerrie held out a large flat envelope.
Shirley took it and opened the flap and slid out a sketch beneath a layer of tissue. As she lifted the gauzy paper she found her own face staring back at her. The painting was a double image, one of Shirley throwing her head back with a wide smile and laughter crinkling her eyes, and beside it a profile of a thoughtful, wistful woman, remembering.
Shirley cleared her throat and Kerrie could see she was touched by her efforts.
‘This is good, Kerrie. You got me, though I prefer laughing Shirley.’ She looked at Kerrie and her pale blue eyes were watery with emotion. ‘You see inside people. You have the inner eye good painters have, to be able see a person’s soul, not just their skin. You must keep painting, Kerrie.’
‘Shirley, you don’t know how you’ve helped me. Not just with boosting my confidence in my art, but helping me be strong and stand up for myself. Might be a bit late, but I’m ready for my life again – dealing with the girls, putting Milton into perspective and getting on with things. I’m going to look up some old friends, have a bit of fun and paint.’
‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ said Shirley, holding out her arms.
They held each other for a moment and then Shirley patted Kerrie on the shoulder. ‘See you when you come back here, girl.’
‘I wish . . .’ began Kerrie, but Shirley put her finger to her lips.
‘No more talking. I’ll be here when you turn up again. Drive safely.’
Kerrie nodded and gave a little wave and walked from the cool quiet dugout into the searing summer heat. Whether it was the heat haze or tears, the scenery wavered and danced as she drove slowly away from Opal Lake. The landscape was empty, no breeze, no animal or human moved in the midday sun, but in the cool caverns beneath the surface, in tunnels and shafts and man-made chambers, the search for the elusive opal continued to occupy the hearts and heads of dreamers.
ANNA
10
SHE STOOD BESIDE THE other girls, stretching her legs and flexing her arms, her vision filled with the minutiae of the smooth red track curving away from her and the other poised athletes. She focused on the ribbon of track, screening out the closeness of the other runners either side of her. All of them knew that, in a little more than two minutes, only one of them would be the winner. The sounds of the crowd, the starter and the amplified announcer faded into the background as she waited for the one signal she needed.
The soun
d of the starter’s pistol ripped into her nerve endings and sent her rocketing forward, even before she’d made the conscious decision to move. It had precipitated an instinctive severing of her stationary state. She was instantly in full flight. She’d sometimes wondered if racehorses felt the same. One minute they were at the starter’s gate and then they had exploded onto the track at full gallop.
As she ran, Anna kept in her own mental zone. She could see only the two runners whose staggered start had put them ahead of her, and she was oblivious to the others as she ran her own race, against herself, against her pounding chest and straining muscles, hauling deep breaths into her lungs to race her towards her goal, eight hundred metres to the finish. Briefly, her trainer’s words came to her about pacing herself, positioning herself, staying with her race strategy, but somehow her mind did not seem able to control the surging energy propelling her forward.
The runners merged into a single lane and jostled for position, passing the finishing line for the first time. Just one more circuit of the track, four hundred metres left to run. Anna overtook the leaders and the exhilaration of seeing the empty track ahead was so great she could hear, as well as feel, her blood pounding, which combined with her panting breath to drown out all other sounds. She knew that she had less than one hundred metres to go but as she neared the finish line she suddenly heard the pounding of feet behind her and, as she lunged for the finish, another girl flashed past her.
Anna doubled over, gasping for air. She shook the hand of the girl who had beaten her, and a slap on the shoulder by the third place getter acknowledged her own achievement. She finally looked around as if seeing the scene for the first time. Then she heard the PA announcements, the shouts, the calls of the crowd. It was all suddenly deafening.
Craddock, who coached her and others in the South Eastern University athletics club, led her away.
‘How was my time?’
‘Not bad. Could be better, but you can do it.’
‘But I came second, didn’t I?’