Family Baggage

by Monica McInerney

  ‘Excellent. We’re having a party.’ He sat on the end of the bed and pulled out the cork. She looked for glasses. There were only the tooth mugs.

  ‘I’m sorry, they’re not exactly fine crystal.’

  ‘They’ll do perfectly.’ He poured two mugs and handed hers across. ‘You have been given the servant’s quarters, haven’t you? We can switch our viewing sessions to my room if you’re feeling too crowded?’

  ‘No, this is fine.’ It was, too. They were more relaxed with each other tonight.

  He took a sip of his wine. ‘So what do we have for our viewing pleasure this evening?’

  ‘Episode five to begin with, “The Case of the Smuggler’s Skiff”. It begins with a big fight between you and Lady Garvan. And then episode fifteen, “The Case of the Leaning Lighthouse”.’

  ‘Those two were even worse than the rest, if my memory serves me right. We might need to fast-forward both of them. And we’re visiting where tomorrow?’

  ‘Patrick, are you looking at the itinerary at all?’

  ‘No, I don’t need to. I’m in such good hands with you. You seem to cater to my every need and guess my every want, before it’s even a half-formed notion in my head.’

  ‘You just can’t cope with my brother’s writing style, can you?’

  ‘It was your brother who wrote it?’ He laughed. ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t. And I’m actually using all my free time to try and remember Willoughby stories.’

  ‘They’re loving everything you’re telling them. Even if the stories aren’t strictly true.’

  ‘They could be, you know. I might be dredging up old memories. I’m very glad they’re enjoying it. They’re nice people.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’ The night before he’d thought they were all mad.

  ‘Yes, I really do.’ He stretched out his long legs. ‘I’m also glad it’s now, not fifteen years ago. Back then I might have laughed at them for being so interested in something as flimsy as a TV program. But I had an interesting discussion with Mr Fidock today.’

  Harriet had seen the pair of them talking as they walked back to the bus in Port Isaac.

  ‘He was embarrassed at first about why he was here,’ Patrick said. ‘He thought he shouldn’t be interested in something so silly as a long-gone TV program. But he confessed to me that it was his link with home. That he didn’t want to come back and wander about looking for something in his home town that he wouldn’t find, or see school friends that he no longer had anything in common with. He decided this was a safe way, a fun way, to be nostalgic. And I thought, he’s right, that’s what it is. This is like a public service, not an ordinary tour.’ He held up his mug in a toast. ‘So well done to you and all at Turner Travel, Harriet Turner.’

  He took charge of the remote control. They sat silently as he fast-forwarded through the opening credits, pausing before the end, for the aerial shot of himself and the dog walking across a windswept headland. They took a sip of wine at the same time. Harriet had watched this episode during her Willoughby-athon the first night she arrived. Well, fast-forward-watched it, at least. It involved a missing watch, stolen from the jewellery store in the centre of St Ives. Called to investigate it, Willoughby uncovers a chain of counterfeit jewellery smuggling. The jeweller, new to the town, is in fact a prison escapee. There is nearly a shoot-out, before Willoughby sneaks up behind and disarms the jeweller. The gun goes off and Willoughby falls to the ground. A tense moment – the ad break would have come in when it was screened on TV – before they discover the jeweller has shot himself in the foot.

  Patrick pressed pause just as Lady Garvan ran towards him on screen, her face anguished. ‘I remember doing that scene. They were going to have a stunt double for me. But there was a problem with the budget so I had to do it myself. The man playing the jeweller kept joking that he was going to bring in a real gun, to add realism. I remember being worried he’d done just that.’

  ‘You were supposed to be worried, though. So it looked like good acting.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Not really. I don’t think I ever got the part right. Even though it wasn’t a success, I’d like to be able to look back and think I’d done my best. But never mind.’

  She turned to him. ‘Why are you so relaxed about it?’

  ‘Because it was years ago. I’ve already had my dark nights about it.’

  ‘I thought actors were supposed to be insecure.’

  ‘Oh, I can be. I’m just not in the mood for it right now.’

  They watched the second episode in silence. As the end credits started to roll, Harriet stood up, about to pack away the video cases, when he surprised her.

  ‘Enough work.’ He reached across and poured some more wine into her mug. ‘Tell me about you, Harriet.’

  ‘There’s nothing much to tell.’

  ‘Let me ask you some questions then. I can decide whether there’s much to tell after that. I’ll start with an easy one. Favourite colour?’

  She smiled. ‘Definitely not yellow. Purple, I think.’

  ‘Favourite animal.’

  ‘Hyena.’

  He smiled. ‘An unusual choice.’

  ‘I thought you were doing one of those psychological tests. Where your choice of colour and favourite animal gives away your inner secrets.’

  ‘So a hyena isn’t your favourite animal? What would it have meant if it was? That you were attracted to howling men with stripes on their backs?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Just as well you didn’t say mouse, then. I’d have been disappointed in you.’

  The wine was relaxing her. ‘We used to play that game all the time as teenagers. You’d give someone four things to describe and it would instantly give you an insight into all their deepest, darkest feelings.’

  ‘That must be an Australian game. Tell me about it.’

  ‘No, it takes a while. You must be tired.’ And she wasn’t sure how she’d feel hearing what his attitudes to sex, death, himself, and his ideal partner were.

  ‘Not too tired to play an authentic Australian game. I don’t have to run around in shorts or kick a ball?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then. Play it with me now.’

  She had that feeling again that he was amused by her. She hoped it wasn’t only a way of filling in time. Though of course that’s what he was doing. In his normal life he wouldn’t be sitting in a hotel room watching videos and playing games with a tour guide. She had that rush of curiosity again to ask him about his life, his work in America, but he was waiting for her to explain the game. ‘I give you four topics and you have to tell me in four words, off the top of your head, how they make you feel.’

  ‘Right. I’m ready when you are.’

  Still a little unsure, she reached for her bag and took out pen and paper. He did seem genuinely keen to play the game. ‘First of all, imagine yourself in a white room and tell me how you would feel.’

  ‘A completely white room? White floors, white walls …?’

  She nodded. ‘White ceiling. Completely white. The first thoughts that come to mind.’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Calm. Clean. Peaceful. But I’d feel a bit wary in case I left marks all over it. Perhaps I’d take my shoes off before I went in there.’

  She wrote it all down. When she looked up he was watching her, with that half-smile again.

  ‘So Professor Turner, what have I revealed about myself?’

  ‘It’s supposed to represent your attitude to death. Some people say they’d be terrified in a white room, scared, trying to get out.’ She checked her notes. ‘Whereas you seem to be well-adjusted about the whole idea. You’d feel calm, clean, peaceful, but worried about leaving marks. That’s probably guilt.’ She kept a straight face.

  ‘Probably? Definitely. All the sins of my past coming back to haunt me. So, next question.’

  She was embarrassed now. ‘Patrick, really, it’s just a teenage thing. You don’t need to do it.’

  ‘Seriously
, Harriet. I’m intrigued now. Ask me another.’

  ‘The next one is about your favourite colour.’

  ‘That’s an easy one. Red. The exact colour of your T-shirt, in fact.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s always been my favourite colour. So now what? I give you four words to describe how I feel about the colour red?’ At her nod, he shut his eyes as if to concentrate.

  Sitting opposite him, Harriet studied his face. She liked the character in it, the liveliness. In Willoughby he had been all moody and mysterious, and his dark looks suited that. In real life he was much lighter of spirit. Carefree, somehow. He opened his eyes. She noticed the dark blue again. ‘Right. I have my answer. Cheerful. Vibrant. Deep. Sexy.’

  She wrote them down. It was just as she would have described him herself.

  ‘Don’t tell me, I’ve revealed my ideal partner is a rooster?’

  She smiled. ‘No, that one’s about you. It’s how you’d like other people to see you, or how you see yourself.’

  ‘What did I say again?’

  She had a feeling he knew exactly what he had said. ‘You are cheerful, vibrant, deep and sexy.’

  ‘How extraordinary. That’s right. I am all those things. To think you Australians have been keeping this incredibly accurate psychological testing to yourself all this time. Next one?’

  ‘This one’s about water.’ Which was really about sex. She felt that odd tingle again, as though she was swimming and getting out of her depth. Another reference to water, she realised. So was she thinking about sex? With Patrick? She stared at him, taking in the expectant expression on his face, the relaxed body, the long fingers holding the glass of wine. ‘Again, you need to tell me—’

  She jumped as a mobile phone sounded. His, not hers.

  ‘Excuse me, Harriet.’ He glanced at the number and smiled before he answered it. ‘Hello there.’ His voice was warm.

  Harriet tried not to eavesdrop, though it was difficult enough not to in the small room. He was obviously happy to hear from the caller. She could hear the voice faintly. It sounded like a woman. She couldn’t help listening. ‘I’ll need to check my diary,’ he was saying. ‘I’m not in my room just now, can I call you back? Great. Give me a few minutes. Okay, thanks.’ He turned to her. ‘Harriet, will you excuse me? I need to make some calls home.’

  ‘Of course. I think we’re done for tonight anyway.’

  ‘I think so too.’ This time he did kiss her. Quickly, on the forehead. ‘Thank you. I’m enjoying this very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome. So am I.’

  When she went to bed an hour later, she could still get the scent of his aftershave on her skin.

  In her bedroom in Merryn Bay, Molly Turner was sitting looking at herself in her dressing-table mirror. She’d hardly slept all night. It was still too early to go to swimming training but there was no way she could go back to bed. There was too much to think about. The house was quiet. She imagined she could hear her own heart beating. She tried to keep her expression serious as she stared at her reflection, but a smile kept breaking through.

  It was finally going to happen. She’d made her decision.

  Dean had been so proud of her. ‘That’s fantastic, gorgeous.’ She loved it when he called her gorgeous. ‘See, didn’t I tell you it would be easy?’

  Their plans had all come together when her mother had reminded her she’d be going to Melbourne for the night later that week ‘You’re still okay to go and stay with Hailey?’

  In that instant she’d decided. It had all fallen into place in her mind, just like that. She had calmly said, as if it were true, that she had a swimming carnival that night, didn’t her mum remember? She’d told her about it the week before? She’d be staying overnight in a billet because it was so far away? So she wouldn’t need to go and stay with Hailey after all. And her mum had hesitated only for a minute and then said, of course, that’s right, she must have forgotten about it, how was Molly going to get there, though? And as calmly, Molly had said that Dean, her new coach, was going to come and pick them up and drive them there. That was only the tiniest of lies, saying ‘them’ when it would only be her, but she didn’t want her mum to get too worried.

  She’d rung him straightaway. He’d been taken aback at first, she could hear it in his voice, but then he sounded really pleased. He would come and get her himself. He knew which motel they’d go to, as well. ‘We’ll have the whole night together, gorgeous. You won’t regret it, I promise you.’

  She leaned forward to the mirror. Would she look different when she got back? Would it show that she had had sex? Would other people be able to tell? She folded her arms around herself. It was the right thing to do, she was sure of it. She loved Dean and he loved her, and as he said, it was time they took their relationship to the next stage.

  She glanced at her mobile phone. There had been no text from Lara. She decided to take it as a sign. She had to trust her own instincts. And she did. It was what she wanted to do. She was nearly one hundred per cent sure of it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Austin rang Harriet mid-morning the next day to say he’d be with her within the hour. He’d flown into Plymouth airport that morning and hired a car. He’d decided he would be able to stay for an hour at the most. ‘I’ve only got three days off, Harold. I’ll have to start looking for Lara as soon as I can.’

  Harriet had imagined him having lunch with them, meeting Patrick Shawcross and all the clients. Maybe even coming on the tour of Bodmin Moor that afternoon. She couldn’t admit it to him, but she wanted Austin to see how well she was coping. She still hated remembering the state she’d been in when he came to her rescue in the Flinders Ranges. He had told her many times since that he had practically forgotten it, but she hadn’t.

  The tour group were spending the morning sightseeing around St Ives on their own, visiting galleries and tracking down extra Willoughby landmarks. Mrs Lamerton had loudly announced her intention to be photographed standing in front of the lighthouse seen in many of the episodes. Clive had meanly, and too loudly, remarked that she’d better be careful she didn’t block out the light. They were all meeting for lunch in one of the beachfront cafes. The afternoon would be spent on the Moor, looking for moorland ponies to photograph and taking a short walk to the tor that had been the backdrop for the confrontation scene in ‘The Case of the Jilted Jockey’.

  Harriet had taken the opportunity of having some free time to send a postcard home to Molly and to buy some creamy toffee for Gloria and Kevin. Back in her room, she had just finished checking the itinerary for the next day when the receptionist called to tell her Austin was downstairs. She’d contemplated wearing something different from the hideous yellow outfit, but she was meeting the group at the harbour at twelve-thirty and it made more sense to be already dressed in uniform.

  Austin was waiting at the foot of the stairs and slowly shook his head as she came towards him. He looked as stylish as ever, his dark hair shiny and fashionably long, his linen shirt and dark trousers hanging perfectly on his lean frame. There was also the usual spark of mischief in his eyes.

  ‘I see that outfit hasn’t got any more attractive. Melissa’s on the other side of the world and you’re still obeying her?’

  ‘It’s very handy. My group don’t have the best eyesight.’

  ‘They won’t if they keep looking at you in that get-up.’ He hugged her. ‘How are you, Harold?’

  ‘I’m great. It’s brilliant to see you, Austie.’

  ‘You too. I’m sorry I can’t stay long. I want to get across to Bath as soon as I can and talk to her flatmate. I was thinking about it the whole way here. It has to be something about her parents, don’t you think?’

  Harriet blinked. She knew he was here to talk about Lara, but she hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. She was about to answer when she heard a voice.

  ‘Hello again, Harriet.’

  Harriet turned. It was Patric
k. She was very pleased to see him. She could introduce Austin to her star guest, even if they didn’t get to spend any more time with him.

  ‘Patrick, hello.’ She noticed him looking at Austin and made the introduction. ‘This is my brother, Austin Turner. Austin, this is Willoughby himself, Patrick Shawcross.’

  They shook hands. Harriet watched as Austin turned on the charm. ‘You’re having a good time, I hope. My sister’s not working you too hard?’

  ‘Oh no. Your sister is a gem. She’s got all of us under her thumb. Especially me, isn’t that right, Harriet?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said. She liked that he was laying it on so thick.

  ‘So you’re enjoying your trip down memory lane?’ Austin asked.

  Patrick nodded. ‘Even more than I expected. I may have to make an annual thing of it. What do you say, Harriet? Could you bear me once a year?’

  ‘Of course. I just need you to survive this one first,’ she said.

  There was a noise at the front door of the hotel. They looked over. Miss Talbot and three of the other women were knocking on the glass and waving. Patrick smiled and waved across. ‘Will you excuse me? I’m showing Miss Talbot and some of the others the way to the art gallery. A pleasure to meet you, Austin.’

  They shook hands again. ‘You too,’ Austin said.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Harriet.’ He touched her back lightly as he spoke.

  ‘See you, Patrick,’ she said.

  She took Austin for a coffee at the cafe on Porthminster Beach, down from the hotel. It was a blustery day. The sand was whipping along the beach, red and white striped canvas deckchairs flapping, bright-coloured towels gusting, children running in and out of the water, squealing and chasing spatters of foam.

  Austin gazed around. ‘It’s a beautiful place. Incredible light.’

  ‘Gorgeous. Everyone loves it here.’

  ‘So what do you think? Any more ideas?’

  ‘Well, no, not really. I’m sticking to the itinerary pretty much. That’s what everyone’s expecting.’

  ‘Sorry, Harriet, I meant about Lara. I tell you, it’s times like this I wish Mum and Dad were here.’