Nina smiled. ‘I don’t know how you and Moira do it,’ she laughed as she took the mug from Roy.
The boys were a bunch of kids who often stayed at Moira’s house when they weren’t at her sister’s place in Brewarrina.
‘Aw, Lancey, be careful, okay?’ called Roy as one of the boys hung upside down from a tree branch. ‘They’ll be the death of me,’ he smiled, shaking his head. Then his voice turned serious. ‘You wouldn’t read about it, what some of those kids have been through. With their parents on the grog and the ganja, in and out of whatever.’
‘They’re great kids,’ said Nina, recalling the happy chaos of the previous night. Their antics had helped interrupt her dark thoughts, made her laugh. And Alfie was more talkative here than she’d seen him before. Helping Moira and Roy round up, bathe and feed the noisy brood had helped take her mind off things. For a while at least.
‘Lucky to have you and Moira to look after them,’ she said.
‘Yeah well, they’re our mob,’ said Roy, standing and stretching. ‘Our job to teach ’em.’
Nina nodded. Where was her mob? Was it Olivia, Martin, Lin and the others?
‘Okay, kids. Time to come inside for brekkie!’ Roy yelled. ‘You coming?’ he asked Nina.
‘Thanks but I might just sit here for a bit.’ She watched as Roy scooped the smallest boy up, tickled another and helped Alfie herd the giggling group inside.
A natural father. Her eyes filled as the familiar pang overtook her.
Last night she had talked a river of memories about Jim to Moira and Roy, as if she could bring him alive again, just through words. It had been very late when they’d finally called it a night.
Now, in the morning light, she was invaded again by that feeling of hollow aloneness she’d felt sitting in the bath yesterday. Grief. She shivered. There could be no more imagining that her dad might appear one day and sort things out for her. She had to be practical, to face plain, hard facts.
Nina walked across the grass, scattering the cockatoos, and paused under the shelter of the orange tree, looking down at the big river reflecting the clouds.
On the far bank tufts of long grass were silver with the summer heat. The river gums with their deep roots still drooped foliage, but the plains beyond were bare. Today would be another scorcher, another sky empty of clouds.
With no access to the river and no working bore, The Springs wasn’t viable. She’d always known it, but while there had been water in the tanks she’d pushed that knowledge aside. It wasn’t like she could turn it into a going concern, like a B&B or an artists’ retreat. She couldn’t even afford to stay on herself.
No. She’d hang on for the inquest, and bury Dad out here where he’d been born, next to his brother. Heath had told Moira the inquest would take about six weeks. Six weeks was also how long it would take to settle the sale of The Springs. She would call Peter Pappas today.
Hilary was still her only buyer. But it didn’t matter. It would go to Heath and Deborah in the end anyway, and who better? Maybe they could use the house as a manager’s cottage, so it wouldn’t fall into ruin again.
Nina picked an early orange and stripped a bit of skin, putting her lips to the wound. It stung. Her hand brushed the rough graze on her chin and immediately she was in the cave again. His hands on her body, her insistence. The rush of pleasure. Heath’s cries as he –. She knew she should banish the pictures, the feelings that kept flooding over her. But she also knew they would be with her forever. This was not something she could get over. She had loved it. She would always love the pure, physical memory of it. And that’s why she knew what she must do.
Heath and Deborah’s happiness was at risk. The picture of them working out here together was a true one, as long as she wasn’t part of it. She was an interloper. These were good people. And after what had happened in the cave, the only strategies left to her were evasion and silence. The mask of friendly neighbourliness with Heath – and god, Deborah – was off, never to be replaced. There was no denying she’d made a giant mess of things. Deborah must never know what had happened.
But she’d miss them all – so much. While she’d had the house, she’d had that link with the people of Wandalla. After the sale, it might be many years before she came here again, if ever.
She needed to pull herself together. Form a plan. Her behaviour, this crazy longing for a man she really hardly knew; the frantic cleaning and clearing out of a house that she couldn’t afford to keep was madness. A chill went through her. She was not – she would make sure she was not – like her father. Jim was gone forever, and she now accepted that he wasn’t the perfect father of her childhood. He’d loved her, and been human too, and that would have to be enough.
She had six weeks to hold a clearing sale and pack up the house. Six weeks to figure out something else for herself. The idea of going back to Woolloomooloo and looking for another design job made her heart sink. Maybe now was the time to go to Melbourne or New York. It didn’t really matter where she went.
Nina touched her locket, squeezing it together with the heavy gold ring that hung on the same chain. Jim’s ring. The ring that had lain in that dark place for so long. The nugget could be down there still. They would have told her by now if they’d found it. She didn’t care anymore. It had cost her too much. What was important was getting back to the here and now. The Springs was the first place she’d made her own. But this morning she’d go back and wait for the tanker to arrive. Over the next six weeks she’d visit friends, go driving with Ben and maybe riding with Matty to fill in the time. Perhaps even do a bit of painting. It was enough to do these simple things and wait out her time. More than enough – a privilege to be here.
Heath sat listening to the eulogy. Harrison’s smooth baritone filled the small, red-bricked church, his words lost every so often thanks to the gale blowing outside.
One vivid memory Heath had of Nina’s father was of playing cricket a hot summer long ago. He remembered how he’d seemed like one of the boys, tearing around the dusty yard, cheering and whooping every time someone scored or didn’t score, and mimicking Ben’s pigeon-toed stance, making everyone laugh.
Heath looked towards the open oak doors just in time to see a light billowing form dancing in the air. It was a plastic bag being buffeted up and down, up again, swirling in the wind. He sighed. There had been a wind like this when they’d buried Mum and Dad. He felt the heaviness he’d been fighting all day descend on him.
Harrison’s voice drifted away, morphing into the long-ago words of his Uncle Mac speaking at his parents’ funeral … wonderful neighbours … a great loss to the community … Jenny and Scott were always together, even in death.
He watched as a speck of dust spiralled, spinning downwards into the gloom of the church. Heath closed his eyes and immediately willed himself to open them again. And as he did so, he focused on the lonely figure in the front pew, her neck with its heavy locket chain bowed. It had been weeks since they’d spoken, touched. He longed to put an arm around her shoulders; to comfort her. To hold her close.
At least she had the small comfort of knowing that Jim had died instantly, that his neck had been broken. What a nightmare if he had slowly perished of hunger or thirst in that black hole, with no hope of any help. The image of Jim’s remains caught in the light of Heath’s torch flashed into his mind. Where had all that life gone, all that joy?
Enough. He squeezed Deborah’s hand and glanced at her. But she too gazed into the distance, lost in thought.
How dare these people crowd in here, thought Hilary. There had to be more than 60 mourners. Sure, a few had been friends of Jim’s, but most were nosy locals, here for a rubber-neck. Bogans.
And how dare Harrison stand up there pontificating? Her hands in black gloves tightened around her prayer book. How could it be that Jim was really gone? He’d made her feel like there was nobody else in the world. Nobody believed it, but he had loved her. And she had the portrait to prove it. She blotted a tear that threatened
to spoil her make-up. They could have created a perfect life together, but somehow Harrison had got his hooks into him, and Julia too. Stuck-up cow. How could Jim have married her? She was so old and dried up, while she, Hilary, had been young, beautiful. Jim had loved beauty. He had lived for it.
So unfair. Hilary’s hands shook as she rummaged in her bag for her pillbox, ignoring Phillip’s reproving look. But it was too much of a struggle to get it open, and she had to take her gloves off. As she shook the pills into her palm, she stopped. How many had she taken? When she’d woken up in the night she’d had one, that’s right. And at breakfast. But had she had one since then? She couldn’t think straight. She rested the pill on top of her tongue. She just had to remember not to drink.
This was better. Everything was all right now. She looked at the stained glass windows, one of which had been repaired thanks to her generosity. These people looked up to her and Phillip. They needed her. For a moment her thoughts went back to a different time, a different church. She’d felt so small back then in her second-hand uniform, with her unfashionable haircut. They had been laughing at her, those bitches at school. If only they could see her now. Her eyes fell on the ‘Donated by the Flint Family’ brass plaque at the end of her pew. She was safe now. She had managed to carve a real name for herself. She was someone. It had taken brains and guts to change her life and those brains and guts would carry her through.
How could he speak? Nina wondered, as Harrison’s words filled the church, the timbre of his voice harmonising with the wind outside. His tone was sombre but his voice never faltered, unlike her stumbling efforts earlier.
And yet she knew the power of what Harrison was feeling. Well, she thought she knew. She remembered his almost cursory greetings on her arrival, on this day of all days. Only a brief hello and his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. She’d tried again moments later, giving him a hug. Harrison had held her stiffly before making an excuse about needing to revise his speech. And now from the pulpit his gaze seemed to fall on everyone but her.
Nina hadn’t realised how poetic Harrison was at heart.
‘… and with my empty canvas and unskilled hands, I will attempt to paint the picture of his life … let me first lay down the broad brushstrokes … These last few weeks since we discovered his fate, in fact the years since he disappeared, have been for those of us who were close to him, a palette filled with the sombre earth tones of grief.’
Later, Harrison went on to tell an amusing story about Jim’s fear of birds. ‘We were in Hyde Park and he actually hit the ground when a flock of pigeons took off in front of our faces.’
Nina hadn’t known that about her father. But then there was so much she’d never known. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud sob. Hilary. Nina, like everyone else, turned to see the black-clad figure sobbing loudly into Phillip’s shirt. Nina stiffened. Typical.
Such a hypocrite, she thought, fuming. Hilary’s behaviour was so over the top it must mean something. Guilty conscience?
Nina sighed.
The heat of the day swooped in on a gust of wind, scattering dry leaves in a willy-willy up the aisle. She glanced at Heath. He looked bruised, shattered, as if he’d been struck. Then she noticed his hand entwined with Deborah’s. She looked away, conscious that the seats beside her were empty.
She felt a reassuring pat on her back. It was Moira in the seat behind, her large and rather astonishing hat almost obscuring Roy and Matty, who sat next to her. Nina managed a smile then turned to the front again and tried to concentrate on Harrison’s closing words. A ‘talented artist’, ‘a dear friend’. But each phrase seemed to make her feel more alone, more removed from the man whose remains lay in the coffin.
She glanced at the open door. Was that Theo’s car? Her heart sank.
Harrison stumbled over the step down from the altar, clutching the pages of his eulogy. Where was Terence? He scanned the faces in the first couple of rows: Nina’s bent head; Hilary’s watery eyes blazing, as if she wanted to stab him; Heath gazing at the crucifix, miles away.
His words had drifted away like smoke, leaving him feeling hollow, as if he too might float away. Harrison hesitated. But then there was Terence in his National Parks and Wildlife uniform, his face full of pity and love. Terence winked, and Harrison became whole again, inhabiting his own skin, his feet on the floor.
As he sat, Terence took his hand. Harrison stiffened out of habit. No, the hiding and pretending that had marked their relationship for the past three years was over now. Terence smiled, and Harrison relaxed. It was okay. To hide, to pretend at their age – it was ridiculous. Especially at Jim’s funeral. His eyes brimmed with tears.
Then, just as he’d planned, the driving bass line of the Queen song ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ filled the church. Harrison smiled. It was pure Jim. Some of the congregation laughed aloud, some clapped along in time, and by the end they were stamping and applauding. One drunken night at Durham House, Jim had expressed this wish. It was the last thing Harrison could do for him.
But Nina was staring at Harrison, surprised. He realised that he’d forgotten to tell her about this part. He squeezed past the others and hurried to her side.
‘It was what he wanted,’ Harrison said.
‘Of course. Perfect.’ She let out her breath and at last Harrison took her in his arms, resting his cheek on her head.
The congregation began to file out. It was over. At that moment, Harrison caught Hilary’s eye and recoiled.
Nina had said her goodbyes and thank-yous inside the church. Afterwards she found herself unable to walk through the doorway. The congregation had formed a line outside in the hot gritty wind, waiting for the hearse to leave with the family. But Nina’s legs didn’t seem to want to move. She began to shake.
‘Oh my god, that’s one filthy wind,’ said Olivia, letting the side door bang behind her.
Nina turned to her in shock. ‘What? How?’
Olivia opened her arms into a huge embrace, and Nina let herself be held.
‘This must have been awful,’ Olivia said. ‘First your mum and now this. You okay?’
‘Not really,’ said Nina, tears rising. She had marked the anniversary of Julia’s death the previous fortnight in solitude. Thought she’d coped fine, until now.
Olivia squeezed Nina’s shoulders and put on a determined smile. ‘I heard Theo was coming up so I thought I’d grab a lift. Ten hours in the car with him … You owe me big time,’ she said, examining Nina’s face.
Nina saw that Olivia was dressed in black, as usual. But touchingly her chunky jewellery had given way to a small silver cross that Nina hadn’t seen her wear in years, and she wore smart heels instead of her usual boots or fairy slippers. Even her hair seemed a more subdued pink.
‘Here,’ she said to Nina, handing her a black lace handkerchief. ‘Take this. I have zillions in my bag.’
‘So how was it?’ Theo appeared next to them, smoothing his buffeted hair and fixing his tie.
‘How do you think?’ Nina said, and then regretted it as she saw hurt flash across his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’ Why was he here?
‘Yeah, well, I know how emotional you get at these things and I thought you might like a shoulder to lean on.’
Olivia shot him a warning look.
‘No pressure or anything. Well, if you are ready why don’t we get going?’ he said. ‘It’s going to take me weeks to get the crap off the car. We heard there was some sort of piss-up at your place. I can pour drinks or –’
‘Fuck a duck, Theo,’ snapped Olivia. ‘Nina will have to go to the burial first with the family.’
‘Yes,’ Nina replied. ‘Except there’s no family – only me.’ She put on her sunglasses.
‘Not anymore,’ said Olivia, holding Nina’s hand tightly as they walked through the doorway.
CHAPTER 17
Heat beat down from a burnt-out sky, bleaching the empty landscape. A hot wind prowled the countryside, throwing up
willy-willies and keeping the birds in their nests. The only sign of life was the procession of three silver cars labouring through the heat mirage of The Springs’ home paddock like a giant centipede.
Hamish Campbell, Wandalla’s funeral director, florist and mower repair man, drove the first car. Nina sat beside him, full of dread. She knew she’d have to face Hilary and Heath, and probably have to speak to them.
Nina glanced in the rear-view mirror at Harrison and Terence in the back seat. They sat in mirrored poses, staring at the paddocks, seemingly lost in their thoughts. Terence put his arm along the seat behind Harrison. Their unity reminded her of Heath and Deborah in church, their hands entwined. Terence seemed a lovely guy. She was the only one alone.
Nina turned to stare out the window too. These feelings were pathetic. She had avoided Heath since that terrible, wonderful, horrifying day in the cave. When they had bumped into each other in Wandalla that one time he had given her a curt nod and she had followed suit.
Deborah was a different story. She’d obviously been hurt when her offers of support and friendship had been rebuffed over the past weeks. Nina shook her head to dispel the memory of Deborah’s puzzled look when she had brushed by her at the Commercial. Only 24 hours until the sale of The Springs went through and they would be out of sight and out of mind.
The last few weeks had hardly been the oasis of calm she’d imagined. The coroner had ‘dispensed with an inquest’, meaning there wasn’t enough evidence of foul play. When he’d been satisfied that it was ‘death by misadventure’ Nina had been relieved. An inquest could have dragged on, Harrison had told her. Dental records had been compared and there was no possibility of mistaken identity. It really was Jim.
But Nina still had questions. How the rope had broken was a mystery. And the coroner didn’t know what a nutcase Hilary was. No suspect, no real explanation and where was the gold? The gold that had killed her father, as it turned out.
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