Time Will Tell

by Fiona McCallum

  Why hadn’t he shared his pain, confided in her? And why the hell hadn’t she phoned him to ask if he was okay? She felt her face begin to burn with shame.

  I was afraid.

  Afraid that he had left because of her; that he didn’t like her as much as she liked him. Emily’s heart ached. She should have been there for him this past week. Turning off her phone had been childish. She’d been sulking, selfishly wrapped up in her own petty problems, which were very minor when put alongside the fact that someone had actually died.

  Oh well, at least I’m doing something about it now. Better late than never, Barbara would say.

  Oh Barbara. She smiled. It felt so good to have their friendship renewed. She’d been a fool there as well. But it was in the past now – she would never let anything so ridiculous happen again.

  After a forty-minute stopover in Adelaide and another uneventful flight, Emily landed at Melbourne airport. Bright lights lit up the tarmac outside the plane’s windows.

  As she stood up and joined the queue to disembark, Emily wondered if she’d recognise Simone. She’d seen her photo on Jake’s website that night at Barbara’s. It was a head-and-shoulder shot, so she had no idea how tall or slim, or otherwise, she was. All she could remember was that she looked warm and friendly, and had straight dark brown hair just shorter than shoulder length and that it flicked out at the bottom.

  Did she say she’d be there to meet me, or was I meant to catch a cab? Suddenly Emily couldn’t remember. She began feeling panicky. Tiny beads of sweat began prickling in her hairline.

  Calm down.

  Emily told herself to breathe, slowly and deeply. Instantly her thoughts became clearer. Of course Simone was going to meet her – she hadn’t given Emily an address to make her own way. She thanked the flight attendant at the exit and walked out of the aircraft and up the long ramp on heavy legs. Despite dozing for much of the second flight, she felt exhausted.

  It’s okay. It’s just the stress. You’ll be fine.

  As she emerged into the terminal she heard a voice calling her name.

  ‘Emily, over here!’

  A young woman of around her own medium height but of slightly slimmer build, dressed in jeans and a plain pale pink t-shirt was waving her arm and clearly looking in her direction. How did she know what I look like? Emily suddenly thought. But she didn’t dwell.

  Emily walked towards the woman who, she now saw, looked uncannily like a feminine version of Jake. They shared the same shade of brown hair and had similar skin tone. Her face, while daintier, had a similarly strong jawline and chin. But most obvious of all was the wide, beaming smile that lit up her whole face. The woman rushed forward, still waving.

  ‘Simone?’

  ‘I knew I’d recognise you!’ Simone said, pulling her into a tight hug. ‘It’s so wonderful to finally meet you – I’ve heard so much about you. Thanks very much for coming. Do you have a bag to collect?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Emily said, nodding. ‘Carousel two I think they said.’

  ‘Come on, this way.’ Simone led the way and Emily had to almost run to keep up as she darted her way through the terminal like she’d been there a hundred times before.

  Fifteen minutes later they had collected Emily’s bag, walked to Simone’s small white BMW sedan in the car park, and were on their way. Emily tried to pay for the parking but Simone insisted.

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ Simone said, as she negotiated her way out and into the traffic.

  ‘I am a little, actually,’ Emily said.

  ‘It’s all the air-conditioning, it dehydrates you. And of course you had the drive up to Whyalla first. Jake told me what an absolutely boring drive it is – nothing to see but red dirt and blue-grey saltbush.’

  ‘It is a bit,’ Emily said, already feeling comfortable with Simone. She seemed to be as down-to-earth and friendly as her brother.

  ‘I’ve made a lasagne and salad. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t think you’d be up to going out and it is rather late.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Emily said, noting the sudden grumble of her stomach.

  ‘Jake didn’t say you were vegetarian or anything.’

  So he’s told her about me. Oddly, she liked the idea that he had talked to his sister about her. I wonder what else he’s said.

  ‘How is Jake? Does he know I’m coming?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve invited him over for breakfast. I thought we could try to talk him into going to the funeral together.’

  ‘Doesn’t he want to go?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think even he knows. He’s not really in a very good place for making decisions at the moment. I just want to point out the options and let him know we’re there for him. I think going to the funeral will be good for him. I don’t want him looking back and regretting that he didn’t put in an appearance.’

  ‘So what actually happened? You said something about scaffolding collapsing.’

  ‘Not sure really. The workplace health and safety people are investigating, but we know it wasn’t our fault. The scaffolding crew set up the structure that collapsed. We had nothing to do with it, except that it was on our building site and the poor guy was a subcontractor of ours. We’ll find out in due course.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Emily said. ‘Imagine the poor man’s family. Jake probably feels responsible.’

  ‘Exactly. I think he’s afraid of facing them.’

  I can relate to that.

  The mood in the car was sombre – Emily remembering her own reluctance to visit John’s parents – when Simone abruptly changed the subject. ‘Hey, I absolutely loved your jam.’

  ‘Thanks so much for doing all that for me. It was very good of you.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine. I loved doing it. I can just see you as the next big thing in jams and preserves.’

  Emily couldn’t find any reserves to show her enthusiasm. She was too worried about Jake – selling jam was the last thing on her mind.

  ‘Are you making some more again soon? It’s just that my friend Billy is really keen. Did Jake tell you? I sold her the entire second batch for her shop in St Kilda.’

  ‘I don’t know, Simone,’ Emily said wearily. ‘So much has been going on. I’ve just had to suddenly move house. My head’s all over the place at the moment. I did make a small batch with the last of the fruit, but I didn’t even think to bring it.’

  ‘You haven’t given up on the house that Jake did the plans for, have you?’ Simone said, staring at her. ‘I love those barley twist columns.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a long story.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘It’s not that – I’m just tired, and worried about Jake. Are you sure he’s going to be okay with me turning up out of the blue like this? I don’t know if he told you, but we had a bit of a tiff before he got called back. It was totally my fault – I see that now. I overreacted over something – something quite trivial, especially compared to what he’s been going through.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t trivial at the time. You don’t strike me as the melodramatic type.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you to say, but I don’t know what I am anymore. It’s been a rough few months,’ she said, smiling weakly at Simone.

  ‘Well, I know Jake cares very deeply for you, and you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel the same for him.’

  ‘I do. I really do.’

  ‘Then that’s all that matters,’ Simone said, sounding triumphant.

  Chapter Forty-five

  ‘Here we are. Welcome,’ Simone declared, bringing the car to a halt outside a row of single-storey terraces in the narrow one-way lane they had turned into. Emily hadn’t been able to follow the many twists and turns they’d taken, but they were clearly just on the outskirts of the city. Lots of tall buildings loomed very close overhead.

  Simone insisted on unloading Emily’s suitcase from the car boot and carrying it for her. She opened the nearest iron gate
with a squeak, then led the way up a brick path to a Victorian-style tessellated tile verandah and a front door painted gloss black.

  ‘Now it’s nothing flash,’ Simone warned over her shoulder as she put the key in the lock. ‘I bought it as a renovator’s delight years ago, but beyond a few cosmetic touches, it still has all its original charm,’ she said with a chuckle. She opened the door.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Emily said. First she took in the white decorative ceiling with its ornate central rose, and then she let her eyes roam along the periwinkle blue walls where three large canvases were hung evenly across most of the hall’s long right-hand side. Emily looked closely. Each of the bright yellow paintings showed a single flower in full bloom; the first a daffodil, the second a tulip and the third a rose. The colours tied in perfectly with the honeycoloured polished floorboards.

  ‘You did these, didn’t you? I recognise the style from the gorgeous labels you did for my jam – Jake showed me a photo on his phone.’

  ‘I wanted some decent-sized canvasses, but couldn’t afford the work of real artists,’ Simone said with a shrug.

  ‘They look like the work of a real artist to me. Do you exhibit?’

  ‘You’re being way too kind,’ Simone said with a little laugh. ‘I’m not an artist, I just did them to brighten up the walls.’

  Emily noticed her blush ever so slightly.

  ‘You’re in here,’ Simone said, opening the second door along, turning on the light, and entering with Emily’s suitcase.

  ‘I wish I could put rooms together like this,’ Emily said.

  There was a feature wall in charcoal grey, perfectly matching the colour of the toile upholstery of the padded bedhead beneath it. Above the window was a pelmet in the same toile fabric, and the curtains matched the grey quilt cover. Beside the window was a wingback chair upholstered in thick, sumptuous ruby-coloured corduroy. On it was a cushion in grey and cream toile.

  There was another large canvas above the bed, this time a field of poppies, the colour of which perfectly matched the chair and scatter cushions on the bed.

  Emily shook her head in wonder. Some people just clearly had a knack. ‘You should be working as an interior designer or an artist, rather than in an office.’

  ‘I can’t take all the credit; I did have a colour consultant come in. I wanted bold feature walls, but I just didn’t trust myself. I thought there were all these rules around use of colour, but she said, “If you want a bright purple wall in your house then do it. If you don’t like it it’s easy enough to paint over again.”’

  Emily felt like throwing herself onto the pillow-laden bed and going to sleep, but instead she put her handbag down on the floor beside her suitcase, and followed Simone out.

  ‘I’ll just show you the rest of the house so you have your bearings.’

  They went through the door at the end of the hall into a lounge room that spanned the whole width of the house. The room was painted in warm green, and had a feature wall in a darker shade. Again the colour tied in perfectly, this time with the floral tiles surrounding the original-looking fireplace. An ornate gilt-framed mirror occupied the space above the fireplace. On the longest wall and wrapping around the corner was a large cream leather chaise sofa. Above it, instead of more canvases, there was a series of three large black and white photos in matt black frames – sections of old buildings taken at odd angles.

  ‘Are these some of Jake’s photos?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yes. Aren’t they great? He did them for my birthday last year.’

  ‘Lovely. He’s very clever. What are they of?’

  ‘They’re three of my favourite Melbourne city buildings. The first one is the Gothic ANZ Bank on the corner of Collins and Queen Streets, the second the old Customs House building on Flinders Street, and the third is three thirty-three Collins Street.’

  ‘I love old buildings.’ Emily was reminded of the loss of both the limestone cottage and the Bakers’ house. She shrugged off the thought. ‘This whole place is great. I don’t know why you say it’s a renovator’s delight,’ she said brightly, shaking her head with wonder. ‘It’s just gorgeous.’

  ‘Thanks. Paint masks a multitude of sins. I was a bit gung-ho when I moved in and I started with the easy bits first, which just so happened to be the front section of the house. Great for first impressions, but I’m afraid it goes downhill very quickly from here,’ she said, continuing diagonally across the lounge room to a door on the far side.

  They entered a small dining room that contained a lovely old timber dining setting and sideboard. Easing the relative drabness of the plain off-white walls and timber furniture was a selection of canvases in varying sizes, colours and floral designs.

  ‘As you can see, this is my dumping ground for paintings that I don’t know what else to do with,’ Simone said with a laugh.

  ‘Well, you can dump them at my house any time,’ Emily said.

  ‘You’re welcome to have one.’

  ‘Oh I couldn’t,’ Emily said.

  ‘Of course you could. It would be my pleasure if you like them that much.’

  ‘I think you should keep them and one day exhibit,’ Emily said, slightly changing the subject.

  She didn’t want to just take advantage of Simone’s generosity. The woman had already given her so much by selling her jam. But more important than the money was that Simone had given her hope when she’d been at her lowest ebb. And all without having even met her. Emily wished she could somehow return the favour.

  They moved into the tiny kitchen and poked their heads into the incredibly cramped bathroom that opened from it. The room held nothing but a blue enamel bath with shower over it, a matching pedestal basin with a small mirrored shaving cabinet, and a toilet at the end of the bath beside the basin. There was no way two people could fit into the bathroom at once. The only spare floor space was taken up with the opening of the door.

  ‘See what I mean? An absolute disaster. All of this back section needs to come off and be started again. But it’s going to cost a fortune. The bank is happy to lend me the money, but I can’t quite get my head around living on a building site without a kitchen and bathroom for six months, especially during winter. Maybe I’ll bite the bullet next summer,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Meanwhile, at least there is an inside toilet,’ she added. ‘When these places were built the toilets were all out the back. The nightsoil man used to come along the back alleys and take it away.’

  ‘So you live alone?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got a newish boyfriend, but we only really see each other on weekends. So far it seems to suit us. He’s away this weekend,’ she added. ‘Well, that’s the end of the tour. Outside is just a small slab of concrete and then a huge brown iron fence. I’ll show you in the morning. I’ll put dinner in to heat – it’ll take around twenty minutes,’ she said, going into the kitchen and turning on the oven. ‘You’re welcome to have a shower. Not that I’m saying you need one, but I always feel so grimy after travelling.’

  ‘I think I will, thanks.’

  ‘You’ll find everything you need behind the door in your room – towels, bathrobe, slippers…’ ‘Thanks.’ Emily made her way back down to the hall and into the spare room. She closed the door and sat on the end of the bed.

  The set of towels on the antique-style rack, in a charcoal colour perfectly matching the feature wall, seemed too well-presented to be used. It was all so perfect, but unlike being in similarly well-decorated homes – her Aunt Peggy’s for example – she felt totally at ease.

  She extracted her toiletries bag from her suitcase, got undressed down to her underwear, and dragged on the plush, freshly laundered robe – again in charcoal. She pulled it tightly around her, enjoying the softness on her skin, and took a deep whiff of its apple scent. She put fresh underwear in the side pocket of her toiletries bag, tucked it under her arm, took the face washer and one of the towels from the rack, and headed back down to the bathroom.

  Simone t
urned from tossing a fresh salad in a white ceramic bowl. ‘Find everything you need?’ she asked, smiling warmly.

  ‘Yes thanks,’ Emily replied, closing the bathroom door. She couldn’t wait to get under a hot shower.

  Simone was nowhere to be seen when Emily emerged, nor did she encounter her on her trek back through the house to the guest room. She dressed in jeans and t-shirt and emerged ten minutes later feeling considerably refreshed.

  She wandered back down to the kitchen, which smelt strongly of garlic and baked cheese, and suddenly felt hungry.

  ‘Better?’ Simone said, appearing behind her.

  ‘Much. Thank you. I think it even increased my appetite,’ she added with a laugh.

  ‘Good to hear,’ Simone said, moving into the kitchen. ‘You take this lot to the table and I’ll bring the lasagne and garlic bread,’ she said, handing Emily a pile consisting of plates, cutlery, napkins, and a bowl of salad with stainless steel servers protruding from it.

  Having distributed the bits and pieces around the table, Emily stood while Simone put down the steaming dish of lasagne and took the foil-wrapped bread from the top and put it on the extra plate.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

  ‘Actually just water for me would be good, thanks. But I can get it.’

  ‘Glasses are above the sink.’

  Emily returned with two tumblers of water to find Simone had put the perfect-sized slice of lasagne and a small pile of salad on her plate.

  ‘It smells divine.’

  ‘It’s one of my all-time favourites. Cheers,’ she said, raising her glass towards Emily. ‘Thanks for being here.’ They clinked.

  ‘Thanks for inviting me,’ Emily said, smiling back.

  ‘To Jake,’ Simone added.

  ‘Jake,’ Emily affirmed with a nod.

  It was eleven by the time they’d put the plates in the sink – Simone was adamant that they were not doing any dishes at that hour – covered the dish containing the leftover lasagne with cling wrap and put it in the fridge. Both women were unsuccessfully trying to hide yawns.