Home Before Sundown

by Barbara Hannay

Bella looked quickly at Luke, who hastily swallowed his mouthful of steak.

  ‘I hope it doesn’t come as a shock,’ their mother went on. ‘But I’ve made a decision about where I want to live now.’

  In the sudden silence Luke’s eyes were wide, mirroring the same surprise and nervousness Bella felt. Ever since the funeral their mother had remained stoic and outwardly calm, but Bella had expected her to take weeks, even months, before she made any firm decisions about the future.

  She’d expected to have everything sorted with Gabe by then, but they hadn’t spoken yet. He’d told her at the funeral that he’d been in touch in a day or two. For now he was giving her family ‘space’, but not knowing was killing her.

  With quiet determination, Virginia said, ‘I’d like to go back to Townsville.’

  Bella and Luke exchanged startled glances. Had their mum lost it?

  ‘Townsville?’ Bella asked uncertainly.

  Her mum was nodding calmly. ‘I like Townsville.’

  ‘But why?’ Bella couldn’t imagine her mum in a city, not even in a laid-back, tropical city. Apart from eighteen months working in a bank in Townsville before she was married, Virginia Fairburn had lived in the bush all her life.

  Luke was shaking his head, looking as puzzled and worried as Bella. ‘I thought you loved it here.’

  ‘Of course I love living here or at least I have loved it.’ Their mother let out a tired sigh. ‘I’m sorry, but I simply can’t bear the thought of carrying on here without your father.’

  Bella opened her mouth, then promptly shut it again as she realised she didn’t know what to say.

  Luke looked equally stunned. ‘Isn’t it too soon to make decisions?’ he said finally. ‘You might feel differently in a week or two.’

  ‘I very much doubt that, darling. I’ve had quite a lot of time to think about this, you know. Ever since your father’s first heart attack I’ve had to think about how I’d cope . . . But I hoped we’d have years and years . . . ’

  Without warning, her mouth crumpled and a sob broke out. Bella was half out of her chair, ready to offer a hug, when her mother held up her hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Belle. I’m all right.’ Taking a deep breath, she straight­ened her shoulders and regained control, but before she spoke again, she reached for the ever-ready teapot, tested its weight, then poured what was left into her cup.

  ‘I came here as a young bride,’ she said as she added milk. ‘And I’ve spent my entire married life here at Mullinjim and it’s been wonderful. But that’s the way I’d like to remember it. I don’t want to struggle on here as a widow. I’m afraid I just don’t have it in me.’

  She stopped again and this time tears glittered.

  Bella felt as if she wanted to cry too. Mullinjim was losing both her parents in one fell blow.

  ‘In Townsville I can keep an eye on your gran,’ her mum went on. ‘I know she’d like that. She’s been on her own for such a long time.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t live in the nursing home?’ Luke looked shaken.

  Virginia smiled. ‘No, not yet. I’ll look for a cottage. Somewhere near the sea would be nice. Or a townhouse with a little bit of garden.’

  A little bit of garden after a hundred thousand acres? The thought appalled Bella. She felt inexplicably let down by her mother’s announcement. The very thought that her mum couldn’t contemplate living here without her husband had shocked her.

  Where was the strong woman who’d managed so wonderfully over the past few days? Where was Bella’s role model for living here without Gabe, if she had to?

  ‘But you’re not going to sell Mullinjim?’ Luke was looking more worried than ever.

  ‘You can’t sell this place, Mum.’ Bella realised she sounded as scared as Luke. ‘It’s not what Dad wanted.’

  Resting her elbows on the table, Virginia regarded them both with a tired, faded smile. ‘Do you know what your father wanted?’

  Bella’s heart thudded painfully. Her gaze met Luke’s again, but apart from the fact that he still looked anxious, she had no idea what her brother was thinking.

  ‘I don’t know what Dad told either of you,’ Bella said. ‘But he certainly gave me the impression that he wanted Luke to continue with his building certification and he hoped that I would run this place.’

  Virginia nodded. ‘That’s what he told me too. You’d like to continue with the building, wouldn’t you, Luke?’

  ‘I don’t have to,’ he offered quickly. ‘I can come home to help. I’ve run the last couple of musters and I assumed I’d be looking after the next one as well.’

  ‘But if you had a choice, would working as a builder be your first preference?’

  He studied the knife and fork lying together on his empty plate, then he looked up again quickly, shoulders squared. ‘I feel responsible for Mullinjim.’

  ‘Because you’re the son and heir?’ Bella couldn’t help asking.

  ‘I love this place as much as anyone.’ Luke’s mouth twisted uncomfortably. ‘But I guess I’ve been hoping that I’d have the chance to consider other options. If I have to be totally honest––’

  ‘You must be honest now,’ their mother said quickly. ‘We all must be completely honest. It’s very important.’

  Luke nodded unhappily. ‘Well . . . now I’ve started building, I’d like to give it a really good go. But it’s hard to juggle both the cattle and the building work.’

  ‘What about you, Bella?’ Her mother’s blue eyes were piercing now. ‘How would you feel about staying on here to run Mullinjim on your own?’

  I don’t know. I – I’m not ready.

  Her aunt’s advice was still ringing in her ears. If there are issues you still haven’t resolved, get them sorted before you make another decision.

  ‘I guess I wouldn’t have to be entirely on my own,’ she countered. ‘Dad didn’t run this place by himself and I can always hire help.’

  ‘Well, yes, you’d certainly need help. But you’d also have to commit to living here. How do you feel about that?’

  It depends . . . The very thought of living next to Gabe but not with him caused an almost suffocating pressure in Bella’s chest.

  ‘You might want to take off – to run away again.’

  Bella flinched. Run away?

  She was stung by her mother’s accusation. She’d hoped that everyone else thought her choice to go abroad was a natural choice, the sort of thing that any curious young person at a crossroads in her life might do.

  But now the difficult decisions she’d avoided were still hanging over her. Now she was facing the really big questions she hadn’t yet asked herself.

  The next few seconds could be the most important of her life. Her answer would define her future. She felt like a contestant on a TV game show, poised to give her answer to the final, crucial question.

  The next words she uttered could mean the difference between winning or losing everything. Everything that mattered.

  It was time to finally stop agonising over the past. It was time to grow up, to face up to her future as an adult.

  She’d worked long, hot and dusty hours to prove she could take on the responsibility of her family’s property, and she’d relished the sense of achievement this brought. She’d loved earning her father’s praise and she’d loved testing herself. She knew she was good at this work.

  Good decisions usually feel right.

  As Bella remembered Liz’s parting words, the answer arrived with a sudden certainty that stunned her.

  She belonged here.

  With or without Gabe Mitchell.

  The realisation was scary. She’d spent a lifetime swinging like a compass needle, as if Gabe Mitchell was her true north. Unfortunately she was still completely crazy about him and she was terrified that she might end up like old Roy, living in the same district as the person she loved, nursing the pain of her loss. Forever.

  But she couldn’t turn her back on Mullinjim. And she couldn’t ask Luke to
give up his dreams. And the sad truth was, even if she lived somewhere else, there would always be a Gabe-shaped hole in her heart.

  I can be strong. I can pour everything I have into this place. I’m my father’s daughter.

  ‘Bella, I’m sorry.’ Her mother reached across the table to squeeze her hand. ‘I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. You don’t have to give an answer now. Think about it. Maybe you need a few days.’

  Beneath her mother’s touch, Bella’s hand clenched decisively. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I know what I want. I want to stay here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yep.’ She was so grateful that neither her mother nor Luke mentioned Gabe. ‘I’m sure. I love it here. You both know that. And I love working with the cattle.’ With a determined lift of her chin, she smiled. ‘This is where I’m meant to be.’

  She felt better already. She could almost feel something inside her click into place.

  Luke’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a huff of relief. Her mother smiled at her, too, and gave Bella’s hand another squeeze before she reached for her cup and took a deep sip of her tea.

  They were pleased with her answer.

  42.

  As the taxi pulled away from Heathrow, Liz looked out of the window, hoping to find a patch of blue overhead, but the London afternoon was cold and cheerless, the skies leaden and thick with scudding clouds.

  Pedestrians, huddled in overcoats and scarves, hurried along rain-slicked pavements, gripping umbrellas that they would almost certainly have to open before they reached home.

  ‘How dreary,’ she sighed.

  The cabby scowled at her in his rear-vision mirror. ‘What do you expect coming to London in December? We’ll probably have snow any day now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Liz said soothingly. ‘I live here and I love it. But it’s just so different from where I’ve been.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘North Queensland.’

  The cabby rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed, of course he had to have the last say. ‘Well at least you won’t have to worry about sunstroke and crocodiles now you’re home.’

  Home.

  They sped onwards and Liz leaned back against the padded seat, easing her shoulders, trying to relax. The cabbie was right. London was her hometown, had been for thirty years.

  Familiar blocks of offices and flats flashed past. Ancient stone walls, grey church spires, and amidst all the grey, the welcome splashes of colour from red buses and bright neon lights. Bricks and mortar. Bitumen and stone. Christmas trees winking in shop windows.

  No gum trees. No red dust. No barbed wire or cattle. Instead there were traffic jams. People everywhere like ants.

  But she did love London – she’d spoken the truth. She loved this city’s concert halls and its overpowering sense of history, loved its diversity and its busyness. She even loved the ugly bits.

  And yet . . .

  No. There could be no and yet . . .

  She would allow no regrets. No nostalgia for her family or for the dazzling blue skies and heat and endless bush. No longing for campfires on riverbanks or for a certain tall, rangy cattleman.

  Just the same, Liz couldn’t help thinking about the first time she’d seen the grandfather climbing down from his truck. Almost immediately she felt the sting of their parting. And then piercing despair.

  Oh, Jack.

  How could these feelings be happening to her now? Why these inexplicable longings? She and Jack weren’t even lovers. They’d shared one kiss. How, after all the men she’d known, could this one man have made such a deep impact? After such a brief acquaintance?

  It wasn’t meant to be.

  I have to let it go.

  The irony was that after her conversation with Matthew Oakley, she no longer felt as constrained by the choices she’d made so long ago. If only she’d talked to him before she met Jack and not after she’d said goodbye.

  At last the cab turned into the King’s Road and Liz drew a deep breath, fixed on a smile. After the long, wearying journey, she was almost at her final destination. As soon as she’d dumped her bags in the house, she’d grab her coat and head out to buy something delicious to heat up for her supper. Or she might even eat out. Why not? It would be the perfect welcome home treat.

  She was very glad her agent hadn’t made his usual offer to ferry her from the airport. She couldn’t think of anything more exhausting than being fussed over and having to talk business tonight. Evan’s news could wait till the morning.

  Evan didn’t ring the next morning, which was probably just as well, given Liz’s jetlag. She spent the day in a tired, headachy daze. She flipped through her mail – oodles of Christmas cards – but she wasn’t in the mood to read them. She did a little shopping and rested on and off, but despite her deep exhaustion, she couldn’t fall asleep. She checked her emails and phone messages twenty times at least.

  Nothing from Evan.

  When there was still no news from her agent the next morning, she felt the first pricks of panic. After all, he’d insisted that she must hurry back. But she refused to descend to the lowly depths of sitting by the phone, biting her nails. She would beard the lion in his den.

  Dressed in her favourite outfit – an elegant, Grace Kelly-style dress, teamed with an ankle-length black fur coat and two-toned high heels, Liz felt much better. Evan was easily intimidated and today she would play the diva to the hilt. Why the hell not? She’d certainly earned the right.

  ‘Liz, darling, how wonderful to see you. You look marvellous. Fabulous. Such a glow about you. It must be all that Australian sun.’

  Liz wished she could say the same for Evan. Anaemic was the first adjective that sprang to mind. Squirming was the second.

  It wasn’t a promising start.

  She sat without waiting for his invitation and as she crossed her long legs, her fur coat parted with a luxurious and satisfying hush. The look she gave Evan may have been just a tad haughty.

  He hovered by his desk, his smile flickering on and off like a faulty fluorescent tube.

  ‘So, Evan, darling.’ Liz began confidently, but then her gaze lifted to the poster on the wall behind him and the rest of her prepared speech skated clear out of her head.

  The poster was enormous. At least two metres tall. Black and white, with all the drama and nostalgia of a forties movie poster, it showed a young man seated at a shiny, black grand piano. Liz instantly recognised the shaggy hair, the designer stubble, the sleepy-lidded eyes and sexy, lopsided smile.

  She frowned. ‘Why do you have a poster of Fergus Cooke on your wall? Why would you want––’

  She hadn’t finished her question before she guessed the unpalatable answer.

  She shivered. ‘Bloody hell, Evan, don’t tell me you’re Fergus Cooke’s agent?’

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck.

  ‘Don’t tell me.’ She didn’t even try to keep the outrage from her voice. ‘Don’t tell me you gave that boy my job? My gigs?’

  An awful sense of betrayal slithered down Liz’s back and spread over her like a cold and clammy second skin.

  ‘How could you, Evan? After all these years?’

  ‘Liz, it’s okay.’ Evan was a pale shade of green as he slid into the chair behind his desk.

  ‘Okay? I’ve worked so bloody hard. I’ve practically worn myself to a shadow. I’ve helped you earn your penthouse, one performance at a time. Thirty years of building my name and you turn me over for an upstart who’s been here five minutes.’

  Evan was probably helplessly in love with Fergus, but Liz bit back the urge to mention this. She wouldn’t sink that low.

  ‘I’ve found work for you, Liz.’ Evan was at his laptop now, eyes bulging, scrolling madly. ‘Five nights in January at St Martin in the Fields. Schubert and Mendelssohn. A concert at Wigmore Hall in March.’

  ‘What about Paris?’

  Evan winced. ‘Couldn’t pull that off, I’m afraid.’

&nbs
p; ‘Venice?’

  Even gulped and shook his head. ‘But there’s so much other work.’

  ‘What kind of other work?’

  He lifted his small white hands, palms up. ‘Ballet companies, choirs, operatic groups. They’re all crying out for good pianists.’

  ‘Accompanists at rehearsals?’

  ‘Yes. It’s quite good money.’

  ‘I gave up that work fifteen years ago.’

  She was a concert pianist. A soloist. Just two years ago she’d been a star attraction at the BBC Proms.

  ‘Changing times, Liz.’

  Changing times? Or a two-timing agent?

  Liz was trembling with anger. ‘I rushed back here, Evan. You made all kinds of promises. You assured me that if I jumped on the next plane, everything would be fine. I left my grieving family.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Liz. Honestly, I tried.’

  Bullshit as her dear brother would have put it. Liz was shaking. Furious. And tired. Also scared.

  Just the same, she sat very still, holding her head high, determined to cling to her dignity. ‘Email me those dates and contacts,’ she said with icy poise, then she rose and deliberately looked down her nose at her agent. ‘Thanks for sparing me the time out of your busy schedule, Evan.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Liz. I’m working really hard for you. You’re still the most fabulous pianist on my books. I’m looking at Vienna and Prague.’

  Her response was a brief smile. ‘Have a happy Christmas, won’t you?’

  She sailed out without waiting for his response, but she was remembering the many Christmases he’d sent her Krug champagne. In deepest gratitude.

  Times had changed.

  Indeed. After three decades of gruelling hard work and sacrifice, Liz Fairburn had reached the pinnacle of her career only to be passed over.

  Left on the shelf.

  Put out to grass.

  Shafted.

  So not the way she wanted to end her career.

  Downstairs on Great Chapel Street the day had turned bitterly cold. Liz pulled up her coat collar and headed towards Oxford Street, huddled against the biting wind. She wished now that she’d arranged to meet a friend for lunch. She needed to vent.