by Fiona Lowe
‘Tell you what. How about I teach you how to make a cabinet for them? We can mount it on this wall.’ He pointed to a gap between two tool boards.
They’d spent a few happy weekends making the cabinet. With infinite patience, her father had taught her how to accurately measure timber and mitre corners and the art of a bevel edge. For a time, she’d taken great delight in polishing the glass and dusting the trophies. When puberty hit, she’d lost interest in carpentry, the trophies and hanging out in her father’s shed.
The memory faded, pushed out by Sarah’s sudden realisation that it had been decades since she last thought about that special time with her father. What had happened to the cabinet and its contents?
Gus placed the buttered fruit toast and a cup of tea on the table before pulling out a chair for her with a flourish. ‘Here you go, Mum.’
Gus’s timing was terrible. The clock was ticking down fast and she still needed to peel potatoes, make a berry sauce and set the table before the family arrived. Overriding the urge to keep working while she ate, Sarah made herself sit down and appreciate his efforts. She picked up the warm, fragrant toast and remembered that Alex’s arrival had interrupted their previous conversation. ‘Gus, what were you telling me when I had my head in the fridge?’
But Gus was asking his father about his average speed up the mountain on the morning’s ride. Alex held his bike computer in his palm and they bent over the device—one chestnut head and one jet black sexily streaked with grey—studying the numbers. Sarah smiled. Boys and their toys.
Her mobile rang.
‘Happy Mother’s Day.’
‘Finn!’ Her heart rolled and she grinned at the sound of her eldest child’s voice. She still remembered the moment the midwife laid baby Finn in her arms and the rush of love thundering through her with such overwhelming intensity it would have buckled her legs if she’d been standing. Eighteen years later, her baby was doing his first semester at Melbourne University and studying agriculture. By stalking Facebook, Sarah had gleaned that more partying took place than studying. ‘You remembered. Thank you.’
‘Of course, I remembered,’ he said smugly. ‘I even sent a card.’
‘Did you?’ She’d cleared the post office box the day before. ‘It hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘Oh, I only posted it last night,’ he said easily. ‘Appreciate the effort, Mother dearest. Cards are so old school. Everyone laughed at me when I said we had to walk past a letterbox on the way to the party. All my mates are messaging or Snapchatting their mothers.’
She laughed. ‘In that case, I’m honoured. Thank you very much. I’ll enjoy reading it when I get it.’
‘I didn’t say I wrote anything,’ Finn teased. Voices in the background called his name. ‘I gotta go, Mum. Love ya.’
His duty done, the line went dead and disappointment socked her. She’d wanted to ask Finn about his lectures, about college and if he’d got the results back on the essay he’d been struggling to finish. Alex laughed at something Gus said and a shot of anger—white and hot— flashed behind her eyes. It’s supposed to be my day. My breakfast at least.
‘Alex, get in the shower,’ she said more snappishly than she intended. ‘Everyone’s arriving at twelve and I need your help. And Gus, start peeling those potatoes.’
Resignation slumped Gus’s shoulders but he walked to the island bench without a word.
Alex’s eyes flashed the colour of burned butter. ‘I’m not one of the kids, Sarah.’
But you’ve just spent two hours playing. ‘No. Sorry.’ She wasn’t sorry—she only said it because she didn’t have time to argue right now. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you could take a shower and set up the ping-pong table for Noah.’
‘Ellie’s coming?’
‘Maybe. She said she was, but you know Ellie. It’s anyone’s guess if she actually turns up. I really don’t understand why she finds making a decision and sticking to it so difficult.’ Her younger sister was a mystery to Sarah.
Alex gave his only-child shrug, the one he’d perfected over the years. He brought it out as a silent comment on her family, but it spoke very loudly. As much as the shrug annoyed her, Sarah was often secretly jealous of Alex’s only-child status and the fact he was blessed with largely uninterested parents. Alex didn’t have to spend his Father’s Day cooking for Ray.
Miaow! For goodness’ sake, what was wrong with her today? It wasn’t like she’d never hosted Mother’s Day before. This was the eighteenth time, although it was the first occasion all her siblings would be together since—God! When was the last time they’d all been under the same roof on Mother’s Day?
She sipped her tea, reassuring herself that Anita would arrive early to help. They’d open champagne and be quietly buzzed before Margaret strode through the front door in a cloud of perfume and took centre stage. Before Cameron and Ellie got around to sparring. Before Ava threw a tantrum because Chloe and Noah were ignoring her. She quickly reminded herself that these were just blips on what would be a happy day.
Sarah loved her mother and when it was just the two of them together, she enjoyed her company and her wit. No one told a story about the foibles of Mingunyah’s residents better than Margaret. Although she was spry at seventy-six, Sarah was conscious that her mother moved a little more slowly these days and arthritis made fine-motor movements tricky. Over the last three years, Sarah had developed a habit of dropping in to Mill House each weekday for a quick hello. Her mother usually had a job waiting for her. This suited Sarah as she didn’t want her mother climbing ladders, changing light bulbs and risking breaking her hip. Although her mother didn’t make a fuss of thanking her—that had never been Margaret’s way—Sarah knew she appreciated her care and concern. But on days like today, when the family gathered en masse, Margaret leaned into the role of the matriarch with gusto, and Sarah found that champagne always helped.
Alex’s mobile rang. ‘Phil,’ he said in what everyone in the family recognised as his boss voice.
Sarah and Gus stopped what they were doing and looked at him. That voice on a Sunday never boded well.
‘Shit. When? Have you …?’ Alex was listening intently and nodding. ‘I’ll be right over.’ His face was grim as he cut the call but his eyes lit up with the excitement of a challenge. It was the same light that had twinkled in his eyes the night he’d proposed to her.
‘There’s a problem at dairy two’s processing plant. If we don’t get it fixed, we’ll lose a day’s production.’
‘Dairy two?’ Sarah’s stomach lurched. ‘That’s the shipment for Beijing. The truck’s got to leave for Melbourne by three tomorrow to make the plane.’
‘Exactly.’
‘We could draw off dairy three to fill the order. It would mean telling Coles we’ll be short this week but—’
Alex nodded. ‘It’s a good back-up plan but let’s just wait and see. I might be able to fix it.’ His experience as a mechanical engineer often saved them. ‘It probably means I’m going to miss lunch.’
Sarah wished he’d try harder to look disappointed. ‘Remember to ring your mother,’ she called as he departed for the shower. ‘I better ring mine,’ she said absently to Gus, picking up the phone.
‘Why? Gran will be here in two hours.’
‘You know she likes a sense of occasion. She likes to be called on her birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day even if I’m seeing her later in the day. While I’m talking to her, I’ll ask her about the football photos.’
‘You’re not going to get like Gran when you’re old, are you?’
She waved Gus quiet as her mother answered. ‘Happy Mother’s Day,’ Sarah chirped in a sing-song voice.
‘Who’s speaking?’ Margaret asked cantankerously.
Sarah tried not to sigh at this game that had started in her childhood when Margaret insisted the first thing they ever said on the phone was their name. ‘It’s Sarah.’
‘Sarah? What are you doing at the police station?’
‘I’m not at the police station, Mum. I’m calling you from Riverbend.’
‘Someone’s stolen my car.’
‘From the garage?’ Horror streaked through Sarah at the brazen theft. That sort of thing didn’t happen in Mingunyah. ‘How? When?’
‘If I knew that, it wouldn’t be stolen, would it?’
‘Have you rung the police?’
‘No,’ her mother said imperiously, as if Sarah was a little bit slow. ‘I was trying to call the police when you rang. Now you’re tying up the line.’
I called to wish you happy Mother’s Day! Sarah reminded herself that her mother was stressed, which was why she sounded rude. ‘Do you want me to come over?’ Hello? Bad idea. You’ve got ten people coming for lunch. ‘Actually, Mum,’ she hastily amended, ‘I’ve got a better idea. Call Cameron. He can drive you to the police station then bring you here for lunch.’
‘I can’t ask him to do that. Your brother’s a very busy man.’
And I’m a very busy woman. Sarah drew in a long breath and blew it out slowly, because she was never going to win that competition. ‘It’s Sunday, Mum. It’s Mother’s Day. I’m sure Cameron’s got the time and he’ll be happy to help.’
At least one of those statements was correct.
* * *
Anita was propped up on pillows and balancing a tray on her knees as her two youngest daughters bounced on the bed.
‘Do you like the flower, Mummy?’ Ava asked. ‘I chose it.’
‘Open your present, Mummy,’ Chloe demanded. ‘I chose it.’
Ava put her hands on her hips. ‘I chose the present.’
‘You both chose the present,’ Cameron said, lifting his eyebrows in a ‘here we go again’ tilt. ‘And I cooked the pancakes.’
‘Open your present,’ the girls chorused.
‘She’ll open it after she’s eaten breakfast. Come on, shoo. Leave Mummy to eat her breakfast in peace.’
Ava pouted. ‘Aw, but I want her to open it now.’
Cameron clapped his hands and the noise echoed around the room like a gunshot. ‘Kitchen. Now. Or you won’t get to see her open her present at all.’
Surprisingly, the girls obeyed, running from the room.
Anita sighed as she took in the slightly charred pancakes and the rapidly cooling coffee. She didn’t even want to think about the state of her kitchen. ‘I’m sure I need a champagne and orange.’
‘Plenty of time for that,’ Cameron said, giving her a kiss. ‘We don’t want the girls telling the family you were on the slops at breakfast.’
‘It’s Mother’s Day. Sarah will approve.’
He flashed her a look. ‘Mum won’t.’
Anita wasn’t certain Margaret approved of her, full stop. She’d been part of Cameron’s life for fifteen years now and there were still moments when her mother-in-law’s grey eyes took on a decidedly steely hue. Naively, Anita thought that giving Margaret four grandchildren would have helped things along, but apparently the lack of a grandson was a mark against her. That riled, given that gender determination was solely Cameron’s domain. Still, ever since they’d moved to Mingunyah, Cameron was intent on not upsetting his mother. As Margaret had generously paid for Phoebe’s full-size cello and they were hoping she’d buy Ruby’s new dressage saddle, Anita didn’t wish to upset her either.
‘It’s a shame we’re not hosting Mother’s Day this year,’ Cameron said as he stole a piece of pancake from her plate.
His mild censure prickled. ‘We’ve been through this. I was leading up to offering and suddenly Sarah had it all organised.’ If Anita were honest, it was a relief to have a weekend off. For months she’d spent almost every weekend helping Cameron establish Prestige Country Properties by cooking and hosting lunches and dinners for clients he wanted to schmooze and impress. ‘I’ll tell Sarah today that she’s off the hook for next year and we’ll host.’
‘Good. By the way, what am I giving Mum for Mother’s Day?’
Anita pointed to a pretty gift bag on her dressing table. ‘Her favourite perfume and a silver-framed photo of you and the girls on the beach at Mallacoota this summer.’
‘Perfect.’
‘I thought so. I’ve wrapped both boxes. All you need to do is sign the card.’
‘What would I do without you?’ He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. ‘Hmm. Maple syrup.’ His grey eyes twinkled. ‘Shame the girls are home.’
‘Not all of them.’ Sadness fluttered over Anita like a cape. This was her first Mother’s Day without all her daughters at home.
‘The older girls are loving school, Annie,’ Cameron said with resigned weariness. ‘It was the right decision.’
Anita wanted to agree with him but a tiny part of her held back. She was the product of a poverty-stricken high school in the far-flung northern suburbs of Melbourne. Not once had she entertained the thought of her daughters attending boarding school but then again, she’d never anticipated Cameron’s push to move the family back to his childhood town either. Although, unlike her childhood, his had been happy. It was the death of his father that changed the course of his adult life and tainted his love of the town to the point he didn’t even mention Mingunyah early in their relationship.
It took until their four-month dating anniversary before Cameron casually mentioned growing up in the country. The news stunned Anita because Cameron oozed urbane smoothness and nothing about him said country roots. She’d assumed he’d grown up feeling out of place and run from Mingunyah—like she’d run from Coolaroo—the first chance he got and never looked back. It was only after they’d announced their engagement that he finally took her to meet his mother and elder sister. That weekend challenged every idea Anita held about country people.
It was a jolt to realise that, unlike her, Cameron didn’t leave home and reinvent himself, he’d just left home. The second bombshell exploded after a very formal family dinner party, where Anita needed to closely observe which fork was used for which course before picking up her own. After Cameron drank one glass of whiskey too many, they retired to the guest room, where he’d paced back and forth before kicking a chair and growling, ‘The family business was stolen from me.’ The bitterness in his tone gripped her like the bruising press of fingers against her throat. Rattled and wanting to help, she’d asked what had happened but instead of telling her, he’d drained the cut-crystal glass of its expensive amber fluid, and given her a dark, grim smile.
‘Water under the bridge.’ He’d patted the mattress of the four-poster bed and grinned at her sloppily. ‘Now, wife-to-be, come and make me feel better.’
They’d fallen into a pattern of only visiting Mingunyah at Christmas, Easter and on their way to and from the ski fields until four years earlier, when the seeds of change were unwittingly sown: the big girls became horse mad. Sarah suggested they join the Mingunyah pony club and ride with their cousin, Emma. She’d also recommended a trusted horse broker. The girls were ecstatic. Cameron not at all.
‘Jesus! My sister’s unbelievable. She might have money to burn but we don’t. Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep two horses? Forget hay. We’ll just feed them hundred-dollar bills.’
Anita, who considered Sarah to be the sister she’d never had, immediately defended her. ‘Sarah knows the girls love riding. She just wants to help.’
‘Help?’ Cameron snorted. ‘If she wants to help, she can buy the bloody horses.’
Eventually worn down by Ruby and Phoebe’s incessant campaign to join the pony club, Cameron begrudgingly accepted Sarah’s offer of free agistment at Riverbend.
Visits to Mingunyah increased. Anita preferred staying with Sarah, where the older cousins entertained the little girls and she got a rest, but Cameron insisted on staying with his mother: ‘There’s more room at Mill House.’
Yes, but there’s Margaret. Staying with her mother-in-law didn’t come close to relaxing.
Despite the increased frequency of visits to Mingunyah, Cameron always arrived
back at their Glen Iris home saying expansively, ‘You gotta love the smell of the city after all that fresh air and horse shit.’
So, on a seemingly ordinary Thursday evening when Cameron dropped his briefcase at the door, tugged at his tie and slumped onto a chair, his life-changing words were a bolt from the blue.
‘I’m sick to death of Melbourne. The traffic’s a nightmare. The pollution’s giving me headaches and the noise never bloody stops.’
Suddenly Cameron was waxing lyrical about waking up to the sounds of bellbirds and the bush. He was sick of ‘working his arse off’ for other people. He craved a challenge.
Worried, Anita bought a book titled Navigating the Male Midlife Crisis. The prologue alone terrified her and she didn’t read any further, telling herself that Cameron was nothing like the self-absorbed men described in the first ten pages. She quickly gifted the book to a friend and it was a relief to banish it from the house.
Three months later, Cameron announced, ‘Mum’s not getting any younger. It would be nice for her if we were closer. Nicer for the girls too.’
This was both a surprising and dubious point. Margaret lost interest in the girls soon after they dutifully kissed her hello and she’d admired or criticised their outfits. The older girls garnered more attention because Phoebe played the cello beautifully and Ruby had a ‘perfect seat’, which continued to win her a clutch of eventing ribbons. Margaret showed scant interest in the little girls unless she was saying, ‘Be quiet’, or telling them a story about her glory days.
Unease pitched her stomach. ‘When you say closer …’
‘I want us to move to Mingunyah.’
But we’ve just finished renovating the house. The first house she’d ever considered a home. With a shaking hand, she poured him a drink. ‘The big girls are teenagers. It’s a tricky age to change schools and we’ll never find a cello teacher the calibre of—’
‘They don’t need to change schools. They can board.’ His eyes glittered with enthusiasm. ‘It’s an investment in their education and, equally important, in the school network. Since the girls started there, I’ve sold six significant properties and all those commissions came through the parent network.’ Excitement vibrated off him and he leaned in close. ‘All those games of golf I’ve played, all your ladies’ lunches, sets of tennis, your cooking classes, not to mention the cocktail and dinner parties we’ve thrown, have paid off.