by Di Morrissey
‘Bunny kept running into her friends and we lost each other, twice,’ said Megan cheerfully.
‘Thank goodness for mobile phones, or I’d never have found you and I’d have had to leave you there.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ laughed Megan.
‘You’ve bought a stack of things, by the looks of it,’ said Chris. ‘Not all for yourself, Megan, I hope!’
‘Only one or two, the rest are for my friends. I just see things I know they’ll love. You’re really hard to buy for, Dad,’ said Megan, hastily changing the subject. ‘But we found something perfect for you.’
‘Oh, this all looks worse than it is. Megan found some crazy gift warehouse that had sprung up and bought a lot of silly fun things. She has a tribe of friends, it seems,’ broke in Susan.
Megan took her parcels inside to inspect her merchandise while Chris and Susan walked slowly behind her.
‘How did you go today? Did you get a chance to do any job hunting?’ Susan asked.
‘I rang the contacts that Mac gave me, but none of them could help. Told me that they’d get straight back to me if anything came up, but no one sounded very hopeful. Then I got on to my old editor, John, to ask him what the other journos who’d got the flick were doing. See if I could get some ideas. It wasn’t very encouraging, either.’
‘Can I ask what he said?’
‘He told me that some of the old ex-Trinity staff were freelancing.’
‘You could do that.’
‘Mum, freelancing only pays about seventy cents a word,’ said Chris.
‘A thousand words and you’ve got seven hundred dollars,’ countered Susan.
‘Doesn’t sound too bad, I know, but there are all sorts of conditions attached.’ Chris explained how freelancers only got paid based on the number of words that actually went to print. And they got paid nothing at all if the paper decided not to go ahead with the story.
‘That doesn’t sound very fair to me.’
‘Nor me, Mum, especially when you consider the costs of getting the story like phone calls and travel. I could do a bit, I suppose, but it would hardly support me, let alone a teenage daughter as well.’
‘Well, it’s early days yet. You know that new people rarely get hired over the holiday season. No one is looking for staff when they’re busy planning their holiday,’ said Susan.
‘But on the other hand, this can sometimes be a good time of year to get a foot in the door because the regular staff are on leave. Your work has a better chance of being noticed, but I can’t show anyone what I can do if I can’t even get a short-term contract.’
‘You’re a well-known journalist, for goodness sake! I’m sure that something will turn up after Christmas. Come on, Chris, let’s go inside. I need to set up Santa’s workshop in my sewing room. And no one is allowed in to poke around,’ she said in a warning voice.
*
Later that afternoon, the car wound up the narrow road that twisted around the mountainside. Megan gazed at the rainforest towering above them. At several places rivulets of water cascaded over well-worn rock faces beside the road in picturesque waterfalls. On the other side, the road fell away sharply towards a tangle of ferns and undergrowth and a lush canopy of trees whose roots were grounded hundreds of metres below in the steep valley.
‘Ooh, I can’t look down there. It’s too scary. Imagine what it’s going to be like coming back down,’ Megan exclaimed.
‘Don’t look down at the drop, look across the canopy. You can see the ocean in the distance, between the breaks in the trees,’ said Susan.
Then Megan squealed as a B-double truck roared past their car on the winding road. Chris took evasive action by swerving close to the cliff face.
‘Those trucks are damned dangerous,’ he muttered. ‘There seems to be no end to them. What are they doing here? This road is far too narrow for something that size.’
‘They’re taking rocks from the quarry for the highway bypass,’ said Susan. ‘But there have been a lot of near misses. And there was talk they are going to increase the number of trucks. According to the authorities, it’s all about saving money.’
‘A short cut to disaster. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an accident waiting to happen.’
‘Daaaad, stop that. It’s scary.’
‘It’s okay, Megan. Your father is a very careful driver. Don’t worry. It won’t be long until we reach the top and get to the place where I like to buy something special for my Christmas guests. Then we can have a coffee and look around before we go back,’ said Susan soothingly.
When they reached the plateau, Megan soon had her phone out, snapping pictures of the glorious scenery through the window. The road now weaved its way through flat, lush, green paddocks where lazy cows, too fat and sleepy to move, dozed contentedly in the patches of shade cast by luxuriant trees.
‘This is beautiful,’ exclaimed Megan. ‘It’s all so green. It’s sort of like how I imagine England to be.’
‘It certainly is lovely. Quite idyllic,’ said her grandmother in agreement.
In less than ten minutes Chris had parked the car in the main street of the town at the top of the plateau.
‘I’m just popping into this shop,’ explained Susan. ‘I want to buy some of the local smoked trout. I use it for one of my special Christmas Day concoctions. There’s a coffee shop a couple of doors down, but if you’d rather, Megan, there is a great junk shop on the corner. Of course, the owner doesn’t call it that, but the number of things he has in there is amazing. I know you’ll enjoy a poke around in it. How about we all meet there in ten minutes?’
With her fish safely stowed in the car, Chris and Susan walked into the very large warehouse, looking for Megan.
‘Good grief,’ exclaimed Chris. ‘I’ve never seen so much junk in all my life.’
‘Shhh. Keep your voice down,’ whispered Susan. ‘The owner is very proud of his collection of bric-a-brac. He would be very insulted if he heard it referred to as junk.’
Chris looked around him. There were so many collectibles that it was difficult to walk down the aisles to inspect them. The walls of the shop were hung with old commercial metal signs advertising things such as ‘Keen’s Mustard’, ‘Caltex’ and ‘GE Electrics’. On the crowded shelves stood cups and saucers, glasses, old vases and boxes of cutlery. Stacked one on top of another were cheap reproductions of artworks by the great masters, as well as ambitious but tasteless amateur paintings. Hundreds of books had been set out on shelves, although there appeared to be no particular order to them. In several glass-fronted cabinets stood dozens of ornaments, mostly poorly made, but Chris suspected that if he had time to hunt seriously, he might find some good pieces.
‘Dad, this is so amazing,’ said Megan as she manoeuvred her way down a crowded aisle towards Chris and Susan. ‘Look what I’ve found.’ Megan held out a set of salt and pepper shakers in the shape of two pandas hugging each other. ‘Aren’t they too cute? And they cost hardly anything. I’m going to get them.’
Chris shook his head. ‘Your money,’ he said.
‘Bunny said that she keeps things that mean something to her, so I’m getting these to remind me of this day,’ Megan explained.
Chris looked at his mother, but didn’t say a word.
‘Do we have to race back home, Chris?’ his mother asked. ‘If we have time, we should take Megan to see the waterfall. We’ve had quite a bit of rain lately, so it should have plenty of water going over it.’
As the waterfall was only a few minutes’ drive away, Chris agreed that it was worth taking a detour. They parked the car in the small car park and walked to the edge of the well-fenced observation platform. They could see the waterfall and the river flowing far below. There was certainly a lot of water coming over the falls, which plunged about thirty metres into a large pool beneath.
‘Dad, this is gorgeous,’ said Megan. ‘I just love it.’
‘It certainly is lovely. It’s not one of the world’s great
waterfalls, not like Niagara, but you’re right, it’s very pretty.’
‘There’s a path right down to the base of the falls,’ said Susan. ‘You can walk down and swim in the pool, but the water is very cold.’
‘Dad, can we do that?’
‘No time today, but maybe after Christmas.’
‘I’d like to come back here,’ said Megan. She smiled at Chris. As they climbed back in the car, Chris felt relaxed and happy. Showing Megan around Neverend was proving to be just the bonding experience he had hoped for.
*
On Christmas morning the house was filled with people, as neighbours and friends dropped in to share good wishes and exchange small gifts.
On Christmas Eve, Susan had shown Megan how to flake the smoked trout they had bought up on the plateau and make a dip from it by putting it into the food processor with herbs, crème fraîche, shallots, parsley and lime juice. Now Megan served it to the visitors with tiny toasted triangles of bread.
‘Mmm,’ said one guest. ‘Bunny’s famous smoked trout dip.’
‘Megan made it this year,’ replied Susan.
‘Well, all I can say is that she’s done a great job.’
Megan beamed with pleasure.
Later, as those who were staying for lunch congregated on the front verandah while Susan’s organic turkey finished cooking, there was the roar of a motorbike rumbling up the driveway.
A figure in leathers dismounted, took off a black helmet and, pulling out a large red handkerchief, mopped a perspiring face.
Chris put down his drink and exclaimed, ‘Well, Carla! What a fabulous surprise! I haven’t seen you for ages.’ He walked over to embrace the large, smiling woman before calling to Megan. ‘Carla, you haven’t met my daughter. This is Megan.’
Carla held out her hand and Megan shook it. ‘I feel I know you already. Bunny talks about you such a lot. Lovely to meet you at last.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Megan. ‘Wow, that’s some bike. Do you live around here?’
‘I rode into town a few years ago and liked the place, so I often come for a visit,’ said Carla. ‘I met Bunny, who offered to let me stay here for a while. She’s a great woman, your grandmother.’
‘I know,’ said Megan, smiling. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
‘I would, thank you, dear, but then I’ll ask your father for a beer. I’ll go inside and get out of some of this clobber. It’s too damned hot to socialise in it.’ She picked up her small backpack and headed indoors.
Chris’s old friend Duncan, who’d popped in to see the Baxters before going to his family celebrations, looked at Carla heading indoors and then at the bike.
‘Your mother is very hospitable and certainly has a varied group of friends,’ said Duncan. ‘Well, I’d better be off. Going to the out-laws for dinner this year. How about we catch up after Christmas? Go fishing or play a round of golf?’
‘Sounds good to me. I’ll be in touch. It was good to see you, Duncan, and please say Merry Christmas to the family from all of us.’
After Duncan left, Chris wandered out to the kitchen to see if he could give Susan a hand with lunch. Megan joined them from the dining room, where she’d been put in charge of the floral decorations for the table.
‘Are you ready for lunch, Megan? Well, a rather late lunch, I’m afraid. How sweet you look. I love seeing you in that dress,’ said Susan, gesturing at the white A-line lace dress Megan had on.
‘Well, it is Christmas. And I wasn’t sure how proper or formal your friends might be, Bunny,’ said Megan. ‘Carla surprised me. Didn’t know you had a biker friend. Not that I mean she’s bad or anything.’
‘She’s mean, she’s bad, she’s wicked,’ laughed Susan. ‘A tamed wild woman, and she rides her bike in rallies for charities all over the place. You’ll soon see why I enjoy her company. She’s smart and quick and funny.’
‘Does she have kids?’
‘No. She never married. But she supports kids from all over the place. I know she’s helping educate an Aboriginal brother and sister out west.’
‘How come you two are friends?’ Megan asked.
‘Mum first met Carla years ago when she came to town to check up on some old hippie friend she had. He ended up being put in the nursing home in town where Mum used to volunteer. Carla visited the old chap every day and that’s how the two of them met,’ explained Chris.
‘Dear Carla,’ said Susan, checking on the potatoes cooking in the oven. ‘She was looking for a place to stay while she was in town, so I suggested she come here. The old chap only lasted two more months, but it was certainly fun to have Carla here for that time. She likes to take off on long road trips rather than settle down in one place, so she is a sporadic visitor to Neverend, but a welcome one.’
‘It was nice of you to ask her to come for Christmas, Bunny.’
Susan smiled. ‘And it was nice that you came to church with me for the midnight service last night.’
‘It was different,’ said Megan thoughtfully. ‘I enjoyed the singing. I liked going to the carols in the park, too. It’s great that you can just walk everywhere. You don’t have to get the car out and then look for a parking spot. Mum says looking for parking is the worst thing.’
‘I’m not sure that it’s the worst thing, but it can be very frustrating.’
Suddenly Megan hugged her father and her grandmother. ‘Thank you for my presents. This is the best Christmas ever.’
‘I think so, too,’ said Chris. ‘And I love my new swimmers. I’ll look really flash when we go out to the waterhole.’ Megan rolled her eyes at his comment, but smiled broadly at him.
Susan held Megan for a moment. ‘It’s so lovely to have you here. You’re growing up so quickly now.’
Some twenty minutes later, Susan announced to everyone, ‘The food is served.’ With Megan’s help, Susan set out the various dishes as Chris carved the turkey. Friends and family came together around the table sharing food, laughter, friendship and stories. Time was of no consequence.
Susan was a traditionalist on Christmas Day. There were crackers to pull. Everyone looked festive wearing their paper hats, and they all took turns reading out the silly Christmas cracker jokes, which produced more loud groans than laughter.
Chris smiled at Megan from time to time, hoping that she wasn’t finding such a grown-up Christmas a bit boring, but the look on her face suggested that she was absorbed by the interesting conversations that flowed around her.
The guests were Susan’s friends, some of whom were recent friends while some she’d known since she’d first moved to Neverend.
Charles and Shelby were originally from America but had emigrated during the seventies as flower children escapees looking for nirvana, which they hadn’t found in India. Shelby laughed. ‘We felt right at home when we got to Neverend, though.’
‘Yes, the locals always give a warm welcome,’ said Carla.
‘Oh, yes, they’ve heard about your special cookies, Carla,’ said Charles, laughing and refilling Carla’s glass.
‘Oh, I gave up growing dope years ago. Very old hat. I’m into dahlias now,’ she said matter-of-factly, and Megan glanced at her father, not sure if Carla was joking or not.
‘Don’t stir the pot, so to speak,’ said Susan. ‘The hippie wars are over. It’s all love and lattes now.’ She spooned out another helping of cauliflower cheese onto her plate.
‘So, what were the hippie wars exactly?’ asked Megan.
Everyone started talking at once, as it was a subject familiar to them all. Eventually Susan made herself heard above the din.
‘Megan, back in the dark ages of the 1970s a lot of people wanted to escape the city. They wanted to live a more fulfilled lifestyle, practise self-sufficiency. They thought that if they banded together and lived in harmony with each other and their environment in a non-materialistic way, they could encourage everyone else to change for the better, too. They were generally well-educated professionals, and very i
dealistic,’ she explained.
‘Some of them moved here from Nimbin when that region got too political, crowded and expensive,’ put in Valerie, a teaching friend of Susan’s. ‘A lot were radicalised by the Vietnam War debacle and wanted to bring up their kids differently from the traditional way children were raised.’
‘Yeah, multiple occupancy had started. This meant that a group of people could purchase large acreage and everyone could build their own house on it without having to formally subdivide the block. This made the individual plots of land very cheap, which suited artists and musicians who wanted to do their own thing,’ added Stephen, Valerie’s husband.
‘They weren’t well received here by the locals, though,’ said Chris, shaking his head.
Charles leaned his elbows on the table. ‘They certainly weren’t. The newcomers behaved quite differently from the conservative locals. They dressed in hippie clothes, had long hair, the women breastfed in public and advocated home births. They were perceived as being dole bludgers and drug takers. Yet the newcomers had a very strong community spirit.’
Tony, who had done a lot of the renovations on Susan’s house, nodded emphatically. ‘When we came up here from Melbourne in ’74 to start our building business, this place was going backwards economically. We were rather disillusioned at the time. I was called a hippie lover because I hired a few long-hairs from the bush,’ he recalled. ‘Damned good craftsmen they were. Appreciated the old wood in those timber places we renovated.’
‘And sold to other tree changers at city prices,’ added Stephen, with a smile.
‘I’m very glad you were part of the trend to save the beautiful old homes we have in Neverend,’ said Susan.
‘And I love the work. Gradually, too, the locals began to wake up to the fact that the town now had a population of hip city slickers who might have looked a bit different, but who had open minds and smart business initiatives.’
‘And look where we are today,’ said Judy, Susan’s favourite golfing partner. ‘We’ve evolved into an artistic town with a tremendous community spirit.’