Prodigal Daughter

by Jane Carter

  Oh brother! ‘Don’t say anything!’ she glowered at Patrick, who was trying not to laugh.

  Saskia’s pile came up first and then Sienna’s and then Milo’s. Diana had had to go and register at the official tent and come back with her number to bid. She had to admit they certainly hadn’t broken the bank. By the time they had got to their lots, the crowd had thinned considerably and she felt Tim was just grateful someone would relieve him of the goods. It came to about seventeen dollars altogether.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Pete Summers dead! Stella couldn’t believe it. Just last week, or was it the week before, she’d seen them both in the supermarket. Shelley would be devastated. What a terrible way to find … No, she didn’t want to think about it. Mal was coming to pick her up on his way over. She’d taken a casserole from the freezer and found a tin of peaches, and luckily she had just finished icing a chocolate slice. They were sitting on the table in a bag ready to take with her. Pete! He was one of the gentlest men she had ever met. It was too terrible for words. Those poor boys!

  Tom had thought about coming but he’d changed his mind. He thought it would be better if she went and stayed with Shelley. He’d gone back out again. He was shocked. Stella felt quite shaken, herself.

  She must leave something out for Diana. There were some sausages and chops; that would do them. They were really enjoying meat. Did they ever eat meat in London, she wondered.

  Stella watched the road from the front verandah. She shuddered. It was all coming back—twenty-five years ago seemed like yesterday.

  She remembered so vividly the shock of not being able to wake Cody up that morning. The little chest rising and falling; she was flushed and hot to touch but she wouldn’t wake up. Yelling for Tom, Stella had grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her child, meeting a tousled Tom in the hall.

  ‘Something’s wrong with Cody. Quick, you hold her while I get dressed.’ Tom followed her into their bedroom and laid the horribly limp body on the bed while he pulled on jeans and a shirt and jumper.

  ‘What’s happened to her?’

  ‘Diana … Diana!’ Fifteen-year-old Diana appeared mystified at the doorway, yawning. ‘Did you notice anything last night when you put her to bed?’

  She seemed shocked. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Maybe she was a bit quiet, but I gave her Panadol like you said and she went straight to sleep. Not a peep.’

  ‘Ring the hospital and tell them we’re coming in straight away.’ It was as though everyone was moving in slow motion. This couldn’t be happening. Cody had been perfectly well yesterday. Stella hadn’t been at all worried to go with Tom last night, leaving Diana in charge. Okay, maybe Cody was looking as though she was coming down with something, so she’d told Diana to give her some Panadol if she thought she needed it.

  ‘What else happened? Something else must have happened!’ She was yelling at Diana. Where was her other shoe?

  ‘Shh, Stella, not now. Diana and Rosie, you stay here. We’ll ring you from the hospital and keep you up to date.’

  The frantic drive to town. The road was mostly dirt then but it didn’t slow them down any.

  And then watching her daughter die. No parent should ever have to do that. The silent scream building up inside her. Nothing to be done. No answers. Nothing could have been done. An out-of-the-blue, massive bacterial infection. Meningitis. Words, no action, just words that didn’t mean anything.

  Why wouldn’t someone do something?

  But there was nothing anyone could do, was there? So many times she’d gone over that scene in her head. So many times.

  Seeing Mal’s white four-wheel drive turn off the road and bump over the ramp galvanised her into action, and she walked back to the kitchen for the bag of food.

  Once she was in the car and they were on their way, Stella asked, ‘How did you hear?’ He was driving just a little too fast, she felt.

  ‘Alan rang me at the auction.’

  ‘Did he say how his mother was?’

  ‘Pretty bad, apparently she found him.’

  ‘How horrible.’ The thought of it made Stella feel quite sick.

  ‘She’s pretty cut up.’

  ‘You don’t think, Mal, do you, that he … that it wasn’t an accident?’ Stella couldn’t help but ask the question.

  ‘I don’t know Stella, I don’t know. It’s the sort of thing you don’t want to know, do you, for everyone’s sakes. Go gently with Shelley, won’t you? Don’t even think it, is the best way to go.’ Mal looked over at her. He was so sad. He was a very thoughtful person.

  ‘Rosie didn’t want to come?’

  ‘Best if she doesn’t. Alan and the other boys will be there. It hasn’t been much of a female household—they don’t really know how to cope with women. None of them are married. I think they’ll want to have a few beers. Shelley would like you to come, though. Pity Tom didn’t want to.’ They drove on down the dirt road, gravel scattering under the wheels as they cornered on the way to the Summer’s farm.

  ‘I don’t know why Tom wouldn’t come. He was one of his good friends. There’s no accounting for how Tom is going to react these days’.

  ‘Don’t suppose he’s given any more thought to handing over?’ Mal concentrated on the road ahead, changing down for the next corner. ‘I’m not sure how much longer I can wait, Stella. I’m going to have to go and do something else. Find a good job. Rosie’s very restless too. Patrick doesn’t want a cattle man; he’s talking now about putting in hops. What do I know about growing hops? Nothing. I’m wasted there, I think. I need to know something concrete, soon, cause I’ll have to look for another job if not.’

  Stella didn’t know what to answer. She could talk to Tom again, go round in circles again, try for an answer but get nowhere. ‘I’ll try, Mal, I’ll try.’

  They had arrived at the farm. Alan was at the door. Shelley was inside, sitting on the lounge, ashen-faced. Stella went to make some tea.

  So many men in the room, not knowing what to do. The Summers were all tall, strapping boys. But they looked stunned. Strange, the aftermath of death. Everyone was quiet, no idea what to say or how to make anything better. The phone would ring, one of the neighbours would answer it and write names on a pad near the phone. Stella sat down next to Shelley and gave her a cup of tea.

  ‘He didn’t come in last night,’ Shelley whispered. ‘He’s usually in by dark. Sometimes, when the days are short like this, he’s a bit later, but by six he wasn’t in and I took the car, and a torch, and I was shining it around and … Oh God.’

  Stella took the cup quickly as Shelley started to sob quietly.

  ‘Don’t, Mum.’ One of the boys came over to stand helplessly in front of her. ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘No, it’s better to cry, Adam’. Stella thought it was Adam. He was one of the middle ones. ‘Let it out, Shelley. You’ll feel better for it.’

  ‘Why, why, why, why?’ Shelley was rocking, backwards and forwards, her face in her hands. ‘Why, why, why? He didn’t even tell me he was taking the gun.’

  Why? Stella went cold. She had asked herself the same after Cody had died.

  Why on earth had she gone out that night?

  Why hadn’t she got home earlier? Checked her before she’d gone to bed.

  They’d been told that everyone carries the bacteria. Why did it attack Cody? Why did she die?

  May as well have asked the man in the moon. There’d been no answers for her.

  Stella took Shelley’s hand. ‘It’s too early for answers, Shell. You’ve got to rant and rail, feel despair, get angry, be hurt … and then later, much later, you’ll be so glad that he was part of your life. You’ve had a good marriage. He was such a lovely man. We all loved him. Pete got so much pleasure out of his boys, and he adored you.’

  ‘Why?’ whispered Shelley brokenly. ‘Why? We’ve been having some trouble with a dingo, we think, on our boundary near the national park. But why did he take the gun and not a rifle? It doesn’t make
any sense’

  ‘I don’t know, Shell.’

  ‘I knew he was depressed, this bloody drought. Year after year. We were going to have to ask the bank for refinancing again. But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t … I know he wouldn’t.’ Shelley closed her eyes. ‘He’d stopped talking to me, he was so angry. I’ve got no idea what he was thinking.’

  Hell. ‘Don’t do this, Shell, of course he wouldn’t. Don’t go there,’ Stella said urgently, taking both her hands. ‘Do you feel like going to have a rest? I’ve bought a casserole and I’m going to put it in the oven, for later. I’ve brought you some of my pills. I rang Will Talbot and asked if it would be all right and he said one would be fine. Here, take it with your tea, and you can go and lie down for a bit.’

  It was happening far too often, that’s what Stella did know. Too many men, the farmers around her, were dying for no good reason.

  The atmosphere was beginning to get to her. Cody had died twenty-five years ago, but it was exactly the same—the milling around, the confusion on everyone’s face. The soft muted voices as though the recently departed might be listening. Maybe he was.

  Oh my God, she thought, stricken, it had been like this for Diana too. So far away, she’d sounded so remote, so in control when she’d rang. Stella and Tom had been quite intimidated. ‘No need to come,’ she’d said. It had been terrible not knowing how to help and being so far away. She wiped the tears angrily from her eyes.

  Well, if Pete was watching, she just hoped he could see how upset everyone was. The stupid fool, accident or not. What a mess. Stella banged the oven door shut, the noise echoing in the empty kitchen. Where in the hell had Tom got to? He should be here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Would you all like to come over for a quick meal on the way home? We’ve got to go past the gate.’

  They were in Patrick’s car, loaded with all their purchases, on the way home from the sale. And he certainly didn’t have to detour.

  ‘Your parents would have probably gone with Mal and Rosie, wouldn’t they?’ he said. ‘There’ll be no one at home. Stay,’ he urged.

  ‘Thank you. We’d like that, wouldn’t we, kids?’ Diana turned to the three passive faces in the back. They must be exhausted; it had been a long day. But there were no mutinous looks. Besides, she was curious to see Lost Valley. She had only vague recollections of the house. It was an old rambling sandstone place, and there’d been a long run of absentee landlords while she was growing up. ‘Are you sure that’s all right?’

  ‘I think we can manage,’ he replied confidently, not that she thought the little matter of whipping up a meal for five on the spur of the moment would be beyond him.

  They swept through the entrance into the tree-lined gravel drive, with a curved sandstone wall on either side, ending in two stone pylons holding up the black, wrought-iron gates.

  ‘What beautiful trees,’ Diana murmured, observing the bare branches. ‘A drive of elms?’

  ‘Yes, they’re magnificent in spring.’

  Diana looked at the green lawns, massive trees and shrubs, and garden beds neatly edged. ‘What happened to your drought?’ she asked dubiously.

  ‘I put in a couple of bores, year before last, and they’ve kept up the water fairly well. I’ve been lucky.’

  ‘Mmm, well, I’m not sure about lucky. Fortunate maybe.’

  Patrick smiled.

  They had circled round in front of the house. It was a beautiful old homestead made of brick and stone, only one storey, but it had a slate roof and solid round stone columns lining the spacious front verandah. French windows, opening onto the verandah, shone square, golden eyes in the late-afternoon sun. A lot of work had been done to it since she’d last been here.

  ‘Oh Patrick! It looks fantastic.’

  His smile was broad. ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’

  She couldn’t help smiling back at him.

  * * *

  Diana suggested the kids go outside and play. She watched as they ran outside, immediately running and shouting, making up some game.

  ‘You have no idea, they’re so different from the day we arrived. You’d hardly recognise them. I was so worried I’d done the wrong thing, bringing them to Australia. I feel awful for the Summers, but the kids have run and played all day like normal children. I’d appreciate you not talking about it in front of them, though, because of their father—’ She stopped. God, she was rattling on.

  ‘Of course I won’t. I think you were right to take them away, change environments. What would you like to drink? Beer, wine, whiskey … I think I have most things.’

  ‘A beer would be good, thanks. I feel thirsty.’

  They were in the enormous kitchen. Diana was impressed. Patrick, or whoever had decorated the place, had kept faithfully to the age of the house. No granite benchtops and stainless steel ovens here. It had a comfortable look—smooth pine counters, white cupboards and splashback, and a black and white tiled floor. An Aga stove had been fitted into the big old fireplace.

  ‘I love these things, we’ve got one at home.’ Diana walked over to the stove and swept her fingers over its smooth enamel surface.

  ‘You’re a very tactile person,’ Patrick said, handing her a beer.

  ‘Yes, that’s an accurate observation.’ Diana smiled ‘My fingers sometimes run away with me. They have a life of their own.’

  ‘I suppose an artist can be excused on that front.’

  She was looking at his hand holding the beer, at the muscles of his forearm before they disappeared under his shirt, that was rolled up to his elbow. The strength of that arm—he must roll around a few beer barrels in his spare time. The thought of his fingers touching her stopped her breath. ‘Where are my children?’

  ‘The kids are fine. I can see them through the window.’

  She followed his line of sight. The children were immersed in some game. Milo was gesticulating wildly and the girls were following him.

  ‘You must think I’m a crazy woman, holding your hand the other night in the car.’

  ‘No, I appreciated it very much. Sharing my grief with you. If it helps, I’d be perfectly happy for you to do it again. I know you’re going through hell right now.’ Patrick came to stand beside her at the Aga. He took the beer from her hand and put it down beside him on the benchtop. He just stood there patiently, his arms by his sides.

  She couldn’t help herself and reached out her hand. It was like touching a bronze come to life. His arm was solid and muscular with a fine sprinkle of black hairs. He was so still, so controlled, watching her intently. Her insides quivered—damn, she had a sudden urge to ruffle his composure. She reached up and kissed him.

  It was a simple kiss, straightforward, a meeting of lips, a mingling of breath, that was all. But the shock that rocketed through her was unexpected. The guilt, huge … wrong, wrong, wrong. Charlie was there all around her. Bad move, when would she ever learn?

  Man, woman, right time, opportunity and all day the curiosity had been building. She knew that.

  Not very bright, Diana.

  Charlie, would you go away?

  Diana drew a trembling breath and took a step sideways, away from Patrick. He was just watching her. No smile, no grin, no flippant comment. He wouldn’t get one from her either.

  She walked away from him, inspecting the kitchen. ‘I love what you’ve done to the house, the kitchen.’

  ‘It’s been a labour of love,’ he said, and went to the fridge for another two beers. ‘A wonderful way to get away from my life in Sydney.’ He paused. ‘After Rory, well, I immersed myself in work and Van did the same thing. She was a solicitor.’

  ‘Everyone deals with it differently.’

  ‘We grew apart, not together.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘The next time you kiss me, I want this to be behind us. I may not be able to put dead ghosts to rest but at least I can allay the live ones.’

  Diana gave him a quick look. Su
rely he couldn’t feel Charlie? She swallowed. She watched him take a tray of steak out of the freezer and put it into the microwave to defrost, and then pull out a loaf of bread and some tomatoes.

  ‘Will your children eat steak and bread?’

  ‘Will they ever! I can’t get enough meat into them. It’s like chocolate is for most kids. Have you any tomato sauce?’ Her hands were shaking. She held on to the back of the chair in front of her. ‘I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. I can’t quite believe Charlie’s dead. I keep thinking he’ll walk in or ring up with some new zany project. I have no right to go around kissing people. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

  Patrick faced her across the table.

  ‘Looking back, I seem to have been travelling a single road,’ Diana went on. ‘A few twists and turns, but my road came to a dead end when Charlie died. Now I don’t know what to do. My children are half English. Do I deny them their English or their Australian heritage? I didn’t realise how much I missed Australia until I came back. How being Australian is so powerful. It really means something to me.’ She shrugged. ‘Then, my work has always been important. Well, more than important, but so are my children. But you see, at the moment I can’t pot. It’s never failed me before.’ She looked up at him.

  ‘Give it time.’

  ‘Don’t say that, I’m so sick of that excuse. I’ve never really wanted to do anything else except pot, or maybe be a farmer.’

  Patrick smiled. ‘Your dad talks about how you and he would argue about what to sow, how you read The Land newspaper from front to back, and you were always coming up with some new idea.’

  ‘Did he really? I’d forgotten that. How embarrassing,’ said Diana. ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘That’s not very long.’

  ‘Compared to ten with Charlie?’

  ‘When you say it like that, it isn’t very long either.’

  Did you want more, Diana ? You could have fooled me.

  Suddenly Charlie was there, all around her. Why did it hurt so much, the remembering? When she’d come out here she’d wanted to forget. Have her old life take over. Fill up the empty spaces with her family and Mog’s Hill. It had almost worked. Then Charlie would pop up at the most odd times, like when she’d held Patrick’s hand. Was she going crazy?