by Jane Carter
‘Soon we’ll be swimming in the Pacific Ocean.’ She turned down the volume on the radio so she could be heard over ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life’ from Annie, the girls’ favourite at the moment.
‘Can we swim in winter, Mum?’ asked Milo dubiously.
‘It depends on the day, but we have been known to swim in the winter, or at least paddle. I can assure you it’s no colder than England can be in the summer.’
‘Have you been here before?’
‘Not to Megan’s house, but we had a holiday near here once in July and I remember swimming.’ Summer hadn’t been a time for holidays because of harvesting or haymaking or bushfires, or all three. It hadn’t really mattered, since Diana had loved being at home on the farm and doing things with her dad—sheep work in the dusty yards, mustering on the bikes, swimming in their creek. Who needed to go away? It was fun being at home.
‘Who is Megan?’ Sienna asked.
‘Megan is my friend. I met her when I went to college. She came to England a few years ago and met you all then. You’ll probably remember her when you see her. She’s tall, with lovely long blonde hair that she puts up in a bun. She’s good fun, you’ll like her.’ She was also energetic and organised and practical. They’d always got on so well. Hopefully Megan would take them all in without a worry; if she was anything like she used to be, it would be okay.
‘Swimming won’t be the same without Daddy.’
‘No, Sienna it won’t.’ But she couldn’t help thinking rather resentfully that it was she who used to take the kids to swimming lessons and insisted that they learnt to swim. On the other hand he’d loved playing with the kids in the water. Still, this was the first time Sienna had mentioned her father in ages. That had to be good, didn’t it?
‘Will Daddy be there?’ Saskia asked.
Diana nearly ran off the road.
‘Daddy’s dead, you dummy.’ Milo turned on her.
Saskia started to cry.
‘Milo, don’t talk to your sister like that.’ She couldn’t cope with this. She had no idea what to say. She turned the music on again.
Perhaps it was because she hadn’t let them see his body, she hadn’t wanted to see it herself, not lying in a coffin. They hadn’t really talked much about Charlie, not for a while now. The little game about what Daddy was doing in heaven hadn’t lasted long. Then coming home she’d been so engrossed in her own and her family’s problems. She really must get a book about grief, there must be thousands of them.
At the next sizeable town, Diana pulled up at a bookshop. They all went in and re-emerged with a book each, and one for her—how to explain to your kids about the death of someone close. Perfect.
* * *
‘This is fabulous, Megs,’ Diana said from the window seat. She looked out the big plate-glass window to the sea, velvety grey now in the fading light. The house, part of an old dairy farm, had white weatherboards with dark green windows and doors, and was nestled in a little valley that widened as it reached a small beach, where a creek meandered through the sand bank and spilled out to the sea. Megan had a few boar goats, in their swinging white skirts, their brown faces quietly munching away on the long coastal grass and, she had been assured by Megan, the blackberries and everything else in reach. They seemed so happy inside their old-fashioned post-and-rail fences. But Megs said that contentment was misleading—she spent half her life chasing them all over the adjacent farms.
The sun had disappeared completely and the red flowers of the coral tree fluttered in the cool breeze. There was hardly a house visible, except in the distance a few lights twinkled over to the south.
Megan had taken them on a tour of the property. She’d done a whole lot of renovating without losing the original feel of the old farmhouse. Her pictures hung along the walls of the gallery—a glassed-in verandah along one side of the house. They’d inspected the old dairy, now a studio where Megs did her potting, weaving on her huge loom, and sculpture too. It even had a bed, so when she was lost in a project she didn’t have to come back to the house.
There were views of the ocean from every one of the windows upstairs. They’d been exploring down to the beach, although no one had ventured into the water. Having settled their bags on their beds they were now all down in the big, warm kitchen with its terracotta tiled floor and long-planked dining table. A delicious beef casserole simmered in the oven, with the promise it would marry well with the scent of the cab merlot rising from her glass.
‘How long have you been here?’ Diana asked.
Megan sat on the window seat. ‘My parents died about seven years ago. Mum had cancer and Dad drowned two months later in a fishing accident.’
‘I remember. That was a terrible year for you. That was after your trip to visit us in England when I was pregnant with Sienna, if I remember correctly?’
‘Yes.’ Megan shook out her long blonde hair and secured it with a clasp.
‘You’re looking good, my friend.’
Her blue eyes crinkled into a smile that lit up her face. ‘And you’re not so bad yourself—middle-aged mother of three.’
‘Thanks.’ Diana rolled her eyes and took a sip of red wine.
She looked over to the table at the end of the kitchen where Sienna and Saskia sat absorbed, threading shells and brightly coloured glass beads onto a leather thong, making themselves a necklace. Milo was concentrating on doing a charcoal rubbing. Peace reigned with the muted sounds of the ocean in the distance.
‘This is the first time I’ve felt relaxed since Charlie died.’
Megan watched her friend closely. ‘It can’t have been easy for you.’
‘I’ve been so immersed in my own troubles, sorting things out with Mum and Dad, I’ve been neglecting the kids. Saskia scared me silly today. She asked if Daddy was going to be here. So I bought a book on grief counselling.’
‘They don’t look too bad to me.’ Megan gave a little laugh, shooting a glance at the three at the other end of the kitchen.
‘No, they don’t. They’re good kids. Maybe if they did a bit more ranting and raving … The problem is that my parents didn’t know Charlie, there’s no reality for them in his death. And I can’t talk about it.’ Diana grimaced. ‘I know I should be talking about Charlie more. The trouble is I don’t know where to start. Every time I want to talk about him I get so cross and angry. I want to remember the good times, then all this resentment comes flooding out. I can’t lumber the kids with that. So lately I’ve tended not to say anything.’
‘Maybe they have some resentment they want to get rid of, too? I wouldn’t worry too much. Kids are pretty adaptable. Look at me. I had a mother who was always wandering around in a Valium haze and a father who was a workaholic. They spent most of their time talking to each other through me—when my dad was around, which was hardly ever. But I survived.’ And then she added with a smile, ‘Although I think it was mostly due to you and Johann and Paul. Those were good times, weren’t they?’
Diana thought about the first time she met Megan. ‘Quite bizarre, how we met.’ She took a breath. ‘Do you ever see Johann?’
‘He drops in sometimes. He travels a lot, ever since Paul died,’ she said. ‘Paul was so gentle. It was so unfair—he was such a promising artist, so talented.’
‘AIDS was the most unfair, horrible killer.’
‘Johann nursed him, through it all, almost three years. You were in England then. Since then he’s become quite the eccentric. You knew he held one of his exhibitions here last year?’
‘Yes, I read it on the web. So tell me about this place, you hold exhibitions and working camps or weekends for artists?’
‘You name it, I do it—even kid’s camps. The only good thing my parents did was leave me this place. I love it here. I have two exhibitions here myself, during the year.’
‘Don’t you get lonely? What about …’ Diana trailed off.
Megan gurgled with laughter. ‘My love life? It’s fine. When there’s a balance needed between my art and compan
y, the art comes first. I can always find company when I want.’ She winked at Diana.
‘You haven’t changed, Megs.’ A tiny twinge of jealousy was quickly dispersed. What if she could put her pots first … No, she wouldn’t change her life. Not remotely.
‘Oh honey, we’ve all changed.’ Megan put down her wine and got up to check the cast-iron pot, a thick cloth wrapped around her hand. ‘Mmm, I think it’s ready. Come to the table, my children, and eat. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.’
* * *
Diana walked into the kitchen the next morning, fully dressed, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. ‘I find the sound of the ocean soporific. I can’t believe I slept so long,’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
Megan sat at the kitchen table with a few art books scattered across the table. She was rapidly sketching Saskia, who was sitting opposite her, a snapshot of Diana and Charlie propped up beside her on the toaster. The photo was an old one, probably dating from the time Megan had visited them in England. They were standing outside their house in Gospel Oak. Charlie was laughing into the camera, while she looked quite put out.
Megan didn’t look up. ‘I’m giving the children a book each for them to put things down that they remember about their dad. I’m doing a portrait of them doing something they liked with Charlie. Then they can fill the rest of the book with whatever they want—pictures, writing. Saskia said she wanted her portrait to be of Daddy reading her a story before she went to bed.’
Diana watched Megan’s fingers flying over the page, Saskia was already taking shape. She was an amazing artist. Diana didn’t know what to say. Such a simple thing, why hadn’t she thought of it?
‘Megs, I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I’ll find something.’ She looked up briefly and winked. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on?’
‘Where’s Sienna?’
‘Waiting outside, I think, for her turn. She’s opted for going for a walk with her dad.’
‘Going for a walk?’ Diana was stupefied. ‘Yes, Charlie was all for taking the kids for a walk, if it got him out of hanging the clothes out or helping me clean up.’
‘That’s not the spirit, Diana. Careful.’
‘I know, I know. Do you see what I mean? I just can’t seem to let it rest.’ She sat down at the table. ‘What about Milo?’
‘Ah, there you have trouble I think. I couldn’t get him to suggest anything.’ Megan fixed Diana with a quick look. ‘Pour yourself a coffee and take it with you. Why don’t you and he go for a walk?’
When Diana stepped out the back door, Milo was sitting disconsolately on a garden seat with Sienna.
‘Do you think Megan could put Polly in my picture with Daddy?’ Sienna asked.
‘I’m sure it would be no trouble at all.’ And Diana wondered again why she resented the fact that Charlie held such great memories for them all. He had been a great dad. She took a deep breath. ‘Milo, do you want to come for a walk?’
Milo looked very much as though he wanted to say no but he reluctantly got up. His hands were in his pockets and he scuffed the dirt in front of him. They went down the winding path to the beach and Diana asked him, ‘Left or right?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, let’s go right.’
Right was towards where the little creek emptied into the sea, the glorious ocean spread out before them, sparkling in the morning sun. Down on the beach they sat on some rocks sheltered from the breeze. A seagull glided to a stop in front of them, regarding them quizzically.
‘Are these the same seagulls we have in England?’ Milo asked.
‘I don’t know. I mean they are the same breed but it’s a long way over here.’
‘I want to go back.’
‘To England? Why’s that?’
‘I don’t know, I just do.’ Milo was scuffing holes in the sand in front of him again. ‘I mean, I know Dad’s dead but he’s closer there. He might be a seagull and not be able to get here.’
They both watched the seagull. He did have the look of Charlie about him, strutting about, cheeky and inquisitive.
Diana gave a little smile. ‘I think your dad would manage it. He’d do anything for you.’ But she couldn’t help thinking that he hadn’t made the least effort to come back here while he was alive, bring the kids over. Why wouldn’t these wretched, angry thoughts go away?
‘Why did he die then?’
‘I don’t know. The road was wet and he’d been drinking, so it was a little bit no one’s fault and a little bit his fault.’ She hadn’t told Milo before about the drinking, but maybe he needed to know the truth now. She watched to gauge his reaction.
‘I feel safer at home, with Grandpa and Grandma. They’re missing us,’ he said simply. ‘It would be better, wouldn’t it?’ Finally he raised his eyes to look at her, his face creased with worry and a question in his eyes.
‘Lord, Milo, I’m so sorry. I’ve uprooted you all and brought you here to Australia because I was hurting so much. I didn’t realise you guys would feel like I’ve taken you away from the reality of your dad, and all the things that help you to remember him. Problem is, we can’t go back right now, Stella and Tommo need us, just for a little while. There’s shearing next week. But after that, we’ll go back.’
They sat there while white fluffy clouds sailed across the blue sky and the waves creamed foam up the wet sand towards them. The seagull lost interest and walked down to the water’s edge.
Diana put her hand out to pull Milo up. ‘Come on, you’ve got to think of something fun you used to do with Daddy. What about going to the football all dressed in your Arsenal gear? You brought your scarf with you, didn’t you?’
He stopped. ‘But he’s never going to do that again, is he? That hurts too much.’
Diana knelt down and put her arms round her son. ‘Oh Milo, it does hurt, doesn’t it? I’m hurting too. Would it help if you gave me a hug when it’s hurting, and I can give you one when I’m hurting badly?’
He nodded briefly and they turned and followed the path back up to the house. Diana realised she had some thinking to do.
* * *
‘I’ve told Milo we’re going back, when shearing’s finished,’ Diana told Megan that night once the kids had gone to bed. ‘Then they can feel closer to their father. And they love their grandparents very much.’
‘Both sets, I daresay.’ Megan regarded her steadily.
‘But as Sienna reminded me, mine have Rosie and Mal and Phillipa. It’ll be different this time. We’ll all keep in touch. I intend to have long telephone conversations with my mother. She’s the one I worry about, but she’ll understand, I think.’
‘As I remember, you used to be such a close family. I was violently jealous—my dysfunctional lot looked much worse after yours came up to visit. What on earth happened?’
‘People say things, do things, and if you’re not careful the little sores, they grow like cancers. And I was half a world away, which didn’t help. You know, you’ve got to keep talking.’
Megan passed her a plate with slices of brown bread, thickly covered with smoked salmon and a little grated lemon zest. Dinner for the two of them. Neither felt much like cooking.
‘Well, I hope that includes me,’ Megan replied swiftly.
‘Megs, you’ve got no idea what a tremendous help you’ve been. I’ve got to go back for me, too. There’s a lot to sort out. Mind you, I don’t find the thought of another winter in England particularly enticing. Winter here is so different, refreshing not miserable.’ Diana sighed. ‘Sebastian is champing at the bit. I’m supposed to be preparing for an exhibition in September. There were at least twenty emails from him. Probate is about to be sorted. Life is chock-full of irrelevant necessities, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I’ve always regarded money as necessary and not in the least irrelevant.’
‘You’re right, as usual.’
Megan laughed and got up to fill her glass again. ‘A little mor
e?’
Diana looked at her half-full glass and then held it out. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s not as though you’re driving anywhere.’ Megan chuckled.
‘Don’t talk about it. I told Milo today that Charlie had been drinking before the accident, and he hasn’t stopped asking questions since. How much? What’s too many drinks? And finally he made me promise I would never drink before I got into a car, ever again. I hadn’t realised how worried they are that I might disappear too.’ Diana put her drink down and rested her chin in her hands. ‘Oh Megan, Charlie was drinking far too much. I didn’t know what to do. He was unhappy, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Start a painting and not finish it. Stack it against the wall. Damn. Bloody. Hell. And I didn’t do anything.’
‘Hey, what could you do? It’s very difficult. At least you didn’t disappear in a Valium haze like my mother..’
‘Hmm … and I’m worried about Milo. He’s not happy here. I think he feels safer in England because he can look after me, after all of us, in the world he knows. I have no idea why he’s developed this crazy sense of responsibility for us all.’
‘It could be a number of things. Maybe Charlie used to tell him to look after you when he left, or maybe his grandfather said something. He’s very sweet, you are one lucky mother.’
‘I know. There’s something very honourable about him, isn’t there?’
Megan nodded. ‘So, what’s next for you, Diana?’
She shook her head. ‘My life is so complicated at the moment. Mog’s Hill is a nightmare—Rosie, Mal, Mum and Dad all at each other’s throats, or mine. Perhaps it would be better if I got out of everyone’s hair.’ Diana grimaced. ‘Will you come over and see us?’
Why did she feel so sad when it was the right thing to do?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Diana returned from Rosie’s where she’d booked their return flight on the internet.
‘When?’ Her mother was not pleased with her decision.
‘Tuesday week, after shearing’s finished.’ Diana didn’t feel all that happy herself. ‘You really should get a computer and the internet.’