Catherine looked around for Angela, who just a moment ago had been at her mother’s side. ‘And Angela?’
‘She’ll be in the lounge room having tea with her dolls. She does it every evening. It’s the sweetest thing.’
‘How adorable.’
Annie sighed in contentment. ‘She certainly is.’ Her expression changed as she looked Catherine up and down. ‘Is that what you wore to school today? I know you love that dress, but really.’
‘What?’ Catherine ran her hands down the skirt of her favourite dress. She’d bought it with her first pay cheque. How proud she’d been that day, with her own money to spend. As soon as she’d seen the frock on the rack in FitzGerald’s, she knew she had to have it. The light blue of a springtime sky and sprays of tiny pink flowers had reminded her of apple blossom. ‘Oh.’
Annie gave a quick nod. ‘You understand, don’t you?’
The dress belonged to a simpler time. Before the fire, when her brother was still alive. The sixties were over, both the good and the bad. Times had changed and so had fashion. ‘I guess so.’
‘You can’t meet the Queen wearing a dress like that. Even she’s more up to date than you.’
‘I’m not meeting the Queen.’ Catherine laughed. ‘Most likely I’ll be squashed behind rows of children all waving Union Jacks and lucky to catch a glimpse of her.’
In less than a fortnight, the Queen was coming to the valley as part of her Australian tour. Her Majesty wanted to experience first-hand the crop that had seen Tasmania dubbed the Apple Isle. The royal entourage, including Prince Philip, Prince Charles and Princess Anne, were going to visit the Coombes’ orchard at Longley to wander through the trees and talk with the pickers. Then they were to travel to the Francombs’ at Ranelagh, to watch apples being graded, packed and loaded. Mr Francomb had installed a brand-new toilet in case one of the royals was caught short.
The whole of the Huon Valley was dizzy with excitement. Every schoolchild in the district, and most of their parents, would be descending upon Ranelagh for the royal walkabout, to cheer and wave flags.
Annie turned back to the stove. The smell of cooking sausages made Catherine’s mouth water. She’d had a long day at school, only managing a couple of bites of her sandwich while on playground duty at lunchtime.
‘How about you pop up to Hobart after school on Friday for late-night shopping,’ Annie said. ‘Buy yourself a few nice things, including at least one new dress.’
‘Can you spare me in the packing shed?’
‘I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me and the packing shed, or your own orchard, or the school. Go up to town, do some shopping, see some friends. Think about yourself for a change instead of being a slave to everybody else.’
A tightness in Catherine’s throat prevented her from saying anything. Is that how Annie saw her, as some kind of martyr? It was true she’d worked almost non-stop since returning to the valley. The orchard needed so much attention and was reliant on her wage from teaching. It took everything she had and still demanded more. The new trees were all growth and the fruit wouldn’t set. The disappointment had hit both her and her father hard. The Ag Department was helping them with solutions – different trees for cross-pollination, bringing more bees in and grafting other varietals, but the results wouldn’t be known until next year. Another year of teaching at the Cygnet school, another season packing for Annie and Dave, and another cold winter reworking and pruning in the family orchard for no return. What had she expected when she’d raced back to find the orchard in ruins three years ago? The endless work and worry had left her exhausted. It was as if she’d forgotten herself and buried her true nature deep along with Peter. Only Charlie had brought her back into the light. The Sunday afternoons she spent with him and Mark were her source of sustenance and joy. Mark and she had moved on from the disappointment of Lara being untraceable, but there would be no more kissing, no more thoughts of a future together. Their friendship was purely platonic, even though their love of Charlie made their bond stronger than most. Even so, Catherine’s father outright refused to let her move into the old cottage, implying she couldn’t be trusted because of her association with Mark. His disapproval was so fierce she’d resorted to stretching the truth. She told her parents she was spending her Sunday afternoons at Annie’s. Her father didn’t need to know that ‘Annie’s’ could mean any part of the Pearsons’ place, including one particular pickers’ hut.
‘You need to find a different way of having some fun.’
Annie’s words pulled Catherine up sharply. It was if Annie had been reading her mind.
‘Remember fun?’ Annie continued. ‘I do, somewhere in my distant past. But I’m a married woman now with six kids and an orchard to help run, not to mention the cattle. But you? You’re still relatively young and unattached.’ She gave Catherine a penetrating look. ‘You are unattached, aren’t you?’
‘Relatively young?’ Catherine huffed, but made sure Annie saw her smiling. ‘I’ll take that as some kind of backhanded compliment.’ It wasn’t really though, was it? Catherine would be twenty-six soon. She’d used everything from her career, to the fire, to the orchard as an excuse not to be married, not even engaged. The truth was, the only fun she wanted to have was right here in the valley on those golden Sunday afternoons.
‘And unattached?’ Annie persisted.
It was clear Annie wanted one of Catherine’s regular assurances that nothing was going on between her and Mark. Not that it would dispel Annie’s concerns in any way. She’d always had a set against Mark. It went beyond her concern for Catherine being associated with a married man. Catherine wasn’t sure what it was, but the atmosphere between the two of them was charged with something antagonistic which bore no relation to what Catherine and Mark did or didn’t do. ‘Yes, unattached.’
‘Good, because Prince Charles is available. He’s probably coming to Australia looking for a bride. He’ll take one look at you and think, “Perfect. We need new blood in the family and this fine colonial gel is just the ticket.”’ Annie’s impersonation of the royal accent was spot on.
‘You’re trying to matchmake me and Prince Charles?’ Catherine laughed. ‘He’s too young for me. Besides, a Tasmanian marrying royalty? That’ll never happen.’
‘You might be in with a chance – with the right dress.’
‘Annie Pearson, you’re a wicked woman.’
‘Well, that’s always been true. But prince or no, promise me you’ll go up to Hobart and buy yourself something at least halfway fashionable.’
Catherine knew her friend was right. It was time for a change.
Annie’s voice softened. ‘I’m not criticising, Catherine. You look beautiful no matter what you wear. But the orchard takes all your wages and you never think of yourself. All I’m saying is, go and spend some of your hard-earned pay. You deserve it.’
Catherine nodded. A new dress would be lovely and a trip up to Hobart a real treat. If the fire hadn’t ruined the orchard, if Peter hadn’t died, she’d still be living in Sandy Bay and buying new dresses on a whim. She closed her eyes for a moment. It wasn’t often she thought of how things might have been. It was an indulgence she couldn’t afford. Her life had changed forever on that day, as had many others’. The orchard was her focus now, her brother a memory she cherished even though it brought her pain.
‘Good,’ Annie said, as if putting a full stop to the discussion. ‘Now, I believe you offered to make a pudding. Those Gravensteins need using up.’ She nodded to the bowl of apples on the kitchen bench. ‘And the rhubarb has gone berserk in the garden.’
‘I can make a crumble if you like. Or whip up a sponge topping instead.’
‘That’d be wonderful. But first, go and take a peek at what Angela’s up to. It’s sure to make you smile.’
‘Okay.’ Catherine stepped quietly down the hall. There was something delightful about watching a young child at play in a world of their own. She paused just outside the lounge room door
and peeped in. Angela was, as usual, dressed in pink, her dark hair swept back with a hairband. Her dolls were neatly arranged around her on the floor and each with a toy plastic cup, saucer and plate in front of them. Angela pretended to dish something out from a small plastic bowl. ‘No, Lucy,’ she said sternly to the smallest doll. ‘You’re too little to have peas. You’ll just spill them on the floor.’
Angela must have sensed her presence and looked up.
‘Hello, Angela. You’re doing a very good job.’
‘Thank you.’ Angela’s manners were lovely; her mother had made sure of that.
‘I’m helping your mummy in the kitchen. I’m making an apple and rhubarb sponge.’
‘We’re having cake, but only after they’ve eaten all their vegetables.’
Catherine tried not to laugh and returned to the kitchen where Annie was cutting up potatoes. ‘She really is the most beautiful child,’ Catherine said. ‘With such wonderful manners.’
‘It’s hard with her brothers setting such a bad example, but I do my best.’
‘And those gorgeous eyes,’ Catherine added.
Annie paused, then continued with the potatoes. ‘Yes.’
Catherine pulled on an apron, worn and faded, but clean and smelling of lemon Fab, and began the all-too-familiar task of peeling apples.
‘Thanks,’ Annie said. ‘You always were much better at puddings than me.’
‘I was taught by the best.’ Catherine had grown up cooking beside her mother, learning all the tips and tricks. Annie, with her wealthy parents, had been destined for a life buffered by a housekeeper and a nanny.
‘I’ve heard Prince Charles is partial to a good jam roly-poly.’ Annie winked at her. ‘If you know what I mean.’ She snorted with laughter and Catherine couldn’t help but do the same.
‘Excuse me.’ Angela stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘How are my dollies supposed to sleep with all this racket?’
The women looked at each other with glee. Angela’s words were the exact imitation of her mother’s when she was trying to get her younger children to sleep. Their laughter bubbled out uncontrollably. Angela shook her head in a disapproving fashion, tsk-tsked, and walked back down the hallway.
Annie slumped into the chair next to Catherine, holding her sides with her hands. ‘Oh, stop. It hurts. My laughter muscles are out of practice.’
Catherine dabbed at her eyes with her apron. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. Tears, yes, there had been plenty of those, but laughter? She put her arm around her dearest and oldest friend. On the hardest days Catherine had doubted her decision to return to the valley, but here, in Annie’s kitchen with all they’d shared, she felt she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
24
April 1970
Annie
Annie put the last candle on Dave’s hurriedly iced birthday cake. Why did his birthday have to fall at the height of picking season? She hardly had time to go to the toilet, let alone make a cake. Here it was almost six in the evening, and she had to be back in the packing shed by seven. Today had been stressful. She hated it when the inspectors turned up, poking their noses into everything. When they’d started pulling apart a pallet that was packed and ready to go, she’d wanted to scream. Most inspectors were ex-orchardists who couldn’t make a go of it and now made other orchardists jump through hoops. It felt like being back at school with the teachers checking her work and itching to write a big red F.
‘Hi there.’ Catherine bustled in, rosy-cheeked from the brisk autumnal air, her arms laden with Tupperware. ‘My mother sends birthday greetings to Dave with some of the latest treats from her kitchen.’ Carefully she unloaded her cargo onto the kitchen table. ‘Enough to feed an army.’
‘Luckily I have an army.’ Annie gave her friend a quick hug.
‘Where are they all?’
‘Outside. They kept sticking their fingers in the icing, the bowl and the cake.’
‘Surely not Angela?’
Annie inclined her head to indicate that Angela was under the table.
‘Oh, I see. There’s a fairy in the kitchen.’ Catherine bent down to take a peek. Annie knew what she’d see. Angela had lined up her teddy with the pink bow and one of her dolls under the table and was whispering to them sternly about not putting their fingers in icing. It melted Annie’s heart. Not that she didn’t love her boys but she and Angela had a bond that was special.
‘How is your mum?’
A cloud passed over Catherine’s face. ‘Not so good at the moment.’
Annie knew Judith Turner hadn’t been doing well. Catherine had mentioned her mother was spending more time in her room again. There were some who might say that Judith Turner should be over her grief by now, but Annie understood that losing a child was the sharpest loss of all.
Catherine opened another container of party food. ‘Fortunately cooking still seems to help, so I don’t think anyone will go hungry this evening.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Bottomless pits, every one of them.’ Annie sighed. If it wasn’t for the veggie garden and the chooks she didn’t know how she’d manage. Dave ate like a horse and his sons all took after him. The housekeeping money always ran out before the end of the week. She’d sworn to never ask her parents for money, but as the years went by, her resolve was weakening. Impatiently she brushed the thought aside. The food might not be fancy, but there was love at her table.
‘There.’ Catherine stood back. ‘Looks like a pretty good birthday feast to me.’
‘I’m just going to mix up some Tang and we’re done. Could you see if Dave’s on his way? He should be close by now.’
‘Sure.’ Catherine went out the back door.
Annie could hear her boys mobbing her, asking what food she’d brought and when they could eat it.
‘Mummy?’ Angela emerged from under the table, and Annie felt the familiar flutter in her stomach. When her daughter was little, the feeling had been more of a violent lurch, almost painful at times. The fear of losing her was always so strong. ‘Mummy. I’m hungry.’
Annie bent down and swung Angela up for a cuddle. ‘Anything your heart desires, my darling, you can have.’
Angela smiled at the sight of the pink-iced patty cakes with red glacé cherries on top. Judith must have had Angela in mind when she’d made them. ‘Please?’ she asked. Annie picked one up and put it into her daughter’s waiting hands.
Dave came bursting through the back door surrounded by a tumble of children, with Catherine, Mark and Charlie bringing up the rear. ‘Wow, what a spread,’ Dave said. ‘Anybody hungry?’
The boys roared with approval and in a few minutes the sausage rolls, party pies and patty cakes were demolished.
When it was time for the birthday cake, Annie lit the candles. ‘Make a wish, darling.’
Dave blew them out with a puff and she knew what he was wishing for. Good prices for apples and cattle, fair weather for grafting, decent rains for growth, and no hail. Then he winked at her and she knew his last wish was one she would happily grant later tonight, no matter how tired she was.
When every last crumb was gone, Mark stood up. ‘Catherine and I have a little birthday surprise for you, Dave.’
His use of ‘Catherine and I’ grated on Annie. She’d watched them warily over the past couple of years, especially after Charlie’s illness. As the gossip mounted she had to wonder. Catherine had always confided in Annie, ever since she was a young teenager, but she’d become tight-lipped about her friendship with Mark, despite Annie’s constant questioning. Annie consoled herself with the thought that if there was something going on, they’d be more discreet. Maybe what Catherine said was true. They had nothing to hide. She hoped so.
When faces and hands had been washed, teeth brushed and pyjamas put on, the children and Annie joined the others in the lounge room where the open fire popped and crackled. Dave sat in his armchair wearing the gold paper crown the kids had made him. Catherine was at the old
piano and Mark had his guitar strapped over one shoulder. He didn’t look much different to the photos she’d seen of him and his band in the clippings he’d sent Dave ages ago. Dave had been proud to be best mates with someone famous. Annie hadn’t been impressed. What did a man like that know about hard work and family values? She had to admit he’d surprised her over the past three years. He’d turned out to be a diligent worker and a good father to Charlie. It didn’t stop her wishing he’d pack his things, go back to Melbourne and never return.
‘We’ve been practising. I know Mark will get it right but as for me—’ Catherine put her hands in the air as if surrendering. ‘All I can say is, “Don’t shoot the piano player, she’s doing her best.”’
Annie wondered where they’d been practising. At the school? Surely not.
Mark put his hand on Catherine’s shoulder. ‘You’re better than you think.’
Catherine inclined her head towards his hand, making Annie frown. It was the move of a woman in love, whether Catherine admitted it or not.
‘Happy birthday, Dave.’ Mark nodded to Catherine and softly counted them in, ‘One, two, three, Hey Jude …’
Catherine began to play the chords as Mark strummed and sang in a voice so lovely Annie shook her head in disbelief. She couldn’t help but join in and wasn’t the only one. The whole family clapped, swayed and sang while Mark did a perfect rendition of Paul McCartney’s scream-singing over the top. The old piano wasn’t exactly in tune but it didn’t matter. Catherine thumped out the chords with growing confidence and Mark threw his head back and put everything into the song. Angela slid from her lap, toddled up to the piano and swayed to the rhythm. When the song finally ended, the family burst into applause and laughter.
‘Wow,’ Dave said, a wide grin creasing his eyes. ‘Bloody bonza.’
Mark gave a little bow and then turned to Catherine, applauding. ‘Catherine deserves all the praise. That’s a piano song and there’s no way it would work without her.’
The Last of the Apple Blossom Page 17