Annie nodded. The Sturmers were headed to the evaporating factory in Franklin where they liked them as sweet as possible.
‘He’s gone to check the Granny Smiths. He said he’ll meet you back at the house.’
‘And you? What are you going to do? Run off over the road to the Turners’? He’s employing a few of our pickers this year, I hear.’ Annie had recovered from the initial blow of the hailstorm that had ripped through their orchard, only to be left with a dull throb of resentment and flashes of anger. Hail could be unpredictable and capricious, but to see her apples ruined and the Turners’ virtually unscathed had left her breathless. With so many orchards suffering damage, the crop would earn premium prices. Jack Turner was crowing with delight and Catherine was telling anyone who’d listen that she’d be working full-time in the orchard next year. Her excitement was salt in Annie’s wounds.
‘Good luck to them, and Jack,’ Mark said. ‘I think the Turners deserve a break.’
‘Jack, is it now?’
‘What’s wrong, Annie? He’s had one bit of good luck and you act as though it’s happened just to spite you.’
‘You know what I don’t get?’ Her finger jabbed at the air between them. ‘You know this year’s crop is lousy and there’ll be no money to pay you. Mind you, even in a decent season we’ve never paid you much. With all your success in Melbourne, why are you back living in a pickers’ hut? Why not get a place in town? You can’t expect Catherine to live with you in that hut?’
‘I have plans. But you know why I stay in Wattle Grove. Don’t pretend you don’t.’
‘Well, Dave likes having you around, I guess.’ Annie picked up another apple. Rotten, like so much else.
‘If that’s the way you want to play it. At least he kept me up to date with what was happening here while I was away. I missed out on a lot, but not everything.’
Annie saw her moment to strike. ‘Kept you up to date, did he? What about Catherine’s little affair? Bet you didn’t hear about that. She kept it a secret from everyone.’ Her hands were shaking. She knew she was crossing a line but she wanted to lash out, to offload some of her desperation and hurt. She missed Catherine, especially now. But their friendship was as fetid as the rotting apples and Annie felt helpless to repair it. She had nothing left to lose. ‘Tim came back while you were gone. They had a very torrid time together, by all accounts.’
‘I know all about Tim.’ Mark’s face was impassive. ‘What are you trying to do here, Annie?’
‘Just making sure you have all the facts.’
‘That’d make a nice change, but right now I gotta split. The insurance company is finally giving me the cheque for the Monaro.’
Annie smirked. That was the only good thing to come out of the hailstorm. Mark’s ridiculous car had been severely damaged, with both windscreens shattered and every panel dented. The insurance company had deemed it a write-off. ‘Interesting, isn’t it? How one minute everything is perfectly wonderful then the next it’s a wreck.’
Mark’s jaw tightened. ‘Could be worse. I’m getting a new car out of this.’
‘A brand-new car and soon to be married. Yeah, life’s good for you.’
‘Don’t forget, life’s been pretty good to you too, Annie. You got what you wanted, at the expense of others.’
She went to answer, to object, but he turned and strode out of the packing shed.
Annie slumped onto an old apple box. The anger inside her chest slowed but didn’t dissipate. It was exhausting carrying it around all the time. She couldn’t help but feel some lingering resentment towards Catherine. Mark would never have come back to the valley if it wasn’t for her. If only Mark would go away – take Catherine with him if he had to, but just leave. But Catherine would never leave the valley and because of that Mark was here for good. There was only one glimmer of hope. Clearly Mark hadn’t told Catherine all his secrets.
36
April 1972
Catherine
It wasn’t only the crisp autumn day that made Catherine shiver, but the strange stillness of the Pearsons’ orchard. Over the road, the harvest was in full swing with pickers working steadily and the tractor chugging down the rows to collect the bulk bins. Her father had made the right decision in not rebuilding the packing shed. It made sense to send the apples to Cradoc for packing and cool storage, and it certainly made Catherine’s life easier. She felt for Annie, despite everything that had happened between them. She knew what it was like to have no viable fruit to harvest. She picked up her pace and headed towards the house.
It was almost a year since she and Annie had fallen out. A year of wonder and miracles for Catherine. A year of hardship and heartbreak for Annie. Catherine had mellowed over the months as her happiness grew. And now with the devastating hail damage to Dave and Annie’s orchard she was able to feel compassion for her oldest friend. Annie had always been there for her through all her trials, disasters and grief. It felt wrong now, to be separated because of something that was over and done. It was her mother’s words that had strengthened Catherine’s resolve to rebuild her friendship with Annie. ‘You and Annie have been friends for so long,’ she’d said. ‘It would be a shame to lose that, after everything else that’s been lost.’ Catherine wasn’t sure how much her mother knew about the situation. She’d certainly never burdened her with it. Maybe it was a mother’s ability to sense when things were painful.
It had hurt like a thousand stabbing knives at the time, but it had become easier to overcome the hurts of the past with so much happiness in her life. Perhaps it was a simple mistake, as Annie had said, the misplacement of Mark’s letter. And Annie was always worried about the gossip, with Mark being a married man. Could that concern have continued, even when it was no longer needed? If so, it might explain why she never told her about his calls. Catherine asked Dave about it when she’d enlisted his help in arranging today’s reconciliation with Annie. Dave had looked away and rubbed his chin. ‘She did worry about you,’ he’d said. ‘You know, she always thought of you as the little sister she never had. And she didn’t know Mark the way I did. He was a stranger to her when he arrived here. She was always suspicious, I guess.’
His explanation was unsatisfying, but Catherine hadn’t pressed the point. Dave had quickly changed the subject to how grateful he was that Catherine wanted to patch up their differences. ‘She’s missed you,’ he’d said. ‘And with this dreadful season and Angela starting Kindergarten, she’s been bereft.’
It felt strange to knock on the Pearsons’ front door after a lifetime of just walking straight in with a ‘yoo-hoo’. Annie answered the door, her expression unreadable. Dave had told Catherine she’d agreed to this meeting without reservations, but now Catherine was unsure. Her stomach twisted with nerves. Maybe this was a mistake. ‘Hi, Annie.’ Her voice sounded stiff, unnatural. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me.’
Annie’s mouth crumpled and she took in a shuddering breath. ‘Oh, Catherine. I’m so sorry.’ She held out her arms towards her.
With a sigh of deep relief Catherine stepped forward into Annie’s embrace, her senses filling with Annie’s familiar scent of Sunlight soap, lemon Fab and home cooking. The memories of all the times Annie had held her, wiped her tears, and given her words of comfort, whether it be over the end of a silly schoolgirl crush or the death of her beloved little brother, came flooding back. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she murmured into Annie’s hair and held her tight.
They didn’t talk about what had happened between them, or the cruel words that were spoken – neither of them wanted to reopen old wounds. Instead they fell back into their friendship, both relieved to let bygones be bygones. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when Catherine’s mother suggested she ask Annie to be her matron of honour that Catherine felt a sense of the old tension. Annie had always been opposed to her relationship with Mark and she was loath to jeopardise their fragile friendship with the request, but her mother insisted. Annie was her best friend and Catherine must
have a matron of honour. After a few days of procrastinating, Catherine steeled herself and made her way to the Pearsons’. Inside Annie’s kitchen, she found the usual chaos and clutter created by six hungry children.
‘As soon as I tidy it up, the boys come through and mess it all up again,’ Annie complained, mopping up a puddle of milk on the table with an old Wettex. ‘Here.’ She dusted off some crumbs from a kitchen chair. ‘This is the least grubby spot. Have a seat and I’ll make some tea.’
Catherine placed the Tupperware container on the table. ‘A coconut jam slice from Mum. Still warm from the oven.’
‘Your mother’s feeling better then?’
‘Yes. Knock on wood.’ Catherine rapped the table sharply with her knuckles. ‘Charlie’s given her a new lease on life. He’s over there now, helping her make a chocolate cake. I don’t know how much help he is, but he’s very good at licking the bowl.’ Catherine paused. ‘Plus she’s really looking forward to the wedding.’
‘Right.’ Annie busied herself with the kettle and teapot.
Catherine watched Annie warily. ‘You know how Dave’s going to be Mark’s best man …’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I was just wondering …’ Catherine chewed her bottom lip. She felt as though she was on a tightrope, precariously balanced at a great height.
‘Mmm?’
Catherine took a steadying breath. ‘Would you be my matron of honour?’ She almost winced as she said the words, not knowing how Annie would react.
Annie placed the teapot on the table and sat down. ‘And I was wondering when on earth you’d get around to asking. Dave and I even had a small wager on how long you’d leave it.’ She poured the tea with a cheeky smile. ‘I’m glad to say, I won.’
Annie’s response was a balm to Catherine’s anxiety. Why had she been so worried? ‘So you will?’
‘Of course. How long have we known each other? Plus you’re Scott’s godmother – we’re more or less family.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ Catherine gushed. Her last concern about the wedding evaporated. Annie would be there, beside her. Her happiness was complete.
‘Here’s to the bride.’ Annie raised her teacup in a toast.
‘And to her wonderful matron of honour.’ They clinked cups.
Catherine relaxed into her chair. Everything was going to be all right. An enticing idea popped into her head. Something she was sure Annie would love. ‘Where’s Angela?’
‘In her room, playing.’
‘I just had a thought. Mum’s making my wedding dress.’ It was a simple gown, with a fitted bodice, flared sleeves and a maxi-length skirt. Catherine had refused to wear white, saying she wanted to be able to wear the dress more than once, so she and her mother had settled on a sky-blue fabric that highlighted the colour of Catherine’s eyes. She knew some guests would raise their eyebrows at her choice, but she was twenty-eight years old, for goodness sake, and this was the seventies. ‘It’s almost finished and it looks fabulous.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
‘She has some material left over. I reckon there’d be enough to make Angela a dress. How about if she was my flower girl?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Catherine noticed the edge in Annie’s voice but pushed on. ‘Imagine her walking down the aisle in a pretty dress, carrying a basket of roses and daisies. It would be the sweetest thing.’
‘No, Catherine. I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
The mood in the kitchen shifted with a tension that made Catherine nervous. Why wouldn’t Annie want her darling Angela to be the flower girl? She usually relished any opportunity to show off her daughter. ‘I only thought—’
‘I didn’t have a flower girl.’ Annie cut her off. ‘Let alone a matron of honour. Hardly a wedding to speak of. Just me and Dave and his parents at the registry office in Hobart. My father wasn’t there to give me away. My mother wasn’t there to weep.’ Annie snorted. ‘She did plenty of lamenting though, before the event.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Catherine hadn’t thought her wedding would bring back painful memories for Annie. She so rarely mentioned her family, the two estranged brothers and the parents who had cut her dead.
Annie straightened her shoulders as if shrugging off the past. ‘Their loss. I gained great parents-in-law, may Keith rest in peace, and a whole new sprawling family. And now I’m going to be your matron of honour. Of course, to fulfil my duties, we’ll have to have a hens’ night.’ The cheeky glint was back in Annie’s eyes. ‘Us, on the town in Cygnet, with a choice of three pubs. We could do a pub crawl!’
‘Sounds like a blast.’ Catherine relaxed again. ‘But I think I’d be happier with an evening on the verandah, the two of us, and a bottle of Ben Ean.’
‘Give me an endless supply of brandy alexanders and I’ll be a happy woman.’
‘The perfect hens’ night. Let’s do it. But not the night before the wedding. Oh, my head.’
‘Done.’ Annie chuckled. ‘I tell you, being a matron of honour is a snap.’
‘Thank you. I mean it. For saying yes. It means a lot to me.’
Annie fiddled with her teacup. ‘Sorry about going on about my wedding day. I don’t know what got into me. I just get a bit grumpy sometimes.’
‘Happens to the best of us.’ Catherine could understand. Six kids to feed and a failed crop – she was surprised Annie had a sense of humour left at all. She opened the Tupperware container. The smell of coconut, butter and jam wafted towards her. ‘Would you like some? Before the boys descend and eat the lot.’
‘Don’t mind if I do. But only until the brandy alexanders come along.’
Catherine bit into a piece. The homemade strawberry jam oozed onto her fingers. The two of them ate in silence.
Annie finished hers with a satisfied sigh. ‘That’s better. You know, I blame the metric system for making me grumpy.’ She gave a quick huff of laughter. ‘I’ve barely got used to the new decimal currency and now there’s centimetres and kilograms. And what is Celsius anyway?’
‘Oh, that’s easy.’ The change over to the metric system had been gradual and Catherine had been preparing her students for it. From next year all primary schools would teach only the new system. ‘You take the temperature in Fahrenheit and subtract thirty-two then multiply that number by five and then divide by nine and you have the temperature in Celsius.’
Annie rolled her eyes. ‘Easy, she says. I give up. Pass me another piece of slice, but don’t ask me what temperature it is, because I wouldn’t have a clue.’
They were interrupted by the sound of Annie’s boys whooping outside and the crunch of tyres in the driveway. Catherine looked questioningly at Annie.
‘I’m not expecting anyone and certainly not anyone who’d get the boys that excited.’
They were almost at the front door when Michael came bursting through. ‘I saw it first,’ he shouted.
‘Did not,’ yelled Eric, hard on his heels.
Annie held up her hands. ‘Stop. What’s going on?’
‘It’s a Mercedes.’
‘’Tis not. It’s a Bentley.’
Paul pushed his way into the hallway, puffing to catch his breath. ‘I think it’s a Rolls Royce.’
His older brother sneered. ‘It’s not a Rolls. What do you know about cars anyway?’
The boys wriggled like puppies, each clamouring for attention. ‘We saw it from the upper block. Coming down our road.’
‘Raced it all the way down the hill.’
‘Real slow for a fancy car.’
‘And then it turned into our driveway.’
‘It’s right outside.’
Annie untied her apron, hung it on a coat hook and smoothed down her hair. ‘Well then, we’d better see who it is.’ She pushed past the boys and opened the door.
A large black car sat on the driveway in front of the house. Catherine knew about the almost mythical wealth of Annie’s parents. Could this be them? Why would they come n
ow, unannounced, after all this time?
The boys rushed down the steps, gathering around the front of the car. Greg and Scott came straggling up the driveway, holding their sides and puffing. ‘What kind of car is it?’ Greg called out.
‘Mercedes,’ Annie said.
The driver’s door opened and a man wearing a chauffeur’s cap and uniform emerged. A quietness fell over the scene. Even the boys were silent. The chauffeur opened the rear passenger door and a foot appeared wearing the highest platform boots Catherine had ever seen. It would be like walking on stilts. The other foot appeared, and then two impossibly long legs. Finally a tall slender woman unfolded herself from the back seat of the car. She wore tiny red hotpants, a skin-tight top and a cropped white fur jacket. Her hair swung long and dark, and her eyes were covered by a pair of sunglasses so big Catherine could hardly see her face. Annie stiffened beside her.
The woman looked around slowly. ‘The old place has hardly changed.’ Her voice was melodious with a touch of a British accent.
‘Boys,’ Annie snapped. ‘Go get your father. He’s in the spray shed.’
‘But, Mum,’ Eric whined.
‘Now.’ Annie’s voice was fierce. ‘And make sure he brings Mark with him.’
They ducked their heads as if expecting a clip around the ears and ran off.
The woman laughed, a gentle tuneful sound. ‘No, nothing’s changed.’ She walked forward in those impossible boots with grace and confidence, pausing at the bottom of the steps. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in? I’ve come a very, very long way.’
Annie’s fists were clenched. ‘I don’t understand – how are you here?’
The woman opened her arms, her hands upwards, as several heavy bangles jangled on her wrist. ‘Surprise.’
Catherine was confused. Annie appeared to be terrified of this woman.
‘Where’s Emily?’
Annie’s voice was little more than a croak. ‘There’s no Emily here.’
‘I know this is a shock.’ The woman touched her delicate fingers to her heart. ‘Believe me, I was more shocked than anyone. But now there are certain things I need to take care of.’
The Last of the Apple Blossom Page 24