The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  ‘J-Jesse?’ Judy stammered. ‘Sorry. It’s Judy. Novak.’

  ‘Judy. Yeah. Of course.’

  ‘Sorry to call out of the blue, just—’

  ‘You’re back on the rock, eh.’

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘News travels fast?’

  Jesse paused just long enough for her to get goosebumps. ‘That. And I drove past you. I think it was you. You were with a man.’

  ‘My husband.’

  ‘Yeah, I figured.’ He went quiet again, and Judy felt herself sliding back in time, drowning in his silences. ‘I’m married, too.’

  ‘Oh? Congratulations.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.’

  Judy laughed again. ‘Why not? It’s good to know.’

  ‘Yeah. Um. I met her in Brisbane.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘You’ll laugh, eh.’

  Judy glanced at the phone book in her lap. ‘It’s not “Jessica”, is it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He laughed. ‘I told you you’d laugh.’

  ‘Well, we can’t help who we fall for.’

  ‘True.’

  Judy breathed deep before the next question. ‘Kids?’

  ‘Just one. Grace. She’s three.’

  ‘Oh. You named her after your mum?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Yeah. She is.’

  ‘Anyway … I just wanted you to know.’ Judy toyed with the phone cord. ‘We’re just here for a few days.’

  ‘Her birthday.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s good you came.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s very weird.’

  ‘I …’ Jesse faltered. ‘I mean, if it’s not too weird. I’ve got the day off tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, bring your husband, too. If you want. I’ll be around all day.’ He started talking faster. ‘Jess’ll be around, too. Come any time. If you want. If it’s not too weird.’

  ‘Honestly, Jess!’ Judy laughed. ‘I think the weirdness peaked about five years ago.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Um. Sorry about the emails.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was glad John wasn’t around to see her red cheeks. ‘Those.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. I was confused.’

  ‘I gathered as much.’

  ‘Sorry. Yeah.’

  ‘Stop apologising, will you?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He caught himself. ‘Fuck. I’m still confused, eh. It’s weird, hearing your voice.’

  ‘Well, if it’s too weird, I won’t—’

  ‘No. Jesus. Come any time, okay? You’ve come all this way.’

  ‘I didn’t come here for you, Jesse.’

  ‘Yeah, I know! Jesus. But it’d be weird not to see you. You’re … Paulina’s mum.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Come any time. Tomorrow, or any day. Any time.’

  ‘I can’t come any time. Give me a time.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Give me a time.’

  ‘Any time.’ She could hear him smiling, sidelong. ‘You hold the cards here, Judy.’

  ‘Oh, fine! Two o’clock?’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Fine! See you at two.’ Judy hung up, feeling pretty pleased with herself, before realising she’d forgotten something. Sheepishly, she rang back. ‘Sorry. What’s your address?’

  ‘It’s pretty small, by Fairfolk standards.’ Barefoot, Jesse walked them from their rental car to the house. ‘The cottage is even smaller. Dad’s there now. He always said he’d give me the house when I had a family. I don’t think he ever believed it’d happen, but.’

  He’d gained weight and was shorter than Judy remembered — especially next to John. She hated to think how far she’d fallen from whatever pedestal he’d put her on.

  ‘Well, it’s big by Sydney standards,’ she piped up. ‘We live in a townhouse.’

  ‘She was in this shoebox apartment when we met,’ John supplied. ‘I felt like a giant every time I came over.’

  ‘You sold the place in Cherry Hill?’

  ‘No.’ Judy looked down. ‘I can’t bring myself to sell it.’

  ‘She rents it out to uni students. She should raise the rent. They move in and make a mess and every year she’s back there, cleaning and gardening for days.’

  Judy smiled. ‘It’s sort of my yearly pilgrimage.’

  Jesse led them around to the backyard, where a stout brunette was raking compost. ‘Jess!’ Jesse called to her, and she looked up, swept her hair from her ruddy brow.

  ‘Hey.’ Smiling, Jessica strolled over. ‘Judy, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Judy tried not to let her disappointment show; she looked nothing like Paulina — or like her younger self, for that matter. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘And you’re …’ Jessica shrugged at John. ‘Sorry. No idea.’

  ‘John.’

  ‘John?’ Laughing, she counted. ‘Triple-J.’

  ‘Gracie!’ Jesse called out, and a grubby, half-naked child looked up from the pile of leaves she was playing with. ‘Hey, Gracie! Here, girl.’

  ‘She’s not a dog, Jess.’

  ‘Hey, Gracie.’ Jesse clicked his fingers and, when that didn’t work, wandered over and scooped his daughter up in his big, tattooed arms. ‘Here’s a lady I want you to meet.’

  Judy took a sharp breath, kept her smile in place.

  ‘Gracie, this is Judy.’ Jesse combed the girl’s tumbling, dark hair from her eyes. ‘She’s my friend from before you were born. Can you say “hi”?’

  Grace stared at Judy, then hid her face.

  ‘Sorry.’ Jesse grimaced. ‘She’s shy.’

  ‘Raised by camels.’ Jessica licked her finger, wiped a bit of grime from Grace’s twiggy, brown arm. ‘She needs a bath.’

  ‘I’ll give her one later.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Yeah, later. Before dinner.’

  ‘I’m not cooking. I’m working at the shelter tonight, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Dad’s cooking. Remember?’

  ‘Remember?’ Jessica sing-songed, poking him in the side; then caught Judy’s eye. ‘He thinks I’ve got amnesia.’

  ‘Yeah, cos you do.’ Jesse sniffed his daughter’s hair. ‘Jesus. Has she been rolling in cow shit?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Jesse smiled apologetically. ‘Comes with the territory, eh.’

  ‘Doesn’t bother me.’ Sensing Judy’s glistening eyes, John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘I grew up on a dairy farm.’

  ‘No shit?’ Jessica’s face lit up. ‘Where?’

  ‘Ballarat. Country Victoria.’

  ‘No shit? I’m from Ararat.’

  ‘I thought you were a Queenslander.’

  ‘Don’t insult me.’ Jessica laughed. ‘I moved up there with my ex. Moved away the first chance I got.’

  Jesse grimaced. ‘Aye. I couldn’t hack the mainland, eh. White man’s world.’

  Grace squirmed. Jesse set her down and she scampered off, dark curls flying.

  ‘She’s beautiful, Jesse.’ Judy’s nose stung. ‘She looks just like you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I should hope so, eh.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Jessica flashed him a death-stare.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Smirking, he raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘She takes after you, too. You both … smell like cow shit.’

  John laughed. Judy smiled weakly, eyes burning.

  ‘Sorry.’ She looked toward the house. ‘Mind if I … ?’

  ‘Bathroom?’ Jessica caught her drift. ‘Need me to show you the way?’

  ‘S’alright. I’ll find it.’

&
nbsp; Like a homing pigeon, Judy flew inside the house, navigated through the young-family clutter to the bathroom. They hadn’t cleaned for her visit. Toothpaste scummed the sink. The bathmat squelched like mud. A sensible beige bra hung off the towel rack.

  This should all be hers. Judy’s reflection blurred. This should be ours.

  Jesse was in the kitchen making coffee when she emerged.

  ‘Sorry.’ He noticed her raw eyes. ‘I wanted you to meet them.’

  Judy waved her hand. ‘I cry about twenty times a day. Don’t take it personally.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Jesse set a mug in front of her. ‘It’s just instant. You probably get better stuff in Sydney.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘John said you like it milky and sweet.’ He glanced at her furtively. ‘I added some Jim Beam, but. In Paulina’s honour.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  Jesse smiled, shrugged. ‘Try it.’

  Judy blew on the coffee, tentatively sipped.

  ‘You didn’t.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Please tell me she didn’t—?’

  ‘Nay.’ His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheek. ‘Jus’ one time. She skipped work so I could give her a tattoo, then—’

  ‘Tattoo?’

  ‘Sorry. I never told you?’

  ‘No,’ Judy said fastidiously. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘Yeah. Um.’ He opened the pantry. ‘She wanted a tramp stamp.’

  ‘Oh gawd.’ Judy wiped her eyes. ‘Of course she did.’

  ‘Ha, yeah.’ Jesse pulled out a packet of biscuits, arranged them on a plate with shaky hands. ‘We didn’t go through with it, obviously. She was … scared. Of the pain, I guess.’

  ‘Oh,’ Judy whimpered. ‘Poor baby.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jesse turned away abruptly. ‘She was such a baby. She always called me a baby for being younger, but she was such a baby, eh.’

  ‘Poor baby.’ Judy covered her face. ‘Oh. Baby girl.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jesse placed the biscuits and a pair of mugs on the tray. ‘Anyway, I’ll just take these out. I think Jess’s showing your old man where we grow our weed. Seemed pretty interested.’

  ‘Oh gawd.’ Judy laughed helplessly. ‘Thanks for that.’

  Alone in the kitchen, she had another cry, then took her mug out to the porch. The sun hurt her eyes. She stared through it, anyway, at the boy who should’ve been her son-in-law or maybe her lover, and the plain-looking woman he was married to, and the half-naked child who should’ve been hers to hold, and the stooping-tall man who could never make up for it all, no matter how hard he tried.

  ‘Sorry.’ Jesse reappeared on the porch. ‘John wants to get blazed. Is that alright?’

  Judy raised her eyes heavenward. ‘I s’pose. It’s a special occasion.’

  He went back in, returned with a carved wooden box, a grinder, papers. Eyes lowered, he sat across from her and placed a dried green nugget in the grinder. Judy watched his hands working, his arms, until he caught her watching.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, cheeks colouring.

  ‘Nay.’ He reddened. ‘You’re good.’

  She followed his fingertips as they lifted the lid from the grinder, lined up the green flakes on a slip of rolling paper. Again, he looked up.

  ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘Just … your hands.’

  Jesse looked at his hands and understood. Playfully passed them through the sunbeams.

  ‘Oh, Jess.’ Judy sighed, charmed to the point of exasperation. ‘You know, you really broke my heart for a while there.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He met her eyes. ‘It goes both ways.’

  They looked at each other, looked at each other looking, for so long and with such intensity, she forgot time, death, everything.

  ‘It’s good to see your face,’ he said after a while, and looked away.

  ‘Yes.’ Judy lowered her eyes. ‘You too.’

  Time resumed its beat inside her chest. She heard Jessica raking the compost, John’s footsteps. She was ready with a smile when he stepped onto the porch.

  ‘Homegrown, brudda.’ Jesse offered him up a fresh-rolled joint. ‘Enjoy.’

  John grinned like a twelve-year-old. ‘Groovy.’

  ‘Gawd, you’re a dag.’ Judy cringed as he sat, circled her shoulders, and sparked up. When he offered her a toke, she refused. ‘That stuff messes with your head.’

  Jesse blinked. ‘Paulina used to say that.’

  ‘Well, good. I taught her something.’

  John returned the joint to Jesse.

  ‘Here’s to you, Mrs Novak.’ Jesse toked. ‘Or, wait: is it something else now?’

  ‘It’s still “Novak”.’ Judy sipped her lukewarm coffee. ‘And it’s still “Ms”.’

  ‘I had a hard enough time getting her to the altar.’ John tucked Judy’s hair behind her ear. ‘She was quite happy living in sin.’

  ‘I was happy,’ Judy agreed. ‘I’m still happy.’

  Jesse stood up abruptly.

  ‘You’re a really nice couple, eh.’ He relinquished the joint. ‘All yours, brudda.’

  Jesse ducked inside, smoke dispersing in his wake. John inhaled, wheezed a little.

  ‘You’re such a dag,’ Judy repeated, resting her head on his shirtfront.

  They sat quietly in the sweet-smelling fug, listening to the rake, the wind whispering through the kentia palms. Jesse emerged from the house with a sketchpad.

  ‘I knew I had it somewhere.’ He opened it in front of Judy. ‘This’s the design she wanted. It took me ages. She was really picky, eh.’

  Judy’s eyes blurred. ‘Oh?’

  ‘She told me, “I want something that symbolises the void and that’ll look cute above my butt”.’

  ‘Stupid girl!’ Judy cried. ‘It’s perfect, Jess.’

  John peered closer. ‘Great work, mate. Really.’

  ‘Can I buy it off you?’ Judy looked up at Jesse. ‘Please?’

  ‘Your money’s no good here.’ Jesse wandered back to his seat; peeked at her through his thick eyelashes. ‘You nay want something more permanent?’

  ‘Jess!’ Judy shook her head. ‘I’m too old for a tramp stamp.’

  ‘Aye. Probably.’ Jesse traded a glance with John. ‘I could do it somewhere else, but. If you’re worried about wrinkles. Somewhere close to the bone.’

  ‘Close to the bone?’

  ‘Here, for instance.’ Tentatively, he reached across the table, turned her palm upwards. ‘The skin’s tighter.’

  ‘My wrist?’

  ‘It’s tighter, near the bones.’ As his fingers circled her wrist, she recognised the scar where he’d almost taken off a tip. ‘It can be pretty painful, though. There’s not much to soften—’

  ‘You think I’m afraid of pain?’ Judy interrupted. ‘Me? Paulina’s mother?’

  ‘Nay.’ His grip tightened. ‘Not you. Never.’

  Under his thumb, her pulse quickened. Sunlight swarmed her veins.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she whispered. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Newcomer would not exist if I hadn’t first had the privilege of visiting the island that inspired it. Thank you to the Neilma Sidney Literary Travel Fund and its round-two judges — Rachel Bin Salleh, Emily Bitto, and Angela Meyer — for seeing promise in my proposal. Kingdom by the Sea never did get written, but it got me on the right flight (and its title lives on in chapter 21).

  The moment I glimpsed the rock’s famous greens and blues through the plane window in June 2018 was love at first sight. My love has only deepened with successive visits. I hope that this love shines through the (often intense) darkness. My gratitude to the people of Norfolk Island who welcomed me, gave me lifts, taught me things, or even just looked at me askew. See yorley again soon — if you’ll have me.

 
Thanks also to the City of Melbourne for awarding me the 2020 Boyd Garret Residency. In ordinary times, this residency would’ve been life-changing. In COVID times, it was life-saving. I am incredibly privileged to associate 2020 with sunlight on red carpet, and sparse city views, and space, and time. I’m privileged to live in a city that supports the arts.

  It’s been a pleasure to work with Scribe again for my third (and best!) book. Thank you, Marika Webb-Pullman, for always taking care with my words, and for being such a wise and intuitive presence, on and off the page. Laura Thomas, for another stunning cover (the perfect little sister to TLOABM and BR). Cora Roberts, for your warmth and realness, which makes the prospect of publicity slightly less terrifying.

  I wrote this book in the spaces around my day-job. Thank you to my fellow pro bullshit artists in the QA team for making these days bearable. I hope you’ll appreciate the ownership statement + seeks permission on page 160 (among other things). Love yas.

  In the early stages of writing this novel, my body put a violent halt to the writing process. Thank you to the staff at Royal Melbourne ICU for bringing me back. Thank you to beautiful Ben, whose face was the first I saw, out of comaland. Thank you to my family, who were with me the whole time in comaland, and have always reminded me that (duh) there are more important things in life than books. I wouldn’t be who I am, without you.

  Thank you to my friends for all the wines, coffees, dumplings, brunches, bows and arrows, laughs, vents, honesty, and goodness. This scene, and this world, are easier to navigate in your company. Thank you for getting me out of my own head and sharing what’s in yours.

  I’m extremely grateful to the booksellers who advocated for my previous books, and grateful (in advance) to those who hand-sell this one. And, of course, to the readers — especially if you’ve made it this far.

  Finally, Kirill. Thank you for having the infinite patience of staying married to me despite every third sentence out of my mouth for the past two years being some variation of, ‘On the island, blah blah blah.’ You’re my rock. You’re my island. I’m so happy to spend my days with you.