‘You were like a Valkyrie.’
She laughed. ‘Go and put the chairs and table out, idiot. Maybe when you’ve got some food inside you, you’ll stop talking rubbish. Maxi, down! No more chicken.’ She sobered. ‘I never did thank you and Hannah for coming down here. Risking your lives.’
‘I’m glad we weren’t needed.’
‘You might have been. I’m glad you were there. Glad you’re here now. Things could have been a lot worse.’ She pushed back the blackness of just how bad it could have been if the fire front had been wider, fiercer, when it hit Gibber’s Creek.
‘It wasn’t bravery. Well, Hannah’s was. But when I saw the news on TV —’ He swallowed. ‘I already knew how much you meant to me.’ He met her eyes. ‘But losing you . . .’
‘Alex, stop.’
‘Wh-what do you mean?’
She swung her wheelchair round to face him fully. ‘Because I’ve thought about it and you haven’t. I fell in love with you two years ago, and yes, at first it was mostly because you are gorgeous and have a brain to match. But then I began to love you. And that means I’ve had time to work out why there is no possible way we can be together.’
Alex folded his arms. ‘An interesting theory. Can you substantiate it?’
She took a deep breath, equally composed of air and pain. ‘I probably can’t have children.’
‘Overruled.’ His voice was gentler as he added, ‘You may need caesareans to give birth, or at least forceps deliveries. But this is 1978, not 1878.’
She almost sobbed at the love in his voice. The hope she had to quell. ‘Any children might inherit my deformity.’
He regarded her. ‘Possible. Not probable. Unless your family has a history of similar problems?’
She shook her head. ‘Matron showed me my medical records when I turned sixteen. Nothing similar in my birth family. No spina bifida or anything like that. All disgustingly healthy. And boring,’ she added.
‘Okay, any kids we might have run a risk of being boring.’ Alex held up a hand as she began to protest. ‘And yes, whatever caused your problem might be mutagenic, not just teratogenic.’ It might have changed her genes, not just her muscles and bones, and could be passed on. ‘But that’s a small risk, and you know it as well as I do. Do you truly believe that perpetuating the genes that make you so extraordinary is a bad thing? They’d inherit my good looks and your genius. Or maybe your good looks and my genius, even if they do have to use a wheelchair.’ He grinned. ‘Our kids could never be boring. Aren’t you running a bit ahead of yourself?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Firstly, you haven’t asked if I even want kids. Secondly, I adore you, but I haven’t asked you to marry me. We Romanovs are old fashioned. No kids without marriage. You might not want to say yes either after you’ve lived with me for a while and found out that I growl like a bunyip before breakfast. Is the offer of your spare room still open?’
‘Yes, but —’
‘Grandmère approves of you, by the way. She even asked if you could bear healthy children. I told her what I told you. She just nodded and said, “Risk it. Courage like she has is worth a risk.” Plus any problem genes you may carry will almost certainly be recessive and, as our gene pools are so divergent, it is almost impossible that I carry it too.’
‘Almost.’
‘The whole world is made up of almosts,’ Alex said gently. ‘There are bigger risks. Like contracting a deadly virus from the next patient. Or suffering the results of Hannah’s driving on the way back to Sydney.’
‘Then you do want kids?’ A baby like Mattie, she thought. She had never thought — never let herself think — that she might want a baby of her own. ‘And . . . and the spare room?’
‘And you. Three yeses.’ He stepped towards her, smiling. She wondered exactly how long he intended to occupy the spare room and not share hers as he bent down and . . .
‘Any chance of something to eat?’ yelled Hannah.
‘Just coming!’ called Scarlett. She looked up at Alex as he mouthed, ‘Later,’ then straightened.
‘Ms Scarlett Kelly-O’Hara, may I have the honour of escorting you to the Equinox Ball? And would you pay for our tickets because I am still as broke as a two-bob watch?’
‘Yes and yes. And the spare room is free. I match you three yeses,’ said Scarlett.
He nodded solemnly as Hannah clattered towards them down the hall and Maxi bounded over, hoping for someone else who knew exactly how to caress a dog’s ears. ‘We match where it matters,’ he said.
Chapter 53
SUNDAY, 12 FEBRUARY 1978
JED
Jed lay in the white starched sheets that rustled when she turned over. Mattie slept next to her in a strange high plastic box on legs — a bit like a giant lunchbox baby container. Babies in lunchboxes, she thought. The nurse who had tried to take Mattie down to the nursery had shown only the slightest inclination to insist on this course of action. Jed had easily won the argument.
Sam slept in the chair next to the bed, legs sprawled, still in his grimy overalls. Fathers were not permitted in the wards overnight, but firies, it seemed, were different. The aproned lady who had brought Jed’s dinner — roast lamb, mint sauce, roast potatoes, roast pumpkin, what looked like fresh not frozen beans and an exceptionally good passionfruit sponge cake with cream — had brought a plate for Sam too and then a second helping of the sponge for each of them.
Jed lay back on the extremely white pillow and focused on the essentials. Somehow motherhood and its hormones had narrowed her mind so that only essentials mattered.
Mattie — safe and totally, absolutely perfect, from her scowl to the bubble of colostrum on her tiny lips. And those miniature fingernails and the tuft of dark hair and that had to be Sam’s chin . . .
Just as perfect to have had her baby delivered by Scarlett, with Joseph there, and the books Tommy had given her around her, in the house that was Matilda’s gift. Far better than a bland hospital, even such a friendly one. Though next time — if there was a next time — she would choose a hospital over a house in a bushfire. Or even a house without a bushfire, just in case. Yet all her terror in the fire, and in the house alone, was vanishing. The memory would never go, but the fear and pain seemed to have happened to someone else.
Scarlett — safe. Sam — safe. Nancy, Michael and Overflow, Blue and Joseph — safe. Darling Maxi — absolutely fine. The Whole Australia Factory and all the Beards and Mack, and the Halfway to Eternity commune and all her friends and neighbours — safe.
Dribble was still a bit smoky, Sam said, and the paint faded, but not even the front door had been scorched. His water system, firebreak and fire shutters were an excellent advertisement for the Whole Australia catalogue’s products.
She hoped Scarlett had remembered to feed Maxi. Maxi would probably forgive the humans for a late dinner, though she would probably demand reparation in the form of pigs’ ears and tummy scratches.
The pile of paper in the bottom drawer, which she had worked on for the past year, was safe too. It might smell of smoke, but she would not retype it before she sent it to Julieanne. Somehow it seemed fitting that it should smell of bushfire. Julieanne would understand.
And Merv?
Sam had told her about seeing the empty, burned-out remnants of a car just before the tanker turned into the Dribble driveway. Why hadn’t Merv driven away? Had his car failed to start? Had he died somewhere in the paddocks, pursuing her? Was his blackened body still to be discovered among the dead trees and logs, the hairless corpses of kangaroos? Had someone driven by and rescued him? Jed had asked Scarlett, carefully, carelessly, if she had seen any other vehicle driving towards her as she had driven into Gibber’s Creek. Scarlett said she had not.
No one, it seemed, associated that car with Merv — yet. The fire had made it unrecognisable. Nor had she told anyone her belief that he had deliberately lit the two fires that had destroyed so much — not just the homes of humans and anima
ls, but the lives of sheep, bandicoots, bettongs and the many animals and birds that had been injured or who would die of starvation or disease, the incalculable loss of River View, the livelihoods of families with burned paddocks and no fences . . .
She curled her arms about herself, frightened suddenly by the fragility of human society. No police force or army could keep humans safe if they decided their default position was to not co-operate with each other but to destroy. Had it taken Merv even five minutes to set so much tragedy in train?
She bit her lip. She could forgive someone hurting her, had forgiven her parents, most days anyway, for they had not intended to inflict pain. But that man, who enjoyed hurting, whose deepest pleasure was the power to cause pain, being able to pass among people who smiled nervously at him just in case he might choose to exercise it . . . she could not bear the thought of that man and her baby existing in the same world.
She had smelled diesel when Merv stopped her car. Knew enough to be sure that eventually the car would be traced to Merv, possibly already had been, and that remnants of jerry cans of diesel might still be found in it, a car that ran on petrol.
She finally had a weapon with which to protect herself and others from him now. Because when the police came to ask her about the burned-out car, so near to where her car had been found, she could tell them about that diesel smell, how Merv had lit at least one of the fires and probably more. That smell, and the choice of fire lines, should be enough evidence to have him charged with attempted murder as well as arson.
She looked over at Mattie, still sleeping, rolled in a pink blanket so only her head showed. The baby mummification was going to be over as soon as she was out of here, which would hopefully be — she glanced towards the closed window, where light was seeping through the combination of hot mist and smoke — this afternoon.
Had she really heard Matilda’s whisper? Of course not. It was memory, delusion, a longing for the old woman who had given her friendship, love and safety. But Matilda had still saved her, Matilda and maybe Fred too. They had taught her she was worth saving, that love was possible for Jed McAlpine-Kelly too, and so she had saved herself.
A trolley entered, with a nurse, a different one, pushing it. Jed permitted her blood pressure to be checked, her temperature taken, and even agreed to Mattie being carried to the nursery to be weighed, a satisfactory three point seven kilograms, which was exactly as expected.
‘And a radius of six point five metres,’ muttered Sam, finally waking.
‘What?’ asked Jed.
He blinked. ‘Nothing. Any chance of a cup of tea?’ he asked the nurse.
‘Breakfast will be along in half an hour. And visiting hours are after that,’ she said pointedly and then relented. ‘I’ll bring you in a cup. You too?’ she asked Jed.
‘Please,’ said Jed as she received her daughter back. And this time Sam remembered to slither out of his grimy overalls before he sat on the bed to watch the two of them.
The first visitors were Joseph and Blue. Joseph had kept the rights of a visiting medical officer, even if he was officially retired, so, if pushed, he could walk through the hospital door any time he felt like it, bringing his wife with him. And after all, Jed was now his patient.
The bag Jed had packed so carefully to take to hospital, with baby clothes and nightdresses, had been burned, along with her beloved car, but Blue had stopped at Lee’s Emporium for supplies for her and Mattie, which meant she could change into a proper cotton nightdress, not the gaping hospital gown. Apparently Scarlett and her Sydney friends were washing the smoke smells from Dribble, including from Maxi — even sponging down the walls.
Jed watched as Blue tenderly dressed Mattie in a fresh nappy, securely pinned, a small white frilled dress that Jed certainly would never have purchased, and delicate white knitted cotton booties no machine had created and which Blue had undoubtedly been preparing for just this day.
Jed had never known her grandmothers, only a step-great-grandmother in Matilda, but she suspected that you didn’t argue with a grandmother when she bought frilly clothes and knitted booties for her first grandchild, as well as the toy lamb that Mattie grabbed with delight, swinging it back and forth so it hit her face and the side of the crib.
‘Good strong grip,’ said Joseph approvingly. He paused, his face emptying of expression. ‘Sam, Jed, there’s something I need to tell you —’ He stopped abruptly.
‘Andy died yesterday,’ said Blue softly. ‘Saving George from the fire at River View.’
‘Uncle Andy! I . . . I’m so sorry!’ said Jed as Sam stood to embrace his father and then his mother too.
‘How badly is River View burned?’ Jed asked at last.
‘Almost everything,’ said Blue simply. ‘The office building and all the old cottages. Not the therapy centre, except for some cracks in the glass. Moira and Gavin and George and the Huntindon twins are at Overflow. They’re trying to contact all the other families to tell them it’s impossible for the kids to come back. Even if they could stay somewhere in Gibber’s Creek, the therapy centre is going to be in the middle of a demolition zone for months.’
‘Time matters so much with those kids,’ said Joseph. ‘They need therapy now, not in two or three years’ time.’
‘It’s devastating for Moira and Nancy,’ said Blue. ‘Moira put her life into that place.’
It was as if Jed felt Matilda with her once more — Matilda’s certainty, not her voice. ‘Drinkwater.’
Blue blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Take everything to Drinkwater. It’s big enough. Move the therapy equipment to the living room, maybe the shearers’ quarters for the bigger stuff. Use a canvas pool outside for a while. It should be easy to rig up whatever frameworks are needed over it. Plenty of space in the dining room to feed everyone. Kids’ beds in the study and housekeeper’s bedroom, staff and office upstairs.’
Blue blinked again. ‘Drinkwater? It might just work.’
‘Of course it will work. Won’t it?’ Jed appealed to Joseph.
‘I . . . I think so.’ Joseph had the look of a man who was overloaded with emotions, good and bad, and too much change too. ‘It wouldn’t have a few years ago. But there are far fewer kids now, and most of the staff live out.’
‘There are even ramps there already,’ said Jed eagerly. ‘And the stair lift put in when Tommy had his stroke. And the shearers’ quarters are empty most of the time, and the two lower cottages too. They escaped the fire, didn’t they?’
‘Yes . . .’ said Joseph, still seemingly overwhelmed.
Sam looked at his wife with weary indulgence. ‘You’re forgetting that Drinkwater belongs to Michael and Jim.’
‘They’ll agree,’ said Jed. Michael would do anything to keep River View going, and Jim was his parents’ son, even if he was a businessman.
No, she thought, I have been missing something vital all along. Tommy and Matilda were business people too, deeply and profoundly. How could they have created their empires if they were not? But Jim was also the man who had left the safety of Sydney to defend his land and his community, who had even brought his sons so they would know that when duty called, you answered, despite the danger.
Jim Thompson would agree.
And Drinkwater would no longer be empty. For a while.
‘It will do till we rebuild anyway,’ Jed added.
‘We might not rebuild at all,’ said Joseph quietly. ‘River View was insured, of course, but there’s less need for residential centres these days. Parents keep their disabled kids at home far more now they’re not expected to do everything on their own. We could use the money to endow a therapy centre here at the hospital, with a flat for families to stay in instead. The Matilda Thompson Memorial Wing.’
‘The Andy McAlpine Wing and the Ben Clancy Therapy Centre,’ said Jed. Because Matilda was her own memorial. She didn’t need her name on a plaque. But Joseph needed to see his brother’s name on one. And long-lost Ben for Moira and Nancy too
, after all the years.
And Auntie Mah. ‘How is Mah?’
‘She stayed with us last night,’ said Blue. ‘She’s out at Overflow today, making lunch for the River View kids and helping them onto potties and anything else she can fill her day with. She says it’s what Andy would have wanted.’ Blue hesitated. ‘She’ll be better when she’s cried for a few weeks. But that won’t be for a while.’
Jed nodded. Mah had Blue, her best friend since childhood, and her kids and grandkids, and the life Andy would have wanted her to go on with . . .
‘Our Andy’s gone with cattle now
Our hearts are out of order,’ she recited quietly, and the poet’s words helped them to cry, and to hug again, till Mattie woke and announced that her crying was better than theirs and it was time for another nappy change and feed.
Chapter 54
FLINTY
Dusk had been almost imperceptible the night before, night mingling with the smoke. Still no one had come to see how Rock Farm had fared. Was the road blocked? The valley burned? Or hadn’t they been missed? Felicity had dragged two mattresses into the living room, less smoky than anywhere else. They slept side by side, for comfort, needing only sheets despite the usual chill of mountain air.
Flinty woke first, needing the bathroom, then remembered not to flush it — the house water pipes would have to be repaired. She gazed out the window. The smoke was pale now, not the ash of yesterday. Even the sky was white. The wind had changed direction. It was a wind now: a cool southerly, and not the very air turned beast.
She came out to find Felicity sitting up in her makeshift bed. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked quietly.
‘I think so. Nothing burning around here, and the smoke is thinner. I still can’t see down the valley though. How do you feel?’
‘Like my throat is a cheese grater. And starving. We didn’t have any dinner last night.’
‘No, we didn’t.’ Her granddaughter must be all right if she demanded food: no miscarriage in the night. ‘The power’s off, and the telephone too. It’ll have to be sun tea.’
Facing the Flame Page 24
