When Grace Went Away

by Meredith Appleyard

  ‘Wow,’ Grace said, taken aback by Tim’s disclosure. ‘How was he?’

  ‘In a word: shocked. As you know we didn’t part on the best of terms. I don’t think he expected to hear from me ever again. He loosened up after a bit.’

  ‘Why did you ring him?’

  ‘I kind of miss the old bugger. I think of him out there on his own, trying to keep the place going. Pushing shit uphill.’

  ‘Do you feel guilty about leaving?’

  ‘Nah, I needed to go. But with distance comes a new perspective.’

  ‘Be certain it’s not a rose-tinted perspective, Tim. There were good reasons why you needed to get away.’

  ‘Yeah, but like Allie says, there’re always two sides to any story.’

  ‘You don’t say … I’m looking forward to meeting your Allie!’

  Tim laughed. ‘She can be the voice of reason, but hardly my Allie. We’re mates.’

  When they were winding up, Tim said, ‘If I’ve learned nothing else out of this, Grace, I’ve learned that we all need to work out who, and what, are truly important in our lives. Then we need to look after what we have, and go all out for what we want. Doesn’t mean you’ll always get it, in your case him, in my case her, but at least we will have tried.’

  Grace felt the rush of tears and blamed it on the icy wind.

  ‘I love you, Tim,’ she said, ‘I’ll look forward to Christmas.’

  She walked back to the office contemplating what it would be like to go home; not just to Adelaide, but to Miners Ridge. Seeing her hometown through Aaron’s eyes had given her a different perspective on the place, as had listening to her mum talk about the town and its characters. Even after all the years she’d been away, and although she pretended otherwise, deep down, Grace still thought of Miners Ridge as home.

  45

  Sarah

  ‘My blood pressure is still up and the doc wants me to take it a lot easier,’ Faith said.

  She was sitting on my sofa drinking tea, her feet propped on the coffee table.

  ‘Your ankles are swollen,’ I said, lifting up the bottom of one of her leggings. The elasticised band had left indents in her skin. She raised up the foot, squinting at it over her belly. ‘Only by the end of the day, and only if I’ve been on my feet all day.’

  ‘When are you going to stop work?’ I said, settling into the armchair.

  This was the second time in a week that Faith had surprised me by popping in to say hello. As time went by, the thaws between the freezes lasted longer and were more congenial, the freezes shorter and half-hearted.

  ‘I’ve already cut back to two shifts a week. I’d planned to work until I was thirty-six weeks, but the doctor said I mustn’t go back at all. He’s written me a sick certificate.’

  ‘If you like, I can do more with Liam and Amelia when Ben’s back at work,’ I said, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic.

  Cradling her mug in both hands, Faith stared into her tea. ‘The kids would like that,’ she said. ‘They’re always saying, Grandma this and Grandma that.’

  ‘But what about you, Faith? Are you okay with it?’ I sat up straighter in the chair. Her answer was important to me.

  At last she made eye contact.

  ‘Yes, I’m okay with it,’ she said. ‘But Dad’s not very happy with you, and what have you been saying to Cousin Kaylene?’ Her lips twitched and I relaxed slightly.

  ‘Kaylene pokes her nose in where it doesn’t belong. She always has. I told her to mind her own business.’

  ‘It was a nice picture in the paper of you and Carol Claremont and Walt Bancroft,’ she said, amusement putting a sparkle into her eyes. But she sobered quickly. ‘Dad was completely thrown by you coming back here. You’ve made friends, you’re doing Aaron’s books for him and you’ve become involved with the gallery. By the way, Dad’s never liked Carol Claremont.’

  ‘Has he ever given you a reason why?’

  ‘Nope, but Louise’s daughter is in Liam’s class. She’s okay, according to him. Louise can be a prickly thing, but I’ve always thought Carol was nice. A bit rough around the edges, but what you see is what you get.’

  ‘She’s been very kind to me, and has been a … resourceful friend,’ I said, flashing back to the burning of the wedding gown.

  ‘Tim going off has left Dad in a real hole, in every sense,’ Faith said, but her words held no acrimony.

  I glanced down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. ‘Tim needed a break, and he wasn’t going to get it without help. I would have done the same for you. Of all people, you should know how your father can be. The farm comes first, often to the detriment of everything else.’

  The minutes ticked by and neither of us said anything. Then Faith spoke, so quietly that I had to lean forward to hear her.

  ‘It’s good that you’ve filed for a divorce, Mum. It means that both of you can get on with your lives and out of the limbo you’ve been in since Luke died.’

  ‘Thank you, Faith,’ I said. I didn’t need her approval or permission for anything, but to hear her say those words made me proud of her. ‘What do you think your dad will do? He can’t manage the place on his own.’

  She expelled a slow breath, puffing out her cheeks.

  ‘He asked me to ask Ben if he’d work a few days on the farm when he was home on rest leave. I don’t think I want to ask him. I’m scared he’ll say yes because he feels sorry for Dad, and then I’ll never see my husband.’

  ‘Then don’t ask him. Or, if you feel you owe it to Doug to at least ask, make sure Ben knows how you feel about it. Your own family comes first, Faith.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’ll pass on Dad’s message and ask Ben not to do it.’ She lumbered to her feet, arching the kink out of her back. ‘I’d better go. Liam has soccer practice … Or something. Ben’s taking him, so Amelia will be home by herself. Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘Don’t forget to take the soup with you.’ I’d made minestrone, enough for Faith’s family plus a couple of meals for me. ‘I’ll get it.’

  My head was buried in the kitchen cupboard searching for a plastic lid for the soup container, so I almost didn’t hear when Faith asked, ‘Where did all these photo albums come from?’

  ‘The farm. Your dad, er … dropped them off the other day.’

  When I went back into the sitting room she was standing by the window, intently examining a photo from one of the albums.

  ‘They’re mostly of you kids when you were little,’ I continued. ‘You know, before smartphones and the digital revolution. I’d forgotten how many albums there were.’

  She grunted and slipped the photo she’d been looking at back into its plastic pocket.

  ‘Do you mind if I take a couple of the albums to look through?’

  ‘Of course not! Like a lot of family albums, there’re more photos of you and Grace. By the time the boys came along I was too busy to be bothered with cameras and photographs. I can get copies of any you might want. Just put a note on them.’

  ‘All right, and thanks,’ she said, tucking two of the albums under one arm and taking the container of soup in the other hand.

  I walked out to the car with her, opened and closed doors, and watched until her car disappeared down the street.

  Yes, I would put up with whatever garbage Doug dealt out to me if it meant I could have more quality time with my daughter and my grandchildren.

  After Faith left I finished hemming the curtains I’d made for the second bedroom. The scrim was old, but new. It had been in one of the boxes Doug dumped, and I recalled buying it after both girls had left home.

  They’d shared a bedroom and I’d had an idea to refurbish it and make it into a guest room. Doug said I was crazy, that there was nothing wrong with the two single beds the girls had used, or the Holland blind and washed-out curtains at the window.

  Ignoring him I’d bought a soft, pastel-coloured paint for the walls and the billowy curtain fabric. I’d looked into replacing the twin
beds with a double. That was as far as I’d got. With two boys still at home, there’d always been scores of household chores that took up my time and energy. If ever there’d been the hint of any downtime when I might make a start on the bedroom, Doug had found something on the farm that couldn’t be done without my help.

  I wondered what had become of the tins of paint, because I knew from my visit to the farm that it’d never been used. And the walls all looked like they needed it.

  After I’d hung the finished curtains and spent a few minutes admiring my handiwork, I asked myself why I was going to so much trouble when my rental agreement expired in two and a half months.

  Silly as it might be, in my head I’d started planning what I could do with the ghastly barren patch that was the front yard. I’d even contemplated asking Aaron for suggestions, and if he would help me.

  If I were sensible I’d restrict my gardening urges to the patch at the gallery, where the flower seedlings I’d planted were looking perky.

  It was as if I were unconsciously putting down more roots by the day. I couldn’t see myself going back to the city. My mind wouldn’t even let me imagine it.

  The unit in Adelaide remained empty. Tim had stayed overnight several times in the lead-up to his overseas trip. Then he and Aaron had stayed the night before they left. I hadn’t been back at all. Next month I had a specialist appointment in the city and I was planning to overnight it then. The futon was there with Grace’s television and a few other sticks of furniture, and Tim had left his car fridge. All the comforts of home!

  Faith phoned when I was getting ready for bed. In typical Faith style there were no hellos, she just ploughed right in.

  ‘Have you ever met Louise’s daughter?’ she said.

  ‘Emma? Not really.’ I recounted our brief encounter months earlier at the bakery. ‘But of course I didn’t know who she was then. It wasn’t until I saw a photo of her at Carol’s that I realised.’

  ‘Oh, right. So you know what she looks like?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Have you met her father?’

  ‘Shane Bowden? No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Neither have I.’

  ‘He’s in the same photograph, with Emma and Louise, hanging in Carol’s hallway. The photograph that is.’ This conversation was getting more peculiar by the minute.

  ‘Okay. Thanks. Bye,’ she said, and was gone.

  Staring at the phone in my hand, I scratched my head with the other. God knows what that was about. I went to bed.

  46

  Weekends were about the same as any other day of the week. Although I did lie in for longer in the mornings, taking my morning cuppa back to bed. Why not? Marvellous what you could do when there was no one else to please but yourself.

  Spring weather could be changeable. Over the past month we’d had days in the low thirties and days half of that. Some nights had been freezing, but there’d only been the occasional sprinkle of rain. Given the weather I had about three different sets of clothes on the go at any one time.

  Saturday was shaping up to be one of those delicious spring days. Not a cloud in sight and the sky clear and blue; what I thought of as typically Australian. A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of the fruit trees in the neighbour’s garden, and a magpie warbled from the back fence. It was T-shirt and cotton capris weather.

  I was pottering around on the back verandah mid-morning, watering the ever-increasing number of pot plants I’d been accumulating. The herbs in the planter boxes were coming along nicely, as was the cherry tomato. When I’d planted them at the beginning of spring I had considered their movability, because some days back then I was still asking myself why I was here. These days I was more likely to ask myself why I wouldn’t be here.

  As I refilled the watering can, a car roared up the driveway. Moments later a car door slammed.

  ‘I’m around the back,’ I called, and Faith appeared at the end of the verandah.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving. She was carrying a reusable green supermarket bag. Whatever she had in it looked weighty.

  ‘Mum, I have to show you something,’ she said, sounding agitated. ‘I need to know what you think.’

  ‘All right, why don’t you come inside,’ I said, turning off the tap and stripping off my gardening gloves. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ she said, hustling me into the house, as quickly as a hugely pregnant woman could.

  While I was rinsing my hands at the kitchen sink, and putting the kettle on, Faith unpacked the green bag and laid out the contents that covered the small kitchen table.

  There were the two albums she’d borrowed yesterday, and an 8 x 10 framed photograph of Grace, Faith, Tim and Luke. I could remember taking it. It’d been Grace’s eighteenth birthday and she’d come home from uni for the weekend. Luke had been eight, Tim eleven and Faith about fourteen—and the only one not smiling.

  Next to the framed photo was a plastic sleeve, inside it a picture printed on flimsy A4 paper. It was a girl riding a bike and had obviously been taken recently. With a jolt I recognised the pink hoodie with the sparkly star.

  ‘Who is this? Louise’s Emma? When was it taken?’

  ‘Yes, it is Emma, and it was taken earlier this morning. Her name’s Emma Bowden, but I’m almost one hundred per cent certain it should be Emma Fairley.’

  I felt the blood drain from my face and I dropped down onto a kitchen chair, fumbling with the plastic sleeve and pulling out the picture to study it closer.

  Faith rummaged in the green bag and produced a large magnifying glass that I recognised had once belonged to Joylene. She handed it to me, and pushed the framed photograph of her siblings closer.

  ‘Look at them carefully, Mum. If she isn’t the spitting image of Luke at that age, my name’s not Faith Stevens.’

  I swallowed hard on the pulse fluttering in my throat. Faith was watching me intently. Taking my time I examined both pictures, separately, and then with the image of Emma beside an eight-year-old Luke.

  The encounter with Emma at the bakery came back to me, and how at the time I’d thought fancifully how her eyes looked just like Luke’s. Luke. My baby. Tears welled in my eyes.

  ‘Who took the picture of Emma?’ I said, blinking rapidly.

  ‘I did,’ Faith replied, her voice matter-of-fact, almost hard. ‘I parked in the trees opposite Carol’s place. I knew she’d have to come out eventually. Amazing the quality of the photos you can take with a phone these days.’

  My lips went dry, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I must have looked pale because Faith grabbed one of the mugs I’d put out for the tea and filled it with tap water.

  ‘Drink,’ she said.

  I drank. When my mouth was moist enough I whispered, ‘If this is what you think it is, none of it is Emma’s fault. She’s only a child.’

  I studied the pictures again. The resemblance was uncanny: the same cheeky grin, the same crooked front tooth, the same sprinkling of freckles across their noses.

  The kettle had boiled long ago. Faith made the tea.

  ‘What made you think—’ I started, as thoughts whirled around in my head at one hundred miles an hour. I remembered Doug saying he didn’t know who Luke’s girlfriend was … Meeting Louise at Luke’s twenty-first and not knowing how special she was to him … That instant spark of something when I’d first bumped into Emma.

  If Faith was right, Louise could have been pregnant at Luke’s twenty-first. Luke was killed ten days later.

  ‘I might not have put it together as quickly if I hadn’t looked at those photo albums. And if I hadn’t seen Emma at school with Liam the day before.’

  ‘Your father said he and Luke had argued about a girl not long before Luke was killed. Luke had wanted to move in with her. Your father was against it. Was Louise Claremont Luke’s girlfriend?’

  ‘I’d say she was,’ Faith said. ‘Ben saw them making out at the back of the town hall the night of Luke�
�s twenty-first. Next time I saw Luke, I teased him. He got all embarrassed, and a bit angry, and asked me not to tell anyone, especially you or Dad.

  ‘I thought that was kind of strange. It’s not as if she was underage or anything. But I kept my mouth shut just the same.’

  On the table beside us, the tea cooled. I stood up and paced the length of the kitchen and back. Faith drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

  ‘What should we do? If you’re right,’ I said, tacking on the caveat.

  Blundering in with false accusations would be cruel. But then, having a grandchild for ten years and not knowing about her was doubly cruel.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’m right,’ Faith said. ‘Ben thinks so as well. And I bet if Tim was around to ask, he’d be able to connect more of the dots with what he’d remember.’

  ‘I’m not sure that Carol even knows.’

  ‘Would she have told you if she did, knowing that Louise didn’t want you to know?’

  I stopped pacing.

  ‘No, I guess not,’ I said, my emotions all topsy-turvy—for my son, for myself, for Louise, and Carol and little Emma. As for Shane Bowden … Had he known that Emma wasn’t his? If not, did he suspect? Is that why the marriage had broken down?

  ‘I always thought it was strange, the way Louise just upped and disappeared right after Luke was killed. She had a job and everything. Then a year or so later she showed up with a husband and a toddler.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you even knew her back then.’

  ‘I didn’t, not really. Her sister was closer to my age, but we were all on the same netball team at one point.’

  ‘If Luke was Emma’s father, why would Louise keep it a secret?’

  ‘You know what I think?’ Faith said. ‘Dad hates Carol Claremont. I wonder if he hated any of the other Fultons or just Carol.’

  ‘Carol was a Fulton?’

  I remembered the Miners Ridge family from years ago. Four sisters, all of them wild—or so the town gossip went back then. It hadn’t clicked that Carol had been one of the Fulton sisters. Not that it mattered.

  ‘Yep, she was. Maybe Luke knew something, had heard Dad talking, and that’s why he didn’t want you or Dad to know about Louise.’