by Anna Romer
Again I found myself studying the old handyman. I’d been right, he had made an effort today. Shaved, combed his hair, put on clean trousers, made a rudimentary attempt to shine his shoes. He was no male model, but it was the most presentable I’d ever seen him. Perhaps it was wash day, or he was on his way to town, but I couldn’t help suspecting he’d made a special effort in anticipation of seeing Bronwyn.
‘Come on, Bron,’ I prompted, ‘we’d better get a move on, you don’t want to be late.’
Hobe’s gaze captured Bronwyn’s face, his eye sharp as a fragment of blue glass. He grinned. ‘Off to church, are we?’
Bronwyn smoothed the crumbs of bark and leaf-litter from her jeans.
‘I’m visiting my grandmother,’ she told him proudly. ‘My dad’s mother, she’s really nice. We met her yesterday, and had so much fun that she invited us back again today.’
While Bronwyn spoke, Hobe’s face had frozen, then melted into a look that at first I couldn’t read. Shadows flitted over him, disguising the true nature of his expression, but I’d have sworn that in the blue depths of his iris glowed something akin to hope.
Which made me wonder if he was still keen on Luella. Yes, I could see it in his sudden perkiness, in the warm flush that coloured his leathery cheeks. He must have loved her all this time . . . but what had happened between them in the years since Cleve’s disappearance? Why hadn’t they reunited? Had Luella shunned Hobe, perhaps sensing that he might somehow be accountable for her daughter’s fatal fall?
Hobe caught me studying him and had the grace to dip his head, reassemble his features, and attempt a watery smile. It failed dismally, more of a grimace really.
‘Luella’s well then, is she?’ he asked.
‘Very well,’ Bronwyn chirped. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Ah . . . I suppose you could say that we were once friends. Back in the old days,’ he added with a sheepish look at me. ‘She’s a kind lady, your grandma. One in a million. Give her my regards when you see her . . . will you do that, lass?’
‘Sure will.’
I slid my arm around Bronwyn’s shoulder and nudged her in the direction of the house.
‘Goodbye then, Hobe,’ I said. ‘Thanks for bringing the little owl home. Good of you to let us watch.’
Hobe hesitated, his hand raised, his finger extended as though to put forth a query, but he’d left his question too late. Without another word I steered Bronwyn out of the fig tree’s deep shade, across the grass and up the slope, into the safety of the verandah’s gloomy shadows.
‘Mum – ?’
Bronwyn might have been only eleven, but she was observant, sensitive to fluctuations in the unpredictable climate of adult moods. ‘What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?’
‘It’s nearly time to go,’ I said, looking pointedly at my bare wrist. ‘You’re not visiting your grandmother dressed like that, are you?’
My ploy worked. She glanced down and regarded her jeans with no small amount of apprehension, making a half-hearted attempt to brush off the remaining crumbs of bark.
‘Of course not – you ironed my dress last night, remember? Besides, Grandy says it’s important to look your best at all times.’
I lifted an eyebrow. ‘Grandy?’
‘She prefers it to Gran or Grandma . . . She says it’s more friendly, and I agree.’ She gave a prim little smile, then spun on her heel and vanished inside, letting the screen door slam behind her.
Down in the yard, Hobe’s ute growled to life. The old vehicle made an unspeakable uproar as its assemblage of ancient parts coughed and gasped in unison. A jet of smoke burped from the tailpipe, then the car lurched forward and shot off with startling speed along the bumpy service road.
Between the three of us we managed to carry cheesecake and forks, a thermos of iced tea, cups and plates, a huge tartan rug and an armload of photo albums down Luella’s back stairs and into the garden. We found a shady spot beneath the bunya pine, settled onto the soft carpet of pine needles, and Luella passed around serviettes.
The cake was divine, the tea refreshing, and the breeze smelled of roses and jasmine. Gruffy sprawled in a grassy patch of sunlight, his feet twitching in his sleep. Our peaceful morning tea had all the potential of becoming a memory that one day we’d all look back upon and smile . . . and yet, despite it being Sunday, despite the cloudless sky and warm perfumed breeze, my brain refused to relax.
All I could think about was what I’d read in Glenda’s diary, about her final entry, how she’d climbed out her bedroom window to meet Ross, hoping he’d advise her about what she’d read in the letters she’d found.
Leaning back against the tree’s rough trunk, I studied Luella’s face, admiring her satiny skin and gentle smile and softly gathered hair – but also acknowledging that beneath the joy now shining from her eyes lurked a lifetime of sorrow. There was so much I wanted to ask her. What had been written in the letters Glenda found, why had they caused her such distress? Was it the shock of learning about Luella’s affair with Hobe . . . or had the letters revealed secrets that were much darker? Perhaps if I knew those answers, then the other missing puzzle pieces regarding Glenda’s fatal fall would slide into place too?
Bronwyn and her grandmother had their heads bent together, poring over more photographs.
‘Here’s that one I was telling you about, Grandy,’ Bronwyn said, sliding a snapshot from the album balanced on her lap. ‘The one of you at the clothesline with Aunty Glenda and Dad? See, you look different.’
Luella shifted her weight and took the photo, holding it aloft. ‘Well, it was a long time ago . . . gosh, 1980, it says here on the back. I was younger then, dear. Thinner, too! Oh . . . look at them, Tony just a wee strap of a boy, he would have been eight when this was taken. And Glenda, a carefree girl of ten.’
Now might have been the time to steer the conversation in the direction I was most keen for it to go . . . but Luella’s eyes were already brimming, and though she smiled to cover her emotion, there was a raw fragility about her that told me she was holding onto her sorrow by a thread. I remembered Corey’s words: Luella was always a timid sort of person, she had a rough trot as a kid, I don’t think she’d be in any state of mind to cope.
Luella tore her gaze off the photo and peered at Bronwyn.
‘Your father loved to dash off by himself to sketch or paint,’ she told her. ‘He had such a flair for art. And Glenda, my dear Glenda – ’ She looked back at the photo and her shoulders slumped. ‘She wanted to be a writer, you know. Always making up stories, ever since she could talk . . . so clever. Pretty too, just like you, Bronwyn dear . . . but with a temper fierce enough to curl your hair – ’ Luella let out a noise that was probably meant to be a chuckle, but it sounded more like a sob.
The sound of it galvanised me.
‘Bron, honey, why don’t you pack away the photos for a while. Have you told Grandy about your school camp?’
Bronwyn’s face lit up and she abandoned her albums to launch into a monologue about how she and Jade and twenty other kids from her class were going camping for six days in Mount Barney National Park, and that she’d never been camping before but Jade had raved about how much fun it was, and now she couldn’t wait . . .
Luella brushed at her cheek and then, as though sensing my attention, gave me a watery smile. It was barely more than a glance, a quick flicker of acknowledgement as if to say, Isn’t she adorable?
Until that moment I’d been nursing a dull sort of envy at the firm bond Bronwyn had forged with her grandmother. The girl was happy – I could see it in her glowing eyes, hear it in the eager way she related school news to Luella with far more enthusiasm than she ever related anything to me.
But now, as I watched Luella beaming at my daughter with obvious pride and admiration, my resentment buckled. Aunt Morag used to say that people were so dazzled by the hardships they’d endured in life, that they forgot to consider their blessings. With a pang, I realised I’d become on
e of those people – looking for things gone wrong, forever brooding. All it took was a slight shift in perspective to see life through fresh, more appreciative eyes. I had my health, a job I loved, and now a permanent roof over my head. Most of all, I had my daughter . . . healthy, able-bodied. Alive.
And it was in that moment of disenchantment with myself that I determined to relax my stranglehold on things I couldn’t control. I decided to practise going with the flow, to breathe deep and accept my daughter’s relationship with her grandmother for the blessing it was. So I closed my eyes and sank back against the bunya pine’s corrugated bark. The air was warm, the afternoon breeze sweetly fragrant. Pine needles, lemon tea, the faint apple tang of Bronwyn’s just-washed hair. Cheesecake, sun-warmed grass. And roses.
I blinked, letting my gaze drift across the yard. There, a few feet away, climbing up the side of a trellis near the garden shed, was a rose bush. In the late January heat the few blooms were small and withered, but there was one rose lower down that caught my attention. Fleshy and so deeply blood-red it was almost black.
I got up and went over, crouched to breathe the flower’s scent.
My heart flipped over.
I was no connoisseur of fragrance and I’d only ever smelled that particular perfume once before – but it was unmistakable. A sweet dark essence with a peppery hint of cinnamon.
‘Lovely, aren’t they?’ Luella said. ‘Are you fond of roses, dear?’
Turning, I saw that she sat alone on the tartan rug. Bronwyn had scampered off to inspect a statue half-hidden in a leafy corner, and I could hear her talking to Gruffy. I joined Luella, hoping I wasn’t about to overstep the mark.
‘I do like roses, though I’m not much of a gardener. Those are a distinctive variety, aren’t they? Such a gorgeous perfume.’
‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘The bush grew off a cutting taken from the arbour at Thornwood. Although the old tree has died now, such a shame,’ she added. She looked away, seeking Bronwyn over by the hydrangeas, perhaps in a bid to remind herself that any discomfort she felt with me was worth enduring.
‘I visited the Lutheran church the other day,’ I said, testing the water, feeling my pulse kick up a notch. ‘It’s such a quaint old building, I thought I might take some photos . . .’ I’d been about to spin a lie; I seemed to be getting rather good at doing that lately. But I caught myself in time. ‘Actually, I was curious to see some of the old graves. There was one in particular that grabbed my attention, because it had been recently tended. And it had a vase of roses on it . . . in fact they were identical to yours.’
Luella must have heard something in my voice, because she looked at me and frowned. I sensed she was waiting for me to elaborate.
I sighed. ‘It was your mother’s grave, Luella. I’m sorry, but I was curious. Since I’ve been at Thornwood, I . . . well, I couldn’t help wondering.’
She nodded, but seemed more puzzled than upset by my confession. Then, still frowning, she said, ‘Who’d be tending her grave? Does the pastor employ someone now, a gardener? I wouldn’t have thought they’d have the funds.’
‘Oh, I thought . . .’
She looked at me, and understanding dawned in her eyes. ‘You thought it was me?’
‘Well, I . . . Yes.’
She slumped, her fleshy shoulders and arms caving in around her. ‘Oh no, pet. I never go to the cemetery. Not to visit my mother, and I don’t go to the Presbyterian to visit my daughter. They’re sad places, graveyards, aren’t they?’
Her simple comment tugged at me. Luella was a large woman, but at that moment she looked frail as a bird, sitting on the tartan rug, obviously uncomfortable with her legs tucked under her and her bulges straining against the floral fabric of her frock. I wanted to protect her, to soothe away her hurt and chase the pain of the past. Ridiculous, of course. How could anyone, let alone a virtual stranger, do that? Besides, I wasn’t the type to go around doling out hugs.
‘I’m afraid I’ve overwhelmed you again, Luella. I’m so sorry.’
She sighed. ‘Don’t mention it, Audrey love. It’s not your fault. I expect you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed yourself, getting tangled up in Tony’s muddled family affairs.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, managing a feeble laugh. ‘Just a bit.’
Luella smiled too. For the first time since we’d met, the warmth that she usually reserved for Bronwyn touched me. I dared to hope that this might be a sign that she was opening up, starting to trust me. Perhaps soon she might even be willing to talk more about her mother and Samuel.
‘You know,’ she began, and leaned a fraction closer, ‘when I was Bronwyn’s age – ’
‘Grandy!’ Bronwyn sprang from the sunlight into the shade. ‘Guess what?’
Luella looked around. She beamed up at Bronwyn and cooed, ‘What’s that, love?’
I breathed a private prayer that Bronwyn’s interjection would be brief and that she’d dart off as quickly as she’d materialised, so Luella could then resume whatever it was she’d been about to disclose. But Bronwyn flopped onto the tartan rug and, grabbing a plate, scooped up a wedge of cheesecake no doubt to fortify herself, and then began.
‘You’ll never guess what I did this morning. I helped return a little boobook owl to its nest!’
‘A boobook owl,’ Luella marvelled. ‘Goodness me! How did you manage that?’
My heart sank. This was going to be a train wreck. I tried to catch Bronwyn’s attention, maybe distract her, but she was too intent on her grandmother, not even taking her eyes from Luella when she paused to gulp some lemonade. Then she was off.
‘It had fallen out of the fig tree in our front yard last week, you see, and Mr Miller found it and took it over to Danny – that is, Jade’s dad – to check no legs or anything were broken. Well, the little owl was fine, so this morning Mr Miller climbed our tree and set it back into its nest . . . and I helped him! The mother owl was watching from a nearby branch, and a few minutes after we pulled the ladder away she flew down to . . . to – ’ She stopped.
Luella had gone pale. She was trying to act interested in what Bronwyn was telling her, but I could see the white strain around her eyes.
‘Bron,’ I said into the gap of silence, ‘I think I’ve left my sunglasses in the car, honey, would you get them for me?’
She frowned. ‘Mum, you had them in your hand when we arrived.’
I tossed her the keys. ‘And check I left a window open, while you’re there, otherwise we’ll fry on the way home.’
She gave me a questioning look that said: Something’s going on, you’ll tell me later, right? I nodded at her silent request, not because I had any intention of filling her in, just to get rid of her. I waited until she’d vanished around the side of the house, before looking at Luella.
‘Hobe’s been to the house a few times,’ I told her. ‘He and his brother cleaned up the garden for me. He asked after you this morning, and said to give you his regards.’
‘I see.’
Luella carved off a slice of cake. Her fingers didn’t tremble, but there was a jerkiness to her movements, as though her gracefulness had come unstuck. She plopped the segment of cake onto my plate without asking, and cut another slice for herself. Spearing it with a fork, she lifted it to her lips. Chewed mechanically, swallowed.
‘How is he?’ she said stiffly.
‘He’s well.’ This was ridiculous. ‘Luella, are you all right?’
‘Yes! Oh . . . not really.’
I sighed. ‘We’ve done it again, haven’t we?’
Luella toyed with her cake. ‘It’s to be expected, I suppose. It is overwhelming, I haven’t had company in such a very long time. So many years have passed, and yet I find that the memories rush back faster and faster, and sometimes I can’t control them. It’s not your fault, Audrey. But you must forgive me. Seeing you and Bronwyn, as wonderful as it is . . . well, I suppose you’ve guessed that I’m not all that well equipped to deal with the excitement.’
‘Und
er the circumstances,’ I said quietly, ‘I think you’re doing a terrific job.’
She looked over at me, her eyes moist and wide. ‘Did Tony tell you what happened between his father and Hobe Miller?’
‘I know they had a falling out.’
She nodded. ‘It happened a week or so before we lost Glenda. Cleve and I had a dreadful quarrel. He stormed off, took the kids somewhere in the car. It wasn’t until much later that I learnt he’d gone to the Millers’.’ She paused, staring at the crumbs on her plate as though hoping to find the right words among them. She sighed. ‘There was a fight. Hobe was injured.’
‘That’s how he lost his eye?’
‘Yes. Afterwards, Cleve confessed he’d had a turn of some sort, that he’d lost his head and wanted to punish me for our quarrel. The police were here, Cleve was charged, and the date for the court hearing set. Only Cleve never made it to the hearing, he disappeared the week before. He must have had another turn, because . . . well, I take it you know about his car being found in the dam?’
I nodded.
Luella’s face was rumpled-looking, her cheeks pale. ‘So now I can’t help wondering if, after all these years, Hobe still bears a grudge against Cleve – and me – for what happened.’
Her mention of a grudge made me reflect again on Hobe’s possible involvement in Glenda’s accident. But I also remembered the glint of hopefulness Hobe had betrayed that morning. ‘Luella, I’m sure he doesn’t.’
She didn’t appear to hear, captured as she was by some private thought. Bronwyn’s voice drifted from the front yard as she called to Gruffy. In the stillness her voice was as eerie and disembodied as the call of a wood pigeon.
We left soon after.
As we stood in the front yard saying goodbye, Luella invited us back the following Saturday. Bronwyn regretfully reminded her that she’d be at school camp, but we could visit the weekend after, if that was all right?
Luella nodded, pleased . . . but I could still see the strain in her face and the tight way she held her shoulders. She gave Bronwyn a great big bear hug, then surprised me with a kiss on the cheek.
