‘Darling Jenny.’ Had Uncle Peter really said that? And it wasn’t so much what he’d said but the way he’d said it. ‘Darling Jenny.’ Had her mother been involved with Peter Maclean before she’d married their father? No. Georgia would never believe that Her mother had loved their father so much.
Georgia hadn’t been able to meet Jarrod’s eyes when he’d returned with her tea. Jarrod still loves you, his father had said. Did he? And did she really care?
They’d left Uncle Peter, she and Jarrod, when they were sure he was fully asleep and, once out in the hall, Jarrod had hurried her out to the car as though he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Well, that was fine by her, she’d thought as she’d said a quick farewell to her aunt
‘Lockie will have the car back as soon as he can,’ she had added stiffly as Jarrod opened the door for her.
‘There’s no hurry. I’ve got the wagon.’ He’d closed the door and Georgia had switched on the ignition. ‘And Georgia-’ his hands had rested on the window-frame, preventing her from driving off ‘-Peter drifts off like that all the time, sort of slips into semi-consciousness, and he often gets confused. So don’t take any notice of what he says.’
Georgia had looked up at him, into his eyes, and his lashes had fallen, masking his expression. Why had she got the impression quite suddenly that he had wanted to say more? His fingers had been white where he’d gripped the window-frame and there’d been a watchful tension in him.
‘They all grew up around here,’ she had said to him. ‘My mother, Aunt Isabel and your father, so-’ she shrugged ‘-I guess your father would have known my mother since she was bom.’
Jarrod had nodded grimly and without a word he’d stepped back to allow her to drive away.
‘Life’s never dull, I’ll say that!’ Lockie was exclaiming now.
‘What’s wrong now?’ Georgia forced herself to concentrate on what her brother was saying.
‘Andy rang while you were out. Some of the other tenants where Andy has his new flat have complained about his practising again. And he’s barely been there a week.’ He threw his arms up. ‘Can you believe it? They can’t do that, can they? Throw him out, I mean?’
‘Depends when he’s been playing his drums,’ Georgia replied, feeling some sympathy for Andy’s fellow tenants.
‘During the day, mostly.’ Lockie frowned and shook his head. ‘The landlord gave him a week to find somewhere else.’
‘That’s not long.’
‘No. Pretty near impossible. So I told him he could move in here in the meantime.’
‘You what?’ Georgia stared at her brother.
‘I said he could stay with us,’ Lockie repeated blandly. ‘What else could I do? Andy was in a spot. What are friends for?’
‘But, Lockie, we don’t have room,’ Georgia told him.
‘Andy can share with me. He doesn’t mind.’
Georgia sighed exasperatedly. ‘And what about all Andy’s furniture and things?’
‘We can store them under the house in the junk room. Dad’s been onto me to sort through all that stuff, so I’ll do it now and make space for Andy’s gear. In fact I’ve already made a start on it, while you were collecting the car. It’s only for a few weeks till Andy finds somewhere else. We can practise here too, during the day. We haven’t got any neighbours to disturb.’
Lockie was right about that. Their nearest neighbour was Uncle Peter and there were acres of bushland between their houses.
‘You don’t really mind, do you, Georgia?’ Lockie asked. ‘Andy’ll pay his way; he’s not a bludger.’
Georgia shook her head. ‘I guess, if you’re prepared to share your room with him, what can I say? When’s he moving in?’
Lockie grinned and crossed to give her a squeeze. ‘Thanks, Georgia. We’ll move most of his stuff in the morning but Evan’s coming over to pick up the van as soon as I get the tyre fixed. He’s going to collect some of Andy’s stuff while I finish clearing the way downstairs in the storeroom. We’ve got it all worked out.’
‘So it would seem,’ remarked Georgia drily. ‘Dad will think we’ve turned the place into a motel or something.’
‘I’ll ring Dad later, before we leave for the club. Now, I’d best be off to get the tyre. See you later.’
After lunch Georgia determinedly began poring over her studies again. The boys were downstairs, sorting out and storing Andy’s gear. At one stage she had heard the faint strumming of a guitar but all was quiet now and she glanced at the time. Setting aside her books, she went into the kitchen to boil the kettle. What she needed was a nice cup of tea.
‘Georgia?’ Lockie’s footsteps clattered up the back steps. He burst into the kitchen with Andy, Evan and Ken on his heels, and the kitchen’s usually ample proportions became decidedly wanting.
‘I’m making a cup of tea. Anyone want a cup?’ Georgia asked.
‘Later, sis,’ Lockie said, seeming a little preoccupied. ‘Georgia, I can’t believe this. Do you remember it?’ He held up a creased and dog-eared music book.
‘My old songbook? I thought it had been thrown out years ago. Where did you find it?’
‘In the junk room, with a stack of sheet music.’ Lockie flipped the pages. ‘Georgia, these songs-where did you get them? You’ve written them out by hand. Do you remember where you copied them from?’
Georgia took the book from him and laughed embarrassedly. ‘They’re not professional songs, just some silly tunes I wrote when I fancied being a songwriter.’
‘You wrote them?’ Ken gasped.
‘Silly tunes? Are you nuts, Georgia?’ Andy exclaimed at the same time. ‘They’re fantastic, girl. We want to use them in the act.’
Georgia’s eyes went from Andy’s bearded face to her brother. ‘You can’t be serious. I was just fiddling around with them. They’re amateurish.’
‘Would that some pros could be that amateurish.’ Ken grimaced. ‘I wish I’d written them.’
‘We want to copyright them, Georgia, and add them to our routine.’ Lockie took the book back from Georgia’s nerveless fingers and opened it at the first page.
The kettle whistled and Georgia absently switched it off. ‘Lockie, I don’t think-’ she began, but Lockie held up his hand.
‘Just hang on, Georgia. Give us a few chords on the guitar, Ken.’
Ken Wilson put one foot on a chair and settled Lockie’s old folk guitar across his knee. Evan and Lockie stood behind him so they could read the music over his shoulder and they began to sing, softly harmonising with Lockie’s lead.
Georgia listened self-consciously and then there was a moment’s silence when they’d finished.
‘That’s no silly tune,’ Andy said seriously.
‘I guess it sounded all right,’ Georgia agreed uneasily, somewhat amazed at Lockie’s rendition of a song she scarcely recalled putting on paper. Her songwriting phase had been short-lived, existing only until pain had taken precedence. Georgia’s lips tightened. Pain caused by Jarrod Maclean.
‘All right?’ Lockie appealed. ‘Bit of an understatement, wouldn’t you say, Georgia?’ He turned the page. ‘We quickened this one up.’
Ken strummed an up-tempo beat. ‘Come and sing along, Georgia.’
She joined them, humming and then taking up the lyrics.
‘There are eight songs here, all great,’ Lockie enthused when they’d finished the song. He flipped the pages over to the back. ‘But this one’s the best. The greatest.’
The loose sheet slipped out and Lockie laid it on the table.
The title, printed in her own neat hand, hit Georgia a paralysing blow. She felt the colour drain from her face and just as quickly return to wash her cheeks in a fiery blush.
‘No!’ she got out. ‘Not that one, Lockie. That’s private.’ She made to snatch up the page, intent on crumpling it, but Lockie swept it out of her reach. ‘Lockie, please! Throw it away. I didn’t mean to leave it there. It wasn’t…I don’t want…I should have burned it.’ Her vo
ice shook agitatedly.
‘Over my dead body!’ Ken exclaimed.
‘And mine,’ agreed Andy.
‘I’d kill to have written that beauty, Georgia,’ Ken told her seriously. ‘And no one destroys it while I’m around.’
‘It’s not that good,’ she entreated. ‘I never even worked on it’
‘It doesn’t need it. And you’re right about one thing, Georgia,’ Lockie said. ‘It’s not good. It’s just bloody sensational.’
Georgia flushed again. ‘I couldn’t…I can’t…’ She drew a shaky breath. ‘What I mean is, I never meant for anyone to hear it.’
Ken gave a chuckle. ‘I can sort of understand that. It’s a pretty sexy song for an innocent like you.’
Georgia’s face grew redder and the boys laughed.
‘Going to tell us where you picked up the experience to write that song, Georgia?’ teased Evan.
‘Marvellous what a bit of imagination will uncover-hey, Georgia?’ Ken winked.
‘OK, guys.’ Lockie broke in, and the other three laughed louder.
‘Brother to the rescue.’ Andy slapped Lockie on the back, not noticing the way Lockie’s eyes slid embarrassedly from his sister’s.
‘We were just kidding you, Georgia,’ said Andy good-naturedly. ‘But that song will be a hit, make no joke about that. We all think so.’
‘A hit? Wh-what do you mean?’ Georgia stammered as she fought her pressing memories with all the self-control she could assemble. ‘Lockie?’
‘What Andy means is we’ve all decided—’
‘Unanimously, so to speak,’ interrupted Andy.
‘We’ve all decided,’ Lockie continued, ‘it’s the song we’ve been looking for to record. We’ve wanted a song that was strong enough to be the feature of our album. This is it, Georgia.’
‘But I told you it was private, Lockie. I don’t want it performed. It’s-well, it’s…I’d be too embarrassed,’ Georgia finished lamely.
‘Come on, Georgia, just bear with us. Don’t you want to be a wealthy songwriter?’ Lockie grinned appealingly.
‘But, Lockie-’ she began, and Andy gave another chuckle.
‘It’s one of the sexiest songs I’ve ever heard and we’ve decided you can sing it tonight, Georgia, to test it out. We reckon it’ll be fantastic.’
‘Me sing it tonight?’ she squeaked. ‘No way! You guys know I’m only helping you out until Mandy gets back next week. Two nights only. That doesn’t mean I want to learn new material.’
Lockie shot the others a warning look and faced his sister. ‘You already know the song, Georgia, and we can practise it now,’ he said softly, and Georgia stared at him speechlessly.
‘You have to be kidding. And any new material can wait till Mandy gets back,’ Georgia told him firmly.
‘Georgia—’ Andy began, but Lockie stopped him with a negating move of his hand.
‘We’ve been told DJ. Delaney will definitely be at the club tonight. This song will really grab him. It’ll make us, sis.’
Georgia rubbed her temple.
‘We need you, Georgia, and we need your song to attract D.J. Delaney’s attention. That song-’ he indicated the sheet on the table ‘-will be a number-one best-seller, and with the rest of your material on the album it will sell like hot cakes. I tell you, we’re onto a winner here.’
‘He’s right, Georgia,’ Andy agreed, and the other two nodded.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Georgia shook her head. ‘If you do by some miracle get to make this record all I can see is a faint chance for you. How many locally produced records really make it? I’ll bet the statistics are phenomenal for those that don’t.’ Georgia pushed aside the thought that she was voicing Jarrod’s arguments of last night. ‘And I can’t see that this would be any different. You’d need diabolical luck.’
‘Have you lost your ears, girl?’ Lockie exclaimed. ‘Can’t you hear how fantastic it sounds? That one song on its own will take the public by storm.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Look, we’re not asking you to make the record, Georgia. Mandy will be back by then. But we need you for the show tonight.’
‘You’re not just any female voice, you know.’ Andy grinned at her. ‘You’re top class, like Mandy. How about just running through it with us, to see how it sounds?’
Georgia glanced from one to the other and sighed. ‘All right. But I think you’re exaggerating about the song.’
Ken strummed a chord and Georgia began to sing. In no time the boys were harmonising and the pure sounds of the melody filled the kitchen. And Georgia didn’t even have to read the lyrics. She found she remembered each and every one of them. With the boys watching her she managed to remain detached, while one small part of her mourned for that so-inlove young girl she had been when she’d written the song.
‘What did I tell you, sis?’ Lockie exclaimed when they’d spent an hour or so going over the tune. ‘It’s dynamite. Mandy will love it.’
‘I still don’t want to sing it, Lockie,’ Georgia said, and the boys groaned.
‘You have to, Georgia,’ Andy appealed. ‘We’re desperate to make the most of this break.’
‘It all hinges on you, sis.’ Her brother brushed his fair hair off his forehead.
‘But I don’t want that responsibility, Lockie.’
‘Georgia—’
‘I can’t take this any more.’ Georgia swung away from them. ‘I’m going for a walk. I need some space and time to think.’
Scarcely knowing what she intended, Georgia went down the back stairs, her footsteps taking her across to the back fence. She forced open the gate, which was stiff on its hinges, closed it after her and took the pathway through the scrub.
With a part-anticipatory, part-antipathetic feeling of d&e2;j&a4; vu she walked along the well-remembered track, only stopping when she came to the creek, or rather creek bed. After rain it could run, churning the sandy bottom, but more often than not it was just a string of shallow potholes.
The old bridge had gone and a sturdy footbridge had replaced the splintering timbers. Her father and Uncle Peter had seen to that. Afterwards, Georgia stood gazing at the bridge and choked off a slightly hysterical laugh. A classic case of shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted.
In agitation she turned away to raise her eyes to the grassy bank. To their special place.
Her lips twisted cynically but she found herself moving forward, scrambling up the bank to stand beneath the leafy overhang. She gazed at the view-the creek, the dry, grassy paddocks, the gums and she-oaks and wattles, the few cattle grazing in the distance. And the track that continued on to the Macleans’. To Jarrod.
Oh, Jarrod. Her pain escaped on a quivering sigh.
Slowly she sank down to sit on the sparse grass that in the present dry spell valiantly tried to cover the sandy soil.
A cold ache began in the pit of her stomach and she drew up her knees, clasping her arms around them.
She hadn’t been here for years. Hadn’t wanted to revisit the place that held such painful memories. Yet at first she’d haunted the place so hopefully, so sure he’d come back.
But, of course, he hadn’t, and eventually she’d made herself brutally face the fact. Like in the lyrics of the classic old song, he’d done her wrong. And he wasn’t coming back to make it right.
But she still couldn’t understand why he’d done what he had. After all they’d shared. Especially the night she’d written that song.
She had to admit that, with the boys harmonising, her ballads took better shape than she could have imagined when she’d written them, over four years ago.
But that other song-she didn’t think she could bring herself to sing that special song in public. Special song? She lashed out at herself with bitterness. It had only been special then because at the time she had been floating in a state of guileless delusion.
When she’d written it the words had burst forth with little conscious thought on her part. The lyrics had been an extension of th
e wondrously ecstatic aftermath of Jarrod’s lovemaking. Of his hands on her body. And his lips. Georgia tried to block it out of her mind.
Back then she had been so youthfully sure that her music would make her into a household name. Celebrated songwriter, Georgia Grayson.
She pulled a face. When she’d written that special song she had changed her aspirations in one minor detail. Celebrated songwriter, Georgia Maclean.
She gave a softly bitter laugh that caught throatily somewhere in her chest. And she’d been convinced of for ever. For ever. Georgia sighed.
What a mess she’d made of everything back then. And what a fantastic job she’d made of putting the past behind her. If she had been successful she would have been able to sing that song without a qualm. It was a song just like any other song. Words and music.
She was such a wimp. If she had any gumption at all she’d force herself to sing it, and then perhaps she could finally exorcise the ghosts.
Georgia got resolutely to her feet. Languishing here like a wronged Victorian maiden in a decline was cowardly and spineless. And that was what she’d been since Jarrod came home.
She’d allowed his reappearance to get to her, let it feed her insecurities. But the time had come for her to stand up and face it. Otherwise she’d come to hate herself.
She slithered down the bank and began following the path towards home.
And this farce of pretending to Jarrod that she was Country Blues’ regular singer just to get under his skin was ridiculous. Why was she doing it? For revenge? Nothing she could do or say could make Jarrod suffer enough for what had happened. The perpetrators never did suffer. Only their victims bore the scars. Now she had to live with them, get on with her life as she had been doing before he’d come home.
And what was one more performance anyway? Mandy would be back in time for the following weekend’s stint and could be part of Lockie’s recording dreams. And her brother was right-he, all of them, needed this chance.
She rounded the corner of the track just as Lockie was climbing the gate, and behind him stood Andy and a tall, broad-shouldered, so familiar, dark-haired man.
‘There you are, Georgia,’ Lockie said quickly. ‘We were getting worried. We didn’t know where you’d gone—’
Close Relations Page 10
