And thus it was that when Ruth McIvor arrived, all she found amidst the junk on the porch was a thin, barefoot boy wearing a strange hat, fast asleep in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Excuse me.’
William was dreaming of horseflies, giant ones that hummed like bees. When he opened his eyes a black car sat in the drive, and an unknown woman stood upon the steps, frowning at him.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘Captain Bill,’ he said, still half in his dream.
She blinked. ‘I’m here to see my father.’
William fought his way out of sleep. This was the daughter! She had caught him unawares after all.
She said,‘Can you tell me where I’d find Mrs Griffith?’
William continued to stare. She was so old! Older than his mother even, by far. He had expected someone younger. It was because of the word ‘daughter’, he realised belatedly. But this woman looked at least fifty, with a narrow face, deeply lined, and close-cut, greying hair. She was dressed in a dark suit, and radiated a tense severity.
‘Mrs Griffith?’ she repeated. ‘Is she around?’
He spoke finally. ‘I don’t know.’
The frown turned quizzical.‘Do you live here?’
William nodded. ‘With my mother.’ He was puzzled. Didn’t she know who he was? He had assumed that the housekeeper had told the daughter all about him.
‘Your mother? What does she do here?’
He cast about for an answer.‘Uncle John said we could move in.’
‘Uncle?’
‘I mean, great uncle.’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Oh.’ She studied him with full attention finally.‘You must be my cousin’s son. I haven’t seen him in years. And your mother’s name is Veronica, isn’t it?’ But the frown remained.‘I don’t understand. I thought they had a farm.’
‘Dad died.’
‘Died?’ She mused on this. ‘I didn’t know.’ Then she glanced around again. ‘I was really hoping Mrs Griffith would be here.’
No, William thought. The housekeeper had set her plans in motion, and now she would remain in the shadows to watch them unfold. She might be observing them even at this moment, from the corner of some window. But she wouldn’t come forth.
Instead, William’s mother appeared in the doorway, her face pinched unhappily.
‘Ruth,’ she said.
‘Veronica,’ returned the newcomer levelly. ‘I’m sorry. No one told me my father had other people in the House.’
William’s mother nodded, her eyes dropping to the front of her dress, where her hands clutched at the material.‘You’d better come in.’
They passed into the entry hall, and William followed. It was sweltering indoors. He watched as Ruth took in the shabby walls and cluttered passages of her father’s home.
She took a deep breath. ‘So how is he?’
‘He’s better than he was,’ William’s mother answered, wary.
‘Better? Then he isn’t…?’
‘I don’t know what Mrs Griffith told you.’
Ruth’s shoulders stiffened. ‘She said he was dying.’
‘No … not any more.’
‘She said he was asking for me.’
‘I don’t know anything about that either.’
‘I see.’ The daughter flushed. ‘There seems to have been a mistake.’
‘I could find Mrs Griffith if you want.’
‘No … I don’t really know her. She was just supposed to call me if…’ She trailed off and glanced back towards the front door, tight lipped.
So the housekeeper had lied, and now the daughter knew it. William caught a furtive gleam of hope in his mother’s eyes. ‘I could tell him you called,’ she said carefully, ‘if you don’t think you should stay.’
But at that, Ruth turned her head and studied the younger woman for a long moment. Then, strangely, she smiled, and for the first time William saw the ghost of his uncle in her.
‘So how long have you been living here, Veronica?’
The gleam blinked out. ‘Four months now.’
‘And your husband was…?’
‘Killed. In an accident.’
‘And my father was kind enough to take you in.’
William’s mother nodded, curling in on herself.
Ruth was still smiling.‘I’m glad. It must be nice for him, to have some company about.’ She glanced down at William. ‘Especially someone young. What was your name again?’
‘William.’
‘After your dad, of course. You like living in this big house, do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at school? Or is it holidays?’
‘He’s sick,’ William’s mother broke in.‘He’s got glandular fever.’
‘It’s nothing serious, I hope.’
‘No. He’ll be fine.’
A silence fell. William looked from one woman to the other, sensing an unspoken battle of wills, delicately poised. He was also uncomfortably aware of the contrast the two made, and that his mother came away the poorer. Maybe it was just her old floral dress, faded and drab against the visitor’s more sophisticated clothes, or her wispy mouse-brown hair against the older woman’s striking grey. But whatever it was, his mother looked insubstantial, a wan, weaker woman.
Finally, Ruth spoke.‘So … he’s in his room?’
William’s mother hesitated, then gave a sullen nod of defeat.
‘And where is that?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know the way. I’ve never been here before.’
‘Oh,’ William’s mother stared in amazement.‘It’s up the stairs. The west wing, last room on the right.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘You should watch the floors.’
Ruth paused, an eyebrow raised.
‘For holes,’ William’s mother concluded, faint.
‘I will,’ said the daughter, and began climbing.
William watched her until she disappeared through the partition. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. How could it be that Ruth had never even been inside the House before? Her father had lived on the property for over twenty years — had she never visited in all that time?
His mother looked away from the stairs. ‘Come on,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘Let’s leave them to it. They don’t need you or me any more.’
Together they went back out to the front porch. His mother sank into the chair and William sat on the top step. They didn’t speak for some time. The afternoon was lengthening, but the heat remained, stultifying, and still no breath of wind stirred the air. All was silent, a limbo world, miles from anywhere. Ruth’s car crouched in the driveway.
‘Should I get her bags?’ William asked.
‘She can get them herself, if she has any.’
‘Isn’t she going to be staying?’
‘That’s up to her.’ His mother lifted her eyes to the second storey.‘And your uncle, I suppose.’
William thought.‘Do they really hate each other?’
‘That’s what I was always told.’
‘Why?’
‘Christ, I don’t know. It was years ago. There was a falling out — I think she took up with some man your Uncle John didn’t like.’
‘Who?’
‘Just some man. It doesn’t matter. He left her, long ago.’
But there was another question, one William had been wondering about ever since he had learnt of Ruth’s existence. ‘Mum … does Uncle John have a wife?’
‘He did.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Will, please! I can’t explain everything. Not right his second.’
William subsided. His mother tapped a foot restlessly, her head on an angle. She was listening for noises from the upper floor. William looked towards the ceiling. What was happening up there? What could they possibly be talking about, after so long apart? But the minutes inched by, ten, twenty, thirty, and
still Ruth did not come down.
‘She has her father’s eyes,’ his mother said hopelessly, to no one.
In the end it was almost an hour before Ruth came back out to the porch. She was fumbling in her pockets as she emerged, and brought forth a pack of cigarettes. She lit one up and sucked in the smoke with a long, shuddering breath. The time with her father had changed her — or maybe it was the heat of the upstairs rooms. She looked exhausted, her face sheened with sweat, her clothes wilted. She would go now, William thought. She would take out her keys and, without another word, climb into her car and drive off, never to be seen again.
‘Is there a spare bedroom?’ she asked hoarsely, staring out at the plains.
William watched his mother absorb the news. ‘You’re staying then,’ she said.
‘I don’t know.’ The words were bitten off. ‘It’s not my decision.’
William realised that Ruth was furious. And then, to his alarm, she turned her gaze to him, the cigarette clamped tightly in her fingers.
‘My father said that I had to ask William. Apparently, it’s his choice.’
In a horrified flash, William understood. They had talked about him — this nephew who had come into the House. And now the decision was his to make. The old man must have planned it all along. A lesson, for both nephew and daughter. A test for him, and a humiliation for her.
William was aware of his mother’s wide stare, startled and hopeful, and knew what she wanted him to do. But what could he say? He was a nine-year-old boy, and Ruth was a grown-up. It wasn’t right that he could tell her what to do. For a long instant he hung on the horn of the decision, wondering if he actually dared … but it was impossible. He could never say it.
‘Well?’
‘I dunno.’ William’s voice sounded small in his ears. ‘You can stay if you want.’
His mother’s face fell. He had failed her, he knew. And perhaps his uncle as well.
‘Thank you,’ said his cousin stiffly. ‘Now, can someone show me to the phone?’
Chapter Thirty-two
WILLIAM WALKED THE RUINS OF THE GARDEN. IT WAS LATE evening, and he had come out there to escape the heat, but the darkness was just as heavy as the day, the air just as breathless. Overhead the stars were lost in haze, and a sombre glow on the eastern horizon spoke of fires in the foothills.
He was thinking about Ruth McIvor. His cousin had moved herself into one of the downstairs bedrooms of the west wing. William had overheard her on the phone, arranging extra time off from work, her voice tired and brusque as she explained that, no, she couldn’t say how long she would be staying. But for William there was a bigger question. Why was she staying at all? Her father wasn’t dying and did not need her. Indeed, the old man had only insulted her, thrusting his nephew in Ruth’s face, the very boy who had supplanted her. So why was she still here?
He kicked about the garden beds, going nowhere. According to his mother, the answer was simple. It was all about who would inherit the station when his uncle died. Now that Ruth knew her birthright had been stolen away, she would not leave again until she had reclaimed it.
It made sense. And yet…
William looked up to the House, the prize in question. It hulked against the sky, ivy creepers dangling from its gutters like the shreds of torn rigging. He turned away and drifted across to the pool, gazing into its empty depths. He sighed, unsure about everything.
Close by, a naked flame flared to life.
‘Don’t fall in.’
He started. Ruth was sitting on the far edge of the pool, lighting a cigarette. He caught a glimpse of her grey hair, hands cupped close, her eyes watching him. Then the flame died, and she was only a pale figure in the night, exhaling smoke.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ she said.‘Why is this pool empty?’
William studied her doubtfully.‘There’s a hole in it.’
‘That’s a shame. You must wish you had a place to go swimming.’
Her tone was friendly, nothing like it had been earlier. But then William thought of the water hole. He frowned. Is that what she meant? Was she hinting at something?
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was hoping we’d meet up.’
‘Why?’
‘Just for a talk.’
Don’t trust her, his uncle had told him. And yet it didn’t seem to William that he could just walk away. He circled the pool warily, and then sat down on the edge, some distance from his cousin. She smoked in silence for a time, and the air was so still that William could see the smoke from her cigarette rising vertically into the night, an unruffled line.
‘Just so you know,’ she said finally, ‘it wasn’t you I was mad at this afternoon.’
William made no reply.
She blew out smoke and pointed. ‘Look at that, even the diving board is broken. Everything is falling down around here. I don’t know how you put up with it.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘The House, the yard … you don’t mind?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’d want it fixed up, if I had to live here.’
William stared at her suspiciously, alert for a hidden attack. ‘Uncle John said it would cost too much to fix up properly.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘He said it would cost a million dollars. Even more.’
‘As much as that?’ She was taunting him now, he knew, but then the smile in her voice faded away. ‘Tell me, Will, have you ever heard of the Heritage Trust?’
‘No.’
‘It’s an organisation that looks after historical buildings. Like this one.’
William glanced up to the House and its broken-back roof line.
Ruth was looking at it too.‘Ten years or so ago the Trust made an approach to my father. They wanted to restore this place. People in the district thought it ought to be done — the House used to be the centre for the whole region, after all, so they didn’t like the idea of it just falling down. There was talk of fundraising and getting in volunteers. All they needed was my father’s permission. And the only thing the Trust wanted in return was for the House and the gardens to be open to the public occasionally. Not all the time, just now and then.’
‘He said no?’
‘More than that — he took legal action against the Trust to stop them interfering in his business. So that was that.’ She flicked ash away, turned her shadowed gaze to William. ‘Believe me, my father has no interest whatever in fixing this place up.’
William looked towards the House again, its ruinous presence a mute witness. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, it sounded like something his uncle would do, it was just that …
Ruth laughed lowly. ‘I know. Why should you listen to me?’
William thought in puzzled silence. ‘How do you know this stuff?’
‘About the Trust?’
‘You said you’d never been here before.’
‘I heard it from a friend at work. But the truth is, I have been here once before. Only I didn’t go past the front door.’ She inspected the stub of her cigarette, ground it out against the wall of the pool. ‘I was just here to pick up my mother.’
Her mother. William hesitated, feeling that, out of respect for his uncle, this was not something he was meant to know about. And yet he did want to know.
‘What happened to her?’ he asked.
‘She left him.’
‘Why?’
‘It was partly because of this place. I think it was 1970 when they finally moved in. My mother hated it. Dark little rooms, dark little hallways. She left after only a few months. Of course, leaving was the easy part. What she had to do then was build up the nerve to actually divorce him. That took her another five years.’ She paused. ‘He’s never told you any of this?’
‘No.’
‘I wonder why.’ For a moment it seemed that she would say no more. But then she shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to mind so much, when she left. But divorce — that got him mad. Divorce i
nvolved money. He didn’t want to give her a cent. We had to take him to court in the end. After all, it was her inheritance that got them started in the first place.’
She tilted her head ironically.
‘It’s odd, you know, but my father has always been lucky with inheriting things.’
She cleared the thought away.
‘Anyway, we won, and he owed mum exactly half of everything. The problem was, all his money was tied up in this station. So he was left with a choice — either split the property and give half to her, or buy her out. It nearly killed him, I think, that decision.’
‘What did he do?’
‘The place is still in one piece, isn’t it? But he had to go into debt to do it. He’d never liked loans, but this time he borrowed a lot. Obviously, after that, his plans to restore the House had to be put on hold. He hated us for that. Hated Mum, anyway. He was already long through with me.’
William sat up straight. ‘Then it’s not his fault.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘He really couldn’t afford to fix up the House.’
Ruth laughed again. ‘That was eighteen years ago. He’s got plenty of money now. No — he likes the House this way. So he can show everyone how badly the world has treated him.’
William slumped. It seemed that there was no safe ground between father and daughter. But Ruth was oblivious, lighting another cigarette.
‘You see, after fighting so long to get his hands on this place, it all fell apart. His wife left him, he had no money, I suppose he felt robbed. And everything else was changing. The Whitlam government was in then — it was their new divorce laws that helped my mother win — and all the rules were being thrown out the window. People out here didn’t like it, my father in particular. So he holed up in this terrible old building and sulked. Then he started up the League.’
The White Earth Page 24
