by Kim Lock
A mosquito hovered over the back of her hand, seemingly indecisive as it darted back and forth, searching for the warmest, tastiest place to land. It alighted in the dip between two knuckles; she felt the faintest sting as it sunk its proboscis into her skin.
‘I’ve been thinking about that grave,’ Aida said. ‘“Fear not, dry your tears”. It’s a message, don’t you think? Telling us that even when the worst happens – “Here he lies” – in the end, we’re all human. We are all in this together. So dry your tears, don’t be afraid.’
Aida looked up into the soughing limbs of the gum tree, shifting dark cracks against the sky. Finally she said, ‘I have been waiting for her to show up on the doorstep for fifty years.’
Elsie took her hand. ‘It could still happen.’
‘Imagine if my parents hadn’t been lying when they said I could keep her. I try to imagine what it would have been like.’ Aida smiled. ‘Raised her as my sister. Life would have been entirely different. I wouldn’t be here.’
Elsie smiled sadly; she couldn’t imagine it, her life without Aida. ‘You said it was because the baby was born . . . the way she was. Do you think they would have relented and kept her, otherwise?’
Aida shook her head. ‘No. They were all so insistent – my parents, the nuns and doctors – that it was selfish to “burden a child with my sins”. Giving her away would give her chance at a good life.’ She sighed, looking at the sprinkler raining over the vegetable garden.
Elsie squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. And you never know, love –’
The back door banged open. They both jumped, startled to see Thomas striding across the garden. He moved towards them like a much younger man.
‘What is he –’ Aida gasped, ‘is he wearing his suit?’
‘Good lord,’ Elsie said, trying to suppress a smile. ‘He’s even wearing a tie.’
‘Why are you wearing – what are you doing?’ Aida shrieked.
In front of Aida, Thomas lowered himself to the ground. With one knee bent, he fished around in his pocket and withdrew a small velvet covered box. He pressed it into Aida’s hands, clasping his own hands around hers.
‘You’ll forgive me for taking far too long to ask you this, my dear,’ he said. ‘But it’s time I made an honest woman out of you. Will you marry me and Elsie?’
Elsie was at her side, holding her up. She was laughing and sobbing at the same time. Or perhaps that was Aida, she couldn’t tell.
‘I thought you’d keeled over on us,’ Aida said, sinking to her knees in front of Thomas. ‘I thought you’d given up.’
‘Not yet, my love,’ he said.
The three of them knelt on the grass, their heads bent together, gumnuts pressing into their tender skin, as the galahs pulled in the evening overhead.
74
Elsie watched the rocky coastal landscape flash by outside the car window while nerves fluttered about inside her body. Was she nervous because of today’s plans, or because she had felt cripplingly anxious for two weeks? It was hard to tell the difference.
Joseph was driving, and he was talking but Elsie wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she was thinking as she looked at the back of Thomas’s near-bald head in the seat in front of her, and as she reached across to take Aida’s hand, that they should have done this years ago.
It wouldn’t be legal, of course. One man and his one wife – that was the law. But it would mean something to them. What did an official piece of paper, a record in the registry office, really matter? The signature of an authorised registrar wouldn’t make their love for each other any stronger, any more legitimate in their eyes.
Only hours after Thomas’s garden proposal, Millie and her middle daughter, Jasmine had swept in, laden with armfuls of glossy bridal magazines. ‘Leave it to us!’ they cried, and set about with fevered murmurings over the kitchen table, paper strewn about them like the wreckage from a small grenade explosion. Over outdoors versus indoors, afternoon or dusk, the coast or the river or the vineyards, they had argued and laughed and implored their elders to leave it all to us. For two weeks they strode in and out of the house at all hours of the day and night, carrying swatches of fabric or slices of cake. All Elsie, Aida and Thomas had to do was show up.
So now, after all the decisions had been made and the weather forecast pored over, and Arthur and his family had touched down on South Australian soil, Joseph drove them the two-hour trip up the coast, with the rest of the family following in convoy. At the small beachside town, they arrived at the local caravan park and checked into their cabins. Joseph’s car crawled down the narrow paved drive, between sprinklers juddering over strips of lawn and sagging lengths of electrical cords tethering caravans to power outlets while aging, shirtless men reclined in folding chairs and stared unashamedly. Ensuite cabin numbers 6, 7 and 8 – all booked under the name ‘Mullet’ – were down the back of the park, and they spent the afternoon getting ready together, darting in and out of each other’s cabins like worker ants. Elsie was amazed at how big a crowd of only twelve could seem when they were all so busy and jolly.
Eventually they were dressed and ready, and piled back into the cars for the short drive to the coast.
It was a beautiful day, the sun lazing in its sheet of gauzy sky. The parkland nestled atop a low cliff where the land rose up from a meandering crescent of beach. Overlooking the sea was a tree-lined stretch of lawn, studded with picnic tables and stretches of blossoming tea-tree.
Thomas, looking as dashing as the day he had married Elsie in 1960, was dressed in a lightweight, dark navy suit over an open-collared shirt. Elsie wore a two-piece skirt suit in a colour somewhere between blushing peach and mushroom. It brought out the blue in her eyes, Jasmine had said earlier in the cabin, as she handed her a small bouquet of dark red rose buds.
As they stepped out of Joseph’s car, Aida held up her hem and Elsie chuckled again at the heel of her shoes. ‘I can’t wait to see you walk across the grass in those,’ she said.
Aida smiled so broadly that for a second, Elsie forgot Thomas was ill. Aida’s long dress was made of a dark emerald satin, cut to hug the curves she still had, even in her seventies. Strands of silver draped around her throat, and her hair, a shameless steely silver, shone in glossy waves down the sides of her neck.
The breeze came straight across the surface of the ocean, tossed up the cliffs to finger their hair and leave a fine salt spray on their skin. Sun warmed the sap in the cypress and the trees gave off a fresh scent that reminded Elsie of camping, of hot evenings eating fish and chips.
Nerves clutched again at Elsie’s belly and she wanted to laugh aloud. Fancy after all this time feeling nervous about fifteen minutes in front of their children and grandchildren. But looking at them all in a group like that, all dressed up and merry, it was so bittersweet that Elsie knew she would not get through the ceremony without making a weepy mess of herself.
Although she had made a promise to Thomas, Elsie couldn’t help but glance feverishly about the trees. Would she know, when she saw?
Gripping hands, with Elsie in the middle, the three made their way across the lawn to where their family gathered at a low stone fence at the edge of the cliff: Millie and Joseph and their three children; Arthur and his Pommie wife, Jane, and their two children.
Dappled in the shade, their family stood in fine dresses and strappy heels, smart suits and ties. Arthur and Joseph wore reflective sunglasses and held bottles of craft beer, Millie and Jane cradled tall glasses of sparkling wine and the girls had flowers in their hair. Laughter floated up into the boughs of the cypresses, the jovial notes snatched up by the briny breeze and carried out to sea. They were greeted by smiling faces, furtively wiped tears and raised glasses.
At the fence, Arthur’s eldest, Cara, wearing a long pearlescent dress that pooled on the grass about her feet, was seated on a folding chair with her arms draped
over a guitar on her knee. She gave them a wink and began to strum a tune Elsie didn’t recognise, but that didn’t matter, because it was a beautiful song and would play in Elsie’s mind for days. (She would hear it on the radio a few weeks later, and she and Aida would shriek with excited recognition and Thomas would grumble about the lack of peace an old man could get in his dying bloody days.)
Elsie took one last final, darting look about the park, but she still didn’t see anything.
In front of their children and grandchildren, Thomas read his vows first. He declared his love for his wife Elsie, and then for Aida, and formally promised his heart to her to hold. He took her as his wife in as many words. Then it was Aida’s turn, and she told Thomas that he had been hers for many years, and thanked him for bringing Elsie to her.
Finally, it was Elsie’s turn. The sheet of paper she had typed up shook in her hands. She cleared her throat and glanced up at her family. Millie wiped away a tear and gave her an encouraging smile.
‘I, Elsie Mullet, take thee, Aida Glasson, to be my wife,’ she said. ‘To have and to hold, in sickness and in health.’
The formal marriage vows had been her own idea. At first Millie had frowned. ‘You have to say something contemporary, Mum,’ she said. But Elsie had insisted. She wanted the same vows she had exchanged with Thomas. She wanted Aida to experience that.
‘Forsaking all others,’ she said. ‘For as long as we both shall live.’
The guitar strummed, Cara’s notes rolling into the breeze with the sniffs and sobs from the small group.
‘So,’ Thomas said, at another visual nudge from Millie, ‘I don’t have power vested in me by any state or god or what have you. But I do have some power myself. And that’s pretty good, I reckon. I’ve had a long and happy life so I must have done something right. I’ve said it a thousand times over the years – I’m a damn lucky man.’ A laugh went through the group. ‘So by the power vested in the three of us,’ Thomas finished, ‘I pronounce us wife, and wife, and husband.’
He grinned at them. ‘You can kiss the bride.’
And then Elsie kissed Aida, and her lips felt as soft and warm as the day Aida had kissed her beneath the pepper tree, all those years ago.
Her husband’s wife. Her wife.
*
A swarm of hugs and kisses, rose petals littering their shoulders. Laughter; already the men’s voices had grown beery-boisterous, ringing out over the park.
On a table in the shade, Millie and Jane were unwrapping plates of food, calling them over. The children raced past, jostling and elbowing each other, diving on the food like footballers over a loose ball.
Watching them, Elsie felt a hand on her elbow. Thomas.
‘See her?’ he whispered.
Elsie’s heart banged and she whirled around. ‘No, I’ve been looking. Where?’
‘She’s been watching from her car. But now she’s there – by the wall.’
Elsie looked, and now she saw. Standing a way off, by the wall at the cliff, she appeared as a single, unremarkable person, taking in the view of the ocean.
‘And you’re certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘But how do we know –?’
‘She found the paperwork. The original records. It’s all there.’
Elsie’s knees weakened.
He lifted his hand and waved, and Elsie saw her nod. Jacqueline March walked towards them, her long floral dress skimming the grass, a cardigan about her shoulders. As she drew closer, Elsie saw the one empty sleeve, a small hand held at her chest.
Aida appeared beside them, holding a glass of wine. She was laughing. ‘If you want anything to eat, you’d better hurry up. I just watched Samuel swallow a drumstick without even chewing it. It’s like the kids haven’t eaten in . . . what are you two whispering about?’
The woman was closer. Oh, yes. Now Elsie knew it, too. Those green eyes were unmistakable.
Thomas turned to Aida.
He said, ‘My love, there’s someone who’d like to meet you.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land on which I live and work, and pay my respects to Elders, past and present.
I am incredibly fortunate to work with the stellar team at Pan Macmillan Australia. My thanks especially to Mathilda Imlah, Cate Paterson and Alex Lloyd, whose skilful guidance and insight have improved this story immensely. Many thanks also to Léa Antigny, Jo Jarrah, Samantha Sainsbury, Haylee Nash, and to Lisa White for the beautiful cover design.
My gratitude to my wonderful agent Pippa Masson, for her encouragement and care, and thank you as well to all the staff at Curtis Brown Australia.
For generously donating their time to read drafts, answer tricky questions, provide invaluable feedback or offer much-needed cheering and support, my sincere thanks to Laura Elvery, Margaret Ferguson, Kathy George, Robyn Laurenson, Renee Lock, Leisa Masters (the bestest bestie), Mhairead MacLeod, Kelly Morgan (who brings so much, even whisky), Amber Mount, J.M. Peace, Hayley Prentice, Sarah Ridout, and Les Zig (the inimitable).
Sometimes, when writing fiction, truth becomes flexible and for this reason I hope readers will forgive the occasional liberty of creative licence in this story. (For instance, that Electrolux’s ‘Luxomatic’ did not appear on the market until the mid 1960s, and that figs don’t fruit in spring.) Please note also that certain character attitudes reflect those of the times, and not of the author.
And of course, thank you to my family: my parents Peter and Julie (who are too young to remember the time periods I grilled them about), and my love to Ben, Addi and Leo.
About Kim Lock
Kim Lock is the author of three novels. Her second novel, Like I Can Love, has been published internationally. Her writing has also appeared in Kill Your Darlings, The Guardian, Daily Life and The Sydney Morning Herald online, amongst others. Kim lives in the Barossa Valley, South Australia, with her family.
Also by Kim Lock
Like I Can Love
This is a work of fiction. Characters, institutions and organisations mentioned in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.
First published 2018 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000
Copyright © Kim Lock 2018
The moral right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
The author and the publisher have made every effort to contact copyright holders for material used in this book. Any person or organisation that may have been overlooked should contact the publisher.
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
from the National Library of Australia
http://catalogue.nla.gov.au
EPUB format: 9781760558550
Typeset by Post Pre-press Group
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