Simmering Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  Dan scribbled on his to-do list. Bolt window locks.

  They were all just kids: bored, rebellious and ignorant of the consequences until the night of Michael’s accident. How many times since then had Dan cursed his stupidity? If he’d downed one less stubby, taken one less turn around the paddock, called it quits one hour earlier, everyone’s life, including Dan’s, would have turned out differently. Forced into a corner, the town blaming him for Michael’s death, Dan’s final act of defiance had been leaving—if you can call sneaking away in the dark of night without a word an act of defiance.

  He added to the list: Let neighbours know.

  Marriage tended to quell any leftover defiance, which was why Dan was about to go back to that same town. Tracy was desperate to show off to her old school friends and Tracy being Tracy, she couldn’t go to a school reunion alone in case she looked unloved; although no one who went to school with Tracy Rose would think she was anything but adored.

  Dan remembered his wife as the girl everyone wanted to be around. Why someone hadn’t snapped her up between school and when Dan had bumped into her in Sydney years later, he never understood. Maybe their meeting had been fate. She was exactly what he’d needed at the time—the life of the party, a lover of life in general, always optimistic. She took an empty shell of a man and filled him, and for the first time since his mother left, Dan was someone worth loving again. She’d brought out his best and had been good for him ever since, even when he wasn’t good to himself. After twenty years married to him, while he, it had to be said, was married to his job, Tracy deserved his support. He could hardly refuse her this one small request. He’d go to the reunion. He’d do it for Tracy and he’d try damn hard to not dwell on the past.

  Dan’s pen hovered over the latest addition to his to-do list and saw he’d doodled the words: Maggie Lindeman.

  14

  Maggie

  ‘Where have you two been?’ Maggie intercepted Noah and Fiona at the bottom of the stairs. Again, the thought of chaining her son in his room crossed Maggie’s mind.

  ‘Just cruisin’ ’round.’

  She had started to worry when she got home from Saddleton to discover Noah had gone for a drive in Fiona’s car. The pair had been spending way too much time together and their growing friendship was not sitting well with Maggie. The age difference was not her only concern. Maggie had seen the way Fiona put away the booze during the awkward and, as it turned out, uneventful dinner with Cheryl Bailey, and later in the beer garden. Such a sight had taken Maggie back to those occasions she’d sneaked an under-age Amber Bailey into the pub, where there was never a shortage of farmhands willing to buy the most popular girl in Calingarry Crossing a drink.

  ‘Around where, Noah?’ Maggie persisted.

  ‘Went to Saddleton. Got my first tat, too. Whadaya think?’ Noah’s palm gripped his bicep and slid the T-shirt sleeve high to expose a black skull and crossbones tattoo. ‘Like it?’

  Maggie couldn’t speak.

  ‘Chill, Mum, it’s pretend.’ Her son laughed. ‘We ran into Jennifer at the post office. She’d just collected the supplies for the face painting stall and Fi suggested she try out one of the temporary tattoos in case they didn’t work.’

  ‘Today was fun,’ Fiona contributed before leaving mother and son at the foot of the stairs. ‘I’ll be in my room, texting.’

  ‘Quit with the weird face, Mum, and don’t worry. I’d never get anything as geeky as this. I’d get one of those awesome black widow spider tats.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she asked. ‘What else did you get up to today?’

  ‘Like I said … We cruised around for a bit in Fi’s car, checking out the sights. I showed her the swimming hole and Cedar Cutters Gorge. Then we went to her grandmother’s. Mrs Bailey makes the best scones and jam.’

  Maggie’s mind didn’t get beyond Cedar Cutters—Calingarry’s answer to Lovers’ Lane.

  ‘Mum? Are you okay? Your face is all weird again.’

  Noah was still standing on the bottom step, staring, while Maggie reminded herself she trusted her son.

  ‘The heat today has knocked me around, Noah. How about you nick into the bar and ask Ethne for another lemon squash for me.’

  Maggie had to think. She had no reason not to trust her son with someone Fiona’s age. Surely they had nothing in common. She examined her own reaction. Her son’s other female friends didn’t send Maggie into meltdown. The two girls Maggie knew he hung out with after school were from good families. They’d stuck their heads in the main bar one morning and asked Ethne to let Noah know they were waiting. Ethne said she’d recognised both girls. They lived on adjacent properties about ten kilometres out of town. ‘Gigglers’ is how Ethne had described the pair, assuring Maggie that their interaction with Noah looked quite platonic. Each of the girls had since made him a friendship band, plaited from leather strips which they then tied around Noah’s wrist—meant to be worn forever, apparently. So Noah didn’t have a girlfriend—at least not one he’d brought home or told his mother about—two girls were vying for her son’s attention.

  Maggie decided to stop worrying about Fiona. The girl really hadn’t caused too much angst, even though Jennifer might have a different opinion. Noah was a good kid. She and Brian had raised him well, although not as a family should—together. When Brian had been a stay-at-home dad during his I-can-make-money-writing-songs phase, he’d spent every day with Noah, while Maggie would come home from work exhausted to find her son asleep, equally exhausted from a day of play with his father. Parenting became a tag team event. Depending on the day of the week, and if the timing worked in her favour, Maggie might get to share a catch-up with her husband and a quick bite together before he left for a gig. The rest of her night would be about preparing food for the following day and attacking the laundry and housework. When Brian came home, more often than not in the early hours of the morning, eager for sex and smelling of smoke and alcohol—despite his ardent denial that neither had touched his lips—Maggie feigned sleep.

  Pretending had become Maggie’s way of life.

  In the beginning she’d gone along to some of the club and pub jobs with Brian. Band members always had a table, although they were usually off to one side, up the back, or even in the kitchen when the deal included a meal. Sometimes there’d be other entertainers’ wives or girlfriends to talk to and often the band table would include a roadie or the sound and lighting guys. Bouncers on their break added a different perspective, entertaining anyone interested with their repertoire of funny drunk stories. A bar tab was usually on offer, and back then no one thought much about drinking and driving. Consequence was not a word that ran off their tongues when it came to drink, drugs, or even sex. Such dangers didn’t exist to the invincible, unstoppable and unthinking. Yes, even Maggie.

  ‘Here you go, Mum. You sure you’re okay?’

  Maggie took a quick sip of lemon squash. ‘Actually, Noah buddy, we need to talk.’

  ‘You’ve got your serious face on, Mum.’

  ‘My what?’ Maggie fingered her forehead, feeling the two vertical frown lines above her nose she’d noticed in the mirror that morning and wondering if they were responsible for creating the so-called serious face.

  ‘Is it about Dad? Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, bud.’

  ‘Is he coming here?’ Noah asked, a smile lighting up his face.

  ‘It’s not about your dad, and he’s not coming to Calingarry—not yet,’ she added, seeing the flash of disappointment, until his youthful optimism kicked in again.

  ‘Are we going back to Sydney then? When?’

  ‘Slow down.’ Maggie pictured those frown lines deepening by the minute. ‘Come here. Sit.’ She dragged two dining chairs opposite each other, perched on the edge of one and slapped a palm on the other, waiting until Noah plonked himself down. ‘You know our leaving here is not going to happen any time soon. We have no other choice with Grandd
ad like he is, and with the pub not selling … I thought you understood living here was purely practical. I thought you were okay with the idea.’ Noah was looking everywhere but at Maggie. ‘The other night, you were talking about your father and, well, you worried me. I know you miss him.’

  ‘I miss Sydney,’ he stated firmly.

  ‘Miss Sydney? Since when?’

  A furtive glance up the stairs towards the accommodation level accompanied her son’s predictable shrug, confirming her fears. The city that Maggie had been happy to take her son away from had found him. Intentional or not, Fiona Bailey-Blair, with all her highfalutin attitude, was having an effect on her son and Maggie felt powerless to do anything except kick herself for inviting the girl out here in the first place.

  ‘You said you liked the idea of getting away from that school in Sydney.’ Hadn’t the change of school clinched the deal? ‘Don’t you like it out here any more?’

  ‘No. Can I go now? I have homework and Fiona’s going to help.’

  ‘Help? With what, for goodness sake?’ Maggie silently chastised herself for stereotyping the girl. She couldn’t help herself. Fiona was Amber Bailey’s daughter and the only thing Amber had been good at was …

  Maggie groaned inwardly.

  ‘Noah, look at me.’ She leaned across, rested a hand on her son’s knee and adopted that soft, soothing motherly tone. ‘You know Fiona is just visiting. She’ll be gone soon. I know you and her are friends and that she’s very attractive—’

  ‘Get a grip, Mum.’ Noah’s face contorted and flashed red, mirroring his father’s expression the day Maggie had asked Brian to pick up a box of tampons on his way home. ‘You’re not about to give me a sex talk or something, are you?’

  Maggie struggled with the simple trifecta of breathing, swallowing and speaking all at once. ‘I, ahh … Do I …? Do we need that talk?’

  ‘No way! Geez, Mum. Besides, Dad kind of took care of that.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yeah, like a decade ago.’

  A decade ago? He gave a seven-year-old a sex talk?

  Brilliant, Brian!

  ‘Okay, bud.’ Maggie feigned a happy face for her son’s benefit. ‘That’s good then.’ Although not the bit about having a sex talk from your father before you turned ten. ‘But, Noah, if there’s ever anything—’

  ‘Muuuum, would you quit with that stuff and chill.’

  ‘I’ll chill when I know you’re okay with being here in Calingarry Crossing.’

  ‘You mean only until someone buys the place though, yeah?’

  Tell him, Maggie, the voice in her head nagged. Tell him you want to stay. He’ll understand. He’ll be fine. But as she went to speak, the boy’s expression stopped her.

  Not until she’d had Noah did Maggie understand how capable a child was of breaking a mother’s heart. Each year she realised her son needed her less chipped away another piece. One day he would fly the nest and Maggie’s heart would crumble into a million impossible pieces. He’d grow up, marry and become a father with his own family. He’d have left Maggie behind to become a witness to his own children’s lives and Maggie would be alone—more alone; the recent Sydney trip had confirmed that much. If she was going to be on her own, she selfishly preferred it to be here in Calingarry Crossing rather than in a cold, impersonal city like Sydney.

  ‘That is what you said, Mum,’ Noah persisted.

  ‘Of course, buddy, yes that was the plan. The thing is … The rate we’re going … I’ve been thinking. Maybe we need to take the pub off the market for a while.’

  ‘Off?’

  ‘I’ve read about places that take a long time to sell. It doesn’t look good to keep advertising. Plus it costs money, so—’

  ‘So? What do you mean so? So we’re stuck out here?’ Noah kicked at the air, his foot nudging a nearby chair. ‘No way! I’m not living out here forever. We live in Sydney, with Dad. You can’t make me stay here.’

  ‘Please, Noah. What choice do we have right now?’

  ‘I can live with Dad. You don’t even have to drive me to Sydney. I can go when Fi goes home.’

  Chink!

  Maggie heard the sound of one tiny piece of her heart. It was happening already, the cracks widening, and in that split second the look on her son’s face, the thought of losing him to Sydney and his father, could have changed her mind, made her reduce the asking price to secure a quick sale and let them both get the hell out of town.

  ‘Noah, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I have a life too, you know. What about me? What about what I want? What about our deal?’

  ‘Sometimes life comes up with a different idea.’ Maggie tried to take her son’s hand, but he folded his arms across his front. ‘I’m not understanding this at all, Noah. You’ve made friends here, haven’t you? What about Cory and the other boys you play music with?’

  ‘They’re all right. They don’t want to play my music though, especially since that dickhead Dave joined. Thinks he knows everything. I told them if they toned down the heavy metal sound I could at least get us a gig in the pub for some practice.’

  Maggie let that go without comment. ‘But you’re going to play a few sessions together on the fair day, aren’t you? Jennifer’s already lost one band and she’s listed your group on the flyers.’

  Noah nodded. ‘Yeah, we’re plugging our gear into Will’s café for power and using the back of Gus Markum’s semi. He’ll park it that morning, roll the vinyl cargo cover up on one side and we’ve got a covered stage.’

  ‘Clever thinking,’ Maggie said, seeing her son’s frustration lessening. Just like his father, music was the ultimate distraction. ‘Was that Will’s idea?’

  ‘Nah, mine. The boys were worried about their stuff getting wet if it rains.’

  ‘You’re my clever boy.’ Maggie successfully tugged Noah into a bear hug.

  ‘Quit it will you, Mum.’ He squirmed. ‘I’m not a kid.’

  ‘Oh, I know. I see that every day.’ Maggie reluctantly let him go. ‘I’m sorry, buddy. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment with the pub, the sale, the centenary planning, your granddad …’ Your father. Fiona. ‘How about we get through the next week and talk some more. You head off. And leave those clothes you’re wearing on the floor,’ she called out. ‘I’m doing a load of …’ She was talking to herself.

  With one more situation defused, for the moment anyway, Maggie sighed away the unexpected urge to cry.

  When had her son stopped needing her hugs?

  When had her husband stop needing her by his side?

  When had she stopped needing her husband?

  15

  With less than a week to go, the committee was now meeting at the drop of a hat—Jennifer’s hat—with Maggie and everyone else bending to Jennifer’s idea of after hours. Ethne was required to cover the pub each time, as a publican’s hours and days were set in stone and reinforced by the framed tapestry stuck to the wall behind the bar that had been there for as long as Maggie could remember.

  The Eleventh Commandment:

  Thou shalt open the bar on time.

  God help her indeed should Maggie open late, close early, or not open at all.

  It helped that this morning’s meeting was at the pub, even though Lorna and Val looked decidedly uncomfortable about the insalubrious surroundings of a public bar. Like bookends on either side of Maggie, they had sat like a couple of nervous church mice for the duration of the meeting.

  It’s just a pub, Maggie had been tempted to say. Lightning won’t strike. But with talk of an electrical storm building in the east, she decided not to tempt fate. These days Maggie felt like a big enough lightning rod for trouble.

  With the meeting adjourned, and thankfully more things ticked off the list this time than added to the list, Maggie was now trying to scoot Will and Sara away so she could help Ethne prepare for opening—ten minutes from now.

  ‘You head off, Will.’ Sara kissed her husband goodbye as if he was leav
ing for Antarctica, not across the road to the café. ‘I’m going to hang around here and chat to Maggie.’

  ‘You planning on talking about me?’ Will grinned.

  ‘Get outta here.’ Sara waved him away. ‘We’ve got better things to talk about.’

  Maggie didn’t really have time to talk at all, but to-do lists and timetables did not feature too prominently in the café owners’ lives; something else about the couple that made Maggie a little envious. Will especially didn’t take anything too seriously, and with Sara still in remission they were both embracing life, love and their second chance at happiness. Family came first and there was nothing carved in stone about the hours the café kept. The sign on the door said as much, reading:

  Business Hours

  Open most days around 8 or 9, but sometimes as late as 10 or 11.

  We close about 4 (maybe 5) but occasionally at 3.

  Some days or afternoons we aren’t here at all, especially when the fish are bitin’ or the mercury reaches 40.

  At all times we appreciate your company.

  ‘What did you want to talk about, Sara?’ Maggie asked, collecting the empty coffee cups and stacking them on the bar while Sara gazed out the door at Will heading across the street.

  ‘Tssss!’ Sara pretended to spit on her finger and let it sizzle. ‘That man is still so hot. And didn’t I have the hots for him at school.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Maggie chuckled at the surprise admission.

  ‘You know what it’s like when you can’t even speak. My tongue would tie in knots, and as for my blushing … What a dork!’ Sara collected the remaining water glasses. ‘I’m trying to remember your mad crush, Maggie? We all had one, only I had to like the most popular guy in school.’