‘His name was Jack Cleveland. He worked as a carpenter at the station in the early 1900’s.’
‘And your great-grandmother?’
‘Edith. I’m told she was a nurse here too.’
‘So they met here?’
‘Apparently. And when they left, they moved to a property in Mount Sheridan in Queensland. Jack didn’t leave any records behind, certainly not any diaries or letters, so he’s been hard to trace and so has Edith. I haven’t been able to find any record of her being on the station at all. They had three children. My grandfather, Henry, was their youngest.’ His stomach rumbled again and they both laughed.
They packed away Rose’s things, closed the suitcase and returned it beneath the heavy grey blanket. They stretched and left the small room, heading back outside.
The day was bright when they stepped through the museum door and Emma had to hold her hand up to her eyes to shield them.
‘Did you want to grab some lunch?’ Matt asked.
Lunch with Matt was something Emma could have happily enjoyed, but she felt guilty at the time she’d already asked of him. ‘I should let you get back to work. You’ll be here all night making up for it.’
‘I can think of worse places to be.’
Emma smiled shyly. ‘Maybe another time. I can come back on my next day off.’
‘Or maybe, if you don’t have any plans one night, we could catch up for a drink’. He said this as he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
‘You mean, like, outside of the station?’
‘Yeah. Or not,’ Matt said quickly. ‘It was just a thought.’
‘No, it was a good thought,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Totally. I just…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve…’
‘Me too.’
‘Right.’
They stood by the museum door, Matt with his hands still in his pockets and Emma feeling out of her depth.
‘Well, I better go,’ she said finally.
‘Sure. Should I get your number first?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitating. ‘You should.’
Matt laughed. ‘Okay.’
He pulled out his phone and she relayed her number to him. He punched it in and saved it. Then she found herself giving him her address too, which seemed to surprise him but he happily added it to his phone.
‘So there’s this band playing in a pub in Randwick in a few weeks,’ he said, shoving the phone back into his pocket. ‘My friend is the drummer. And it’s not far from your place. I’m not sure if bands are your thing, but maybe we could—’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Great! So I’ll let you know the details and we can go from there.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Okay.’
He leant against the doorframe, hands in pockets, and the way he smiled at her with those perfectly green hazel eyes, made her stomach flip.
‘Well, goodbye then,’ she said.
‘Bye, Em.’
She started back up the wharf to wait for the shuttle and when she turned back to see if he was still there, he was, watching her with a smile.
They exchanged texts all week—a casual ‘hello’ here and a ‘how has your day?’ there. Emma didn’t want to get her hopes up, had been down that road before, but something told her that Matt was feeling a little of what she was.
The last weeks of July were busy. The days were served up blustery and cold and The Coffee Bean churned through a chaotic month. There was something about warm meals and hot coffee, followed by a movie that somehow enticed people out of their homes.
Chloe had hired two new university students but one had already quit and the other was busy with exams, so Emma worked additional shifts to help out. The extra money was a blessing, but the one day off a week she had she spent with Gwendoline and this left little time for Matt and the Q Station.
On a Tuesday morning that dawned bright after a week of rain, Emma woke late after a twelve-hour shift. She showered, dressed, ate a slice of toast then drove the fifteen-minute drive in her cold and spluttering VW to Eastgardens Aged Care.
She stopped at a florist in Pagewood and bought twelve red roses, then found a parking spot on the street beneath an old maple that still had plenty of crunchy brown leaves to dump on her car. She locked her doors and walked across the road to the main entrance.
The facility was busy when she arrived, visitors helping patients take slow, careful steps around the grounds. Emma signed the visitors’ book and made her way down towards the north wing of the building. She was almost at Gwendoline’s room when she heard someone call out her name.
‘Mrs Wilcott!’
Emma turned. The director, Anastasia Thornbury, hurried towards her.
‘Hello, Mrs Wilcott.’
Emma didn’t bother correcting her. ‘Good morning, Ms Thornbury. How are you today?’
Anastasia was impeccably dressed in a grey wool suit and pink blouse, her heels so high Emma wondered how she didn’t roll her ankles. Her hair was pinned back tightly, pulling on the corners of her eyes.
‘I’ve been hoping to catch you. Do you have a moment?’
‘Sure.’
Emma followed Anastasia back to her office and sat opposite her, the large oak desk between them. Anastasia closed the door and poured Emma a glass of water, setting it down on a coaster.
‘Is there a problem?’ Emma asked.
‘Not at all,’ Anastasia said, taking a seat in her leather chair. ‘In fact, I’ve been meaning to commend you. Whatever you’ve been doing lately during your visits with your grandmother has been working. The last time she wandered from the facility was almost two months ago and… well, we can both agree that’s the longest run we’ve had.’
‘Yes, it’s certainly a relief.’
‘What have you been doing, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I’ve been visiting the Quarantine Station where she grew up and, with the help of one of the staff members there, we found a suitcase of old diaries belonging to her mother. I’ve been relaying some of the stories to her from those pages.’
‘Remarkable.’
‘It was an incredible find and my grandmother seems to be enjoying the things I’ve been telling her. The entries are from before she was born but I think she’s still comforted by them.’
‘Indeed. We were almost at the stage where we were going to have to ask you to relocate your grandmother. I’m glad for your sake you’ve turned it around.’
Emma didn’t respond. Instead, she fixed a forced smile on her face. Just when she’d thought Ms Thornbury had become tolerable, she was reminded of how tactless she could be.
‘Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. Keep up the good work.’ Anastasia rose and leant across the desk to shake Emma’s hand.
Emma left the office and headed back down the north wing of the facility. She found Gwendoline in her room, sitting with Pride and Prejudice on her lap, a sliver of sunlight spilling in through the window to light up the coverlet.
‘Hey, Grandma,’ Emma said, dropping her bag on the chair and placing the bouquet of roses on the bedside table. She leant across and gave Gwendoline’s cheek a kiss.
‘This is a nice surprise, dear. And you brought me roses.’
‘I never forget.’
‘Not working today?’ Gwendoline said, seeming alert and present.
‘It’s my day off.’
‘You should be doing fun things instead.’
‘This is a fun thing,’ Emma chided. She saw the book in Gwendoline’s hands and frowned. ‘I really must get you something new.’
‘I like this book.’ Gwendoline closed her hands over it, opening the drawer beside her bed and tucking it beneath her underwear. ‘It’s my favourite and don’t you go touching it.’
Emma sighed. ‘Okay, let’s get you up and out of bed. The day is too beautiful to waste inside.’
<
br /> She assisted Gwendoline into her robe, helped her put on slippers and grabbed a crocheted blanket, then they walked carefully down the corridor towards the back garden. Gwendoline’s steps were a slow shuffle. Emma wondered how she managed to walk as far as she did when she went wandering. Fuelled by a sense of determination, most likely.
They found two chairs by a hyacinth bush that had lost its vivid blue flowers months ago and Emma settled Gwendoline into the seat, tucking the blanket over her lap.
‘Are you warm enough? Would you like another blanket?’
Gwendoline swatted her away. ‘Stop fussing.’
‘You could use a dose of vitamin D.’
‘We didn’t worry about vitamin D in my day. We were all as healthy as sprouts.’
Emma sat in the seat opposite her grandmother and turned her face up to the sky. For all the cold days and blustering winds, Sydney could still turn on the most glorious winter charm.
The grounds outside were full of visitors sitting with their loved ones, the elderly tucked up beneath blankets in chairs and wheelchairs. There was lots of chatter in the air, mixed with trilling birds and the flow of traffic from nearby Bunnerong Road.
‘How is work going?’ her grandmother asked.
‘Busy at the moment. Chloe is short-staffed so I’ve been working extra shifts to help her out.’
‘You work far too hard.’
‘It’s good money and it keeps me occupied.’
‘I think you should spend more time with friends and less time working in that café.’ Gwendoline leant forward and patted Emma’s hand. ‘A girl like you shouldn’t hide herself away.’
‘I’m not hiding.’
‘It’s not who you are. Drew did that to you.’
‘I think I changed long before Drew, Grandma.’
‘To be fair, perhaps you did.’
Emma tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘I haven’t been out to the Quarantine Station much lately. I’ll have to get back there as soon as work slows down.’
‘The Quarantine Station?’
‘Yes. Remember I’ve been telling you about my visits there and about finding Rose’s diaries?’
‘Rose’s diaries?’ Gwendoline looked puzzled.
‘We found five of them, though we’ve only gone through the first one so far. She wrote lots of things in them. About her work on the station and the duke and a mystery man she had fallen in love with.’
Gwendoline narrowed her eyes as if recalling something. ‘A boy was helping you. A carpenter. Oh, what was his name?’
‘Matt.’
Gwendoline beamed. ‘Yes, Matt! I like that name.’
‘He’s just a friend.’
‘In my day, if a boy helped you like that he would be more than a friend.’
‘He’s a friend,’ Emma said firmly. She ignored the way Gwendoline watched her and ploughed on. ‘Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. We’ve noticed in Rose’s diaries that she fell in love with someone soon after starting work at the station, but she won’t name who it was.’
Gwendoline sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. ‘Oh, yes, Rose did love him. She never stopped.’
‘Who, Gran? Who did Rose love?’
‘He was a good man.’
Emma perched on the edge of her seat. ‘Who was it? Did you know his name? Was it your father?’
‘It wasn’t allowed, you know.’
‘You mean the relationship? Yes, we know. But who was the man?’
When Gwendoline opened her eyes, they were watery and unfocused.
‘Grandma, what was your father’s name? Is that whose boat you were waiting for by the wharf?’
‘It was all to do with the duke, you see.’
Emma straightened. ‘The duke?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Love was forbidden on the station.’
‘Was Rose in love with the duke? Is that who your father was?’
A nurse shuffled past them, making an exaggerated glance at her watch. ‘Gwendoline, what are you still doing out here? Visiting hours are over. It’s time for your medicine and afternoon nap.’
Emma looked around the garden. Most of the visitors had disappeared or were helping loved ones to their feet. She hadn’t noticed how empty and quiet it had grown. ‘Can we have another two minutes please? We’re just in the middle of something.’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Health first,’ the nurse sang with annoying mirth.
‘Just two more minutes,’ Emma pleaded as she watched Gwendoline’s eyes. They were still fiercely blue, but confusion had set in again.
‘Now, Mrs Wilcott, you know the hours for visiting. They’ve just finished. Everyone else is following the rules.’
‘It’s Ms Wilcott.’
The nurse looked at Emma as if she had said something utterly ridiculous. ‘Come, Gwendoline. I’ll help you to your room.’ She assisted Gwendoline to her feet as Emma stood too.
She trailed behind them both, biting back her frustration. She’d almost had the name and the missing piece of the puzzle. If it wasn’t for the nurse, she might know by now who Rose had been in love with, who Gwendoline’s father was and ultimately, who Gwendoline had waited for down by the wharf as a child.
Emma tried not to feel disheartened as she said goodbye to her grandmother, as she smoothed down her white hair and kissed the soft folds of her cheek, as she reminded the nurse to put the roses in water.
After taking her medication and before drifting off to sleep, Gwendoline squeezed her hand gently.
‘You’re a good girl, Emma,’ she whispered as the nurse tut-tutted behind them about visiting hours again. ‘Forget about me. Forget about Rose. Go live your life.’
Emma shook her head. ‘You are my life, Grandma.’
‘Well I shouldn’t be.’
Emma held back a sudden surge of emotion and hugged her tightly. She left her grandmother to nap and walked down the corridor, feeling oddly bereft of the warmth she’d felt only minutes earlier in the garden.
Outside, the sunshine still couldn’t thaw her. She climbed into her car as the maple shed its dead leaves on her roof and the traffic around the aged care facility continued to flow.
Vividly and without warning, it came to her as she sat behind the wheel—the moment she’d learnt the devastating news of her family’s death. She’d been staying at her best friend Tabitha’s house for the night and they’d been woken at four am by a phone call from Gwendoline.
Tabitha’s mother had come into the bedroom with the phone, gently shaking Emma awake and handing it to her. The look on her face had sent a chill down Emma’s spine. Then she’d put the phone to her ear.
Gwendoline’s voice across the line had been hoarse. There’s been an accident in France. A plane crash. No survivors. They’re gone…
What took place after that call had been a struggle to remember in its entirety. What Emma did recall was the fierce hug Tabitha pulled her into and Gwendoline coming to collect her an hour later, followed by weeks of numbness as though she were moving in someone else’s body.
When the four coffins had been lowered into the ground, reality had set in. Emma’s entire world had bottomed out. She quit school, became invisible, blamed the world and hated her grandmother.
The familiarity of her parents, her brothers and the house she’d grown up in were all gone. The backyard she’d played in, the room she’d slept in, the kitchen her mother had cooked in, all sold after a matter of minutes at auction, as though a beautiful young family hadn’t once belonged there.
That happy and carefree teenage girl, the one who’d had a pocketful of dreams, would never see her family again, would never hear their voices, would never argue or laugh or cry or go on holiday with them. Instead, she became a stranger to the world.
Emma opened her eyes to the sound of ringing. She realised her cheeks were wet and she shook her head as if to draw a curtain over the memories.
&nb
sp; Reaching for her phone, she saw Matt’s name. ‘Hello.’
‘Hey,’ he said cheerfully. Then there was a pause. ‘Have I got you at a bad time?’
‘Not at all.’ She steadied herself and dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Just finished visiting my grandmother.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s doing well. She hasn’t wandered from the facility since I’ve been telling her about Rose’s diaries. I think we’re making progress.’
‘That’s great!’
‘I’ll fill you in more when I see you next.’
‘That band I was telling you about is playing at the Baggy Green tomorrow night. It’s a pub near the Sydney Cricket Ground. Do you know the one?’
‘I do. It’s not far from my house.’
‘They start at nine if you’re still keen to go.’
‘I am. Should I meet you there?’
‘Sure.’ There was another pause. ‘Em, is everything okay?’
Emma nodded into the phone. ‘I think so.’ She could feel him reaching out to her from down the line.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’
‘I’ll be there.’
And despite being on the brink of a low that was all too familiar, Emma found herself smiling.
‘So it’s a date?’
‘It’s not a date.’
‘He asked you to go see a band with him tonight.’ Chloe wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a rogue curl from her face. ‘Sounds like a date to me.’
It was three pm. The lunch crowd had diminished and Emma and Chloe were in the kitchen preparing for the next rush. The bench was covered with trays of lasagne, gourmet pies and boxes of pastries that Chloe ordered in daily because she declared the kitchen too small to bake all that food herself. The real reason, Emma suspected, was that Chloe was far more skilled behind a coffee machine than over a stove top.
‘I’m not reading too much into it. The band was playing out this way and so he invited me along. As a friend.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘Sell yourself short. He likes you. You’ve spent all that time cozied up together in a little room. I’m not surprised.’
The Quarantine Station Page 13
