by Fiona Lowe
Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.
Flipping hell, she sounded like Charlotte when she’d been talking about James. All of it was baffling and unfathomable. She needed to talk to her sisters—her known sisters. She needed to talk to Harriet and Xara before she could even begin to articulate her muddled thoughts and feelings to Ben.
‘Full on?’ Ben suggested, finishing her sentence for her. ‘My family’s lunches are always like that. I think it’s the Italian legacy. My sisters battle it out for culinary supremacy and Dad and I end up mediating and eating way more than we should.’
‘We had lamb,’ she said inanely, trying to corral her thoughts and stop them from zipping wildly and uncontrollably around her head like a super bouncy ball.
‘If I’d known lamb was on the menu I’d have insisted on an invitation.’
His teasing made her suddenly remember that Ben wasn’t supposed to be at Glenora. She glanced at her watch. Three-twenty. ‘I thought we were we meeting at the motel at four?’
His dark caramel eyes filled with query. ‘Didn’t you get my text?’
She shook her head. ‘Unless you’re a doctor on call, Mum has a no-phone policy at lunch.’
‘It’s probably just as well you didn’t see it. My preference was to tell you in person but then again I didn’t want to surprise you by turning up unannounced.’ His lips gave a wriggle. ‘Guess that didn’t work.’
He’d piqued her curiosity. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Just after three, I got a surprising text …’
The rise and fall of voices distracted her and she turned her head to the noise. The combination of treble and bass sounded like her mother and Doug and going on the increasing volume, they were getting closer. One more turn of the path and the two of them would be in plain sight. Given she and Ben were standing smack bang in the middle of the broad expanse of lawn, they would be too.
Panic rose, sending waves of agitation thrumming through her, deafening her to Ben’s words. She wasn’t up to introducing him to everyone—not today. ‘Quick.’ She grabbed his hand and tugged him in the direction of the thick-trunked oak that stood regally behind them. Its breadth offered a hiding place.
A sharp pain wrenched her shoulder and radiated down her arm. She turned her head and found Ben hadn’t even budged a centimetre. In fact, his attention was no longer focused on her. She swung back the other way and saw that her mother and Doug had already rounded the corner and were walking straight toward them in a brisk and determined manner. Bugger.
Ben raised his free arm in greeting. The action surprised her given he was yet to meet her mother. Perhaps he was nervous and over compensating?
‘I guess we’re busted.’
‘Guess so.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Brace yourself to meet my mother and her new friend. Actually, he’s an old friend of hers. More than that really …’ She knew she was rambling so she finished up lamely with, ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Yeah. About that.’ His brows drew down and he suddenly looked worried. ‘The thing is, Georgie—’
‘Got lost in the garden, did you?’ Doug said heartily.
Georgie wondered at the comment given this was the garden she’d grown up in and she knew it like the back of her hand. Before she could reply, her mother’s gaze landed on Georgie and Ben’s linked hands. A slight frown marred her hostess smile.
Georgie dropped Ben’s hand and immediately hated herself. Hell’s bells, she was thirty-four years old and if she wanted to hold Ben’s hand it shouldn’t matter if her mother approved or not. God, Edwina had no right to have an opinion about whose hand Georgie held given the bomb she’d dropped on them all today.
‘Hello,’ her mother said in her precise and well-mannered way. ‘I’m Edwina Chirnwell. Welcome to Glenora.’
‘Sorry,’ Georgie said quickly, realising her indignation had put her behind in the introduction stakes. She was about to say more when she realised Doug was making the exact apology.
‘I’d like you to meet Ben.’
Her voice collided with Doug’s, their words rolling over each other. Startled, she stared at him. Was this some sort of odd joke—like the parrot game kids played, repeating everything someone said?
But as Ben shook her mother’s hand and murmured, ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Edwina,’ Georgie realised with a jolt that Doug must know Ben.
No. That was crazy. They couldn’t possibly know each other. She was letting the day’s madness get to her. But her mind whipped her back to Ben standing in 2C’s classroom and saying, ‘Dad’s car rally went through Billawarre.’
Doug slapped Ben familiarly on the shoulder and gave him a wink. ‘Something you want to tell me?’
Flashes of hot and rafts of cold raced across Georgie’s skin followed by a violent shaking. She frantically glanced between Ben and Doug. Both had dark curly hair, caramel eyes and a laconic smile. If you superimposed streaks of silver onto Ben’s hair, gave him more wrinkles around the eyes and added jowly cheeks, they’d be twins.
No. It’s too random.
But her stomach went into freefall anyway, overriding her desperate attempts to ignore the truth that was literally staring her in the face. No wonder she’d sensed a familiarity in Doug the first time she’d met him at Edwina’s party. No wonder her mother had frowned at her and Ben holding hands.
Doug was Ben’s father.
Her breathing sped up as she connected all the dots. Thoughts squealed in her head like the feedback from a microphone and her hands rose to cover her ears as if that would silence the noise. It didn’t. Nothing would silence that. Doug wasn’t just Ben’s father. He was also the father of her unknown sister. She gagged and stumbled backward, driven by some unknown but powerful force that made it imperative to put a lot of space between herself and Ben.
CHAPTER
21
Xara stood on the emerald green oval of her old school and felt the salt-laden air grazing her face. The wind carried a soupçon of Antarctic chill across the playing fields, whispering quietly but insistently that autumn would turn to winter soon enough. She remembered her six winters at the school: the crunch of ice under her feet as she’d trudged out in the pre-dawn darkness to check on her horse; the burn and itch of chilblains on her fingers from forgetting her gloves; and the need to learn how to hustle—arms akimbo, elbows sharp—for space around the heater. It was that or be permanently cold. How times had changed. Charlotte had spent five winters at the school and all of them in a centrally heated boarding house.
She turned her back on the blue of the bay and gazed up at the clock tower. The beautifully crafted metal clock hands showed she had five more minutes before Charlotte had promised to meet her. Promised her on pain of death because today was the day Tasha was having her feeding tube inserted and if all went well, the procedure would be over soon. Xara wanted to be by Tasha’s side when she woke up. They were so lucky that the visiting surgeon from the Royal Children’s Hospital had offered to operate in Geelong. It made family logistics so much easier to manage. Charlotte had travelled to Geelong with them and while Steve waited at the hospital, Xara had driven her over to the school so she could pack up her gear. The car was now loaded and Charlotte was saying goodbye to her friends. When Xara had visited Harriet yesterday to tell her of the plan, her sister, who’d been in a frenzy of spraying and wiping down the kitchen, had gripped the edge of the sink so hard the bones of her knuckles had threatened to burst through her skin.
‘So, not only is she pregnant, she’s dropping out of school too. Oh, it just keeps getting better and better.’
Xara had sighed. ‘It’s not quite like that, Harry. If you talked to her, you’d know.’
Harriet’s eyes had flashed as hot and white as burning magnesium. ‘I’ve said everything I have to say on the matter.’
And Harriet was nothing if not stubborn.
‘To her credit, Charlie’s worried how you’ll manage to pay the school fees. She doesn’t wa
nt to add to your financial stress. She’s talked to the counsellor and the school’s trying to accommodate her but it’s unlikely she’d be allowed to continue past the middle of the year. They’re all a bit toey about her third trimester. She decided it was best to withdraw now. She’s enrolling at Billawarre Secondary.’
Harriet had flinched. ‘And her descent into mediocrity begins.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harry,’ Xara had snapped. ‘Stop being such a snob. Give Charlie some credit for dealing with a difficult situation. Focus on the fact she’s doing what you want and completing her VCE.’
‘What I want is for her not to be pregnant. You know as well as I do she could go into labour during the exam period and then what?’
‘She can apply for special consideration.’
‘All that means is a pass. It doesn’t get her the ATAR she needs for medicine.’
‘She isn’t interested in studying medicine, Harry.’ Xara had touched her sister on the shoulder then and finally said out loud what she’d been thinking for so long. ‘Isn’t it time to let that unobtainable dream die?’
Harriet had stepped away from her touch. ‘She had so much potential.’
‘She’s not dead, Harry. She’s still got loads of potential, including being a good mother.’ Xara had prevaricated for a moment before throwing caution to the wind. ‘Aren’t you worried that by not talking to her you’re leaving things wide open for James to swoop in?’
‘Edwina won’t allow that.’
‘I don’t understand you at all. You’ve clashed with Mum all your life, you’re furious with her for standing between you and Charlie and you’re barely talking to her. But you trust her to protect Charlie from James?’
Without looking at her, Harriet had rubbed at the already clean pantry door with jerky sweeps of the cloth. ‘Xara. Close the door on your way out.’
Xara sighed at the memory and massaged the burn under her sternum. Sisters. Honestly, right now hers were causing constant heartburn. She and Harriet had never been close but now every conversation with her was like tiptoeing through a field of unexploded mines. Xara had expected more of Georgie but she wasn’t being much help at the moment. Initially, despite Georgie finding Charlotte’s pregnancy news tough, she’d been on board with supporting Xara in trying to hold things together. They’d joined forces in an attempt to prevent Harriet from blasting irreparable holes in the fabric of the family but all of that had changed on Easter Sunday. When Edwina and Doug made the announcement about the existence of an unknown sister it had thrown all of them but Georgie had completely dropped her bundle.
It flummoxed Xara because it was so unlike Georgie to be angry. In fact, angry seemed to almost underplay the depths of her younger sister’s feelings—she’d been close to apoplectic. The night of her mother’s bombshell, Georgie had dragged Xara over to Harriet’s and stomped and stormed around the guesthouse’s small living space sounding far more like Harriet than Harriet herself. In another unexpected event, during the four hours between Harriet leaving Glenora and their arrival at Miligili, their older sister had become coldly indifferent to the news. In comparison, Georgie had been an erupting volcano of molten fury and outrage.
‘She should have told us!’ Georgie had ranted. ‘We needed to know because what if one of us—’ Georgie had reached the wall and turned to face them. ‘How could she do this to me?’
‘She didn’t do anything to you, Georgie,’ Xara had said, shooting a confused glance at Harriet. She’d assumed that as Georgie had lost a baby she’d be a bit more understanding of their mother.
‘Fine. To us,’ Georgie had defined snippily, thumping her chest with a fist. ‘How could she do this to us?’
‘She had a baby forcibly removed from her,’ Xara had said, not able to conceive how devastating that must have been for Edwina. ‘I think that deserves some sympathy.’
‘I’m not unsympathetic. I’m just furious she left it until today to tell us about her and Doug and the baby. I hate that she didn’t tell us sooner.’
Xara had been at a loss to understand why Georgie appeared to be taking the timing of the news as a personal insult. ‘I think Doug’s arrival and Charlie’s pregnancy were the catalysts.’ What about Dad’s death? The thought had bubbled in the back of her mind for a moment before she discarded it. It was fifteen months since her father had died and Edwina hadn’t said anything during that time. ‘I’m not sure that her telling us sooner would have lessened our shock.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Georgie had said, her face contorted in anguish.
Her sister’s distress had reminded Xara of Georgie’s demeanour back in the dark days and months after Eliza’s death and her breakup with Jason. It had struck her rather belatedly that during this holiday the grey shadows that had been a permanent part of Georgie since she’d lost Eliza had been totally absent.
‘So explain it to me,’ Xara had said patiently. ‘I want to understand.’
Georgie had set down her wine glass, sank onto the couch and hugged a cushion. Sucking in her lips, she’d blinked furiously as though trying not to cry. When she’d finally opened her mouth she closed it almost immediately without uttering a sound.
‘Georgie?’
Her sister’s generally open and smiling face had hardened, the planes of her cheeks sharpening and everything that was soft about her turned ugly and harsh. She’d hurled the cushion across the room. ‘Mum got postnatal depression after having me.’
Despite nothing ever being said and no label ever being attached to that time, the girls had worked it out years ago. ‘We all know that, Georgie. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’
Harriet, who’d been quiet until that point, said, ‘I’m pretty sure she got it after having Xara too.’
‘Really? I thought she only got PND after Georgie.’
Harriet had shrugged. ‘I think it’s likely. I wasn’t quite five and I don’t remember much. I’ve got a memory of Dad dressing me in my new coat and taking me to visit Edwina somewhere.’
Trust Harriet to have attached a garment to the memory. ‘He was probably just taking you to the hospital to meet me when I was born.’
Harriet had shaken her head. ‘You were here at home.’
‘See? This is what I mean,’ Georgie’s staccato delivery had punched the air. ‘For years I’ve been told the stories about Mrs Abercrombie moving in when I was born—’
‘Ah, Mrs A,’ Harriet had said fondly. ‘I loved her.’
‘You didn’t.’ Georgie glared at Xara. ‘You reminded me of that often enough when we were growing up.’
‘Oh, Georgie. For Pete’s sake.’ Xara had lost patience. ‘Let it go. Kids say dumb stuff. You’re my baby sister and I love you. I even love you when you’re being ridiculous like you are now right now.’
‘Ridiculous, am I?’ Georgie’s voice had quavered. ‘I had parents who never had the same level of interest in me as they did in the two of you. I grew up knowing I was the mistake that sent Mum into a deep and debilitating depression. I’ve spent years lurching between feeling guilty about it and just plain sad. Now I discover it wasn’t my fault at all.’ Her hand had trembled as she reached for her glass. ‘Do you think Dad knew about the baby?’
‘No,’ Harriet had said firmly.
‘What makes you so certain?’
‘Think about it. He wouldn’t have proposed to her if he’d known.
Their marriage was a big deal. The wedding was at Scots Church and their photos appeared in the society pages.’ She’d sighed. ‘Poor Dad. I bet he wouldn’t have signed up if he’d known what lay ahead.’
‘That’s harsh.’ Xara felt the need to support her mother.
‘It is what it is. Edwina failed him as a wife and she failed us as a mother.’
Xara knew Harriet was utterly blinkered when it came to their father. Even as a child, she’d always sided with him, irrespective of the argument. Over time that collusion had welded her to him and the bond had on
ly strengthened when she’d joined him in his medical practice. They’d stood as a united front in family affairs, frequently taking a stance against Edwina. Georgie had been too young to have an opinion and even if she did, no one ever listened to her so from about fourteen, Xara had found herself catapulted into the role of shoring up the underdog; in this instance, her mother. It was probably part of the reason why she’d pursued law and was now an advocate for families with special-needs children.
Hearing Harriet blithely absolve their father of any marital responsibility had flamed the embers of an old anger. ‘Mum did her best and believe me, there are worse mothers out there. Did it ever occur to you that Dad might have failed her? What if he never investigated the reasons for her mood swings? He told us time and time again she was fragile as if that was just an accepted thing. He was always saying, “Buck up, Edwina. Worse things have happened to other people,” and then he’d quote some horrible medical story. I doubt it was useful.’
Harriet’s glass had clunked hard against the coffee table. ‘He worked bloody hard at cheering her up. Think of all those parties he threw for her.’
‘Parties she hated.’
‘The expensive gifts he bought her,’ Harriet had said smugly as if she was keeping score. ‘She still wears that ruby and diamond ring, so she can’t hate it.’
Xara had been leery of saying she thought the gifts came with strings attached. ‘I don’t think we can make assumptions about anything. We grew up and formed an impression of our parents and their marriage. Now everything we’ve believed about them is clouded in uncertainty. Apparently, significant things can be hidden. If Mum kept a baby secret, it makes me wonder what Dad kept from us. Marriages are complicated. No one really knows what goes on inside them.’
‘Thank you so much for that that enlightening statement,’ Harriet had said acerbically. ‘It’s kind of you to remind me that I had no idea my husband was embezzling money.’
Xara had sighed at her prickly sister. ‘That’s not what I meant at all, Harry. You’re deliberately misconstruing me. But if you want to be offended then I’ll give you something to be outraged about. If Mum suffered from depression for years because she gave up a baby, how can you ask Charlie to have an abortion?’
