Before the Storm

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Yes, I was very sorry to hear that. Your grandmother must be a remarkable woman. How’s her health?’

  ‘If you’re asking if she still has a grasp on reality, you’d better believe it. I used to love going round her garden at Craigmore with her. She still drives a little motor buggy. Knows every plant like it’s her own kid.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard about her garden at Craigmore. It’s meant to be amazing. Did she establish it herself?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘I think it was my great-grandmother who first put it in, but Grandy has put a huge amount of work into it. She also made the Botanic Gardens near the caravan park her pet project. She loves gardening and played a huge role in making them what they are today. Hey, do you want a coffee?’ asked Ben.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘I just ordered one, thanks. Are you staying out at Craigmore?’

  ‘Nope, much too far out for me. I’m staying closer to town.’

  Ellie was trying to recall the gossip that had hung around Ben since he was a kid. She’d only known him during her short time at Storm Harbour High School. But there’d been whispers about him being a bit of a rebel. He was the only one of the O’Neills who’d gone to school locally.

  ‘Will you be here for very long?’ she asked.

  Ben made a face. ‘A little while yet. I’ll hang around until Grandy’s party. Might see if I can even get a bit more work here in the meantime.’

  The fellow doing the takeaways handed Ellie a mug of coffee. ‘Careful, it’s hot. Return the mug or bring it back for a refill.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She stepped away so Ben could put in his order. ‘Well, I’m off to see my grandad,’ she said to Ben.

  ‘I’m going to sit in the sun and read the paper.’

  Ben indicated the folded copies of the Chronicle on each table. ‘How long are you around for?’

  ‘Not sure. No plans as yet,’ she said lightly, then stopped and looked at him. Under Ben’s bravado she sensed some sort of fragility. ‘Well, enjoy yourself, Bennie. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.’

  He stared past her, his gaze unfocused. ‘No one’s called me that since school.’ He turned his intense blue eyes back to her. ‘I don’t think “enjoy” is the word. I hope we bump into each other again. See ya, Ellie.’

  She smiled at him before walking across the road to the Chronicle office.

  Maggie looked up as she came in. ‘How good to see you, Ellie. I’m so glad you’re back. Sorry I missed you when you arrived.’

  Maggie was tall and tree-trunk straight, with fair hair faded to grey that framed her face in an exuberant fuzz of curls. Her big smile and friendly expression were welcoming, but Ellie knew she could be as strict as an unamused headmistress if she chose. Maggie was not the hugging type but the warmth of her smile showed how happy she was to see her. Ellie had known her since she was a schoolgirl and couldn’t recall a time when Maggie hadn’t been part of the team at the paper.

  ‘Good to see you too, Maggie.’

  At that moment Jon wheeled himself through the doorway from the editor’s cubicle.

  ‘That coffee smells good. Hi, Ellie.’

  ‘Hi, Jon. What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘The usual. Seven stories and leads all at once. Patrick said he’d fill you in when you got here.’

  Ellie raised her eyebrows. ‘Okay, I’ll venture into the lion’s den.’

  Pat’s desk was covered in piles of folders and papers, but Ellie knew he could put his hands on exactly what he wanted in an instant.

  ‘Morning, Ellie dear. How is Sam?’

  ‘He seems all right. When I left he was snuggled up in the old blanket you found for him.’ She leaned forward. ‘You’ll never guess, I just ran into Ben O’Neill. He’s here for his grandmother’s birthday.’ She sat in the chair opposite Patrick.

  ‘How funny, and we were only talking about him yesterday. So what’s Benjamin doing with himself these

  days?’

  ‘Not really sure, though he did say he’s an artist.’

  Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘That wouldn’t go down well in that family of high achievers.’

  ‘He seems to take some pride in being the arty one, if you ask me. He said his grandmother is turning ninety-five.’

  ‘Kathryn is that old?’ exclaimed Patrick. ‘I saw her a few weeks ago at a function at the library. Smart woman.’

  ‘Mmm, she still rules the clan, Ben said. Do you remember her husband?’

  ‘Boyd O’Neill? Didn’t know him well. He died well over ten years ago. Kathryn was always the diplomat, the friendly face of the family. She’s behind some good social services the family helped fund.’ Patrick started doodling on the notebook on his desk. ‘The birthday would be a good time to celebrate her and look back over the family history. I’ve sometimes wondered where she hails from.’

  ‘Was she a rich debutante or was it a humble love match, do you think?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘Damned if I know. While she’s still around and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we’ll have to ask her. Where did she come from, what were her dreams? It’d be a great little feature to mark the occasion.’ Patrick looked at her. ‘Do you want to do the story, Ellie?’

  ‘Me? Good grief, no! I’m an IT project manager, not a journalist, Poppy. It’s definitely Jon’s territory.’

  ‘That’s true, but you know, contributors to small-town newspapers aren’t just journalists, Ellie. Too few of them around! We get articles from all sorts of people working in all kinds of fields. I recall you were rather good at writing during your school years, and I’m thinking that old Kate O’Neill might respond well to another woman, someone new.’

  ‘School essays turned me off it, Poppy.’ Ellie bit her lip. ‘But I have written thousands of words for job tenders and helped out the marketing team with their copy writing sometimes. Actually, I submitted a short story about Fitzroy life to a competition a couple of years ago, so I could knock out something for the paper if you need it, I guess.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t knock out stories. They have to be well researched, truthful, meaningful, heartfelt, carefully crafted. It’s more than just the facts,’ said Patrick. ‘Ellie, I think you could write something insightful.’

  Ellie looked at him, seeing a challenge behind his quizzical smile. To her surprise she found herself saying, ‘Okay then. I’ll have a go.’ After a moment’s reflection, she added, ‘But only about Kathryn. I don’t think any of the O’Neill men need any more airtime.’

  Patrick leaned back with his arms behind his head. ‘Wonderful! I’m here to help if you need me, but I know you’ll be great.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me a bit more about the O’Neill history then, give me some background. What was Kathryn marrying into?’ Ellie asked.

  Patrick nodded. ‘The original O’Neills were among the first settlers round here – part of the squatter aristocracy,’ he said. ‘Boyd O’Neill was a strong personality and businessman, a successful wool breeder and cattle king. His son Seamus inherited the family company when Boyd passed away,’ he continued, ‘and it’s gone from strength to strength since then. Gives them a lot of power.’

  ‘Power? Because they’re rich?’ Ellie asked. ‘And do they think that with power they can do what they want?’ She shivered.

  ‘Not blatantly, but I’m sure a bit of quid pro quo goes on.’ He sat forward and rested his arms on the cluttered desk. ‘In the old days the senior O’Neills put “their” man in as a councillor to oversee their interests. Now they have a middleman and a lawyer who deal with council, so they can keep their distance. But to have the O’Neills on your team is, shall we say, helpful,’ explained Patrick.

  ‘So why does Ben seem like an outsider? Did he do something, or just refuse to toe the family line?’ asked Ellie. ‘Back in our school days he didn’t stand out in any way. Come to think of it, he ke
pt to himself, if anything. But he wasn’t meek or a wimp. I seem to remember a fight one time when he stood up for himself.’

  ‘Did you keep in touch with any of your friends from when you were at school here?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘Not really. I mean, if I run into them any time I’m here, we chat. But I only went to high school here for nine months, remember, when Mum and Dad went to London so Mum could do that course. It was more the case that I kept in touch with my friends in Melbourne while I was going to school here. I hated being away from my friend Julie. Not that I didn’t love being here,’ she added. ‘It was such a special time with you and Nana . . .’

  ‘Yes. And we loved having you.’ He smiled gently, then straightened up. ‘So you have a bit of time up your sleeve to do a story on our celebrated matriarch, Kathryn O’Neill, who is marking the occasion of her ninety-fifth birthday. If you run into Ben again, maybe suggest going for a coffee. Ask a few more questions about the family in case there’re any dark stories they’ve never told.’

  Ellie chuckled. ‘You’re incorrigible!’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Patrick, flipping over a page in his notepad as Ellie stood up.

  She walked back to the outer office as Jonathan was stuffing his phone, notebook, a voice recorder and camera into his bag.

  ‘You still use a big clunky camera? Why don’t you just use your phone?’ Ellie asked curiously.

  ‘Nothing beats a Leica, no matter how good the phone camera is. The phone’s the backup. Sometimes people get intimidated by the camera, but no one thinks twice about a phone. Not that I ever photograph or record anyone without them knowing,’ he added hastily.

  ‘I loved those big old flash cameras the news photo boys used to have,’ Maggie chimed in. ‘Newsrooms were so different then. No one alive knows shorthand anymore – except me. It’s all technology this, technology that. Until it crashes.’

  Ellie laughed and thought how far she was from the huge IT projects she used to manage. ‘Can I please use your computer while you’re out, Jon? Save me going home to my laptop.’ She gave them a big smile. ‘I’ve just been hired!’

  ‘Hey, that’s great!’ exclaimed Jon. ‘Sure, of course.’

  ‘About time,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Here’s the password,’ Jon added, scribbling on a piece of paper. ‘See you. I’ll be back after lunch, Maggie.’

  ‘Righto, Jon, see you then.’

  Ellie’s phone rang and she saw Mike’s name flash up on the caller ID. She sat at Jon’s desk as she answered. ‘Hey, Mike! How’re things in Melbourne?’

  ‘Same as always. Just thought I’d check in to see how you’re settling in to the quiet life. How’s your grandfather?’

  ‘He’s well, thanks. In fact, I’m at his office.’

  ‘You helping out at the newspaper?’

  ‘Yep. So much for the quiet life! I’m going to write a story, if you can believe it. Though I have to bring them into the twenty-first century technology-wise. And to think I was starting to wonder how to fill in my days.’

  ‘You went there to hang out, keep him company, wasn’t that the plan?’

  ‘Yeah. Sort of. He’s certainly not an old man who needs caring for. He makes me feel a bit slack, really.’

  Mike laughed. ‘So what’s the hot story you’re chasing?’

  ‘The matriarch of the town is turning ninety-five, so I’m starting to research her and the family history. She’s a pretty switched-on lady, by the sound of it. I’m trying to work out the best way to go about it.’

  ‘I guess you could look back through the history of the town if she’s been there a long time. Not just what’s written down, but stories from locals who know her,’ said Mike.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I’m thinking. Problem is, it seems the family are very private,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Happens where I grew up, too. The old families tend to bury their history if it’s a bit colourful. All the more reason to dig and delve, I say. You’re almost a local, and you have respected connections. People will talk to you, trust you, I reckon.’

  Ellie smiled, guessing that Mike was trying to cheer her up. ‘Okay, but don’t forget, I’m not a reporter, and I’m not staying. And I don’t want to bring down a defamation suit on the Chronicle because of anything I dig up.’

  ‘I doubt it’d come to that. I just think you have a lot of skills you could use.’

  ‘Maybe. So what are you up to?’

  ‘Playing squash three nights a week with my mate Bill. I’ve been too deskbound. But I won’t bore you to tears with my very dull life. I just wanted to see if you were okay; check that you weren’t sitting on the verandah wrapped in a shawl feeling, well, flat.’

  ‘Thanks, Mike.’ She knew he understood her feelings after their conversation the last time they’d met.

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll be interested to hear what you uncover about this old lady and her powerful family. I’d better get back to work. Let me know if you need anything sent from the big smoke.’

  ‘Thanks again, Mike. Just a chat occasionally is lovely. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but when I am, lunch is on me.’

  ‘I look forward to it. Take care, Ell.’

  After the call, Ellie didn’t feel so cut off from her former life. But it had also reminded her of the looming shadow of what she was going to do next, what kind of a job she might find when she returned to Melbourne. She knew she could go back to her little flat in Fitzroy, but then what? To her dismay, a familiar queasy tight feeling began to well up in her.

  She stood quickly and looked around. She could hear Maggie on the phone, as was her grandfather. She hurried to the bathroom, feeling short of breath, and sat on the lid of the toilet, trying to breathe deeply.

  Damn it. Much as she loved being in Storm Harbour, the feelings of anxiety had travelled with her from Melbourne and it seemed they were as strong as ever.

  *

  After a restless night, Ellie decided to burn off some energy and do a massive house tidy-up for her grandfather before launching into more research on Kathryn O’Neill. But she didn’t get very far before Patrick came home from his morning walk and stood, arms crossed, surveying the living room.

  ‘I appreciate the effort, Ellie, but I’ll never find a damned thing if you tidy it all away!’

  ‘You’ve got stuff piled on every surface, Poppy! Let’s put it into some sort of order.’

  ‘I know what everything is and where it is.’ He looked around and went on, ‘Maybe you could help with something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while. Down at the office. If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Sure. What’s that?’

  ‘You know the storage area where the printing press was in the old days? I’ve been meaning to clear it out. Figured it would be useful as another little office. Not that I’m thinking of expanding,’ he added hurriedly. ‘But we could do with an extra workspace that’s a bit quieter, or for when Jon needs to interview people in private and he can’t use my office.’

  ‘That’s a great idea. I can help with that.’ Clearing out the back storeroom at the paper was a project that appealed to Ellie. It would be simple and satisfying. Enthused, she said, ‘You know what, I’ll also set up a better IT system, as well as a website and a Facebook page, and you could consider moving everything onto the cloud. That would save you money and you won’t need physical storage like hard drives.’

  ‘You’re the expert, Ellie, and I can tell that you’re keen to get us organised and modernised,’ Patrick said, laughing. ‘Just don’t go busting the budget.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Ellie smiled. ‘I’ll start today.’

  *

  Just before lunch the following day, Ellie stopped, hands on hips, to survey the fruits of her labour. It had felt good to throw herself into clearing out the storeroom. She’d scanned and recycled great swathes of paper, so
rted and ordered relevant files and folders, and brought in a table and chairs from the main office. She’d transformed the small space into a useful conference room and started planning ways to upgrade the paper’s computer systems, and she’d surprised herself with the sense of achievement she felt as a result. She was back in her element, getting people organised, working with computers, planning new ways to do things. It felt good.

  She looked over as Patrick walked in. He stopped short.

  ‘This is marvellous, Ellie, thank you!’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Ellie said, smiling. ‘Right, Poppy, the next job is to store all the Chronicle’s archives on the cloud. Then you, Maggie and Jon will have easy access to any story ever published in the paper via the internet, on any device, any time. If you want, we can provide a link to the archive for the general public on the new website, too.’

  ‘Right, gosh. Not a bad idea, I think. You’ll need to take me through all of that again step by step, though, love.’

  ‘Me too,’ Maggie called out. ‘I know I should know all about the cloud, but I just haven’t got around to it. You can be my tutor, Ellie.’

  ‘That would be my pleasure, Maggie,’ Ellie replied.

  ‘Now, I’m heading down to see Roly,’ said Patrick as they walked back through to the main office. ‘I’m going to grab some sandwiches to eat in the Botanic Gardens, want to join us, Ellie?’

  ‘Sure, that’d be lovely.’ Gathering her bag and phone from Jon’s desk, Ellie noticed Maggie glance at an envelope as she was going through the post and throw it in the wastepaper basket.

  ‘Maggie! You just threw that out without opening it,’ Ellie exclaimed.

  ‘I know who it’s from. Serial nutter. Rants on at length about conspiracy theories and the like.’

  ‘Trelawney?’ said Patrick. ‘What’s he on about now? Still thinks climate change is a myth?’

  ‘Why doesn’t he email?’ asked Ellie. ‘Writing an actual letter to the editor seems like a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Sometimes he does email. I think he believes a physi­cal letter has more gravitas and he always attaches other documents to supposedly back up his wild theories. He writes well, actually, but he’s just too out there in La La Land. Most of our readers are educated and fairly sensible but Mr Trelawney is unique. I only skim every third letter or so of his,’ explained Maggie.