by Di Morrissey
Ellie nodded. ‘I had a client once, a successful businessman, who had all these theories about his competitors that initially sounded plausible, but then when I questioned even the slightest thing he’d said, he went off the deep end and claimed I was challenging his views; that I was another one “out to get him”. Eventually I was told that he was a classic sufferer of PPD. Paranoid Personality Disorder.’
‘I’d say that’s probably the case with Mr Trelawney, too,’ said Maggie. ‘You two have a nice lunch.’
Across the road at the café, they ordered their sandwiches and sat down to wait. Patrick spotted someone he knew and hurried over to talk to them, so Ellie pulled out her phone and called Mike. Part of her plan for the paper involved upgrading the office computers to laptops, and Mike had said he could help get her a good deal. As they spoke, Ellie noticed that a woman her own age was sitting at a nearby table. Her long red hair was tied in a ponytail, and the bright scarf draped around her neck stood out boldly against her black T-shirt.
After Ellie had ended her call, the woman leaned over and introduced herself. ‘Hi there, Estelle, is it? I’m Cassie. I saw you with Patrick just now. He told us you were coming down.’
‘Please, call me Ellie. My grandfather seems to have spread the word that I was visiting,’ Ellie said, laughing. ‘We’re getting some lunch to eat with a friend from the caravan park.’
Cassie smiled. ‘Lovely idea. My husband Steve and I manage the caravan park, actually. Been here eighteen months. We often see Patrick visiting Roland.’
They chatted a little longer then Ellie couldn’t help commenting, ‘I love that scarf you have, is it hand-painted silk?’
‘Oh, thanks. No, it’s screen-printed, I make them myself. It’s a lot of work but I enjoy making my own pieces. I had a store in Melbourne that sold accessories. I might get back to it at some stage but for the moment the park and guests keep us busy. We love it here.’
‘Ah. I can just see those scarves in a smart little store. Where in Melbourne were you?’ asked Ellie.
‘Brunswick. I wanted to be in Fitzroy but I couldn’t find the right space. I had a shop with studio space behind, which suited me.’
‘I live in Fitzroy!’
‘Really? It’s such a great area. Do you work there too?’
Ellie hesitated. ‘No, in the city. I was – well, I still am – in IT.’
‘That can be a high-pressure job, I imagine. No wonder you take time out down here.’
‘Time out. Yep, that’s where I’m at,’ said Ellie. She stood up as the café owner brought out the lunch order.
‘Well, we’ll probably run into each other again. Bye, Cassie. Good to meet you.’
‘Yes. Hey, anytime you want a coffee and a chat, look us up.’
‘Thank you.’ Ellie was suddenly touched. ‘I will.’
*
‘Hmmm, it’s a nice day to be out,’ said Patrick as Ellie linked her arm through his and they walked down to the gates of the caravan park.
‘Just wondering, do many people write to the paper about their crazy theories?’ asked Ellie, thinking back to the envelope from the eccentric-sounding Trelawney.
‘Too often. Maggie goes through the outta-left-field ideas once a fortnight. We miss Sally; that used to be part of her job. But I can’t begrudge her wanting to move on with her career. S’pose she’ll try for the TV next, although she’ll have to give up the black lipstick.’ He smiled. ‘She’s a bright young woman. She and Jon get on well as they’re both into that sci-fi stuff.’
‘If she wants to get into TV, then it’s good to get a foot in the door with radio broadcasting, I suppose,’ said Ellie.
‘Yes, you’re right. She’s ambitious. More so than Jon. They’re competitive, though – I’ve heard them go at each other hammer and tongs on occasion. He misses her company at the office but she keeps in touch. Trying to pick his brains, perhaps.’
As they walked together, Ellie asked, ‘So tell me again why Roly, an eminent Queen’s Counsel who has run some pretty dramatic court cases, is living in a caravan park?’
‘Hmmm, I s’pose it does seem unusual. You never really know who’s staying in a caravan park when everyone dresses so casually. He hunkered down here after his divorce, which was around the same time as he retired, a year or so ago. He’s in his late-seventies now. He told me once he’s always loved small towns, and I think he just wanted a real change.’
‘Did he lose his home in his divorce?’
‘Well, I know that he moved out of the Toorak mansion, leaving his wife to reign over the roses. Says he just took his chess set, his fishing rods, a laptop, his cello and some favourite books. His grand plan is to write a book. Of what genre he’s never revealed, other than to say he has no intention of writing his boring memoirs.’
‘Is he actually writing, do you think?’ asked Ellie.
‘So far I haven’t seen or heard a reference to any such effort, so I don’t mention it,’ said Patrick.
‘Probably wise,’ said Ellie with a smile. ‘And look, there’s the man himself, sitting in the sun waiting for us.’
‘Ahoy there,’ called Roly, lifting an arm in salute as he sat in a fold-up chair outside his cabin.
Ellie noticed his fishing gear, his fire pit and a rolled-up hose next to a tub of herbs. It was simple living, but it said home to Ellie, and hinted at permanence. She’d noticed that some of the other cabins had small gardens, clotheslines, ornamental pots and even statuettes. The cabins had some privacy in that they were separated by lawns and trees. There was a smattering of outdoor tables and, closer to the river, a couple of barbecues, a boat ramp and a fish-cleaning area. A bike path curled along the waterfront, away from the cabins. They were an independent community removed from the main office, the camping grounds and the rental holiday cabins and caravans, and further still from the wading pool and kids’ play area. Behind them stretched the small but lush Botanic Gardens.
‘Ready for refreshments?’ called Patrick. ‘We can go through to the Gardens to eat.’
‘Good idea.’ Roly stood up and walked over to them. ‘This way. The place is a gem, although very few people come here during the week. Perhaps that’s a shame, but for us residents, it’s a blessing.’
‘I’ve only been to the Gardens a couple of times before,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s unusual for a town this size to have its own Botanic Gardens, don’t you think?’
‘We are very fortunate, my dear,’ said Roly. ‘I believe the original plan was for the Botanic Gardens to be developed and extended over stages, but for some reason they never were and the rest of the land became the caravan park.’
‘Luckily for you,’ Patrick said, laughing. ‘You’re living in paradise, Roly.’
‘I certainly am. So, Ellie, how are you finding your return to your roots?’
‘Oh, it’s been lovely. I’ve noticed a few changes, though. It’s been a while since I was last here.’
‘I believe one sees a place, no matter how well you think you know it, through the prism of past and present sensibilities, don’t you think?’ said Roly as they strolled. ‘Memories so often dictate emotions.’
Ellie didn’t comment, but his words struck home.
‘There’s a free table under the she-oaks over there,’ said Patrick.
Ellie was spreading out the food when a loud sound broke across the tranquil setting and she jumped, realising it was the roar of a chainsaw starting up.
‘What the heck?! Who’s using a chainsaw?’ said Patrick.
‘Oh, that’s our temporary resident artist. Remarkable talent,’ said Roly, reaching for a sandwich. ‘Go have a look. Head down towards the water, through those trees, and you’ll see.’
Grabbing a sandwich, Ellie and Patrick did as he suggested, and when they reached the riverbank, Ellie burst out laughing. ‘That’s outrageous! I love
it!’
Patrick shook his head as they watched a man in shorts and a hardhat wield a chainsaw like a conductor with a baton. The sawdust and chips flew in every direction from the massive wooden crayfish that was taking shape in front of him, its angry claws looking ready to strike.
‘It’s half a damned tree,’ said Patrick. ‘Must be old, look at the girth of the trunk.’
When the wood carver stopped to step back and study his work, taking off his helmet to wipe his forehead, Ellie gasped.
‘It’s Ben O’Neill! Hey, Ben!’ she called.
He turned around and walked over, grinning. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise.’ Ellie introduced Patrick as Ben asked, ‘So, whaddya think?’
‘It’s amazing. Is it staying in the caravan park?’
‘Nah, this is for outside the new fish co-op shop. They thought it’d be a bit of a tourist drawcard.’
‘That’s for sure. Where did that tree come from?’ asked Patrick.
‘The family estate. Cassie and Steve suggested I work on it here, out of the way. I’m staying here at the park.’
‘You’re living here?’ asked Ellie in surprise.
‘Yeah, till I’ve finished this job. I was just about to take a break. Are you on a walk?’
‘We heard the chainsaw and wondered what was going on,’ Ellie said. ‘We’re having lunch, why don’t you come and join us?’
‘Ah, Benjamin, nice to see you,’ Roly said as they arrived back at the picnic table.
While Ben demolished one sandwich after another, Patrick casually probed him about his return to the area.
‘It was a bit of a coincidence,’ Ben said to him. ‘I got the job doing the cray for the co-op and the next thing I knew there was a family gathering being held while I’m here. It’s my grandmother’s birthday celebration.’ He paused. ‘If they hadn’t known I’d be here, I might not have got invited. So it kinda all worked out.’
Ellie was about to ask if the whole family was coming to Storm Harbour for the celebration, but her grandad got in first.
‘Your grandmother must have some good stories to tell,’ said Patrick. ‘Some squatters had a lifestyle few people could have imagined.’
Ben nodded. ‘Yep. My grandfather was very proper. He talked about when he was growing up and having to wear black tie to dinner, with servants everywhere. All the properties held big balls, polo matches, formal dinners, that sort of thing.’
‘I went to university with a few sons from the wool baron families,’ Roly said. ‘The bright ones. That was when wool was better than gold.’
‘They still live pretty well, those who remain,’ said Patrick. ‘Most who’ve sold off to corporations and foreign companies have retired to the coast, to towns like this, while their offspring make hay in Toorak and Tenerife.’
‘Yeah, maybe. My family is hanging in, I s’pose, while Grandy and my dad are in charge.’
‘We’re thinking of doing a story about your grandmother for the paper,’ Ellie said, reaching for the last sandwich. ‘To coincide with her birthday celebrations. What do you think, Ben?’
He shrugged. ‘My grandy is very easy to talk to. Unless you’re offside and in the bad books, or that secretary of Ronan’s is around. Or my brother – then I don’t get a look-in,’ he added. ‘I’ve always got on great with Grandy. But I haven’t been here for some time.’
‘So, you’re a bit of a drifter?’ asked Roly bluntly.
‘Roly, you can’t say that!’ exclaimed Ellie.
But Ben chuckled. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t care. I just do my own thing; it’s easier that way.’ Looking down, Ben brushed the crumbs from his hands. ‘I’d better get back to Harry. That’s what I call the cray.’ He grinned. ‘Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you round the park then, Roly, eh?’
‘What do you make of that?’ asked Roly as Ben strolled away.
‘There must be some reason young Ben is a loner,’ Patrick mused. ‘A roving artist, perhaps? Maybe we can ask his grandmother.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Ellie said. ‘C’mon, time we went back to work too.’ She began gathering the sandwich wrappers.
‘Harry will no doubt claw in a new clientele to the fish shop,’ said Roly. ‘Worthy of the front page, perhaps. Thank you for the invitation to lunch.’
‘See you again soon, mate,’ said Patrick, taking off his hat and fanning away a fly.
‘Indeed.’ Roly gave a wave and sauntered back in the direction of his cabin as Ellie and Patrick walked towards the bridge to town.
‘I met Cassie today, who runs this place with her husband. She’s seems friendly, very warm,’ said Ellie.
‘Yes, they’re a nice couple. I’d say they’d be busy making this a profitable business. It’d take a lot to maintain, though I s’pose the council does their bit. It does attract lots of tourists and there are the long-term renters like Roly. They’re young, they’ll make a go of it.’
Ellie was thoughtful. ‘I’ve always loved this town, Poppy. I remember the stories you used to tell me about the fishing families and the history of the whalers and the shipwrecks,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s something to ask Mrs O’Neill about.’
‘You could, yes, but ideally we want personal stuff. The story of the town is in the Historical Society, but people don’t know much about Kathryn herself. Do some homework. Put together a bit of a potted family history first, then when you interview Kathryn, get some wise words and advice from the perspective of a long life of achievement. She is a leading light on garden design and the conservation of local flora, among other things. Then get into the personal stuff. And let’s set it up quite soon. We don’t want Sally to get her on the airwaves first,’ said Patrick.
‘Did Nana ever have much to do with Mrs O’Neill?’ said Ellie.
‘Well, they knew each other, but not very well. We had different lives and interests.’
‘Okay, Poppy, I’ll do some research,’ she said. ‘If Jon’s still out and about maybe I’ll jump online on his computer.’
‘Why don’t you start at the library?’ suggested Patrick. ‘It may seem old school, but not everything makes it onto the internet, you know. If you’re going to become a hard-nosed journalist, you’ve got to cover all sources.’
Ellie laughed. ‘All right, Poppy. I’ll see if any of the local history books have anything on the enigmatic Kathryn O’Neill.’
*
The library was housed in an impressive heritage building. Inside, Ellie felt enveloped in that special world of books; there was the occasional hum of subdued conversations, the rustling of papers, and an atmosphere of concentration with several people sitting at computers, others browsing shelves of books, and a handful seated comfortably reading a newspaper or magazine.
After talking with the librarian, Ellie settled down to work, but a couple of hours later, with a growing sense of frustration, she decided she’d probably done as much research as she could for the time being. She packed up her laptop and stacked the books and other material she’d been reading on the returns trolley.
The librarian, whose name tag read Maureen, looked up and smiled at Ellie as she walked towards the entrance.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘Ah, well, I now know a lot more about the many social events Mrs Kathryn O’Neill attended in Storm Harbour over the years, and I have a bit more information on the causes and charities she’s supported, but I can’t say I’ve found everything I need. It’s hard to get a sense of the real woman from these public appearances. I’ll keep looking – you never know what else might be out there,’ said Ellie. ‘It would be fascinating to read some diaries by people who grew up here, personal memories or stories about Kathryn, but I suppose that sort of thing often gets thrown away by their families when they die.’
‘Oh, don’t remind me, I’ve heard about some t
ragedies of family memorabilia being tossed on the tip,’ said Maureen. ‘But you might want to try Tommy’s Treasures. It’s a second-hand bookshop down behind the railway yards. You know, where they’ve converted the big old railway goods shed into all those little shops?’
‘I know it. My mother talks about playing in there as a little girl, when it was still the goods shed when the railway stopped here. Thanks so much, Maureen, I might pay it a visit now.’
‘Good luck,’ said Maureen. ‘Let me know if you discover anything extraordinary.’
Ellie walked slowly through town, taking in the activity on the streets, the thriving shops, cafés and offices. How many towns were still recovering from the effects of the devastating bushfires and perhaps would never regain their prosperity? she wondered. Storm Harbour had a lot going for it. It had the potential to grow even more, but at what cost? Managing growth and development was a subtle balancing act, she knew. Growth was not always a good thing if the elements that made a place what it was were destroyed in the process. What mattered was the community, families, friends, the little things; like sitting in fresh air to breathe in a sunrise. Home mattered.
It was a beautiful crisp day, and Ellie found herself breathing deeply and feeling calm, steady and purposeful. She felt she was gradually coming out of the fog that had filled her mind since she’d walked out of her job. But it was taking longer than she’d ever have expected.
Turning down a side road towards the old railway yards, the massive wooden structure of the former goods shed stood out. Ellie could see the last stretch of overgrown railway line beside it. A ramp and steps led up to the entrance, above which in new lettering were the words The Shed. Once inside its cool, shady interior, Ellie glanced at the tall timber roof. The old shed was still redolent of its first incarnation, where everything from boots to wool bales, sacks of produce and dairy milk cans would be stacked high, waiting to be loaded on the frequent freight trains.
