Before the Storm

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Where’d they move from?’

  ‘Melbourne, I think.’ He went over and turned off the hose. ‘What’s wrong, Ellie?’

  Ellie took a breath. ‘There’s someone trying to discredit the mayor on the paper’s Facebook page. A troll is hinting at some pretty ugly history, saying why does the mayor think she can decide what the town should or shouldn’t do . . . that sort of thing. It wasn’t nice. I’ve taken it down.’

  Patrick looked outraged. ‘She’s the mayor, for goodness’ sake! She has every right to make decisions for the town! Why would anyone defame her? About what? Who are they?’

  ‘No idea. Probably just a misogynist who can’t bear the idea of a woman in charge. Welcome to the wonderful world of social media, Poppy. It’s one of the hazards of having a public profile, I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t say anything to Meredith. I just hope she didn’t see it. Well, we don’t want anything to do with this social media stuff then.’

  ‘There’re a lot of positive likes, comments and questions,’ Ellie said quickly. ‘And the website and Facebook page should generate interest in the paper that wasn’t there before.’

  ‘How do you know it wasn’t there before?’ asked Patrick. ‘Everyone likes the paper, or else they wouldn’t buy it.’

  ‘Poppy, they say that to you, but let’s look at the numbers. How many adults live here versus the circulation of the Chronicle?’

  ‘Well, that’s always hard to quantify. The paper gets handed around and read by more people than just the person who bought it. Let’s see, it’s in waiting rooms, coffee shops and such,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘True. And we need those people to keep paying to read it. Also, there are probably some people who don’t like it but they won’t say so to your face.’

  ‘People chew my ear about things all the time! But no one would have the cheek to backstab the mayor to my face, I wouldn’t think. Must be a nutter with a grudge of some kind,’ growled Patrick.

  ‘There’re a lot of them out there. Guess we have to expect them to hit on us. There are going to be people for and against the paper, however unbiased you try to be,’ said Ellie. ‘Does the paper have many readers outside of Storm Harbour?’

  ‘Oh yes, you’d be surprised. As well as the news­agency and the other shops in town, I’ve now built up a courier army of retired couples who deliver bundles all over the shire.’

  ‘Really?’ Ellie said, crossing her arms and leaning against one of the old trees. ‘Isn’t that expensive?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Patrick grinned. ‘They’re people like me who want the truth to be reported. And because they’re mostly retired they have the time and they do it for free, and the paper pays for their petrol. It started with one couple who came to me with the idea and it grew from there.’

  ‘Poppy, you never cease to amaze me,’ Ellie said, laughing.

  ‘It’s not me, love. Maggie coordinates them all. I have no idea what we’d do without them,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Okay,’ Ellie said as she patted the trunk of an old tree. ‘I’m going into the office to work on the website, and then I’m having lunch with Dave.’

  Patrick smiled. ‘That’s nice. We could do with a bank manager in the family.’

  ‘Poppy! It’s just a lunch date! Sheesh.’

  *

  In Dave’s text inviting Ellie to lunch, he had suggested they meet outside a 1930s emporium that had been transformed, with offices on the first floor and an Asian-style marketplace with various food stalls and small restaurants on the ground floor.

  ‘I had no idea this town was so multicultural!’ Ellie looked around at the variety of food.

  ‘My office is nearby so I’ve tried most of the stalls and they’re all delicious,’ said Dave. ‘It was a clever idea from a guy who holidays here a lot and missed Chinatown in Melbourne. He set this up and brought down a bunch of chefs to train the staff, who’re mostly locals.’

  ‘Brilliant. I wonder if we can do some articles with them for the paper,’ Ellie said, noticing that she was starting to sound like her grandfather. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever had any Burmese dishes before. Let’s go there.’

  They walked over to a table and as soon as they sat down a waiter brought them each a menu.

  ‘This all sounds good. Oh, look – it says here they preference local produce,’ Ellie said.

  ‘I think most of the stalls do. Some of the people who work here have sidelines growing fruit and vegetables, farming ducks, seafood, lowline beef, goats. I think we’re giving Tasmania a run for its money now.’

  ‘We?’ said Ellie. ‘Do you farm?’

  Dave chuckled. ‘God, no! The finance for this place was done through our bank so I know a bit about it. We support the town’s enterprises, and some of our local investors have been very involved, too.’ He nodded over her shoulder as he lifted a hand to acknowledge someone behind her. ‘Here’s one of the movers and shakers who run this place now.’

  Ellie heard someone walk over to join them and half-turned towards them.

  ‘Checking on your investment?’ Dave asked cheerfully.

  ‘Hobby, more like it,’ came the reply, and Ellie froze. Turning back, she lifted the menu, pretending to study it, keeping her face down.

  Dave rose and the two men shook hands. ‘Ellie, meet one of the brains behind this establishment,’ he said.

  She glanced up as Ronan O’Neill held out his hand with a cool smile. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes and the handshake was brief.

  ‘Do you have time for lunch?’ Dave asked him, and Ellie stiffened.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘I have to go to the ladies’.’

  She hurried across the large room, realising she had no idea where the toilets were, until a young waitress pointed her in the right direction.

  Ellie was walking fast, swallowing hard as her breath came in deep gasps. She prayed no one was in the washroom.

  She lurched into a toilet stall and braced herself against the door, not sure if she was going to throw up. Trying to remember what her mother had told her, she started counting while she took deep, slow breaths.

  She couldn’t have another panic attack here, now. The surging in her chest steadied a bit, and then she found she was crying. Wrenching sobs welled up in her as she leaned her head on her arms against the back of the stall door.

  Slowly Ellie gathered her scattered wits, taking a deep breath, then another, as she went to the sinks and washed her face and hands, over and over and over, replaying fragments of a scene in her mind: a narrow bed . . . a spinning room . . . a hand over her mouth . . . another hand clawing at her waist . . .

  She looked up and stared at herself in the mirror. The reflection quivered like the surface of still water suddenly disturbed, and in the ripples she saw a teenage girl’s tear-streaked face.

  A woman came in and Ellie lowered her head, turning away to dry her hands. She walked slowly back out, her knees trembling.

  Across the room she saw that Ronan O’Neill was perched in her seat, leaning over the table talking to Dave.

  As a waitress came by, Ellie reached out and touched her arm.

  ‘Excuse me, can you do something for me, please?’

  ‘Are you okay?’ The girl was holding a tray and she stared at Ellie with concern.

  ‘No. Actually, I’m not. See the two men over there at the Burma stall? Could you please tell the blond man –’

  ‘Mr Ferguson, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, please tell him I’ve had to leave, I’m having a terrible migraine attack. I just have to go.’

  ‘Sure, but are you okay to drive? I mean, why don’t I ask him to get a taxi or something –’

  ‘No, no, really, I’ll be fine. I have medication in the car. I have to go and get it.’<
br />
  She just wanted out, to be away. Damn it, Ellie thought. I was sure I was okay.

  Why had she stayed down here? It had been a stupid idea; she should have gone straight home to Fitzroy when she’d heard that Ronan had moved back to Storm Harbour. Ellie shook herself. No. She wasn’t some little girl here to be spoiled by her grand­father. She was supposed to be looking out for Patrick.

  She wrenched open the car door and fell behind the wheel as her phone rang.

  ‘Ellie? Are you okay, where are you?’

  ‘Dave, I’m so sorry. It’s a migraine attack, makes me vomit and I feel as sick as a dog. I just need fresh air, I’ll be fine. Please, I apologise . . .’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. I’m worried about you. Let me take you home.’

  ‘I’m in the car. This has happened before. It’s okay, I know what to do. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Are you sure? . . . She’s in the car. Migraine attack . . .’ He was explaining to Ronan O’Neill. ‘Ellie, call me the minute you’re home so I know you’re okay. I wish you’d let me drive you.’

  ‘I’m fine, really. I didn’t want to throw up all over you. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ She ended the call and, quickly snapping on her seatbelt, she drove out of the car park behind the old building. But as she drove down the sunny street Ellie felt overwhelmed and desperately sad. Or was she feeling sorry for herself?

  She’d thought that quitting her job under a cloud was enough to deal with. It had sent her into a downward spiral, but she’d felt that she was just starting to crawl out of it and find some purpose again. How wrong could she be?

  Looking out at the town she loved, Ellie wondered for the first time exactly why she had come here. Ostensibly, of course, it had been to deal with the immediate problems in her life, and there was truth in that. But a deeper part of her knew there was more to it, and she refused now to let herself shy away from this as she always had done in the past. Trembling a little, she allowed the thought to form. Was it time she actually faced the demons she’d lived with for nearly twenty years?

  Ellie had a vague memory of her mother telling her once that the deepest depression was often cloaked by a cheerful demeanour that kept the tortures hidden. Had she been doing this herself, maybe for years?

  Ellie had always felt she could talk to her mother about anything, as Sandy often said, ‘A psychiatrist has heard it all.’ But now, when she perhaps needed her most, she didn’t want to disturb or upset her mother. Mothers always wanted to fix things, make things right. And sometimes they just couldn’t. Deep down, Ellie knew she needed to help herself. ‘Grow up, get on with it, move on,’ she’d been trying to tell herself.

  But Ellie also knew that helping herself sometimes meant acknowledging that there were things she couldn’t do on her own, strong and independent as she’d always tried to be. This was the time to pick up the phone.

  Julie came to mind; her best friend, who never kept a secret from her even if Ellie sometimes wished she would. They’d shared a lot, had a lot of history together, and she knew if she were Julie she’d be on the phone to Ellie demanding heart-to-heart time and expecting Ellie to be on the doorstep.

  But Ellie couldn’t do that. Much as she loved her friend, she knew Julie was a ‘me’ person at heart – everything was always about her – and Ellie often teased her and told her so. In any situation, inevitably Julie had been there too, done that too, known it too, and would dole out very specific advice on how to overcome the problem. Ellie had always smiled and nodded or shaken her head, but she knew Julie had rarely taken anything seriously, and her advice wouldn’t cut it this time. Nope, she wouldn’t call Julie.

  Charlie was gone from Ellie’s life, and they’d never shared caring in-depth conversations, ever, even as husband and wife.

  Mike would listen and probably say the right things, but for some reason she was reluctant to let him see she was struggling. She felt she was letting him down. He’d been so proud of her efforts when she was getting on with life, happy to see her using her skills, even at a basic level, to get the paper into the modern world. Mike was a possibility, but not top of her list.

  Ellie pulled over and hit the brakes.

  She had been driving slowly; there was little traffic in town. In front of her on the corner was the imposing Council Chambers building. Was it meant to be intimidating? she wondered.

  Suddenly she knew who she could speak to. She realised she should probably call ahead, but she was afraid she’d be put off to a later time and would then lose her courage.

  Ellie got out of the car and went to the reception desk, where she announced herself and requested a meeting, now, if possible.

  The receptionist hesitated when she heard Ellie’s authoritative tone of voice then excused herself. She returned after a few minutes, Meredith Havelock close on her heels.

  ‘Ellie, this is a surprise. Is everything all right?’ She frowned when she saw Ellie’s tense expression.

  ‘Meredith, I was wondering if you could spare me some time. Now, if possible? Maybe a coffee . . . somewhere quiet?’

  Meredith studied her for a minute. ‘Yes, of course. Follow me. Hold any calls, please,’ she said to the woman on the desk.

  She showed Ellie into her office and shut the door. ‘You look upset. Is Patrick okay?’

  ‘Yes, he’s fine. I’m sorry, but I need to talk to someone. Not just anyone, but, well, I just . . .’ She sank into the chair Meredith pointed to, feeling too drained to sugar-coat her words. ‘I’m having a bit of a meltdown. There’ve been two major issues this morning.’

  ‘Something specific, or is this a long time coming?’ Meredith waved at the bench in the corner. ‘Bad coffee or cold water?’

  ‘Water is fine. Thank you.’

  Meredith studied Ellie, put the water in front of her and sat down opposite her with a mug of coffee. ‘Right. Let’s deal with this issue by issue. Number one is about . . .?’

  ‘You.’ Ellie watched Meredith steadily. The older woman didn’t seem surprised and didn’t flinch. She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say it, but there’s a troll out there who decided to attack you. I don’t know what’s happening, but someone left some nasty comments on the paper’s Facebook page. Whoever decided to target you hinted at secrets and a dark history. A colourful past, that sort of thing. Of course, I took the entry down,’ she added hastily.

  Meredith nodded. ‘Thank you. No doubt there’ll be more. An attempt to intimidate me so that I toe the line, I assume.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t do that unless you thought it was right, would you?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who could be trying to . . . well, scare you?’

  Meredith shrugged. ‘I’m the mayor. I’ve ruffled a few feathers over the years.’ She added after a moment, ‘Of course, I’d appreciate you removing this sort of thing as soon as possible if it happens again. Which it will. Though even if you block them, trolls are adept at re-inventing themselves online, I’ve found.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Of course.’ She felt that there was more to Meredith’s story – more than just feather ruffling –

  but before she could probe any further, Meredith had moved on.

  ‘Now. Item number two. You. How are you feeling?’

  ‘A bit calmer.’ Ellie tried to smile but gave up.

  ‘What happened this morning?’ Meredith spoke gently, her eyes kind.

  Ellie drew a breath. ‘I was supposed to have lunch with Dave Ferguson, but suddenly someone came over to say hello to him, and I just fell apart when I saw who it was. We have history, sort of. But I was suddenly swamped. Overcome. I haven’t laid eyes on this man in many years and I’ve never spoken to anyone about what happened between us. I thought I’d put him out of my mind. I’ve been so much better since being back in
Storm Harbour, helping my grandfather with the paper and trying to get my head back together. It’s so hard to go back into a world that walked all over you.’

  ‘Is that why you haven’t gone back to work in Melbourne?’ asked Meredith softly. ‘Came to hang out down here with Patrick where you thought you’d find a safe haven?’

  ‘Yes. Safe in one way, but not in another.’

  ‘Perhaps you came back here to face the past without knowing it?’ said Meredith quietly.

  Ellie looked up sharply when she heard her own thoughts reflected back at her. Meredith was perceptive. She’d been the right person to come to.

  ‘Something like that, I guess,’ Ellie replied. ‘I thought I was doing the mature thing, putting stuff from the past behind me and trying to move on. And then it all just hit me: I’ve pushed it away, but I’ve never dealt with it. It’s not something I could talk to my grandfather about, or even my mother and father. I just fell apart. Ran to the bathroom and then out the door. I rang Dave and said I had a migraine.’

  ‘And it was this man walking back into your life that brought this on?’

  ‘Yes. Suddenly I just couldn’t handle it.’ Ellie’s voice cracked as she spoke these last words, and she finally let out a sob in an explosion of breath.

  ‘Oh, Ellie,’ said Meredith. ‘I’m sorry to see you in so much pain. Life isn’t always easy. But you’re so much stronger than you think you are.’

  Ellie sniffed. ‘I know that, in theory. I’m smart and educated and independent. But then I look at my life and it’s been two steps forward, one step back. Every time I think I’m getting ahead, I have the rug pulled out from under me.’

  Ellie felt Meredith watching her, almost as if in silent sympathy for a moment, then the older woman put her mug of coffee down on the small table and turned to face her, her shoulders set and her face resolute.

  ‘Would it be of any use if I told you something of my own life experience? It might help you to put things in perspective. Or appreciate that you are not alone. Maybe let you see where I stand.’

  ‘It might,’ mumbled Ellie. ‘I’m not sure. I should say that what happened to me wasn’t to do with work. I was only young . . .’