“I can paint!” Ally offered brightly.
He smiled at her. “Thanks, but they have to be sanded back, filled, undercoated. It’s a big job.”
“I know, I helped some friends do up their old place. Fourteen double-hung oregon windows we had to strip back of, like, a hundred years of paint. But they came up great in the end.”
“So, you’re a bit of an expert?” he nodded. “But you’re on holidays, you don’t want to spend it working.”
“It’s not work. It’s how I spend most of my holidays anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a bit of a closet renovator.”
“You renovate closets?”
Ally grinned. “No, I just like renovating, so I help friends when I’ve got nothing of my own to renovate. I’d love to help, really!”
He paused, looking her up and down. “Well, you’re going to need covered-in shoes, I don’t want to take off one of your toes if I drop a chisel.
“And you should wear a hat, too,” he added, calling after her, because Ally had already disappeared inside to change.
Watsons Bay
“Neil, it’s after eleven.” Meg knocked on the door as she spoke.
“Righto,” came the muffled reply. “What’s happening?”
As if there had to be a special reason to get out of bed before midday.
“Just life passing you by,” Meg returned.
“You can come in, I’m decent.”
She opened the door and peered into the darkened room. Her brother’s tall frame was sprawled diagonally across the double bed, a sheet draped across his middle. He stretched his arms out and cupped his hands behind his head.
“Where’s Hazza?”
She wished he wouldn’t call him that. “Chris took him down to the cove.”
“Good! It’ll give us a chance to talk.”
That was the idea. They hadn’t been alone since he arrived late on Christmas Eve, and Meg knew he was waiting for the chance to make his pitch. So she sent Chris out today with Harrison, to give Neil his opportunity. Then he would leave them alone.
It was his usual routine. Neil showed up probably twice a year, eating their food and drinking their alcohol, and charming everybody who met him. Ally thought he was funny, and Chris’s mother said he was the nicest boy. Trouble was, he wasn’t a boy. He had two marriages and three children behind him and he still hadn’t grown up. Which was precisely why he had two marriages and three children behind him.
“I’m not talking to you in here, Mr. Horizontal,” Meg informed him. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Meggie,” he called after her.
She popped her head back around the door.
“Put the kettle on?” he drew the words out plaintively. “Please, Meggie?”
She grunted. Of course she would.
A few minutes later she heard the toilet flush, and then he appeared in his boxer shorts, scratching his stomach. Neil had survived on charm all his life. He was boyishly handsome, more like their father than Meg cared to consider. But she’d always excused him for that, it wasn’t his fault if it was in the genes. But enough already. He was nearly thirty-six and the years were showing. His dark hair had started to recede, and he was developing a paunch. Wife number three wouldn’t be along in a hurry.
Meg poured boiling water into the teapot and sat it on a coaster in front of him. “Do you want some toast?”
“I’ll get it,” he offered half-heartedly, settling himself on a kitchen stool.
Meg turned away and popped some bread in the toaster. Then she took two cups out of the dishwasher and handed them to Neil. “Maybe you can pour the tea,” she said abruptly.
He took the cups and peered across at her. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You got the shits with me?”
“No,” she said briskly, opening the fridge door and peering inside. “What do you want with your toast? Butter, Vegemite, jam, a check?”
“What?”
Meg sighed, “Sorry.”
“So you should be. I’m offended.”
Meg looked at him. “Come on, Neil, you don’t get offended that easily.”
He smiled. “Lucky for me, eh?”
She smiled back at him, perching herself on a stool opposite.
“We both know why you’re here, Neil. So why don’t we just cut to the chase?”
“I came to visit my big sister for Christmas.”
Meg considered him dubiously. “And you’re not going to ask me for any money?”
“Jeez, what’s wrong with you?” Neil shifted uneasily. “Are you and Chris having problems or something?”
Meg sighed loudly. “It’s just that you do this every time, Neil, and I think we should be honest and stop playing games.”
“Have you been talking to Glen?”
Not for a while, and not as often as she would have liked. Glen was the “good” twin. Meg wondered if two people born minutes apart had ever been so different. Unlike Neil, Glen had stayed at university after Meg left Queensland, working part-time to support himself through a mining engineering degree. After he graduated, he took a contract in South Africa for three years. Meg understood why he had to get away. Their family was parasitic. They’d almost sucked the life out of Meg, and they’d turned on Glen once she was out of reach.
“You two are so much alike,” Neil complained. “Everything’s always turned out for you.”
“Oh sure, Neil. Hard work didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You think I haven’t worked hard? But you know how much bad luck I’ve had.”
She used to believe all his stories, but they were wearing thin. And they sounded too much like their father’s tales of woe. Mick Fitzgerald had taken his first gamble at sixteen, when he had unprotected sex on a beach with Cathy Morrow. It was the summer after they finished their school certificate, and they believed they could do anything without thought to the consequences. Well, Meg was the seven and a half pound consequence that arrived nine months later.
They moved into Cathy’s parents’ garage and played house. She was the Morrows’ youngest child—their change of life baby—and as far as they were concerned she was still a baby. Cathy’s parents indulged them, not wanting to do anything to drive them away. But when the twins came along fifteen months after Meg, they put Cathy on the pill and found Mick an apprenticeship as a mechanic.
If only they could have lived in that garage forever, they might have made it. But Meg’s grandparents were elderly and passed away within a year of each other. Mick and Cathy inherited the house, but they had no one to look after them anymore. Until Meg was old enough, and by then it was too late. Her father had gambled away the house and anything of value the family owned.
“Look, I don’t mind giving you money.” Yes she did, why did she say that? “But I’d just like to see you do something a little less … speculative?”
Neil insisted he wasn’t a gambler. He didn’t bet on the horses, or throw his money away at casinos like his father. But he was forever falling for the latest get rich quick scheme, chasing the next big thing. He was a gambler by any other name.
“Well, this is bound to make you happy.” Neil leaned forward eagerly. “Glen has offered me work.”
“Glen?” Meg was stunned.
Glen had extended his contract in South Africa and married a pretty Afrikaans girl. For a while Meg believed he’d never come back. But when they were expecting their first baby, they moved to Western Australia. As far away as they could be while still living in the same country. She found it hard to believe he was actually inviting Neil to come to Western Australia.
“What work? Where?”
“In the mines, over in WA.”
“There are plenty of mines in Queensland, and they’re not so far away from your kids.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t got a brother in high places to get my foot in the door in Queensland.” He looked at he
r curiously. “What’s your problem, anyway? I thought you’d be happy Glen and I are reuniting, so to speak.”
Meg sighed. “Of course I’m happy, as long as he’s not doing it under duress.”
“Jeez, Meg, you’re making me out to be some kind of a con man or something, with my own brother,” Neil declared, obviously miffed.
“I’m sorry, Neil. Here, your toast is ready.”
She passed him a plate and he proceeded to slather butter all over his toast. Meg watched him uncomfortably. What that would do to his arteries, she didn’t want to contemplate.
“So, tell me what Glen said.”
“Okay, he said if I can get out there under my own steam, he’d get me a contract, six months minimum. It’s good money, Meg, really good money. Anyway, I checked with the airlines, it costs a bloody fortune to get to Perth. But Glen wouldn’t spot me the fare.”
“He might have wanted you to work for it. Prove you’re serious?”
“Well, it’s a bit hard to work for it here when the job’s over there!” Neil exclaimed, as though it was the most reasonable piece of logic. He’d failed to understand that Glen was probably hoping for evidence of some level of commitment from his brother.
“What about your kids?”
Neil avoided her eyes. “I don’t see them much these days. They do alright without me.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“Anyway, if I make as much money as Glen reckons I can, then I’ll be sending them back plenty. I’ll do the right thing by them, Meg.”
She folded her arms and leaned back against the kitchen cupboards. “How much do you need?”
He looked at her warily. “Are you sure?”
Meg nodded. “It’ll be cheaper than feeding you for much longer.”
Neil laughed. “You’re not wrong there.” He paused. “This’ll be okay with Chris?”
“Of course it will. You’re family, he doesn’t bat an eye.”
“He’s a good bloke, that man of yours. I hope you appreciate him.”
“I do,” she said, picking up the teapot. “Do you want a top-up?”
He picked up his cup and held it out for Meg to fill. “Mum and Dad said to tell you hello.”
Meg put down the teapot and turned to the sink, busying herself.
“Don’t you even want to know how they are?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are they well?”
“Yes—”
“Then fine, that’s all I need to know.” Meg didn’t have any contact with her parents these days, save for Christmas and birthday cards. She found it easier that way.
“I’ll go and have a shower,” said Neil, changing the subject. “Then I’ll phone the airline, if you’re sure…”
“Forget about it, Neil. Just don’t let Glen down.”
Meg watched him leave the room. She hoped it would all work out. Glen had always been the giver in their relationship, since they were in utero. He was smallest born and had stood behind his brother from then on. Moving to the other side of the world was the only way he could get some independence.
Still, Meg couldn’t let herself stress about their relationship now. If Glen had asked him over, then the two of them would just have to work it out. She wasn’t responsible for them anymore. She should never have been responsible for them in the first place.
From about the age of eight or nine, Meg had known that her family was falling apart. It was like something had vacated inside Cathy when her parents died. Perhaps she looked around at her life and decided it was all too much for someone in her early twenties. She sat staring at the television most of the day. So Meg took charge, getting the boys off to school each morning, making sure their lunches were packed and their uniforms clean. She wrote her mother elaborate lists every day, so that she wouldn’t forget what she had to do.
Cathy gladly handed the reins to her daughter. When she realized just how capable Meg was, she started leaving her in charge at night as well, giving her the chance to go out and join her husband, for the first time in years. She dressed up in skimpy clothes and heavy make-up and kissed the three of them on the forehead, leaving a smear of dark lipstick.
“Mind your sister, boys,” she’d say on her way out. Every time. It was the one thing Meg could count on.
Sydney Airport
Chris and Meg stood waving to Neil as he disappeared down the passageway to the plane that would take him to Perth.
“Are you okay?” Chris said gently, watching her pensive expression.
“Sure, he’ll be fine. Glen will look out for him, if he doesn’t drive him batty first.”
“They’re big boys now, Meg, you’re not responsible for them anymore.”
“This from the man who just gladly paid for his plane ticket?”
Chris grinned sheepishly. “He’s family, Meg.”
“I know,” she looped her arm through his and they strolled over to where Harrison stood glued to the window, watching the planes.
“What can you see, Harrison?” said Meg, crouching down to his level.
“Plane Mama!” he shrieked excitedly. “Plane go urrrm … wing…” and that was as much as Meg could make out. Harrison launched into an intense and comprehensive dissertation on the joys of aeronautics, with plenty of arm action and enthusiasm. But they couldn’t make head or tail of what he was saying, save the odd word. Meg loved listening to him. He was so sure of himself: as far as he was concerned he was communicating just fine, and she supposed he was, just not in a language they could understand. Of course, they were recognizing more and more words, and pretty soon he’d be speaking English the same as everyone else. But Meg hoped it wouldn’t happen too quickly.
“Do you want to go on a plane, Harry?” Chris asked.
“Plane, Dadda…” and off he went again, ten to the dozen.
Meg stood up and leaned back against the window, gazing around the airport. There were people lugging backpacks, or oversized suitcases, clutching wads of tickets and other papers, their excitement palpable.
“I think Mummy would like to go on a plane,” Chris was saying.
Meg stirred, looking up at him. Harrison was now perched on his shoulders.
“I was thinking about what you said, before Christmas. We do need a holiday. We should start to plan something.”
Meg nodded vaguely, “Sure.” He’d missed the point entirely. She didn’t want to plan something, she just wanted to do it.
“We should both put in for our holidays as soon as we can. And you pick the place Meg. Anywhere you want. Well, within reason. We have to consider Harry. But there are plenty of family-friendly places we could go. We’ll see a travel agent, look at their packages, that way there are no surprises, everything’s organized down to the last detail…”
Meg tuned out. They wandered slowly back out of the terminal to the carpark, Chris’s enthusiasm building as they went. But he might as well have been Harrison babbling on in his own language for all that Meg was taking in.
Thursday
Ally had finished painting and now she was just waiting for the last window to dry. They had worked solidly for the last two days. All the windows were repaired and painted, ready for Matt to refit them today. The southerly change had held off, but not for much longer. The heat was so intense it was sure to break soon.
Ally dragged a chaise longue off the verandah and pulled it into the shade near where Matt was working.
“Are you quite comfortable there?” he said as she settled down with a cool drink.
“Yes, thanks for asking,” she quipped.
“You’re all finished?”
“Just waiting for the paint to dry now.”
“You’ve done surprisingly well, if you don’t mind me saying, Ms. Tasker.”
“Why ‘surprisingly?’” Ally asked. “Because I’m a woman?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, well, not in so many words.”
He glanced across at her.
“It’s not what I meant.”
“Look Matt, I’ve been holding my tongue, not wanting to call you sexist, but—”
“I’m not sexist!”
“Well, then what’s with all the ‘oohing and aahing,’ just because I can work a belt sander and I know what a mullion is?”
He straightened up, laughing. “When was I ‘oohing and aahing?’”
“Constantly.”
“You’ve got to admit, it’s a bit unusual. Did your grandfather teach you all that?”
“Not likely.”
“Well, you’re good. I can’t get a decent subbie down here, male or female, to do that sort of work.”
“What’s a subbie?” Ally frowned.
“A subcontractor. If I’m contracted to do a job and I need another tradesman sorry, person—I have to subcontract somebody.”
“And you can’t get a painter?”
“Oh sure, for entire houses, but not for little jobs, fiddly stuff like this.”
“Mm, funny,” Ally mused. “That’s just what I like to do.”
“Ever thought of a career change?”
“Only all the time.”
He stopped to look at her for a moment. “You’re a teacher in real life, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“Jim mentioned it.”
“Did you know my grandfather that well?”
Matt shrugged. “Well enough, I guess. But you know what he was like, a real talker. Used to talk about you all the time.”
“So I keep hearing,” Ally muttered. It was becoming quite obvious that she didn’t know what James Tasker was like at all.
The heat was scorching. Matt pulled off his T-shirt, wiping his face with it before flinging it aside. Ally watched him, trying not to stare.
She could not deny finding him attractive. But she was wary. He’d told her that he lived up off Sheepwash Road, near Avoca, a blink-and-you-would-miss-it township on the way to Kangaroo Valley. He had been building his house for years, and it was still not finished. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and from the way he spoke, she was pretty sure he lived alone. His story had too many similarities to her grandfather’s. A loner living on the edge of town in a half-finished house. She shivered.
Call Waiting Page 9
