She looked over to the old double swing nearby, the breeze moving the seats in unison while the metal chains creaked. A minute shiver formed at the back of Henny’s neck and danced down her spine. She shook it off and hurried down the hill towards the water’s edge.
Henny didn’t notice the figure staring out across the res until she was almost upon him. He’d been obscured by the copse of gums and the shadows their stretching boughs created.
‘Oh, sorry—I didn’t see you there,’ she said, stopping a couple of metres away.
The person turned and took a step out of the shadows. ‘No worries. Good to see you again, Henny.’
Instantly she recognised Dan Barker’s blond hair and boyish good looks. ‘Hey, Dan.’
‘Well, I’m glad you recognised me.’
Henny smiled. ‘I’ve been gone a decade, not a lifetime.’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. Listen, I’m sorry about your mum. She was a really nice person, you know—caring and stuff like that.’ Dan looked at the ground. ‘I saw you at the funeral.’
‘Oh, thanks for coming,’ Henny said as she dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.’
Dan shrugged and glanced back up at her. ‘That’s understandable since I reckon most of the town turned up. She was a really nice person . . .’
For a moment Henny thought that he was going to continue, but when he didn’t the silence became stretched and awkward and Henny desperately racked her mind for something to say. ‘Um, you’re still on the farm?’
He nodded and looked back at the water. ‘Yeah, some things never change around here. Is this the first time you’ve been back here since . . .’
His sentence hung in the air between them.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,’ he continued.
‘Of course you should. And yes, this is the first time I’ve been here in years. I haven’t been since that day. How about you?’
‘I come here every now and again. It’s quiet, and I guess I still miss them.’
Henny felt a lump form in her throat and for a second a wave of emotion threatened to break over her. ‘Me too,’ she added quietly. ‘Well, I’d better get on. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Dan shook his head as he took another step closer. ‘No, you stay—you’ve only just got here. I’ve got to get back to work anyway.’
‘Okay,’ Henny said with a slight smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘No worries.’ Dan walked past her and glanced up to the almost empty car park near the boat ramp. ‘Did you walk over?’
Henny nodded. ‘Yes, I cut through the bush.’
‘Did you want me to wait? I mean, I can give you a ride back to your place.’
‘No, it’s alright—I think I want to spend a bit of time here. Thanks though, I appreciate the offer.’
Dan shrugged. ‘No problem. I guess I’ll leave you to it.’
He took another few steps towards the car park before turning around. ‘Listen, I’m not sure that anyone’s told you about the memorial service, but it’s happening at the beginning of next month. If you’re still in town maybe you’d like to go.’
‘Memorial?’ Henny asked with a frown.
‘Of the drowning.’
Henny turned her head and looked at the still water. Memories flooded back and for an instant she could almost see her friends laughing and mucking about in the shallows. Henny shut her eyes to block the image out. ‘Oh, I see. I’m not sure if I’ll still be here.’
‘Well, I just thought I’d mention it. The town and the council are making a big deal of it this year because it’s the tenth anniversary. Apparently they’ve commissioned a sculpture and a plaque, you know, to bring the town together so it can heal.’
‘Will it?’
Dan let out a laugh and shook his head. He pointed to a large No Swimming sign not far from where Henny was standing. She’d been so wrapped up in being there again and talking to Dan she hadn’t even noticed it. ‘Of course it bloody won’t. It’ll do as much good as that sign. No amount of memorial services can change what happened and how it crippled the town. It’s only to make some of those people at the town hall and a few do-gooders feel a bit better about themselves.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? We can’t change the past, but maybe they’re just doing what they can to ease the pain.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Henny.’
‘Yeah, bye, Dan.’
Henny watched him walk up the slight incline towards the car park for a moment before she turned around and stared out across the deep waters of the reservoir.
***
Stephen could feel the sweat trickling down his back. The last two days had been overcast with the occasional sprinkle of rain: not enough to fill the dams or give the garden a decent water, just enough to make things damp and the air thick and uncomfortable. Under the old tin roof of the sheep pen the hot and muggy air seemed to gather and intensify. The smell of wet wool, lanolin and dung overrode the faint scent of sweet rain and eucalypts.
All he wanted was a cold drink and a shower but he forced himself to carry on. He’d been spraying the mob for flystrike all morning and calculated that he had about seventy more to do. Conditions were perfect for flystrike and he’d protect his stock any way he could; Stephen had seen the damage a blowfly could do. He pulled the next ewe over to him and sprayed its breech and then another two overlapping lines along its back. The benefits were worth a little discomfort.
‘I thought I might find you out here.’
Stephen looked up from the sheep as he pushed it away. ‘Hey, Dad. I thought you weren’t coming back until later tonight.’
‘Thought you could use a hand.’
Stephen got to his feet and straightened up. ‘Well if you want to finish this, go for it,’ he said with a grin. ‘Really, be my guest.’
His dad grinned back. ‘How many more have you got to do?’
Stephen stretched his arms above his head. ‘About seventy, give or take. I’ll finish them up and then we’ll have lunch. How’s Aunty Elise doing?’
‘Oh, she’s on the mend. Told me to go home and stop fussing over her,’ he replied with a laugh. ‘You know how bossy she can get.’
It was true that his aunt wouldn’t put up with any rubbish—that was one of the reasons Stephen adored her. She and his dad had a close bond, but after a while they would get under each other’s skin. They had been that way for as long as Stephen could remember, so visits were great as long as they didn’t stretch into an extensive stay.
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘What—that she’s okay or as bossy as ever?’
Stephen smiled. ‘Both.’
‘So what’s been happening around here?’
‘Nothing much—same old, same old,’ he said before changing the subject. ‘Dad, I was wondering about the old barn in the western paddock.’
‘What about it?’
‘I’ve been mulling over an idea for a while. I was thinking about fixing it up and turning it into my own place.’
His father stared at him for a moment before he nodded. ‘I think it’s a great idea. I know what you gave up for me.’
‘Dad, I didn’t mind not going to uni. It was my decision and I don’t regret it. I like working on the farm, I always have. It’s just . . . having my own space would be good.’
‘Of course it would be. I get it—sharing a house with your old man is problematic at the best of times but now . . .’
‘Now what?’ Stephen asked.
His dad shrugged and started to turn away. ‘I’ll go and make us some lunch while you finish off here.’
‘You didn’t finish what you were going to say,’ Stephen pointed out.
‘I just figured you’d want a little privacy—you know? And now that Henny’s back in town I thought it would be a good time to do it; considering you’ve been lovesick for that girl for as long as I can remember,’
he answered with a wink before walking back over the patchy grass of the paddock towards the farmhouse.
***
‘So how are you holding up, kiddo?’ Janey Smith asked as she plonked a couple of coffee mugs on the small table.
Henny was looking out the double glass doors into Janey’s garden. Sitting here was something that Henny had done ever since she was a little girl and it was a warm and comforting place to be right now. On the slate floor beside her sat two French bulldogs, Napoleon and Josephine, who according to Janey were more loyal and trustworthy than her two ex-husbands. In general she preferred dogs over humans, although there were a few exceptions and Henny was one of them. Janey was her mother’s lifelong friend since childhood, and Henny had grown up with her always being there. Janey was family to her, and she had always called her Aunty Janey—a habit that she still held on to.
‘I’m fine,’ Henny said with a slight smile. ‘I mean, I’m going to be fine.’
‘Well, of course you are, I never doubted it. But all I’m saying is that I’m here if you need to talk. Other than you and your father, I knew Jess better than anyone, so if you need me you know where I am.’ She sat down opposite Henny.
Henny looked up at Janey. ‘It’s hard, Aunty Janey, harder than I thought it would be. It feels as if I’m treading water and the shore is miles away. Some mornings I wake up and I don’t think I’m going to make it.’
Janey reached out over the table and took her hand.
‘You’ll make it, kiddo, I promise.’
‘When Dad died I was only ten. I remember it hurt so much and I thought the world was ending. And when Georgie drowned it shattered me so badly that I ran away and never looked back. But this, this is something else—I can’t form the words to express what losing Mum means. You know, it’s crazy but I half expect her to walk through the door any minute. But she won’t and that’s what I have to try to come to terms with.’
Napoleon shifted on the floor and leaned his stocky little blue-brindle body against Henny’s leg. Perhaps it was in a sign of support or maybe he just needed a backrest, but either way, it helped. She reached down and scratched behind his ears.
Janey nodded. ‘We both do. She was my best friend ever since first grade; I feel like a piece of me is missing so I can only imagine what you must feel. But your mum wouldn’t want you to be sad.’ She nodded at Henny’s incredulous look. ‘Yeah, I know. Easy enough to say. But you know it’s true—Jess would want you to remember her with love but above all she’d want you to be happy and live your life to the fullest.’
‘I know.’
They were silent for a moment as old memories wrapped around them, bringing a bittersweet comfort. Henny shifted her gaze and looked out the large window that faced Janey’s wonderful garden.
‘It looks beautiful,’ she said.
‘I suppose it does, although the summer has knocked it a bit. I almost lost the cherry tree and the sun basically decimated the magnolias. I thought they were sheltered but obviously I was wrong.’
Janey’s garden wasn’t very big but it always felt cool and green and lush, especially in a long hot summer. When Henny was little she thought that the garden was magic and fairies lived there. There was a courtyard lined with large clay pots overflowing with colourful flowers and herbs, and a small water feature in the middle bubbled and splashed over grey slate tiles. Beyond that was an enclosed garden filled with fragrant roses, jasmine and an old cherry tree.
Janey sipped at her mug of coffee. ‘So what’s your plan?’ Henny dragged her eyes away from the window. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, what are you doing next, kiddo? Are you going to try to make a life back here or are you running back to the city?’
‘What do you mean “running”? You make it sound like I’m hiding or something.’
‘Well, aren’t you? Don’t get me wrong, Hen—I love you like you’re my own but let’s face facts. All you’ve ever done is run, at least from the time of the accident.’
‘That’s not—’
‘Yes, it is true and we both know it. Don’t you think it’s time to put down roots and begin to build a life for yourself? Whether it’s here or back in Melbourne, it’s time you faced the future.’
‘I’ve been travelling.’
‘That was six months ago, and since then you’ve been waiting tables.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Henny countered.
‘No, there isn’t—it’s a damn hard job but you’re doing it for all the wrong reasons. You’re trying to disappear not just from the past but from life itself, and that’s what has to stop. Your parents and Georgie would want you to have a fantastic life filled with love, laughter and adventures, not to fade away and be lost in the facelessness of the city. You’re at a crossroads, honey. It’s time to make a decision.’
‘Aunt Janey—’
‘Do you have friends where you are? Are you in love? Are you happy?’
‘I haven’t been at the restaurant that long, and I’ve been busy and—’
Janey cut her off again. ‘Just think about staying—at least here there are people who care about you. Just think about it. Maybe it’s time to face the past and look to the future.’
Chapter Five
Henny sat cross-legged on the large sofa, old photographs scattered next to her and across the coffee table. The room was lit only by the tall Tiffany-style floor lamp next to her and from her perch Henny could see the almost full moon peeking through the partly closed curtains. In the background her mother’s favourite blues compilation whispered through the speakers. The music was smooth and somehow comforting, like a tangible link to Jess. She’d heard it a hundred times over the years and had been vaguely surprised that the battered old CD actually worked when she turned on the stereo.
Henny reached for her glass of red wine and took a sip—like the music, the wine was full-bodied. She savoured it for a moment before placing the glass back down. As she did a slightly faded photograph caught her eye, half sticking out of the blue cloth storage box that her mum kept all the pictures in. Henny couldn’t hold back a smile as she plucked it up. It was of her mum and dad, and Henny was standing in front of them with a grin and a far-too-short fringe. Henny had inherited auburn hair from her mum and a stubborn streak from her dad. She ran her finger over the photo and closed her eyes for a second, remembering that day, or at least the day leading up to it. Jess had asked Henny’s dad to take her to the hairdresser for a trim and a fringe. Dad, in all his wisdom, decided he could do a better job than a professionally trained individual—problem was, he couldn’t. As he tried to fix a bodgy cut, the fringe ended up being far too short and on a jaunty angle. It was the first time Henny had ever seen her laidback mum lose it and for the next few weeks she wore a hat, even in school. But Mum got over it pretty quick and her father decided to commemorate the worst haircut ever with a photo. She must have been about nine years old—a lifetime ago, when her life had been perfect, even with a shonky hairstyle.
With a sigh, Henny reached again for the glass. Okay, no one’s life was perfect, but thinking back to then it was pretty damn close. Both her parents had been teachers. Her father, Simon, taught English and history and her mum was a part-time art teacher at the same secondary college. In her free time, Jess had pursued her own successful career in painting. Driving home after one of her exhibitions, Henny had asked her mother why she didn’t want to move closer to the city and its art scene—she’d overheard someone saying that if Jess was really serious she should leave Lawson’s Bend and take her art to Melbourne. The idea of moving away from Lawson’s Bend had rattled her; to Henny it was home and the only place she’d ever known.
Without taking her eyes off the road, Jess reached over and patted Henny on the knee and smiled. ‘Why would I want to do that? I have everything I need right here—friends, inspiration and you.’
At the time, Henny thought she’d spend her life in Lawson’s Bend.
She pi
cked up a few more photos and looked through them. There was another one with her parents, one of her mum and Aunt Janey, and the last one was of Henny and Georgie. It hurt to think that all the people who loved her most, except for Aunt Janey, were now relegated to the photo box. That was all she had left: memories and a box of fading photos.
But as she pored over the pictures she recalled what Aunt Janey had said to her the day before: maybe it’s time to face the past and look to the future. Perhaps she was right. If Henny was brutally honest with herself, she knew that she’d been hiding from life for a long time. At work she had a lot of acquaintances but no close friends, and it had been that way ever since Georgie had drowned. Perhaps it was just her coping mechanism: if she didn’t truly let people in then she couldn’t get hurt. Because the one thing that life had taught her was that love always ends in pain.
Henny sank back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. What Aunt Janey had said resonated through her—the words had echoed in her mind ever since Janey uttered them.
Her initial plan had been to settle her mother’s affairs, sell the cottage and hightail it back to the city—but to what? Henny drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. There wasn’t anything waiting for her except a bedsit, a meagre-paying job and a handful of people she worked with. There should be more to life than just existing.
She looked back down to the picture of her parents. They’d had a life even if it had been cut short. They would have wanted her to be happy and do more than drift. She leaned forward with the intention of grabbing the wineglass when her eyes fixed on the large painting over the mantle. It was one of her mother’s works, a portrait of Henny at sixteen that Jess had done from a photo. Henny quickly fanned through the photo box until she found the original and pulled it out. She stared at the painting and then back to the old photo, appreciative again of her mother’s gift. It was almost a realistic interpretation but there was also a fluidity to the brushwork that gave the piece a sense of movement. The sixteen-year-old Henny was half-turned, looking over her left shoulder and out of the canvas. Auburn hair fell down her back as she stood in front of the flowering plum tree at the bottom of the garden. The painting shone with pink and red tones and seemed to capture the hopeful essence of youth.
Lawson's Bend Page 4
