The Stationmaster's Cottage

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  Martha was so tired. So sad and so lost without Thomas. Even apart, he had always been there in her heart and in the back of her mind. Now, he was gone, and that left an emptiness nothing in this life was going to fill.

  Twenty

  CHRISTIE DROVE IN SILENCE, concentrating on her overloaded car, taking the turns a little slower than usual. If she allowed her mind to drift, it hurt too much. Don’t think, just drive.

  Before leaving, she’d tapped on Ashley and Ray’s door. When there was no answer, she wrote a note with her new contact details. Slipping it under their door, the realisation she was leaving more than Derek behind almost brought her to tears. These two men were friends she wanted to keep in her life.

  As she drove through Green Bay, Christie thought about Martha. Just like her great-aunt, she had left her relationship. Gran had not maintained a relationship for any length of time. Were the Ryan women destined to be alone?

  MARTIN TENDED THE GRAVE of Thomas Blake. Close by, Randall lay flat on his side, fast asleep in the sun. When he was finished, Martin sat back on his heels to check his work. It was the third in a row of graves he had worked on today, and it left him melancholy.

  Randall woke and sat bolt upright, listening intently to a sound in the direction of the road back up the hill.

  "What's up?" Martin said, getting to his feet. He got a wag in response, but Randall's focus was on something only he could hear, his head tilting from side to side.

  A moment later, the unmistakable rumble of the Lotus came into earshot, and a few seconds later, the car rounded the corner. As she went past, Christie glanced across. She slowed, as though she was going to turn into the carpark, accelerated again and disappeared.

  Randall trotted a few steps toward the road, his tail madly wagging. Martin watched in the direction the car had gone. Why was Christie back? What about London? This was the last thing he expected.

  “Let’s go.” The dog didn’t move. “Home, Randall. Come on.”

  Martin picked up his tools and headed toward the steps. Randall followed a minute later, running to catch up by the time Martin reached the beach. From the moment Christie had come into their lives, the dog loved her. Martin had only ever seen him respond to someone like that once before. It said a lot about her.

  Following the tideline, Martin remembered telling Christie he wanted to show the painting to someone. In spite of the subsequent discord between them – mostly of his making – Christie had kept her side of the agreement. He could not keep his. Not yet, as he was still waiting for his visitor to arrive. If Christie came to his house asking for it, he would have to stall her, and he had no idea how to do that. If only she were not Dorothy's grandchild.

  CHRISTIE'S HEART SKIPPED a beat when she saw Martin and Randall at the graveyard. Her instinct was to go to them. Even as her foot touched the brake, Martin's harsh last words resurfaced, and she sped up, unwilling to let him hurt her again.

  Pulling into the driveway half an hour earlier, there had been no doubt in Christie’s mind this was the right decision. In her absence, flowers bloomed, bringing the garden to life. She longed to start working on it.

  The cottage itself had reverted to that musty, stale smell and as Christie wrote a shopping list, she added scented candles and WD40. The stubborn windows were going to open one way or another, and this little place be filled with fresh air.

  In her hurry to leave for the city, she had left the mind map here. It still took up much of the kitchen table, asking for Christie’s attention. Soon. There would be plenty of time.

  Now, in town, she pushed her thoughts aside and found a parking spot. Her first stop was the supermarket. This time, when she approached the register, the woman behind it smiled. Christie smiled back and started unpacking the basket.

  “Thought you’d left.” The woman said.

  “Oh, I think I’ll be staying a while this time.”

  “Lot of people moving in now.”

  “You mean with the new estate?”

  Packing Christie’s groceries into a box, the woman nodded.

  "I'm not in the estate," Christie mentioned.

  “I know.”

  Did everyone know everything here or just assume?

  “Are you the owner?”

  “With my husband. Why?” The woman answered suspiciously.

  “You have the best fruit and vegetables. I guess they’re local?”

  “Mostly. My husband also goes to the market in the city once a week.”

  “South Melbourne markets?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Oh, I live close by and shop there all the time. Well, I did live there.”

  “I’m Marilyn. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’m Christie.”

  “I know.”

  Of course you do.

  After dropping the box of groceries into the car, Christie went straight to the bakery. She pushed the door open, greeted with a warm smile from Belinda as she carried a tray of steaming scrolls from the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon was mouth-watering, and Christie's stomach growled.

  “Hello! You’re back! You couldn’t stay away from our croissants, could you?”

  "Hi, Belinda. Hm. Well, that had been my intention, but those scrolls smell incredible!"

  “So they should! These very scrolls won 1st place at our agricultural show. Best in the region.”

  “These scrolls? So, did you keep them from the show and heat them up now?” Christie watched the humour light up Belinda’s face.

  “Absolutely. They are three months old, but you’d never know it. We make them so fresh that they are only just ready for eating now. How many?”

  Belinda grinned as she slid the scrolls into the display cabinet. Christie was starving. She had not eaten since dinner at Rosetta, and it was all she could do not to buy out the bakery.

  "Two, please. And a loaf of that fantastic sourdough."

  “Coming right up.” Belinda picked up a brown paper bag. “You’re famous.”

  “Me?”

  “But you are. You have a Wikipedia page and everything.”

  “I do?”

  "You're funny. Yes, you do. But no Facebook?"

  "Okay, now how exactly do you know all of this?" Christie tried to sound stern, but Belinda laughed.

  "I stalked you. Well, I was hoping to be your Facebook friend, but when I couldn't find you there, I searched and got hits on your movies. You've worked with some amazing people!"

  “That I have. And no, I don’t do Facebook. I do have a profile on LinkedIn though. For business.”

  "Well, you should have a Facebook account. That way your fans can stay in touch. Like me! I saw some of your work and wow, I mean, just wow!"

  Belinda put the bag with the scrolls on the top of the counter and got the bread.

  “Do you do normal people’s makeup?”

  “Normal? As opposed to actors and aliens? Of course.”

  “Your Wiki page said you do stuff at hospitals. For accident victims?”

  Christie handed Belinda some cash, thinking she was going to have to check out this Wiki page about herself to see what else it said. “It’s the most satisfying job. Being able to help people regain their confidence.”

  “Hm. I was wondering. Well, it’s just ...” Belinda went shy.

  “Come on. I’m not famous, just a person.”

  “There’s an end of year dance coming up.”

  “I’m happy to do your makeup.”

  “Not me. It’s a school dance.”

  "Oh, for your sister? Of course, I'll do it. I'd love to; in fact, I'd intended to see if she'd like a couple of tips because that birthmark is easily hidden."

  “You’d help Jess?” Belinda had tears in her eyes and Christie wanted to hug her.

  “Tell me when and we’ll set it up. I’ll need about an hour. I can do hair as well if she’d like? Shall I come to you or would you both like to come to the cottage?”


  “Yes please to the hair! She won’t go to the hairdresser or anything and wants to go to the dance but lets the mark spoil things. It is tomorrow night so can we come up to you?”

  “You know where I am?”

  Belinda laughed. “Everyone does. You’ve been the talk of the town since you arrived the first time. Brightened our little village up no end.”

  How funny. Christie remembered her mother once saying small towns are like big families and River's End certainly fitted that description. Moreover, half the town seemed related so an outsider like Christie, with a flashy car and inherited cottage, might well offer a lot to discuss.

  ELIZABETH WHITE DROVE down the hill to River’s End, having left Martha at Green Bay Hospital for some rehabilitation on her ankle. Martha had insisted she not wait, wanting to spend some time in the town after her appointment, so they agreed on a mid-afternoon pick up.

  Last night, Martha cried out for Thomas. The only Thomas that Elizabeth knew of was the artist. He had married and had a family so if he was the man in her dream, they must have known each other when quite young. Whatever happened had broken Martha’s heart.

  Elizabeth sighed at her musings and was about to take the turnoff to Palmerston House when she saw a white sports car approaching. She slowed to be sure, but yes, it was Dorothy's grandchild at the wheel. Maybe she needed to reconsider telling her friend.

  IT WAS ALMOST DARK by the time Christie opened every window in the cottage. Pouring a glass of wine, she wandered to the lounge room to unplug her new phone from its charger. On her drive here, she stopped in Geelong and bought a new phone, installing the sim card from her shattered one.

  The last remnants of the sunset gave an eerie glow to the room. The old curtains were still heaped on the floor where they had dropped, almost hitting Martin on the way down. The anger in his eyes had been enough to get Christie off the ladder, and she remembered breathing in his scent, his muscular arms on the ladder either side of her.

  She shook her head. Better to remember how he tried to force her to sell the painting and stormed off when she refused. Better to think about how harsh his words had been on his deck that morning. Might be better, but her mind preferred to wander back to sitting beside him eating breakfast. Or cuddling Randall. None of which was helpful and did nothing for her state of mind.

  Cross with herself, Christie closed the window, unplugged her phone, and went back to the kitchen. Sooner or later, she would have to go and see him to retrieve the painting. Her pulse raced at the thought, but she decided it was only because he had been so hard on her last time. Yes. That was why.

  CHRISTIE WOKE WITH the first light of morning. Coffee in hand, she wandered around the garden, letting the tranquil beauty fill her empty heart. Today she would make a start on weeding and see what was under the overgrowth, and later on, transform Jess.

  Belinda’s attempt to reach out to Christie via Facebook was touching. Asking her to help Jess even more so. Christie hoped Jess would like the experience, having seen how shy she was. This part of her work she loved the most, being able to use makeup to bring positive changes to others. Film had served her well, but she had been honest with Derek. She did not want to be travelling forever.

  Perhaps now was the right time to find some stability. A home of her own, maybe even a dog. If she stayed here, there was the room and the perfect lifestyle, with the beach so close and winding country roads to explore. Utter bliss. Maybe her dog and Randall could have play-dates and chase a frisbee along the shoreline.

  For now, she wanted a long break. From work, stress, relationships. Later, there was always the option of working on Melbourne productions – Ashley would let her know what was coming up. She could always move into personal beauty or investigate options in remedial treatments in the area.

  In spite of what brought her back, the turmoil and betrayal and hurt, Christie knew it was for the best. As long as she kept busy, she was fine. Otherwise, a little voice taunted her about losing the only real relationship she had had. That little voice cared little Derek had risked damaging her reputation in the industry, had chosen Ingrid’s company over hers, and had been a controlling narcissist.

  Christie found herself staring at a tree. She had no recollection of stopping in front of it and decided she’d done enough thinking for now.

  Twenty-One

  CHRISTIE ADDED TO THE mind map with a black marker. There had to be answers here.

  She drew a new line out from Cottage under Thomas’s name, then wrote - Thomas’ wife. She connected the two and added - Believed married 1968.

  So, who had Thomas married? Christie reached for Martha’s letter. Rereading it, there was no name mentioned.

  She told me all about it. Gloated in fact. By the time you read this letter, you will be just days away from getting married. To someone else.

  Was “she”, the friend entrusted with Thomas’ final letter to Martha, the same person he married? Or just a messenger? There had been mention of Frannie taking their photo on the beach. Frannie could be anyone in their circle of friends, not necessarily Thomas’ future wife.

  What made absolutely no sense to Christie was the fact she had Thomas’ letter here, unopened. Presumably the one he wrote to send with this friend to give to Martha. The same friend who told Martha that Thomas was to marry another. Someone who would gloat was clearly not a true friend.

  Christie gazed around the kitchen. Once, a family lived here. More than one family over many years. Children raised here, meals prepared and eaten at this table. Laughter and tears, joy and sorrow. The last of the stationmasters was Thomas’ father, who retired around the time Thomas and Martha broke up. Had Thomas and his new wife lived here? If his future wife was the one he entrusted with the letter and painting, maybe she had gone one step further than withholding them from Martha, by keeping them.

  But Gran had them! It was the shoebox with its rings and letters hidden in the attic. Half a puzzle in one house and half in another. Almost as though there was some conspiracy between two parties to stop Martha and Thomas from reuniting. Presumably, Thomas’ wife was one party, but it was inconceivable Gran was the other.

  Christie placed the pendant from the graveyard on the table and scrolled through her phone to find the photo of the engraving on the cliff face. Of course, it was not there because throwing her other phone at the wall destroyed everything not on the sim.

  This had to stop. She could not just run from one place to another, breaking things. Relationships, jobs, phones, who knows what else. Losing Gran, losing Derek, losing her last contract – it all added up to a whole lot of unrest. Regardless, getting emotional enough to throw a phone at a wall or run away from Martin when he upset her was not Christie.

  After Jess had been this afternoon, she would return to the beach and take some more photos. At least being near the sea would help calm her soul again and going for a walk along its shore was a most enticing thought.

  BELINDA AND JESS ARRIVED at four. They walked up from the town, Belinda carrying a suit bag and backpack. Christie opened the door with a smile.

  “Come on in, ladies. The kettle just boiled and there is tea, coffee and some rather yummy hot chocolate to help yourselves to.”

  Jess scurried in with her head dropped, but Belinda beamed. "Well, that's perfect because I have some of our world famous eclairs in this backpack!"

  “There goes that diet again!” Christie sighed.

  "As if you need it." Belinda laughed. "You two get to work, and I'll make afternoon tea."

  “Yes, ma’am.” Christie kept a straight face as she turned to Jess. “She’s bossy, isn’t she?”

  Earlier, Christie set up an area in the kitchen to do the makeup. The big kitchen table was ideal to spread out makeup, hair products, and her laptop, ready with photographs Christie wanted Jess to see.

  “Okay Jess, sit here and go through these first.” Christie passed the mouse to Jess, who seemed overwhelmed by the table full of beauty products. “
I can do any of those styles on the laptop. You have lovely hair!”

  Jess’s hair was just below shoulder length with a hint of a wave in it. The colour was a true golden blonde, healthy and glossy.

  “Oh?” Jess touched her hair in surprise. “You can do that. To me?”

  “Sure. Part of my original beauty course included special occasion hairdressing, you know, weddings, deb balls, that kind of thing.”

  “How many courses have you done?” Belinda plugged the kettle in.

  "Two. I started by doing a Diploma of Beauty Therapy and went on to a Bachelor of Health Services, specialising in Dermal Therapies. I've also done one on one training with an industry expert. So, I can do stuff to help burns victims, or change the colour of someone's skin for a movie, or even," she lifted Jess' chin to scrutinise her cheek, "disguise birthmarks."

  “Mum says I shouldn’t hide it. Mum says it is part of me and I shouldn’t let other people upset me about it.”

  “Well, I think your Mum is right about that. It is part of you and what other people think shouldn’t matter. But, sometimes it does, hmm?”

  Jess nodded, her eyes fixed on Christie.

  “So, what if I show you some simple tricks to cover it a bit and will also protect your skin against the sun. That way, if you have a special occasion, like tonight, you can cover it up if you choose to.”

  Christie sat near Jess. "Sweetie, you have beautiful, clear skin. Pretty eyes and a gorgeous smile. But you need to let people see that smile more often. Your birthmark isn't who you are; it's a patch of different coloured pigment. A tiny part of you. What matters is that lovely person inside the skin, and I'll bet anyone who knows you doesn't see anything but your smile and eyes."

  Jess’ lips quivered and flickered into a tiny smile. Taking the mouse, she scrolled through the images. Christie glanced over her head to Belinda, who stood with a cup in one hand, a teaspoon in the other and tears streaming down her face.