Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  ‘So, how’s Judy? And the kids?’ she asked, when their business discussions came to an end.

  ‘Julie’s great, thanks. We split up, though, unfortunately. She’s living in Quorn now. With her new husband.’

  ‘Keith, I’m sorry. And your kids?’

  ‘They’re with her. Her and him. I have them every second weekend. That’s one good thing. If she was going to have an affair, at least she chose someone who lived within an hour’s drive.’

  ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Me too.’ He stood up then. The meeting was over. ‘Okay. Go and see Bert in operations for your equipment. And see you back here next week with your first interviews. We’ll edit the first segment together. After that you’re on your own.’

  She’d forgotten he could be like this, relaxed one second, abrupt the next.

  She stood up too. ‘Great. Thanks. See you then.’

  She was at the door when he said her name.

  ‘Sorry, a journalistic lapse on my part. I didn’t ask you to verify your own story.’

  ‘My story?’

  ‘In your mother’s letter.’

  As she felt the blush rise, she cursed her pale colouring. About to come back with a flip answer, she decided to tell the truth. ‘She was right. I was having an affair with him. And he was out of his mind on drink and drugs that morning, but I got the blame. Mum was right about something else, too. I’m not cut out for the Sydney media. I was completely out of my depth.’

  ‘You were also hung out to dry, from what I heard. He got the big new job and you got —’

  ‘An unexpected holiday.’ She was trying to make light of it now.

  ‘And are you still having an affair with him? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘No, I’m not. If you don’t mind me not giving you any more detail.’

  ‘Good.’ He stood up abruptly. She’d forgotten how tall he was, well over six feet. ‘He’s an idiot. You’re too good for him.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I’ve known him for years. We started out together in Newcastle, twenty-five years ago. I didn’t like him then either.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, thanks.’

  ‘Any time. Sorry I was too late with my fatherly advice.’ He smiled then. A good, genuine smile. ‘Well, not fatherly. You have a father. My friendly advice.’

  ‘Next time I’m about to do something really stupid, I’ll check with you first.’

  ‘You do that. Welcome back, Victoria. It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ she said.

  As she left his office, she had to fight an urge to click her heels, do a little skip. Her life wasn’t a complete disaster after all. She had a job, even if it was only a contract one. She was back home again. Not just back on beautiful Errigal, not just back with her family, but with Genevieve too. And all right, her mother had temporarily taken leave of her senses and shared all their family secrets, but maybe it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe a bit more honesty wouldn’t do any harm. And yes, her father had leased out half the station, but they still owned half of it, didn’t they? And at least it was diamonds they were searching for, not uranium or coal. And perhaps it might not even turn out to be a viable mine. Maybe in five years’ time the lease would lapse and all of Errigal would be theirs again. Life suddenly felt more positive. All because she had a job. A fresh start. Even before she’d left the building, she’d taken out her phone to ring Genevieve with the good news.

  Ninety kilometres away, Joan and Angela were at the medical centre in Port Augusta. Yes, it was urgent, Joan told the receptionist. Extremely urgent.

  Thirty minutes later, they were sitting opposite Angela’s GP, Dr Lewis. Joan had known him since he was a boy. She had not only insisted on accompanying Angela into the consultation, but she also filled him in on Angela’s headaches.

  ‘Enjoying having an official spokeswoman, Angela?’ Dr Lewis said.

  ‘If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t even be here,’ Joan said. ‘And you should be thanking me for bringing you an extra customer. Not that you need any more money. It’s scandalous how much you charge.’

  ‘Thank you, Joan,’ Dr Lewis said. ‘But we do prefer to call them patients rather than customers.’

  ‘Go on, then. I’ve done my job, now you do yours.’

  His examination was brisk. He rechecked the scans he’d taken previously. After a brief discussion with Angela about her headaches, he picked up the phone and rang an Adelaide number.

  ‘Right, then,’ he said, putting down the phone several minutes later. ‘You have your specialist appointment. Not for three weeks, unfortunately. First week of January, the day they reopen after the Christmas break.’

  ‘Isn’t it more urgent than that?’ Joan asked before Angela could. ‘What if it’s a brain tumour?’

  ‘I don’t think it is. The scans were clear four months ago, as I told Angela then. I still think the headaches are caused by something else. It could be muscular. Or it could be stress. But you need reassurance as well as a second opinion at this stage, Angela, and the specialist will give you both.’

  ‘It’s not just the headaches, though,’ Joan said. ‘Tell him, Ange.’

  Angela had no choice now. ‘I’m having other symptoms,’ she said. ‘The kids say I keep talking to myself. Saying odd things. Speaking my thoughts aloud. And I’ve done a few other things out of character lately, like —’

  ‘Your Christmas letter?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘You know about that?’

  He gave a quick smile. ‘I’m on your mailing list too. Don’t worry, I’ll make a note of those symptoms,’ he said, writing on the pad in front of him. ‘Again, all of those could be due to stress. You’re not long out of menopause, either. Hormonal changes can have a big effect on mood swings. The specialist will look at all the possibilities.’

  ‘And I’ll drive you to Adelaide, Ange,’ Joan said. ‘I’m due a trip down there.’

  Angela remembered her journey to collect the twins. The peace, the quiet. The thinking time. ‘I’ll be fine, Joan. Thanks anyway. I might even stay overnight.’

  ‘A four-hour trip on your own? Doctor, should she do that?’

  ‘You haven’t had any blackouts, Angela?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just the headaches. I’ll pull over if the pain gets too bad.’

  ‘Make sure you do.’

  He saw them to the door, touching Angela’s shoulder as he said goodbye. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out. In the meantime, see you at the party.’

  In Port Pirie, Victoria was now in the supermarket. After talking to Genevieve, she’d decided to take the opportunity to do some grocery shopping. Living in Sydney, she’d got used to being able to nip round the corner to her local deli to get fresh bread and fruit. The freezers on Errigal were always fully stocked, party or no party, but the family relied on frozen fruit and vegetables, frozen bread. If it was urgent, they could drive into the general store at Hawker, but even so, there were fresh fruit and vegetable deliveries there only once or twice a week. She filled four bags now with apples, oranges, strawberries, bananas, even some mangoes. And croissants, crusty rolls, baguettes. There was a surprisingly good cheese section. She chose some lovely, runny camembert and a creamy Tasmanian blue cheese. She also bought a selection of biscuits, sweet and savoury. And a freshly baked apple pie. Ig would love that, she knew. So would she. She had every intention of going on a diet soon, of getting fit again, walking on the property for an hour every morning before the sun got too hot. But she was only just home. It had been a stressful few months. There was plenty of time for that yet.

  She’d just packed the groceries in the boot of the car and was walking around to the driver’s side when she heard her name being called. She stopped. She hadn’t heard that voice in ten years. It had taken her nearly that long to forget it. To force herself to forget it.

  She heard it again. She turned around. She hadn’t imagined it
.

  It was Fred Lawson.

  Walking towards her. Smiling.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was the morning of the party. The entire family was gathered in the kitchen, sitting around the big wooden table. Not just the Gillespies. Joan was there too. This meeting had been her idea.

  Over the past few days, while setting up chairs and tables, putting out glasses, organising the bar, she’d become everyone’s confidante. She’d heard everyone’s worries about the party. Everyone but Nick’s, and she’d tried to guess how he might be feeling. She’d decided it was time to bring their concerns out into the open.

  She stood up and waited until she had everyone’s attention. ‘Now then, all of you. I’ve got something to say. I’ve known you four kids since you were babies. I’ve known you since you were a kid, Nick. And I’ve known you for thirty-three years, Angela. So I think I have some right to speak up now. You all have a decision to make about this party tonight. It’s happening, even though I know some of you wish it wasn’t. It’s a big deal. You’ve been waiting years for your turn to host it. What you have to decide now is how you’re all going to behave at it.’

  ‘Who cares how I behave? I don’t even want to be there,’ Lindy said, looking like she might be about to cry.

  ‘Yes, Lindy, I’ve gathered that,’ Joan said. ‘But you will be there. Because it’s a big party in your woolshed and all your neighbours will be coming.’

  ‘Unless they decide at the last minute to boycott it,’ Genevieve said under her breath.

  ‘I heard that, Genevieve. No one’s boycotting it. I did a ring-around last night. Everyone’s coming. But ever since you all read Angela’s letter, you’ve been carrying on as if you’re about to host a mass execution. I think it’s time to stop being victims. Seize the day. Don’t fear being talked about behind your backs. Step out in front of their backs.’

  ‘Does that even make sense?’ Victoria said.

  ‘Don’t interrupt, Victoria,’ Joan said. ‘Yes, most of your guests will have read the letter. Those that haven’t will want to read the letter. What they’ll be expecting is a family in disarray. I say, don’t give anyone that pleasure. Stand united, side by side. Face your battles.’

  ‘What have you been watching?’ Genevieve asked. ‘Game of Thrones?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. But I’ve also had an idea. Once everyone arrives tonight, I think each of you should stand up and make a short speech. Mention the letter. Make a joke out of it. Trust me, you’ll not only stop the gossips in their tracks, you’ll present a united front. Lindy, stop sniffling. If you get a sample cushion finished in time, you can even hold it up as an example of your fine needlework.’

  Lindy stopped sniffling.

  Joan continued. ‘Seriously, all of you, what’s the alternative? A party cancelled at late notice? Impossible. Going ahead with it, frozen smiles all night, conversations stopping each time you come within earshot? Horrible. At least your mother told the truth in that letter. How often does that happen these days? I say, stand up, be proud, get the gossip out of the way and then give your neighbours a party they’ll never forget.’

  They’d expected two hundred people. By seven-thirty, it was closer to three hundred. Half the sausage rolls were already eaten. A third of the sandwiches were gone. It looked like locusts had visited the salad bar.

  Standing in the doorway of the woolshed, Angela knew that Joan had been right. There was a definite air of anticipation and mischief among the party guests. Everyone was obviously expecting to see the Gillespies ignoring each other, or having an all-in fight.

  At the family meeting, they’d eventually agreed with Joan’s suggestion to make speeches. Lindy had been the most reluctant, but she’d finally agreed too. They’d do it at eight p.m., they decided, after everyone had had their first couple of drinks.

  It was now five minutes to eight. Angela stood apart from the crowd and looked around. The mood was festive. There was a loud buzz of conversation. The music they’d chosen – Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald for now, Motown for later – added a cheery layer of sound. There had been nice comments about the food. No mention of the mining lease, not to their faces yet, at least. All things considered, so far so good. Her headache was back, but it was a dull ache rather than a shouting roar.

  ‘I think you should do it now,’ Joan said, coming up beside her. ‘Nip the gossip in the bud.’

  Angela caught Genevieve’s eye and nodded. Victoria and Lindy came over too.

  Ig appeared beside Angela. ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘Oh, Ig, you don’t have to make a speech,’ she said.

  ‘But you said I was weird.’

  ‘In an affectionate way.’

  ‘I’d still like to say something.’

  ‘Let him, Angela,’ Joan said. ‘One in, all in.’

  Angela led the way to the front of the woolshed, where they’d arranged a dozen pallets into a small stage. The others came up beside her as she switched on the hired microphone. It squealed, getting everyone’s attention. She looked around. Her hands were shaking but she managed to keep her voice steady. At the edge of the stage, Joan gave her an encouraging smile.

  ‘Welcome, everyone, and thanks for coming tonight,’ Angela said. ‘We’ve been to so many of your parties over the years, it’s great to be the hosts again.’ She paused. ‘Some of you here may have received my Christmas letter. Thank you for your replies. That’s definitely the last time I take truth serum.’ There was a ripple of laughter. ‘It’s already a few weeks out of date, though, so we thought this was the perfect opportunity to give you all an update. So, firstly to Genevieve.’

  Genevieve stepped forward, taking the microphone. ‘Thanks, Mum, and hi, everyone. It’s great to be home. You’ll be as glad as Mum is, I’m sure, to hear that I left my fake American accent back in New York, as well as my dreadlocks. I’ve always been a good and obedient daughter, so just as Mum hoped, I’ve finished working in the film and TV world in America and come home for a while. Less said about that the better, but what it means is I’m back here, scissors at the ready, have car will travel, so please do get in touch if any of you fancy a new do. That’s all from me. Thanks. Here’s Victoria.’

  Victoria stepped forward, not as confidently as her twin. ‘I’d like to add my thanks to Mum for updating you all about my time in Sydney. I’d also like to take this opportunity to let you know I’m doing some freelance radio work here, a documentary series about station life. So if anyone has any family stories they’d like to share, please get in touch with me. And yes, everything Mum said was true, and no, I’ll be making no further comment, on the grounds that it might incriminate me and cause the publication of even more unflattering photos of me in my pyjamas.’ There was laughter. Victoria gave an awkward curtsey, then stepped back.

  ‘A curtsey?’ Genevieve whispered. ‘What do you think this is, The Sound of Music?’

  ‘Be quiet, or I’ll tell them you slept with the director’s brother.’

  Lindy was next. She stepped forward, a cushion tucked under her arm. She stared straight ahead, to a spot just beneath the woolshed roof. ‘I’m very happy to be home and I’d also like to thank Mum for being so honest with you all about my new venture. I’m happy to say my cushion business is now up and running. I’ve had a one hundred per cent increase in orders this week. From none to one.’ There was laughter again. ‘But if anyone here would like to order a cushion as a handmade and unique family keepsake, please visit my website, quote the code “Woolshed Party” and you’ll get a ten per cent discount. Thanks. Have a great night.’

  As she moved back, she passed the microphone to Ig. Angela’s heart turned over at the sight of him, the solemn face, that dark-red hair. It was still too long. He’d refused to let Genevieve cut it.

  He shook the hair out of his eyes and then spoke in a clear voice. ‘Hi, everyone. I just wanted to say to the other kids here tonight that Robbie and I will be outside in the cubby after
this, if any of you want to come and play with us.’

  It was Angela’s turn again. ‘Thanks again to you all for coming. Eat, drink and be merry, and have a great night, I hope.’

  She was taken by surprise when Nick appeared beside her, hand outstretched. He didn’t say anything. She gave him the microphone.

  He stood tall, straight-backed. Angela’s heart turned over again.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. My turn. I had a starring role in that famous Christmas letter of Angela’s, so it would be wrong of me not to talk now too. First of all, I’m not having an affair with an Irish woman. Or any other woman. As for the rest of it, many of you already knew I’ve leased half of Errigal to a mining company. I had no choice. But it’s my fault, not Angela’s, not my kids’. So if any of you are angry, be angry at me, not them. It was my decision. My bad management to blame.’

  ‘It was the drought’s fault, not yours,’ a man near the front called up.

  ‘I should have handled it better,’ Nick said.

  ‘Mate, there but for the grace of God and the rest of it,’ another man called out.