Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  ‘Great idea,’ Will said. ‘You choose the station. I’ll be happy to go wherever you want to.’

  Angela scanned the list. They all sounded great. But she kept being drawn back to the first one she’d looked at. The one called Errigal, with the one-hundred-year-old homest—

  The blast of a semitrailer’s horn made Angela leap. She swerved slightly before bringing her attention right back to the road. The truck driver had been signalling to a passing truckie, not her, but it brought her to her senses.

  What on earth had she been thinking, bringing her fantasy life into her real life? The whole idea of her alternative life was to take her away from her real world, not imagine herself and Will sitting at the kitchen table on Errigal, being served dinner by —

  By who?

  Because it wouldn’t be her, would it? Because if she had gone back to London, married Will and had Lexie, she wouldn’t have married Nick, gone to live on Errigal or had four children with him.

  She’d imagined her alternative life, but she hadn’t imagined Nick’s. What would his life have been like if he hadn’t walked into her pub that night? Who would he have ended up marrying? Diane, the woman he’d been going out with for a few years before he met her? How many children would he and Diane have had? Would they have lived happily ever after?

  It was a sudden, unsettling thought.

  For the rest of her journey, she concentrated on the road.

  Once she reached Adelaide, it took her nearly an hour to find the specialist’s rooms. The city’s streets were laid out in an orderly way, grids and straight lines, but she didn’t know it well. Her visits over the years had been confined to seeing the girls and – briefly, Ig – at their boarding schools, and the occasional shopping trip.

  She eventually found her way. The rooms were in a shady street on the edge of the central business district, a florist on one side, an upmarket cafe on the other. The reception area had a polished, designed look, with expensive carpet, leather seating and original paintings on the wall. It smelt good too, of lemon or mandarin. The woman behind the desk was middle-aged, well-groomed, smiling. Angela gave her name.

  ‘Welcome, Mrs Gillespie. Mr Liakos is unfortunately running a little behind schedule today. I hope you won’t mind waiting.’

  That was fine, of course, she said. She declined tea or coffee, picked up a magazine and sat down. Four other people were waiting. Classical music played quietly. The receptionist was making calls, speaking in a low tone. If Angela didn’t have the start of a headache, this would feel so relaxing, like a day in a beauty spa. Peace, music, magazines, a quietly spoken lady being so nice to her. Perhaps she should cancel the actual appointment and just sit here for the day instead.

  The young woman across from her was called in first. What was wrong with her? Angela wondered. Two more people came in. The young woman left. Another woman was called. Angela felt her headache start to pulse. She now wasn’t even looking at the magazine.

  Finally her name was called.

  She liked the specialist straightaway. Despite the waiting room full of people, he took his time with her, going through her GP’s letter, looking at the scans again, examining her, asking her questions about the headaches, their severity and duration. When they’d started. What triggered them.

  He was calm and reassuring. No, he told her, he didn’t think there was a brain tumour. He was inclined to think the headaches were being caused by stress, or something amiss with her neck muscles or vertebrae. There could even be a connection with menopause. But for her sake as much as his, he wanted her to have more tests, another MRI, a different kind of scan. He would ask his receptionist to make the calls for her. It usually required several days’ notice, for a non-urgent case like hers – even that phrase was reassuring – but he hoped it would be possible for her to do them either later that afternoon or early the next morning, to save her having to make the long trip down again in the near future. He refused to talk about the ‘what ifs’. ‘Let’s get the facts and then go from there,’ he said.

  Outside, his receptionist took over, confirming she would be making calls on Angela’s behalf to organise the new series of tests for her. She took down the phone number of Angela’s hotel. ‘I’ve got your mobile number too. I’ll try that first. We’ll arrange your tests and get you on the road home before you know it.’

  In the car, Angela knew she should call home, let them know it had gone well, but she couldn’t decide who to ring. A year ago, it would have been Nick. Without question. But she was still hurt by his farewell that morning. She took the coward’s way out and rang Genevieve’s mobile number instead. Even if her daughter wasn’t in signal range, she could leave a message.

  Genevieve answered after the third ring. ‘Mum! Your timing’s perfect. I’m in Hawker shopping, with a signal for once. Civilisation again! How did you go?’

  ‘The specialist thinks it’s nothing too serious, but he wants me to have some more tests. I might have to stay down two nights, not just one.’ Angela surprised herself with the sudden lie.

  ‘Oh, Mum. Are you sure you don’t want us there? Do you need me to book you into the hotel for another night?’

  ‘No, thanks. I can manage it,’ she said. ‘What’s been happening there?’

  ‘Shall I tell you about Lindy’s cushion tantrum? Ig’s near accident with a rope ladder on his cubby? Victoria’s sudden attack of work nerves? No, it can all wait till you get back. In fact, I might stay here in Hawker myself.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘He was still locked in the office when I left. He’d been in there since you left.’

  ‘I tried the house phone but it just rang out.’ The lies were coming too easily. ‘My battery’s nearly run out too. Can you please fill him in for me when you get home?’

  ‘Of course. Good luck with the tests. Book into the hotel for another night even if you don’t need to. Enjoy the luxury. And steal all the soaps, would you? Ig wants them for his cubby.’

  Her hotel was easy to find, near the Festival Centre and overlooking the River Torrens. It was more than twenty storeys high. Inside, the lobby was airy, cool. The staff were immaculately dressed, all smiling. Once again, she heard the sound of soft classical music. Again, she had that feeling of peace. She asked about a second night even as she was checking in.

  ‘Certainly, Mrs Gillespie. Let me take a look.’ There was the click of beautifully manicured fingers.

  The receptionist had such a friendly face. She was so calm and efficient. Angela felt an urge to talk to her. ‘This is my first night away from my husband and children in ten years.’

  ‘Ten years?’ The young woman raised an eyebrow. ‘How many children do you have?’

  ‘Four. Two sets of twins.’ She couldn’t seem to stop lying now.

  ‘Two sets! You definitely deserve some time off.’

  ‘It’s my birthday next week too. A significant one. My husband thought I needed some spoiling. He’s booked me theatre tickets for tonight. I’m meeting an old schoolfriend.’

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful.’

  ‘He is, very. He and I will have our own time away together too, of course,’ she added. ‘This was just a special pre-birthday treat from him.’

  ‘I hope you enjoy every minute of it.’ Another rapid click of fingers and then a smile. ‘That’s all fine, Mrs Gillespie. I’ve booked you in for a second night at the same rate. Unfortunately I couldn’t give you the same room, so I hope you don’t mind that I’ve upgraded you to a suite for the two nights. At no extra cost.’

  Angela hadn’t expected that. She had just been enjoying herself, making up a story. She reached for her purse. ‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that. Let me pay the difference.’

  The receptionist smiled again. ‘It’s my pleasure, Mrs Gillespie. You don’t need to pay anything extra.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m one of four too. I can’t wait to tell my dad what your husband did. My mother’s birthday’s coming up too. Nothing beats a su
btle hint!’

  A young man in a uniform carried Angela’s bag up in the lift for her, even though she was capable of carrying it herself. He opened the door with a swipe of a keycard. She stifled a gasp as they stepped inside. The room was beautiful. Except it wasn’t a room, it was a suite. As well as the bedroom, there was a separate living area with a sofa, two chairs, a desk. There were two enormous televisions, one in each room. The bedroom had the largest bed she’d ever seen, made up with what looked like the whitest, softest linen and six – six – pillows. There was an entire wall of windows looking out over the river and the Festival Centre, to Adelaide Oval and to parklands and suburbs beyond.

  The porter showed her how to work the two large sets of curtains, where the refrigerator was, the TV and DVD player, the sound system. He pointed out the menu for room service, for the spa downstairs. Then he was gone, before she’d even had time to wonder if she should tip him. People always tipped porters in films, didn’t they? It suddenly felt as though she were in a film. She was still standing in front of the huge windows, looking out at the view, when there was a knock at the door.

  It was a different porter, holding a basket of fruit. ‘Welcome to the hotel, Mrs Gillespie. We hope you enjoy your stay.’

  She tipped him, clumsily reaching for her purse, taking out the first note she found. He seemed happy enough with the crumpled five-dollar note.

  She carried the basket across to the polished table. As well as ordinary fruit like an apple and a banana, there was also a mango, a passionfruit, a blood orange and an exotic fruit that she’d never seen before, a star-shaped light-green one. She’d take that one home for Ig. She checked in the bathroom. Not even it was ordinary. There was a whole row of soaps, lotions and creams. Ig would love those for his cubby, for sure. Five-star toiletries in a cardboard cubby.

  She reached for the phone and dialled reception. The young woman who’d checked her in answered.

  ‘This is Angela Gillespie,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to say thank you again. It’s all so beautiful.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Mrs Gillespie. Have a great stay.’

  She had just hung up when her mobile phone rang. Who would it be this time? The porter offering to run her a bath?

  It was the specialist’s receptionist. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Gillespie. The soonest I can get you in for those tests is next week. It’s good news, in a way. Mr Liakos is happy to wait as he doesn’t feel it is urgent in your case. But it will mean you have to come back to Adelaide again.’

  ‘That’s no problem at all. Of course I can come back.’

  ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I wanted to let you know as soon as I could, in case you decided to drive back home tonight.’

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ Angela said. ‘I might do just that. Thanks very much again.’

  Angela rang Genevieve’s mobile again. Her daughter was just leaving Hawker, still in signal range. Angela waited until she had pulled over to the side of the road.

  ‘I won’t keep you, darling. This battery is still playing up. Just to let you know the specialist’s receptionist called. They’ve been able to fit me in for those tests. Yes, tomorrow and the next day. So I’ll definitely book in for another night here. And maybe for a third night as well. No, of course you don’t need to come down. I’ll be fine. The specialist assured me they’re all routine, not painful. They’ll just take a long time. Can you let Dad know? Thanks very much.’

  She had one more call to make. Once again, the lies tripped off her tongue. Even to Joan, her oldest friend.

  ‘Two days of tests?’ Joan said. ‘Maybe three? Sounds like torture. Which ones are first?’

  Angela floundered for a moment. ‘I can’t remember. The list is in my bag.’

  ‘I hope it’s not another of those MRI ones. You’re not claustrophobic, are you? Apparently it’s like being eaten by a snake. So, what’s the hotel like?’

  Angela could at least answer that truthfully. She told her about the upgrade, describing the view, the two rooms, the room service menu, the linen —

  ‘That’s enough,’ Joan said. ‘I’m turning green here. You’re not having any tests, are you? You’re just having a few sneaky days away in a swanky hotel, getting away from us all.’

  How had she guessed? Angela felt an urge to confess. Of everyone, Joan would understand. But it was too late. She could hear Joan talking to Glenn.

  ‘I’d better go. His Lordship needs feeding. Good luck. Don’t worry about the tests. You’ll be fine. And enjoy the break from everyone. You deserve it.’

  Angela hung up, feeling better. Joan was right. She should enjoy this, just stop worrying, take advantage of this beautiful room and step outside her own life even for a couple of days. She leaned down and took off her shoes. About to place them neatly side by side, she changed her mind, and threw one across one side of the room, the other in a different direction. They landed with satisfying thumps. She felt the carpet underfoot, the pile thick between her toes. There were only floorboards and rugs back at Errigal. It got too dusty for carpets. She stood in the centre of the room. What should she do now? What could she do now?

  Anything she wanted, she realised. Absolutely anything she wanted.

  She could drink everything in the minibar. Order everything off the room-service menu. Watch twenty-four hours of movies. She could go downstairs and have a massage, a facial, a swim. She could sit in the bar and drink cocktails. She could go out for a walk, along the river path she could see from her high window. She could do anything she wanted and no one was going to interrupt her, ask anything of her, be angry with her, judge her or ignore her.

  She needed to mark this moment in some way. It felt like she was in a film, so she decided to do something she’d only ever seen done in films. She ran barefoot across the room and threw herself onto the enormous bed, laughing out loud.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In the kitchen at Errigal, Nick had just hung up from Genevieve.

  Celia walked in. ‘Was that Angela?’

  ‘No, it was Genevieve.’ He filled her in on the news about Angela’s tests.

  ‘Two days of serious tests? Maybe three? On her own?’

  ‘It’s what she wanted.’

  ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t.’ Celia gave a small laugh. ‘I did notice she couldn’t get away from here fast enough this morning.’

  Nick didn’t answer.

  Celia was watching him carefully. ‘That’s good she’s having the tests, at least. She’ll get to the bottom of those headaches once and for all, hopefully.’

  Nick made a noncommittal noise.

  ‘So, then,’ she said, in a bright voice, ‘tell me the latest about your reunion. Any more of those fascinating journals turned up in Ireland yet?’

  Nick took a seat. ‘Are you being polite like the rest of my family or are you actually interested?’

  ‘You are out of sorts today. I’m interested. Very interested. I’ve been a Gillespie for nearly longer than you, remember, even if it’s only by marriage. Errigal’s always felt like home to me. You know, your uncle did a bit of family research over the years himself. I could dig out his files for you, if you like. They’re at home somewhere. I’d have brought them with me if I’d realised quite how, what’s the word . . .’

  ‘Obsessed?’

  ‘Enthusiastic about it you are. There are folders full, in fact. I’ll send them on to you when I’m home again. Before you go to Ireland.’ She glanced down the hallway. ‘There’s something else I wanted to say to you while we’re on our own. Nick, I can’t help noticing there’s a great deal of tension between you and Angela.’

  Nick stayed silent.

  ‘No wonder, I suppose. That letter of hers was a terrible thing. All those things she said about you and me, not to mention her own children. If it doesn’t turn out to be some kind of mental illness she has, the alternative is just as bad, really, isn’t it?’

  ‘The letter was my fault, Celia.’
r />   ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Angela was just letting off steam. She didn’t mean to send it. I sent it.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I sent it out. By accident.’

  ‘Oh. Well. Be that as it may, she still wrote it, didn’t she? And don’t pretend you’re not angry about it, Nick. Your loyalty is admirable, but I’ve known you since you were a little boy, remember. Angela is —’

  He stood up. ‘My wife. And our marriage is our business, Celia. Excuse me. I need to send some emails.’

  The next day, Genevieve, Victoria and Lindy were gathered in Lindy’s bedroom.

  Lindy was doing her make-up. ‘How much should I put on? Or would it be better to look as if I haven’t gone to any trouble at all, in case I scare him off?’

  ‘It depends on his intentions,’ Genevieve said. ‘What did he say when he rang?’

  ‘He said would it suit if he came over and visited today.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said that would be great. Was that wrong, do you think? Too eager?’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in, Ig,’ Genevieve called. ‘Perfect timing. We need a male opinion. Tell us, how does Lindy look?’

  He inspected her. ‘You look really nice, Lindy. Your hair and make-up look great. If I were Richard, I’d think you were really pretty.’

  ‘Thank you, Ig!’ Lindy said, beaming. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m going to see if he’s coming.’

  Ig waited until she was gone, then put out his hand to Genevieve. ‘Five bucks.’

  ‘No way. I said I’d give you four.’

  ‘I added the extra line about Richard myself. That was worth a dollar.’

  Victoria stared at her sister. ‘You bribed him to say that to Lindy?’

  ‘You can bribe Ig to do anything. That’s why he’s fun to have around. Expensive but fun.’

  Twenty minutes later, they were all on the verandah waiting. Lindy was jumpy.