Victoria continued the tour. ‘Here’s your bathroom. Your wardrobe. If you need more coat hangers, just let us know.’
They had filled the wardrobe with clothes from her own room. That had been Ruth’s idea. ‘Don’t make a fuss about them,’ she’d told them. ‘Just put them there.’
Angela looked around again. ‘It’s a lovely room, thank you. Perfect. And where will Lexie sleep when she gets here?’
They hadn’t thought of that. Victoria stepped in. ‘Lexie can sleep in here and you and Will will have the main room.’ She nearly said ‘your and Dad’s room’. ‘Our parents’ room’.
‘Where is your mother?’
Ruth had told them to prepare for that question too.
‘She’s away,’ Victoria said.
‘On holiday?’ Angela asked.
‘No. A sort of study trip.’
Angela had lost interest. She was standing at the window exclaiming over the view. The view she had seen every day for the past thirty-three years.
‘Do you ever get tired of this?’ she said, turning around, her eyes wide. ‘Look at the colours! Do you mind if I step outside?’
She pulled at the nearest of the two French doors. The right door. There had long been a trick to opening these doors. She’d remembered it.
Outside on the verandah Genevieve and Victoria had placed a small table and a cane chair.
‘You can have breakfast out here every morning if you like,’ Victoria said. ‘Our other guests often do.’
‘I might spend all day out here,’ Angela said.
Ig followed her. ‘Can I give you the proper tour now? This is just the house. The best stuff is outside.’
‘I’d love that, thank you,’ Angela said. ‘Remind me again, Ig, how old are you?’
‘Ten.’
‘A great age. Can you ride a bike?’
‘I can drive a car.’
‘Really? At ten? You do start early here.’
He nodded. It was Angela who had taught him to drive.
‘I’ll take you for a drive later if you like,’ Ig said.
‘I don’t think so, Ig,’ Nick said.
‘Ready, Angela?’ Ig asked.
‘Whenever you are,’ she answered.
Nick and the three girls watched as Ig led her across the yard and opened the gate. They couldn’t hear what he was saying, but they could see him pointing out the different buildings, and across to the Chace Range. Beside him, Angela was nodding and listening.
‘Is it just me, or is this the weirdest day of our entire lives?’ Genevieve said.
‘I think it’s only the start,’ Victoria replied.
A short time later, Nick left the room to go to the office. He needed to catch up on some emails, he told them. Victoria, Genevieve and Lindy stayed where they were, looking out the window, still watching Angela and Ig.
‘What could they be talking about?’ Genevieve asked. ‘They’ve been standing there chatting like that for ages now.’
‘They’re probably talking about Robbie,’ Victoria said.
‘Or to Robbie,’ Genevieve said.
Nick returned. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine,’ Genevieve said. ‘Still completely weird, but fine. Are you okay?’
He nodded.
‘Dad, you have to say more than that,’ Genevieve said. ‘It’s going to be strange at first, Ruth told us that. She also said we have to keep talking to each other about how we feel.’
‘I’m fine, Genevieve. That’s what a nod means.’
He left the room again.
‘He’s definitely not fine,’ Lindy said.
Back in the office, Nick shut the door.
He’d done his best to stay calm in Adelaide; in Port Augusta. For Ig’s sake. For the girls’ sake. They were watching him so closely, following his lead, he knew that. He couldn’t let them see his true feelings.
He’d spent more time with Angela than all of them. Hours by her bed. This New Angela looked like his wife. Sounded like his wife. Smiled and laughed like his wife. But everything she said was tearing into him. She kept talking about this Will. About Lexie. London. Asking him the same questions about the station, the names of his children.
They’re your children too, he’d wanted to say. It’s your home. I’m your husband. I am. Not this Will. He couldn’t say any of it. He had to trust Ruth’s advice, go along with it all.
If he could have done anything to turn back time, stop the accident from happening, he’d have done it. Was this memory damage of hers his fault too? If things had been better between them, if he had talked to her more, if he hadn’t reacted the way he had to her letter, would her memories of their marriage, their lives together have been stronger? Strong enough to cancel out this Will, this Lexie, her fantasy London life? He hadn’t asked Ruth any of that. She already knew more than he would like anyone to know about his wife, his marriage, his family.
He felt the despair come over him again. Like fog, stealing in. No. He wouldn’t let it. He closed his eyes. He tried to recall all the advice Jim, his psychologist, had given him. Change the radio station. Don’t listen to the bad thoughts.
It was harder than ever. Before Angela’s accident, he’d been getting better at dealing with his negative thoughts about the station. About the mining lease. There had also been a new development to think about: the conversation he’d had with Kevin Lawson the night of the woolshed party, the offer Kevin had made. No rush with your decision, Kevin had said. We’d be talking next year at the earliest. Nick had said he would think about it. He was still thinking about it. But other things had priority now.
Not other things.
Angela.
The children were coping better than him. Ig was the most relaxed of all. The three girls were following Ruth’s advice to the letter. He was the one at sea.
He stood up and turned to look at the wall of photos, as he often did when he was in here working. The photos of him and Angela over the years. Of course, they were gone. He was taken aback at the flash of sorrow he felt. His wife was no longer his wife. He no longer had any photos of her either. Tears came to his eyes. He roughly wiped them away.
While Angela had a nap, Genevieve phoned Joan and filled her in on how the homecoming had gone, how they were all following Ruth’s advice, going along with whatever Angela said.
‘And is that okay?’ Joan asked. ‘Are you all coping?’
‘Better than we expected. It’s easier than we thought. She thinks everything is lovely. Wonderful. That we’re the perfect hosts and all she has to do is be the guest. She hasn’t done any of the things she’d normally do after being away: sweeping every floor, rummaging in the freezer, telling us to empty our suitcases, putting on a washload. We gave her a tour, made her a cup of tea and then she said she was going to sit on the verandah and read. Making it very clear she didn’t want any company at all. She wanted to know what time dinner was, and what it would be, and also managed to let us know very politely but firmly that she’s also looking forward to a glass of wine, preferably on the verandah around six p.m.’
‘And what will you be having for dinner tonight?’
‘That’s why I’m ringing. You don’t feel like coming over and giving me a few cooking lessons, do you? Now?’
Later, over dinner – a lasagne made from ingredients Joan had found in the freezer – they made polite conversation. It was nothing like their normal noisy family dinners.
‘Do you have children yourself, Joan?’ Angela asked.
‘Two grown-up kids. Neither of them wanted to stay on the station. One is in Queensland, the other is in Sydney. And I’ve got five grandies.’
‘Grandies?’
‘That’s Australian slang for grandchildren. We shorten everything here. Footy. Barbie. It’s like our national pastime.’
‘How interesting,’ Angela said politely. She continued to eat.
Joan seemed to be hitting the right note with her conversation, not batting an
eyelid about Angela’s odd questions or replies. Angela had been using the words grandies, footy and barbie herself for years.
‘And what about you, Angela?’ Joan asked. ‘You have just the one daughter?’
‘That’s right. Alexandra. We call her Lexie. She’ll be here soon too.’
‘And whereabouts in London do you live?’
‘Do you know London?’
‘Only from films and TV shows. It always looks grey. Grey skies, grey buildings.’
‘It often is grey. But I love it. We live in Will’s family home in Islington. His grandparents bought it before the war. His mother grew up there. She left it to Will.’
‘And you’re from there too?’
‘No, I’m from a much less grand area. Forest Hill, in south London. I grew up in a council house. My parents were in their forties when they had me. I was a surprise child.’ She gave a merry laugh. ‘What about you, Joan? Do you have children?’
They all stopped eating. ‘Yes, I do, Angela. Two grown children. And five grandchildren.’
‘How lovely,’ Angela said.
In her room soon after dinner, Angela finished getting ready for bed. She was very happy here. It all looked just like she’d expected an outback station to look. Her room was lovely. So peaceful. So quiet.
She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the verandah, to breathe in some of that fresh, clean air again. How beautiful it was. They seemed like such a nice family. She was very lucky.
She couldn’t wait for Will and Lexie to meet them all.
Joan came over for dinner the next night too.
Genevieve had invited her to come every night if she wanted to. She’d also asked for her help in ways other than cooking. ‘I think you should get her talking as much as you can about her real life. See if that sparks any memories. It might be stronger coming from you than us.’
Joan invited herself to join Angela for a pre-dinner glass of wine on the verandah. The sun was setting, the sky a vivid red, the air filled with birdsong. In the old days, she and Angela would have talked nonstop. Now, Angela was content to sit quietly.
Joan began the conversation, talking about all the years she had come here to visit the Gillespies, what a great family they were. Not just Nick and the children. Their mother too.
‘She’s a lovely woman. Warm, friendly, talented. A dear friend of mine, actually.’
‘She’s away at the moment?’
‘That’s right. A study trip.’ The children had coached Joan on that too. ‘I’ve known her since she first came here. She had the twins less than a year after her wedding. She was new to station life, on the other side of the world from her parents and friends. It wasn’t just a new city or country, either, but a new life in the middle of nowhere, really. Nick’s a great husband and father, and he was a great pastoralist too . . .’
Angela didn’t react.
‘But he was completely clueless when it came to looking after twins. I spent a lot of time here when they were small. After Lindy was born, just before the twins turned three, I practically moved in. I was here every day; sometimes I stayed overnight. Three little kids needed at least two pairs of hands, sometimes three.’
Genevieve came out, carrying a bottle of wine. She refilled their glasses. Joan smiled at her.
‘I was just about to tell Angela what a handful you were as a child, Genevieve. How hard it was for your mum to have three children under the age of three.’
‘She and Dad only had themselves to blame. No self-control. We were angels, Angela. Truly.’
‘Three devils, and this one was the worst,’ Joan said, gesturing to her. ‘The ringleader from the start. Born first and bold as brass.’
‘Joan, you’re not painting a very nice picture of me in front of our guest.’
‘Victoria was always so sweet. So was little Lindy. She wanted to be a twin so badly. She could never quite understand why she was always a bit smaller than the other two. And why they would always gang up against her.’
‘We didn’t “gang up”.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Rarely.’
‘Often.’
They glanced at Angela. She seemed to be listening.
‘Do you remember those dolls of yours?’ Joan asked. ‘And their names?’
‘The ones you gave me for my fourth birthday?’ Genevieve smiled. ‘I do, yes.’
Joan explained to Angela that she had taken Genevieve out for a day trip once, to Port Augusta. They’d gone to the cinema and Joan had let Genevieve have a whole bag of popcorn to herself. Afterwards, they’d visited all the shops, walking past the church on the way. Joan had pointed it out as Jesus’s house. As an end-of-day treat, Joan had bought her an inexpensive pair of dolls. That night, Genevieve had announced the names she’d given them. Popcorn and Jesus.
‘She was always losing them too. Especially when we were out and about in town, or even worse, in church together. You’d hear her shouting at top note, “Where’s Popcorn? Where’s Jesus?”’
Joan and Genevieve both laughed. It was one of the Gillespies’ favourite family stories. One of Angela’s own favourites.
Now, she just smiled politely.
Victoria called out from the kitchen. ‘Joan? What’s the difference between sautéing and burning?’
‘About thirty seconds. I’m on my way. Excuse me.’
Genevieve and Angela stayed where they were.
‘And what do you do for a living, Genevieve?’ Angela asked.
Angela had asked her the same question four times now. Genevieve realised she could say anything. She could tell Angela she was a nuclear physicist. An Olympic hurdler.
‘I’m a hairdresser,’ she said.
‘A great job, I’m sure. There’s always work for hairdressers. How did you get started in that?’
‘In a local salon in Port Augusta. Then I moved to Adelaide, entered lots of competitions, and won a lot of them too. I met a famous stylist from Sydney at one of them, who told me to get in touch if I ever wanted to work in film and TV. So I did. For the past five years I’ve worked on film sets – in Australia, and then I tried my luck in New York for two years.’ It felt so odd to be saying all of this. It was Angela who had driven her to her first interview at the salon in Port Augusta. Who had encouraged her to enter those competitions. Who had convinced her father that it would be good for Genevieve to move to Sydney.
‘That must have been exciting. Did you get to meet lots of famous actors?’
‘I did, but I’m sworn to secrecy, of course. I can do your hair for you while you’re here, if you like.’
‘That’s very kind. I can’t remember the last time I had a haircut.’ Angela frowned. ‘I actually can’t. Do I need one?’
‘You could do with a trim. I’ll do it for you tomorrow if you like.’
Angela smiled. ‘You really do offer all the services here – a warm welcome, beautiful views, lovely food and haircuts too. Thank you very much.’
It hit Genevieve then. This wasn’t just a joke. This wasn’t a game of pretend. She was talking to her mother, but her mother had no idea who she was.
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said.
She excused herself and went inside before she started to cry.
The next day, Genevieve kept her word. She cut her mother’s hair.
She set everything up in the kitchen, as she had done so many times over the years. Her scissors, her combs. The towel. The mirror. She’d done this so often, for every member of her family, ever since she was an apprentice. In recent years, she’d looked after film stars, models, actors, customers in Sydney, in New York. She’d taken all of it in her stride. She was good at her job and she knew it.
Today, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
She had to excuse herself for a moment, go outside, take several deep breaths. When she returned to the kitchen, her mother was still sitting there quietly, the towel around her shoulders, gazing out the window at the view sh
e had looked at for more than thirty years. Smiling as if she’d never seen it before.
‘It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it? So peaceful.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Genevieve said.
One by one, the others came in and watched as Genevieve combed, snipped, combed, snipped, the sound of the scissors loud in the room. Genevieve had always loved that sound. It didn’t take her long to finish the cut. She’d always known how to shape her mother’s curls into the most flattering style.
She picked up the mirror and showed her.
‘Lovely,’ Angela said. ‘Thank you so much. You really do have a gift, don’t you?’
Genevieve tried to ignore the sudden lump in her throat. ‘Any other takers? Ig? Yours is almost getting long enough to plait these days. Come on, sit down. I’ll be quick, I promise.’
Ig was sitting up on the kitchen stool. He turned to Angela. ‘Do you think I should get it cut?’
Angela studied him for a long moment. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think it looks great long.’
Ig gave her one of his special smiles and stayed where he was.
CHAPTER FORTY
It was now four days since they’d returned home. Ig and Angela were out on a walk.
The previous night, after Ig and Angela had gone to bed, the rest of them had had a long discussion. As adults, they’d taken in most of what Ruth had explained to them about confabulation. They were worried Ig might not have. Victoria had volunteered to talk to him.
That morning, she had taken him aside. ‘Are you feeling okay about all of this, Ig?’ she’d asked. ‘I know it seems a bit funny, but do you understand that Mum isn’t quite Mum at the moment? That she thinks she’s someone else?’
He’d nodded.
‘And can you keep remembering to call her Angela, not Mum, so she doesn’t get confused?’
‘Yes,’ he’d said.
‘And don’t worry if she starts talking about London, or a different husband or daughter, will you? Or if she gives you any strange answers. She’ll be all right again soon. Ruth promised. So don’t be too worried, okay?’
Hello from the Gillespies Page 31
