Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  ‘Okay,’ he’d agreed.

  ‘Look,’ Ig said now, showing Angela a scar on his hand. ‘I cut my finger off.’

  ‘Did you? Ouch. When was that?’

  ‘At the start of December. I was standing on the table with the carving knife. Then I fell off and I landed on the floor and the knife at the same time.’

  ‘Ouch again. What did you do then?’

  ‘Mum was here and she took me to hospital. She put my finger in a bag with some ice first. Look, they sewed it back on.’ He wriggled it for her.

  ‘That’s incredible. And it still works perfectly too. How did your mum know what to do?’

  ‘She knows everything.’

  They walked on in silence for a few moments. There was a rustle in one of the bushes nearby, a fluttering sound and then the sudden quick call of a bird. A blue wren shot out in front of them, trilled again and then flew back into the bush.

  ‘The birds are so different here,’ Angela said, smiling. ‘So col­our­ful. The poor London birds seem very dull in comparison.’

  ‘My mum really likes birds.’

  ‘Does she? I like them so much I even make them for a living. Little ceramic ones.’

  ‘Mum’s got a pottery wheel here. And loads of clay. Do you want to see it?’

  ‘I’d love to, Ig. Thank you.’

  In the kitchen, Genevieve and Victoria were looking out the window.

  ‘He’s taking her into the pottery shed.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s good or bad any more.’

  It took Ig three tugs to pull the blue wooden door open. He switched on the light and stood back as Angela looked around.

  ‘This is nice. Much bigger than my studio in London.’

  ‘Do you like it better here?’

  ‘I’ve just got here, Ig. And I’m on holiday. It’s very different.’

  ‘But could you live here all the time if you had to?’

  ‘I think I’d get a bit lonely without my husband or daughter.’

  ‘But they’re coming soon, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Do you want to do any of your ceramic birds while you’re here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Ig watched as she cut herself a piece of clay, held it in her hand, started to soften it. She rolled it one way, then the other. When she opened her hand again it still looked just like a ball of clay.

  She held it out to him. ‘Do you want to try making a bird for me?’

  He shook his head. ‘But I can show you lots of real ones if you want. I know all their names.’

  ‘You’d take me birdwatching? Thank you, I’d like that.’

  ‘Want to take a picnic too?’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Wait here.’

  Genevieve and Victoria interrogated him as soon as he appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘We were just talking,’ he said. ‘About clay and London and stuff. And now we’re going birdwatching. I’m getting a picnic first.’

  ‘A picnic?’

  ‘We might get hungry.’

  ‘You had breakfast about twenty minutes ago. So did Mum.’

  ‘We have to call her Angela, not Mum,’ Ig said.

  They watched as he gathered a packet of biscuits, two bottles of juice and two apples. He put them into his schoolbag, which he slung over his back.

  Victoria reached up on top of the cupboard. ‘Want the binoculars too?’

  He added them to his bag.

  ‘Ig, are you sure you’re okay?’ Genevieve said. ‘You’re not scared of her or anything?’

  ‘Why would I be scared of her?’

  ‘Because she’s different at the moment. Mum, but not quite Mum.’

  Ig gave that some thought. ‘I’m not scared. I like this one too.’

  After dinner, Angela got up and yawned politely. ‘That was delicious. Thanks so much. Nearly as delicious as your picnic today, Ig. Excuse me, I might go to bed now and read.’

  They watched her leave. Lindy spoke first. ‘Mum never ever did that, did she?’

  ‘I bet she wanted to,’ Victoria said.

  Once again, after getting ready for bed, Angela stepped out onto the verandah. It had become her routine, to sit out here on her own every night for a little while. She didn’t turn on the light. She sat in the darkness that wasn’t darkness. The stars were so bright out here. The moon so big. It sounded quiet at first, until you really listened and heard all sorts of sounds. Faint bird calls. The scratching of animals. She’d even seen a kangaroo that morning, right at the homestead fence. Later in the afternoon, she’d spied an emu in the distance. Wait until Lexie saw them!

  Yes, it had been another lovely day. It was so peaceful here. So relaxing. She loved spending time with that little boy too. He was such a quirky young fellow. Adorable. The girls were all so interesting as well. Each so different. And their family friend, Joan, was so warm and friendly. Exactly the kind of neighbour anyone would want to have.

  She thought about the man too. The children’s father. Nick.

  Over the past few days she had started to notice him more. Several times, she’d caught him looking at her. He seemed so sad about something. She wondered what it was.

  ‘Have you noticed something about Angela and Dad?’ Genevieve said later, once she and Victoria were alone in the kitchen, cleaning up. ‘She talks to us, but she’s hardly exchanged a word with him.’

  ‘Have you put that in the book?’ They’d done as Ruth suggested and started keeping a note of anything unusual that they noticed Angela saying and doing.

  Genevieve nodded. ‘Of all of us, you’d think she’d remember him, wouldn’t you? The man she’s lived with for thirty-three years? There’d be some physical memory of him, wouldn’t there?’

  Nick came in. Genevieve wasn’t sure if he’d heard or not.

  ‘How are you going, Dad?’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not,’ Victoria said. ‘It all feels so strange. She looks just the same, but she’s completely different.’

  ‘And she doesn’t do any of the things Mum used to do,’ Genevieve said.

  ‘That’s because it’s not her any more,’ Nick said.

  Genevieve heard a catch in his voice. ‘Dad? Are you okay?’

  Nick didn’t answer. He had his back to them, reaching up for a glass.

  ‘There’s beer in the fridge if you want one,’ Genevieve said.

  ‘No, thanks.’ He poured himself a glass of water, then left the room. ‘Back soon,’ he said.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was still outside. He’d planned to walk over to the chapel, to sit quietly on his own. He hadn’t got that far. Halfway across the paddocks, he’d stopped. The last time he’d been at the chapel was with Angela, the day he’d read her Christmas letter. He didn’t want to remember that conversation. Instead, he went in the other direction and leaned on one of the empty sheep-pen fences. It was a crisp, clear night, the stars bright, the moon huge. A night that promised hot weather the next day.

  If he turned around, he would see the lights of the homestead, hear music, snatches of conversation, his children talking, getting ready for bed. He would go to bed soon too. To the bedroom that he and Angela had slept in for more than thirty years. To bed, alone. While she slept in the guestroom.

  He’d kept trying to follow Ruth’s advice. Act normal. Go along with what she says. He had talked to Angela less than half a dozen times since they’d brought her home from Port Augusta. About the weather, the scenery. He’d offered her a cup of tea on several occasions. She’d accepted it once and declined it twice, smiling at him each time in that odd, distracted way. As if they were strangers. As if they hadn’t spent most of their lives together. As if she had no memory of him. No memory of their years as husband and wife.

  It was temporary, Ruth had told them. It was her brain recalibrating. She’d com
e back to him again.

  He hoped so. He hoped it was soon. Because it was breaking his heart to see her like this.

  Back came the bad thoughts. The fog. He hadn’t made a new appointment with his psychologist yet, but he needed help now.

  In the homestead again, he went into the kitchen. It was empty for once. He took the opportunity, picking up the phone and dialling. He spoke briefly.

  The answer was immediate. ‘Of course. Come now. I’ll meet you halfway.’

  He left a brief note. He knew the kids wouldn’t worry. They were used to him having to leave at all hours of the day or night. Station work, even caretaking work, was never nine to five.

  He’d been driving for thirty minutes across the dirt road when he saw the headlights ahead.

  They were almost exactly at the halfway point between their two stations. He parked and got out of his car. Soon after, the other car stopped. Joan got out and walked towards him.

  It was easy to talk out here. They’d both turned their headlights off. The only light was coming from the stars and the moon. He had known Joan all his life. She was the closest person he had to a big sister. He had been so glad, so grateful when she had taken Angela under her wing all those years ago. He’d always trusted her. He trusted her again now. He needed her to tell him the truth. He got straight to the point.

  ‘Did she want to leave me, Joan? Before this happened? Was she that unhappy?’

  ‘Never. She loved you so much. Loves you so much. She’s been worried sick about you.’

  ‘But her letter. Everything she said in it, about the man in London, about —’

  ‘Forget about that bit for now. It’s the other part you should read. The part about you. That’s exactly how she felt, Nick. That you’d stopped talking to her. Closed yourself off from her. She couldn’t understand why.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘Why?’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Nick? What’s wrong? What’s been going on?’

  He told her. Hesitantly, to begin with. Her silence encouraged him. He told her everything. About his depression. The debt. Exactly why he’d accepted the offer from the mining company. He told her about the visits to his doctor. The psychologist. If she was shocked, the darkness hid her expression. When she spoke, her voice was as calm as ever.

  ‘I wish you’d told Angela all of this. It would have helped you. It would have helped her.’

  ‘What do I do, Joan? I don’t know how to handle this. How to be with her.’

  ‘Just be yourself, Nick.’

  ‘She doesn’t know me any more.’

  ‘Then let her get to know you again. That’s who she fell in love with thirty-three years ago, remember. You haven’t changed that much, apart from a few grey hairs. You’re definitely as stubborn as ever.’

  He couldn’t see her smile but he could hear it in her voice.

  ‘Do you still love her?’ Joan asked. ‘Do you still want to be married to her?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Good. Because I happen to know for a fact she feels the same way about you. You’ll get through this. We have to let nature take its course. She’ll come back to us. And in the meantime, be nice to her. Really nice. Then go off to Ireland. And make sure you bring her back a really good souvenir.’

  ‘Thanks, Joan. For everything.’

  ‘Any time, Nick.’

  They didn’t hug. It wasn’t their way. Nick waited until she had got back into her car. He waved goodbye, and stayed until her car had disappeared from sight. Only then did he head homewards himself.

  Victoria and Genevieve talked through the night, once again. During the day, someone always seemed to be within earshot. They needed to keep their news to themselves for now. The news they’d had for nearly a week.

  Victoria was pregnant.

  ‘Might be pregnant,’ Genevieve tried to reassure her once again. ‘It might have been a faulty test.’

  ‘They’re supposed to be fail-proof.’

  ‘There’s always one that’s broken, surely. Maybe you were just unlucky.’ She squeezed her hands. ‘We’ll go to Port Pirie or Port Augusta tomorrow. Get another test.’

  ‘But what if that’s positive too?’ Victoria’s eyes filled with tears. She asked the question she’d asked every night since she’d done the test. ‘Genevieve, what am I going to do?’

  ‘Just wait. Wait and see. Wait until we know for sure.’

  The next morning at breakfast, Victoria and Genevieve casually announced they were going to drive across to Port Pirie after they’d dropped Ig to school. It was his first week back. They told their father they were going to buy groceries. He just nodded, distracted. He’d had a call from one of his neighbours that morning, asking if he could lend a hand with some stock.

  Lindy decided to stay on the station. She was trying to catch up on her cushion stitching. While they had all been in Adelaide and Port Augusta, she had received another three orders.

  It was Genevieve’s idea to ask Angela if she’d like to join them. She’d like that very much, Angela said. She went to her room to get her bag.

  Lindy looked alarmed. ‘Is that a good idea? Didn’t Ruth say it’s better to keep her here?’

  ‘We won’t let her out of our sight,’ Genevieve said. ‘We’ll drive straight there, get some groceries and come straight back. She’ll be fine.’

  They lost her within twenty minutes of arriving in Port Pirie.

  ‘She was right here,’ Victoria said, standing in front of the supermarket. ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Genevieve said, panicked. ‘And she hasn’t got a phone. We can’t even ring her.’

  ‘You go in that direction. I’ll head this way.’

  Victoria ran down Ellen Street, past shops, pubs, a cafe, quickly looking inside each one. There was no sign of Angela. Then she saw the bookshop further down the street. As a family, they’d called in there often over the years, chatting to the owners each time. Would the New Angela have felt drawn there as well?

  Victoria was out of breath as she came into the store. Angela wasn’t there. Had she just missed her? She sought out the dark-haired owner. Yes, she said, Angela had just been in. ‘I was serving another customer, so I gave her a wave and said I’d be with her soon. But she was gone before I could help her, sorry.’

  Victoria said thanks, excused herself and said goodbye. Outside again, she looked across the road at the old railway station. It was now a museum and tourist information point. Angela thought she was a tourist. Would she —

  ‘Someone saw her head in there. Come on.’ It was Genevieve, panting beside her.

  Their mother was inside, holding a large bundle of brochures.

  She smiled at them. ‘Hello, girls.’

  ‘Is everything okay, Angela? Can we help at all?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m just getting some information for when Will and Lexie arrive.’

  Genevieve glanced at the brochures. They advertised the attractions of Wilpena Pound, the Angorichina gorges, the Yourambulla Caves, the Wilpena Panorama in Hawker – places Angela had been to many times with her overseas visitors.

  ‘We thought we’d lost you,’ Victoria said, as they steered her back to the car. They passed a chemist, and exchanged a quick glance with each other. No, this wasn’t the time.

  Angela was unruffled. ‘Didn’t I tell you where I was going? I can go for another walk now if you like, while you finish whatever you need to do.’

  ‘We’re finished, thanks,’ Victoria said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  ‘Already?’ Angela said.

  ‘Already,’ Genevieve said.

  After Angela went to bed that night – again, straight after dinner – Genevieve called a family meeting and told them what had happened. Nick came the closest they’d seen to losing his temper since the night of the accident.

  ‘Anything could have happened to her,’ he said. ‘What were you both thinking?’

  �
��We’re sorry, Dad,’ Genevieve said. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Victoria stepped in, changing the subject. ‘We need to talk about the cooking and the housework too. I think we need to get a bit organised about it.’ With Angela no longer in charge, it had all got very haphazard. The washing was piling up. No one had swept the verandah in days. As for the cooking, they had nearly emptied the freezer. If Joan hadn’t kept dropping over quiches and casseroles, they’d have been eating toast for most meals.

  Genevieve offered to draw up a roster. Yes, she assured Lindy, she would do her share too. She was a socialist, not a dictator.

  Genevieve took out the notebook. ‘I’m due to ring Ruth on Friday. We need to tell her everything we’ve noticed. Ig?’

  He shrugged. ‘I really like her.’

  ‘We know that. But have you noticed anything unusual about her behaviour?’

  ‘She says the same thing a lot,’ Ig said. ‘I’ve heard about her daughter’s tree house about ten times.’

  Lindy had noticed she’d had breakfast twice one day that week. ‘I just thought she was hungry, but maybe she’d forgotten about the first one?’

  ‘Dad?’ Genevieve asked. She was shocked by his expression. For a moment, he looked so desolate.

  ‘Nothing more than you’ve all said. She and I haven’t talked much yet.’

  Over the next two days, more items were added to the notebook. One day Angela changed her outfit three times. Her T-shirt was on backwards once. Another day she offered to make lunch for everyone. When it came time, there was no sign of her. They found her asleep in bed. Victoria made lunch instead.

  On Friday, Genevieve waited until Angela was out with Ig on their daily after-school birdwatching walk before she rang Ruth.

  ‘How does she seem, mood-wise?’ Ruth asked. ‘Is she relaxed, happy? Not agitated at all?’

  ‘She’s fine. We’re not. My heart is still racing after losing her in Port Pirie.’

  ‘It probably wasn’t a good idea to take her to a new place so soon.’

  No, it wasn’t, Genevieve agreed. She lowered her voice. ‘Ruth, is it odd that she’s not talking much to Dad? You read her Christmas letter; they’d had a few issues lately. Would she remember that?’