‘Doesn’t he take the bus to school any more?’ Angela asked one day.
An exchange of glances. None of them had mentioned the bus to her, they were sure of it.
In the kitchen now, the rest of them heard Lindy’s side of the conversation with Celia.
‘We’re fine, Aunt Celia, thanks. Yes, she is too. A bit hard to say at the moment. Yes, that’s right. You what? Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. For six weeks? It must be hard, of course. Here? Tomorrow?’ She gave them all a panicked look. ‘But you do know Dad’s going to Ireland soon? Of course. Let me put him on.’
She handed the phone to her father and hissed at her sisters, ‘She’s sprained her wrist. Wants to know if she can come and stay here while she’s recovering.’
Five minutes later, Nick hung up.
‘I gather you’ve explained already, Lindy? Celia’s coming to stay. I know it’s not ideal but I want you all to try to be nice to her. Please.’
‘Easy for you to say. You won’t be here,’ Genevieve said under her breath.
‘That’s enough, Genevieve. Start setting a good example, would you?’
‘Why do you always take Celia’s side over ours? You care more about —’
As Nick and Genevieve continued to argue, Lindy started to get upset. Victoria tried to intervene, without success.
‘Excuse me.’ Angela stood in the doorway, holding the remote control.
Nick stopped arguing. So did Genevieve.
‘I was going to make tea. Would anyone else like some?’
‘No, thanks,’ Nick said. He left the room.
Genevieve breathed out. ‘I’d love one. Thanks, Angela.’
‘Me, too,’ Lindy said. Victoria said yes, too.
‘Just milk for me please,’ Ig called from his spot on the living room floor.
Nick was in the office. He was glad Angela had interrupted. It hadn’t been serious – Genevieve and he had clashed like that for years – but it was better that they stopped when they had.
He picked up the itinerary beside him. He’d had an email from Carol that morning with the final details. She was going to be away for a few days. A long-booked mini-break in Spain, but he wasn’t to worry, everything was organised and she’d be at the airport in Dublin to meet him the following week.
It still felt wrong to be leaving. He’d had another conversation about it with Ruth, but she had assured him it was for the best. They all had to keep doing what Angela would be expecting to happen. Stay positive.
Yesterday, he had felt that way. Hopeful. Closer to her again. There had been moments when he had been overwhelmed with emotion. When he had heard Angela exclaiming over the landscape, or the colour of one of the birds. It had taken him back in time. It was exactly how she’d been when he first gave her a tour of Errigal. So full of wonder. Had these reactions been New Angela’s? Or his Angela’s long-buried memories? When she came back, would she still have that sense of wonder?
Would she remember anything they had talked about?
Genevieve waited until just before nine o’clock that night to say sorry. To Angela, not to her father. He’d gone into the office, shut the door and not come out again.
Angela was sitting out on the verandah near her room, watching the evening sky. It was almost dark, with just the very last red trails of light visible.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Genevieve asked.
‘Of course not,’ Angela said.
‘Sorry about that fight before.’
‘Every family has arguments, don’t worry. It’s none of my business anyway.’
Oh, yes it is, Genevieve thought. ‘We have another family member arriving soon too. Dad’s Aunt Celia. Our great-aunt. She was married to Dad’s uncle. So she’s not a real Gillespie but she thinks she is. Sorry, that sounded a bit rude.’
Angela just smiled.
Genevieve felt an urge to keep adding detail, to try to spark a memory somehow. Perhaps also to warn New Angela? ‘She can be a bit tricky to be around, just to warn you. She’s very critical. And Dad’s going away soon. She’ll be here the whole time he’s away. It’s his first trip overseas. He says he’s looking forward to it but I think he’s really nervous.’
‘Where is he going?’ Angela asked.
Angela had been told about the trip several times. ‘Ireland. Just for a week or so. He’s organising his family reunion there next year. This is a reconnaissance trip. He’s been working with a company of family-tree experts in Dublin. A woman called Carol. They talk to each other nearly every day. We all think he’s in love with her.’ Genevieve gave a merry, false laugh.
Angela’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t say anything else, either. Genevieve had seen this happen with her before. As if she wanted the conversation to end and to be left alone.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to the last of the sunset,’ Genevieve said. ‘Good night.’
‘Good night,’ Angela said.
Angela didn’t move from the verandah. She sat there, still, peaceful, watching the final colour drain from the sky, the night and the stars appear.
What an interesting family these people were. In a funny way, she was glad Will and Lexie had been delayed. She wouldn’t have had a chance to notice half of what she’d seen if they had been here with her. Angela was finding the Gillespies as fascinating as the scenery and the wildlife.
Genevieve was the real character, Angela had decided. Fun. Funny. All confidence on the outside. But there was more to her than that. A restlessness.
Victoria was definitely the less confident twin. Sweeter. More vulnerable. Preoccupied too. Angela had seen her lost in thought many times.
Angela liked Lindy very much. She was different to the other two, but she also seemed to be craving their approval, their attention. It probably was difficult, to be a sister to twins. Especially for someone like Lindy, who still seemed to be finding her place in the world.
As for Ig . . . Angela smiled. She smiled whenever she thought of him. He was so solemn. Earnest. Interesting too, with his birdwatching, his friend Robbie, his expertise on the computer. He was so entertaining to be with. Easy. Over the past few days, though, she’d had to fight the oddest feeling. An overwhelming urge to hug him. To pull him close and plant a big kiss on his head. Yesterday she’d been on the verge of telling him she loved him, of all things.
And Nick? She was spending far too much time watching him too. It was his eyes, she realised. He didn’t say a lot, but his eyes did. She also liked watching him with his children. The way he watched out for them all. Yes, he and Genevieve had been spiky with each other tonight, but usually he seemed entertained by her. He was always gentle with Victoria. They seemed to have a special bond. He was ever-patient with Lindy. Amused by Ig. Who couldn’t be amused by Ig?
Will was a good father too, of course. So patient and kind and loving to Lexie. Always giving her little surprises, like that tree house he’d built when she was little. He was handsome too. With his —
Angela stopped. She tried again, but nothing came to mind then, either.
How odd.
She seemed to have completely forgotten what Will looked like.
The next morning, Victoria was in Port Pirie at the radio station. She had finished her first interviews with station families. She’d been glad of the distraction, glad of the excuse to drive out to their homesteads, spend time talking to the different family members. Anything to stop her mind from going over and over the fact of her pregnancy. She was still in shock, she’d realised. It hadn’t sunk in properly. She didn’t feel different enough yet, she’d said to Genevieve. It was almost a relief to switch back into interviewer mode. The station families’ stories were fascinating, filled with memories of droughts, floods, isolation and adventure. She’d listened back to them at home and made editing notes. She now just needed to put it all together in the studio, add some music and check her timings.
She’d been at work for an hour when she saw Keith outside. He
mimed a coffee. She nodded and held up both hands to signify ten minutes.
He suggested they avoid the canteen and go out instead. They walked from the studio to the most popular coffee shop in town. It was bustling, as always. They got the last spare table. For fifteen minutes they talked about her interviews. Abruptly as ever, he switched topics.
‘How’s your mother going?’
‘She’s doing well, thanks.’
‘So what does “memory issues” actually mean?’
‘She has issues with her memory.’
‘Very droll. Can you be more specific?’
‘Yes, I could but no, I won’t.’
‘She has amnesia, you mean?’
‘Keith, how are you! Did you get that media release I emailed you?’
It was one of the local councillors. Victoria was glad they’d been interrupted.
‘Sorry about that,’ Keith said after the woman had gone. ‘You were saying?’
‘I was saying thanks for being so concerned. And shouldn’t we be getting back?’
‘I’ll ask you again next time we have coffee,’ he said with a smile.
As they walked back inside the station, the receptionist handed Keith a bundle of phone messages. He glanced through them quickly as they walked down the corridor, already back in work mode.
At his office, they stopped. ‘You’ve nearly finished your editing, did you say? Well done. I’ll have a listen. If it’s all good, we’ll air the first one next week. Have it to me by five, okay?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘Just one more thing.’
She stopped.
‘Is there any chance you’d like to have dinner with me on Saturday?’
‘You said no?’ Genevieve asked later that afternoon, back on Errigal.
Victoria nodded.
‘There goes any chance of a full-time job,’ Genevieve said. She was only half-joking.
‘So be it,’ Victoria said. ‘One messy affair with a boss is enough for anyone, don’t you think?’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘I made a decision about Fred today too.’
‘You did? Those hormones have turned you into Superwoman.’
‘I rang him. I’ve asked him out for a date.’
‘You what? Without telling me? When? Tonight?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘He’s going away on a stock-buying trip with his dad. When he gets back, in a week or so.’
‘And are you going to tell him —’
She nodded. ‘He needs to know. Even though it will change everything, I need to tell him.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Ig was watching his father pack. The packing had been going on for a few days. Ig had been helping him.
He didn’t usually get to spend this much time with his dad. When he was little, a few years ago, his dad used to take him out onto the station a lot, into the shearing shed, mustering the sheep, fixing the windmills or the fences, but they hadn’t done that in ages, now that they didn’t have any sheep. Ig had never really liked it that much anyway. He liked all the windmills and the weather instruments, and he loved driving the cars, but he wasn’t really that interested in the sheep side of things, he’d decided. Robbie was the same. He thought sheep were boring.
It was always fun with his mum, though. He loved helping her on the computer, and going out with her visitors on those tours. It still was fun with her, even though she apparently wasn’t his mum at the moment. He was calling her Angela like he’d been told to, but apart from that, it was pretty much the same as it always had been with her, except better, because she had more time to just muck around. Before all of this memory stuff, before her accident, she used to be cooking a lot, or rubbing her head with those headaches, or washing clothes, or sweeping. She didn’t do any of that stuff now. She made cups of tea for everyone now and then, but mostly she liked to go for walks on her own or with him. She did heaps of reading. She took naps these days too. She’d also started watching DVDs. He liked watching them with her.
They talked about lots of different stuff on their walks. She talked about her childhood in London. On Google Street View, they had even found the exact house she grew up in. She’d been amazed, and had nearly cried. He couldn’t think why they’d never done that before. Maybe because he’d never thought about doing it and she had never asked. He’d always known she was from London and he knew she sounded a bit different to other kids’ mothers but it was also just her voice. Genevieve and Victoria and Lindy kept saying that she sounded much more English since she had the accident, now she was New Angela, as they called her, but he couldn’t really hear much difference.
He knew loads more about his mum now. The suburb she had grown up in was called Forest Hill and her house was on a hill and there had been a few trees round it so it was a good name. It was near a famous museum called the Horniman Museum. He’d been able to show her that on Google Street View too. She’d told him the museum had lots of very interesting exhibits of birds and bugs and beetles, and even a huge stuffed walrus, of all things. He’d gone straight to their website. Together they’d looked at everything in the museum, watched videos, taken a virtual tour, read all about the walrus. His mum had got all amazed again, pointing to the bird displays she remembered, the gardens she’d had picnics in. It looked like a really good place, Ig agreed. He’d like to see it in real life himself one day.
‘Nearly there, Ig,’ Nick said now, putting another jumper in his case. ‘It’s so hot here, I can’t imagine wearing any of this cold-weather stuff.’
‘You’ll need it, though. I looked it up on the internet. It’s going to be very wet and cold while you’re there.’
‘I think it’s very wet and cold in Ireland most of the time.’ Nick stopped packing and sat on the bed. ‘You doing okay, little mate? About your mum?’
Ig nodded.
‘She’s still your mum, you know. Deep down. She’ll come good soon.’
Ig nodded again. They were silent for a moment as Nick resumed his packing.
‘If I had to make up a new life, I’d give myself superpowers,’ Ig said. ‘Not just another husband and another kid like Mum has.’
‘Would you?’ Nick said. ‘What kind of superpowers?’
‘Wings. And being invisible. And maybe some kind of weapon that came out of my fingertips or my feet or something, which would take my attackers by surprise.’
‘That’d be handy at school, I guess. Being able to fly or be invisible.’
Ig nodded.
‘You okay being back at school here?’
Ig shrugged. ‘It’s okay.’ He hopped off the bed. ‘See you later, Dad.’
‘See you, Ig.’
He was at the door when his dad called him back.
‘You’ll look after your mum for me while I’m away, won’t you?’
‘Yep,’ Ig said.
As he walked outside to his cubby, he felt pretty good. He liked talking to his dad about grown-up things like that.
Celia’s bus arrived on time. Genevieve and Nick collected her. Genevieve suggested they have a cup of tea in the cafe in Hawker before they drove out to Errigal.
‘It might make it easier to know about the ground rules, Aunt Celia,’ she said as they took seats at a corner table. She was glad there was no one they knew here today. The other customers were all tourists.
‘“Ground rules”?’ Celia said. ‘That sounds a bit extreme.’
‘We’re doing everything exactly as our neuropsychologist has advised us,’ Genevieve said. ‘We all call her Angela, not Mum. And we all go along with whatever she says about her life in London, about her husband Will and her daughter Lexie.’
Celia sniffed. ‘It all seems very self-indulgent. Nick, what do you think about it?’
‘Angela has a temporary brain injury, Celia,’ he said. ‘This is part of her treatment. You’re welcome with us, you know that, but you do need to follow our lead.’
Good for you, Dad, Genevieve thought.
/> ‘But will she ever recover?’ Celia asked. ‘Or will we have to keep up this charade forever?’
Genevieve only just kept her temper. ‘It’s a rare enough condition, but yes, other people who have had it have recovered their memories. Not always everything, but usually most of it.’
‘How long has it taken them?’
‘Weeks. Months. In one case we read about, years. There’s no set pattern to it. If you find it too tricky, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t come and stay.’ Genevieve ignored the sharp look from her father. All her protective instincts were firing. ‘We’d hate Angela to have any kind of setback.’
‘You’re not being very subtle, Genevieve,’ Celia said.
‘I can be even more unsubtle, actually,’ Genevieve said. ‘Please don’t do or say anything that might upset Angela, Celia. Because I’ll be watching to make sure you don’t.’
‘Are you going to let her speak to me like that, Nick?’
Genevieve answered for him. ‘Dad will be in Ireland soon, Celia. I’m in charge while he’s gone.’
‘That’s enough, both of you.’ Nick stood up. ‘Let’s go home.’
Angela didn’t appear until Celia had been in the house for an hour. She’d stayed in her bedroom reading. When she did join them, Genevieve and Victoria both noticed she had her shirt buttoned up wrong.
Genevieve made the introductions, describing Angela as an overseas guest. ‘All the way from London.’
Angela held out her hand, smiling. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Celia.’
‘Nice to meet you too,’ Celia said.
With that, Angela left the room again.
‘She looks just the same,’ Celia said, too loudly, once Angela was gone. ‘You wouldn’t be able to tell there was anything wrong with her.’
Genevieve tried to hush her. ‘What did you expect?’
‘The way you were carrying on, I was expecting a completely different person. But she seems perfectly normal.’
Hello from the Gillespies Page 34
