Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  Genevieve, Victoria and Celia had been in the kitchen. Genevieve was washing up. Victoria was cooking. Celia was sewing. Angela and Ig were still outside. At first, none of them reacted. Lindy’s sobs continued.

  Celia eventually looked up from her sewing. ‘Shouldn’t one of you go and check on her?’

  ‘She’s probably just broken a nail,’ Genevieve said from the sink.

  Lindy appeared, holding a piece of paper, her eyes filled with tears. ‘I hate her so much. I hate her. She did it deliberately, I know she did. It’s not about him. She doesn’t even want him. It’s about ruining things for me.’ Then she spun around to Genevieve. ‘You didn’t write it, did you? You and Ig? Somehow send this pretending to be from Richard?’

  ‘We’re too busy finding photos of cats, sorry,’ Genevieve said. ‘Why? What does it say?’

  ‘You tell her, Victoria,’ Lindy said, handing her the email. ‘I never want to see it again.’

  Victoria read it quickly, then summarised. ‘It seems that while Richard and Horrible Jane were away on Phillip Island, they, how shall I put it, got together. Afterwards, Jane told him that she was in love with him, that she’d been in love with him for months. And he realised he had strong feelings for her too. He’s very apologetic but feels he owes it to Jane to explore the possibilities of this new relationship. So regrettably he won’t be coming to visit after all.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Oh, Lindy. I’m so sorry.’

  Lindy gave another sob and ran down the hall to her room.

  ‘On the bright side, I suppose that’s one less bed to make up,’ Genevieve said.

  Out at the shearing shed, Ig and Angela had finished the first coat of paint. The wall gleamed white; the surface was uneven in parts but it had the makings of a good canvas, they agreed. They were sitting on upturned crates eating their snack. Ig had brought it out in his schoolbag again. Biscuits and juice.

  They hadn’t spoken much during the painting, or since their conversation that morning. When Angela had asked him, ‘Ig, am I your mother?’ he had waited and thought about what he should say. His sisters and his dad had told him to go along with the idea of her being from London, that she had a husband called Will and a daughter called Lexie.

  But she had asked him a direct question. And it was true. So he had nodded.

  ‘Am I the others’ mother as well? The twins? Lindy?’

  Another nod.

  ‘And Nick is my husband.’ She said it just like that. It wasn’t a question. She’d picked up the folder of Christmas letters. ‘This is all about my life, isn’t it? I wrote all of these.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You send one of those letters out every year. On the first of December. I help you send them.’

  ‘Did I do one last Christmas?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ig said.

  ‘But it’s not here?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Ig said.

  She looked at him for a long time. Then she smiled. A big smile. He smiled back. She opened her arms. He stepped forward and she gave him a great big hug.

  He’d missed her hugs.

  ‘Can I tell everyone you’ve remembered?’ he asked.

  She looked serious again, as she shook her head. ‘Ig, would you please keep this between us for now? A kind of secret? I need to do some more thinking about everything. I need just a bit more peace and quiet first.’

  He nodded. That made good sense to him. If he did tell the others, he was pretty sure there’d be a big fuss. And his mum wanted peace and quiet, not a big fuss. ‘Do you still want to go and see the birds?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside.’

  She joined him five minutes later, still in her dressing-gown, wearing runners instead of slippers, carrying her camera. They walked around the yard, then out almost as far as the old chapel. There were birds everywhere. She took lots of photographs. The sun was coming up, everything turning golden around them, the slopes of the Chace Range changing from darkness to a glowing red. As they started to walk back to the homestead, there was the sound of a kookaburra, the cackling filling the air around them. It made Ig laugh. It always did.

  ‘Is that your favourite bird?’ she asked him.

  Ig nodded. ‘Sorry we don’t have robins,’ he said. ‘They’re your favourite, aren’t they?’

  She nodded. ‘But kookaburras are pretty good too, don’t worry,’ she’d said.

  Ig passed her another biscuit now. She was looking at him again in that kind of funny way, like she was really concentrating on something.

  ‘Are you remembering some more things?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m trying, Ig. I’m trying as hard as I can.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He took another bite from his biscuit.

  In the kitchen, Genevieve hung up from talking to her father in London. He had rung before she’d had a chance to ring him. He hadn’t gone into detail about the meeting with Will. ‘Your mother had a lucky escape,’ was all he’d said. He confirmed there had been no contact between Will and Angela. He also had other news. He’d changed his flights. He was on his way home.

  ‘But what about the rest of his trip?’ Victoria said. ‘He didn’t see much of Ireland, did he?’

  ‘He said he saw all he needed to.’

  Twelve hours later, Nick was in a plane taxiing down the runway at Heathrow airport. It had cost him almost as much as the original fare to change his flights. But it was worth every cent. He sat back in his seat and shut his eyes as the plane took off.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Just after one a.m., Genevieve was woken by Victoria’s urgent whispers beside her.

  ‘Genevieve, wake up. Please, wake up.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need you. Something’s happening.’

  They went into the bathroom together. Victoria spoke in a low voice, then showed her. Blood.

  ‘Does it mean something’s wrong? Am I having a miscarriage? What can I do? Can I stop it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Victoria, I’m so sorry, I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you look it up on the computer for me? Please? I don’t want to go into the Hawker hospital. I’ll know too many people there. There must be something I can do, lie down or something? Please, Genevieve, quickly.’

  ‘Come back to bed. Lie down. I’ll find out what I can.’

  As she helped her sister back to her bedroom, they saw there was a light in the guestroom.

  They didn’t need to ask each other. Genevieve tapped on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ a voice called.

  Angela was sitting up in bed, holding her camera, looking through her photos. ‘Girls? Is everything all right?’

  ‘No,’ Genevieve said. ‘Angela, we need you.’

  Angela and Genevieve stayed with Victoria throughout the night, urging her to hang on, urging the baby to hang on. But it didn’t help. The blood kept coming. They rang Joan as the sun was coming up. She was there before eight a.m. She was not just a former nurse. She’d had two miscarriages, she told them. She was so sorry, but yes, it looked like that’s what had happened.

  Victoria couldn’t stop crying. ‘Don’t say it’s for the best. Don’t say it, please,’ she cried into Genevieve’s shoulder. ‘I wanted it. I really wanted it.’

  ‘I know you did.’ Genevieve held her sister tight. ‘I know. I did too.’

  There were whispered conversations between them all. Lindy and Celia were told the truth. Ig was simply told that Victoria wasn’t well. They decided they would explain it to him more fully when there was more time. Other plans were made. Victoria had been due to go to Adelaide to collect Nick from the airport that day. His flight was due in at four p.m. Joan was now going to drive, but would bring Victoria with her. The bleeding had stopped but she needed to see a doctor. Joan knew a good women’s clinic in Adelaide. They could go straight there, before the airport. Genevieve wanted to go with them. She’d heard from Matt that he was coming today but she’d email him, she told Victoria
. Or try to get him on his phone. Tell him she was sorry, but she wouldn’t be on Errigal today after all.

  Victoria wouldn’t let her. ‘Joan will take care of me. Please stay here. I want you to see him.’

  Angela wanted to go with them to Adelaide too. She had been so attentive to Victoria all night long. She’d even held Victoria in her arms as Victoria cried.

  Genevieve had only had a brief opportunity to fill Joan in on Angela’s condition, about the snippets of memory that seemed to be returning. But she didn’t think it was a good idea for Angela to be at the airport to meet Nick. Or to leave Errigal yet. She shook her head. Joan took her cue.

  ‘I don’t think so, Angela,’ Joan said. ‘Not this trip. Next time.’

  Angela accepted the decision, they were relieved to see.

  By ten o’clock, Joan and Victoria were ready to leave. Genevieve held her twin close. She didn’t need to say anything. Victoria knew how she felt and what she wanted to say.

  Angela had just returned to her room and was straightening her bedcovers when there was a knock at her door. It was Celia.

  ‘Poor Victoria,’ Celia said. ‘It’s probably for the best, but of course she won’t see it like that yet.’

  ‘No,’ Angela said, continuing to make her bed.

  ‘They woke you in the night, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  Celia stayed, as if she were waiting for Angela to say something else.

  Angela stayed silent.

  ‘Did you get the folder I left you?’ Celia said. ‘The letters?’

  ‘I did, thank you,’ Angela said.

  Again, Celia waited. Angela continued tidying her room, hanging up a dress in the wardrobe.

  ‘Interesting reading, I hope?’ Celia said.

  ‘Very interesting, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find Ig.’

  ‘Of course.’ Celia stepped aside.

  Angela made a point of closing the door tightly.

  Lindy was following Genevieve around the house. She had stopped crying about Richard. She had asked dozens of questions about Victoria. She was now asking about Nick.

  ‘He must have said something else about the Gillespie reunion,’ she said. ‘Is it definitely going ahead? I’m not going to keep sewing two hundred cushions if it’s not, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘Why not? If Dad decides not to hold it, you’ll still have handy Christmas presents for the rest of us. For the next fifty years.’

  ‘You’re no help. And thanks for all the sympathy about Richard, by the way. Not. If it were Victoria that had happened to, you’d be all over her, wouldn’t you? But not me —’

  Genevieve lost her temper. ‘Victoria just had a miscarriage, Lindy. Have you happened to forget that? She lost her baby. I think that might be a little bit more important than your alleged boyfriend jumping into bed with your evil nemesis, don’t you? And if you don’t mind me saying, I never liked him anyway. He was spineless. He was nearly in tears when you had to leave him alone the night Mum had her accident. And anyone could see he was terrified of Horrible Jane. Who wants a boyfriend like that?’

  ‘He was not! He told me she was really bossy and that she was jealous of all of us, and of me.’

  ‘So he was a gossip as well as spineless. You’re better off without him. You’re too good for him.’

  Lindy hesitated, as if trying to decide whether she was being insulted or praised. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Of course I mean it. You’re a catch, Lindy. When you’re not feeling sorry for yourself, you’re smart and funny. You’re cute. I’d get rid of the ponytails myself, but what do I know? I’ve only been a hairdresser for fourteen years.’

  Lindy tugged at one of the ponytails. ‘Do you really think so? I read an article that said lots of women use a break-up as the chance to give themselves a new look. Should I do that? Would you cut my hair now?’

  Genevieve briefly closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

  An hour later, she had turned Lindy’s long straight locks into a very becoming bob. Lindy was thrilled. She got Genevieve to take photos of it from all angles to email to her friends in Melbourne.

  ‘Should I email it to Horrible Jane and Richard too?’ she said. ‘Show them that I’ve moved on?’

  ‘It has only been a day since you found out about them,’ Genevieve said. ‘Maybe wait a bit.’

  Ig came in from the shed. He had green paint on his cheek and white paint on his hands. He stopped and looked at Lindy.

  ‘That looks great. You look really pretty.’

  She gave him a suspicious glance. ‘Do you mean that? Because I think Genevieve bribed you to say that last time.’

  ‘She did last time. I did it for free this time. You look good.’

  Lindy kissed him and Genevieve and then nearly skipped down the hall to the office.

  Genevieve started sweeping up the hair and putting her scissors and combs away in her bag. Ig washed his hands and then started getting the makings of a sandwich out of the fridge.

  ‘It’s only eleven o’clock, Ig. A bit early for lunch, isn’t it?’

  ‘We’ve already eaten our morning tea. We’re hungry again.’

  ‘You and Angela are getting on pretty well out there, are you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Does Robbie like her too?’

  ‘Yep,’ he said.

  ‘You okay, Ig?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Can I come and see the shed yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even a peek?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you and Angela talk about all the time?’

  ‘Stuff.’

  ‘Ig, has she said anything to you that might make you think she is starting to remember things?’

  He stopped midway through buttering the bread. ‘Why?’

  ‘Last night, with Victoria, when she wasn’t well —’ She stopped. ‘I just wondered. There were a few times when it felt like she was Old Angela, not New Angela. You haven’t noticed anything, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he said. He didn’t turn around, just kept putting the cheese on the bread.

  An hour later, he was back again for more biscuits. It was afternoon tea time, he said.

  ‘Are you two doing anything out there except eat?’ Genevieve asked from her spot at the table. She was going through recipe books, trying to find something she could actually cook.

  ‘We’re working hard. It’s giving us appetites.’ He pulled the chair over to the pantry, climbed up, got the biscuit barrel that was supposed to be out of his reach, took a handful and climbed down.

  ‘Are you nervous about your friend coming today?’ he asked, as he pushed the chair back.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then why do you keep walking out to the gate? Every five minutes. We’ve been timing you.’

  ‘Exercise,’ Genevieve said.

  ‘Do you love this guy? Are you going to marry him?’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky. And if you say anything like that in front of him, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘I’m being curious, not cheeky. You told me it’s good to be curious.’

  ‘It’s a thin line.’

  ‘So are you in love with him?’

  ‘I hardly know him. But yes, I like him a lot. Why, what’s with all the questions?’

  ‘Because he’s nearly here. There’s a car coming.’

  ‘What?’ She ran to the window. There was a dust cloud moving up the road towards them. Less than seven minutes away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Genevieve ran from the kitchen to the bathroom. She checked her hair. Her make-up. Her clothes. Checked her teeth for spinach, even though she hadn’t had any spinach. She sprayed some perfume on her wrists and under her ears, then thought that was too much for this time of the day and tried to scrub it off. She now had four red marks instead. She tried to cover them with foundation, and only managed to smear it everywhere. She wa
shed it all off and ran back to the kitchen, just as a four-wheel drive pulled up in front of the homestead.

  It was actually him. Coffee Guy. Matt. The man she had been emailing. The man she had last seen in her tiny flat in New York, after a night of the best sex and laughs she’d had in years. He was now getting out of his car and standing in front of her family house in outback South Australia.

  She wanted to run to him. Then she thought that looked too eager and she slowed to a walk. Then she remembered he had just driven three hundred kilometres to see her. That deserved a run.

  She hadn’t thought about how she would greet him. Whether they would shake hands. Whether she would play it cool. In the end, she did neither. She saw him there, smiling at her, and she hugged him. He hugged her back. He smelt of aftershave and coffee and sweat, and if she hadn’t known for a fact that Angela and Ig were peeking out from behind the woolshed, she would have kissed him right there and then. Possibly taken him straight into her bedroom.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I was just passing by and thought I’d drop in.’

  It was as easy as that between them, as instant as that. She brought him inside, made him coffee. They took it out onto the verandah. There was so much to talk about, questions back and forth, quick jokes, tales from his film set. Even a mention of his brother. A joke from Genevieve about that.

  One by one, her family appeared. First Lindy, who too obviously gave Genevieve a big thumbs up. Celia greeted him as if she were the lady of the manor, welcoming him to Errigal and then returning inside again. Angela was friendly but distracted. Genevieve had told Matt in her emails about her mother’s situation. Just in time, she stopped herself from introducing Angela as her mother. Instead, she described her as a guest.

  ‘A paint-covered guest at that,’ Angela said, holding up whitewash-covered hands. ‘Excuse me, won’t you?’

  Ig was last to appear. Genevieve made the introductions. He and Matt solemnly shook hands.

  ‘Are you really from America?’ Ig asked.

  ‘I really am,’ Matt said.