Hello from the Gillespies

by Monica McInerney

  The sun went down, after a spectacular sunset. It was as sudden as always, a sunlit sky one minute; ten minutes later, darkness.

  It was Matt who saw it. While the Gillespies were busy searching elsewhere and getting updates from their neighbours, he’d walked out to the fence furthest from the homestead. He noticed a light flashing in the direction of where he had been with Genevieve earlier that day. A faint light, but it was flashing at regular intervals.

  Genevieve was in the kitchen with Victoria, talking on the UHF radio. He interrupted her. ‘I think I saw something.’

  She came outside with him. He was right. It was a signal of some kind. She shouted out to her father and then she started running, Nick behind her, Matt closely following, across the paddocks, all of them stumbling on the track in the dark.

  Genevieve started calling as they drew closer. ‘Ig? Is that you? Ig!’

  He was on top of Swing Hill, curled tight in the middle swing, trembling. Trembling so hard the swing was shaking. He was crying his eyes out.

  It took all three of them to get him off the swing. He’d been there for so many hours his muscles had stiffened. The shock and the night air had made it worse. Nick carried him down the hill. Gene­vieve ran ahead, shouting. ‘We’ve found him. We’ve found him. He’s okay.’

  Angela was first to the back door. The neighbours wouldn’t have noticed anything strange in her behaviour. Only the Gillespies could see the difference. She had taken charge.

  She ran a bath, filling it with lukewarm water. They lowered Ig into it. He was still trembling. He hadn’t spoken yet.

  ‘Do you need the Flying Doctor?’ Joan asked. ‘I can radio. They’d be here in an hour.’

  ‘I think he’ll be fine,’ Angela said.

  As Ig sat in the warm water, the worst of the trembling stopped. Angela kept talking to him, her voice soft. Genevieve stood at the door, ready to help. Lindy and Victoria were in the kitchen, serving sandwiches and tea to all the people who had helped in the search. One by one, their neighbours started to leave. Genevieve saw Fred talk to Victoria. A whispered conversation. A brief, close embrace. Before long, it was only the Gillepsies, Joan, Celia and Matt left.

  Genevieve joined the others in the kitchen. ‘Dad, I’m sorry. What a welcome home.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. The main thing is Ig’s all right.’ He gestured towards the bathroom. ‘What’s happened? Has she remembered? She’s different. Is her memory coming back?’

  ‘Something’s happening,’ Genevieve said. ‘There have been flashes over the last couple of days. This is the longest. We don’t know if she realises it, though. She hasn’t said anything and we don’t want to pressure her, just in case.’

  ‘But the way she’s been tonight – does she know Ig’s her son?’

  ‘I don’t know. But she’s not letting anyone else in there to look after him.’

  Soon after, they heard her calling for Nick. She had coaxed Ig out of the bath, dried him and dressed him in pyjamas. Joan had prepared his bed with his favourite blanket. He’d started to walk and then begun to tremble again.

  ‘Can you carry him?’ Angela asked Nick.

  Ig looked up. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Hi again, little mate,’ Nick said. He picked him up in one easy motion. ‘Gave us a bit of a scare there.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ig said. He was shivering again. ‘But I . . . I was . . . up there and I saw —’

  ‘Tomorrow, matey. Tell us tomorrow.’

  Nick carried Ig into his bedroom. Angela tucked him into his bed.

  ‘Snug as a bug?’ she said.

  Ig smiled. Nick kissed him goodnight. Angela stayed with him until he fell asleep.

  Afterwards, in the kitchen, they heard the whole story. Angela had gathered it in bits and pieces from Ig as she bathed him.

  ‘He wanted to go up to Swing Hill with you, Genevieve. He wanted to show Matt the eagles. They’d been around this morning. He followed you, but then he saw you both . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘Kissing,’ Genevieve said.

  Angela nodded. ‘And he got shy. So he hid until he saw you coming back. Then he decided to go up there anyway. He had the camera. He wanted to take some photos of the eagles for me, as well as for Matt. He was standing there when he saw it. A King Brown.’

  Genevieve explained to Matt. It was one of the most poisonous snakes in Australia. It could grow to two metres long, five centimetres thick. It could swallow a rabbit whole.

  Angela continued. ‘He ran over to the swings and jumped up into the middle one. He said he curled up as small as he could so it wouldn’t get him. It disappeared, but he thought he’d seen it go under the base of the swings. That it was waiting for him to get down. Then it started getting dark. He didn’t know if it was still there. He was there for hours, terrified —’ She faltered.

  ‘And no one checked up there again, did they?’ Genevieve said. ‘Because I kept telling everyone Matt and I had been there.’

  ‘But then Ig remembered the camera,’ Angela continued. ‘He kept turning the flash on and off. That’s what you saw, Matt.’

  Genevieve squeezed his hand.

  Nick seemed to notice him then for the first time. ‘Sorry. Who are you?’

  ‘Matt,’ he said. ‘Matt from New York.’

  ‘Genevieve’s boyfriend?’

  ‘Dad!’ Genevieve said.

  ‘Yes,’ Matt said. ‘Her boyfriend.’

  Soon after, Angela made another of her abrupt departures, announcing she was going to bed. She left the room. Joan was staying the night. She’d had a long enough drive that day already. Lindy made up the last spare room for her. It was too late for Matt to go anywhere. They made up a bed for him in the living room.

  ‘I can sleep there,’ Victoria whispered to Genevieve. ‘You and Matt can have my double —’

  Nick heard. ‘Not under my roof.’

  ‘Dad, please. I’m thirty-two years old. I’m an independent adult.’

  ‘Not here you’re not. No offence, Matt.’

  ‘None taken, Nick,’ Matt said.

  One by one, they all went to bed until only Victoria, Matt and Gene­vieve were up.

  While Matt went out to his car to get his bag, Genevieve had her first opportunity to talk privately to Victoria, to hug her. She just wanted to sleep, Victoria told her. Sleep and cry.

  ‘Please, Genevieve, go to Matt. Don’t worry about me now.’

  ‘I’ll always worry about you. That’s my job.’

  ‘Go and show him the stars. I bet he’d like to see them.’

  Genevieve and Matt were gone for a long time. There were a lot of stars out there to see. And the best way to see them was lying down. On a rug.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Joan was first up the next morning. She always woke at five-thirty. She was in the kitchen making a cup of tea when she heard someone behind her. It was Angela.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Joan replied with a smile. ‘Have you checked on Ig?’

  ‘He’s fast asleep. No temperature. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘Off and on.’

  ‘That was some night.’

  Angela nodded. ‘Joan, will you please come for a walk with me?’

  ‘Later? Sure.’

  ‘Not later. Now. Just the two of us. Before everyone else wakes up.’

  Angela’s tone was different, Joan noticed. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  It was still dark. Joan borrowed a jacket from the coat rack by the door. Angela was already fully dressed.

  ‘Do you mind if we walk out to the old chapel?’ Angela asked.

  ‘That’d be great,’ Joan said.

  They took their mugs of tea with them. They had done this walk together often over the years. Talked in the old chapel many times. As the years had passed, they’d shared all the ups and downs of parenting and married life. Joan had been grateful for Angela’s advice many times too.

/>   The sun started to appear as they were halfway there, a slow glow on the horizon. They were both quiet as they walked. The paddocks on either side of the track were covered in saltbush, the leaves turning from black to silver grey. They reached the chapel. The stone looked dark orange in the dawn light. A windmill two paddocks away was creaking. There was a flock of galahs somewhere near, their squawks coarse in the quiet of the morning.

  It wasn’t until they were sitting on the last remaining pew that Angela spoke.

  ‘I know who I am, Joan.’

  Joan was cautious. ‘You do?’

  ‘I’m Angela. Angela Gillespie, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joan said.

  ‘Nick’s wife. Mother to four children.’

  Another nod.

  ‘What happened to me? My mind feels all —’

  Joan waited.

  ‘Strange. Confused. I was awake all night. I couldn’t seem to work out what was real and what wasn’t. Now I think I know. But I’m not completely sure. I need you to tell me.’

  ‘Angela, I don’t know if it should be me. It might be better if you hear it from your family. Or your doctor.’

  ‘Please, Joan. I need to know everything you know.’

  Joan told her. All that had happened since the night of the accident. The operation. The coma. The loss of memory. The diagnosis of confabulation. Angela’s stay on Errigal as a guest, not as herself. Angela listened but didn’t say anything.

  Joan finally came to an end. ‘Do you remember any of that?’

  ‘It’s all jumbled. I know I had an accident, an operation, but I don’t remember any of it. I remember some of the time in hospital. I know I’ve been here on Errigal, but it’s felt so different. That I was doing everything differently.’

  ‘When did you start to realise?’

  ‘It’s been coming slowly. In flashes, off and on. It’s been very confusing.’

  There was another silence, then Angela turned to Joan again. ‘What happened between me and Nick?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something went wrong, didn’t it? I know he’s my husband, I know I love him and he loves me, but something is wrong and I can’t remember everything about it. Did we have a fight?’

  ‘A bit of a one.’

  ‘What about?’

  Joan shifted in her seat. ‘Angela, it’s not my business.’

  ‘Please, Joan. I only have pieces of it in my head. I know you’re my oldest friend. I need you to tell me everything.’

  When they came back to the homestead more than an hour later, there was still no one else up. Joan decided it was time for her to go home.

  ‘Thank you,’ Angela said. ‘For everything.’

  ‘I’ll be thinking of you. All of you. I’m only ever a phone call away.’

  ‘I know that.’

  They hugged each other tightly.

  Angela went into the office. She sat down at the chair. This all felt more familiar too. The view from the window. The desk. The filing cabinet beside it. She had a sudden memory of a folder of letters in there. The folder that was now under her bed in the guestroom. She’d read the Christmas letters several times. She was uncertain of Celia’s reasons for giving them to her, but they had helped. They’d been like signposts through the fog of her memory, snapshots of her family life over the past three decades. Even through her memory confusion, she’d had questions about them. Surely things couldn’t have been that good, all the time? Surely they must have had some fights over the years? The letters read as if the Gillespies were some kind of cross between the Waltons and the Von Trapps. But she was grateful she’d read them. Even if she didn’t quite remember writing them all yet.

  She turned on the computer. It felt like a long time since she’d done that. Joan had said the family had all treated her as a special guest in the homestead over the past weeks. She could remember reading, sleeping, watching films, listening to music, walking, taking photos . . . Feeling good. Peaceful.

  She automatically typed the words that would open her email account. She was asked for her password. Once again, her fingers seemed to find the right letters and numbers. Errigal and her year of birth. Too obvious, probably. She was glad of it now.

  Forty-five new emails were waiting for her, dating back weeks. The earliest were from people thanking her for the most recent Christmas letter. That’s what I call honest!! Bring it on!! The letter they were writing about hadn’t been in the folder Celia had given her.

  Angela found it in her Sent folder. She didn’t remember emailing it out. Halfway through reading it, she had to stop. How could she have sent this? Her most personal, private thoughts.

  Another memory flash. She hadn’t sent it. Nick had. The night of Ig’s accident. While she was at the hospital with Ig. It had caused trouble between them.

  She looked through her inbox again. The emails about the Christmas letter had stopped in early January. After she’d had her accident. Other emails had come in after that. Several junk ones. Enquiries about their station-stay program, from America, Germany, Scotland. Memories of that came rippling into her mind.

  There was another email. From Nick. The date on it meant something to her. She frowned. It was the day she’d gone to see the specialist in Adelaide. Why had Nick emailed her?

  She clicked on it and started to read.

  Dear Angela

  I’m sorry about this morning. About so many things. That I’m not the husband you want me to be. That things have gone so bad between us. I’m sorry I’m not coming with you while you have those tests. I know how scared you are, but I didn’t even say goodbye to you properly today.

  Everything you wrote in that Christmas letter is true. I should have talked to you about everything and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry this is so late, but I’m going to try to tell you now.

  I had to make that deal with the mining company, Angela. I had no choice. I owed so much money. Nearly a million dollars. It’s hard even to write the amount. It felt impossible to say it out loud to you. Year after year it kept building. I couldn’t see any way out. All I could think about was how much I had let you down. Not just you: my parents, my grandparents. What kind of inheritance I’d be leaving the kids. When the mining company made the offer, it felt like a lifeline. I took it.

  I was able to pay off the debt, but I still couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think straight. I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts, in worry. Until I eventually went to the doctor, and he told me what I think I knew myself. It was depression. I have depression. I’ve been seeing him about it for months now. Seeing a psychologist too. I should have told you. But I couldn’t talk about it. It was hard enough admitting it to myself, let alone telling you. I was too ashamed. Embarrassed. I thought it was better to say nothing at all than to even try to explain.

  When I read your Christmas letter, all I felt was more guilt. There it was in your own words. How unhappy you were. How you wanted to change your life. I knew it was my fault. I was jealous too. Of someone you had known years ago. Someone you still thought about. I couldn’t talk to you about him either. I didn’t want to hear what you might say.

  You said in your letter that you wanted things to be different. I feel the same way. I have for a long time. That was something else I wanted to talk to you about while we were in Ireland together. I was going to suggest we change everything. Change our lives. Leave Errigal. You, me, Ig. The girls too, if they’re still living with us. A fresh start. A city, so that Ig can have a chance to go to a bigger school, but still have us nearby. I thought about Perth; Melbourne; then Adelaide. I always thought it would be good to live near the sea. I even looked at seaside houses for rent in Adelaide. Do you remember those great holidays we had down there when the girls were little? And again after Ig came along?

  I didn’t know if it would be possible financially. Until the night of the party, when Kevin Lawson approached me. Said he wished I’d come to him before I’d accepted the offer from the min
ing company. I always knew their station was in better shape than ours, that they’d come through the drought better. They’ve got big expansion plans, he told me. He and his son Fred. They want to trial new ways of station management, methods Fred learned in Canada. Try new breeds. They’re looking for a new property. He wanted to know if we were interested in either selling the remainder of Errigal or leasing it out on a long-term basis. He emailed some costings to me after the party. If we were careful, the lease money would be enough for us to live on each year. Enough to help us start again, somewhere else. Try a different kind of life together. I told him I needed to think about it.

  What I really want to do is talk to you about it. About all of this. When you get back from Adelaide, when you’ve had a chance to read this, I want us to go away. Just the two of us, for a few days.

  Because I still want to try to convince you to come overseas with me. Not just so we can talk about the Lawsons’ offer. Not just because you’ve been a Gillespie for thirty-three years. Or because I want to brainwash you into thinking a family tree is the most exciting thing in the world, or because I want you to see Ireland, or go back to London again.

  I want you to come with me because my life is always better when you’re around. Even if I don’t always say it. But I’m saying it now and I mean it. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’ll try harder to be the husband you want me to be, I promise. I love you, Angela Gillespie. And I always will.

  Nick

  She read it twice. She didn’t cry. She just read it slowly, letting every sentence settle inside her.

  Ten minutes later, she’d logged out of her email account and was on a different website. She heard footsteps in the hall and turned, expecting it to be Ig.