Willow Tree Bend

by Kaye Dobbie

  ‘We could go to the library after I visit Gran. Unless you’re busy today?’

  ‘Apart from basking in my past glories,’ he murmured, and then grimaced. ‘Sorry. No, I’m not busy. I seem to have run into a brick wall with my new material, and that’s the time when I start to wonder why I’m bothering to write at all.’

  ‘It must be tough,’ I said sympathetically.

  He screwed up his face. ‘Sometimes. I tell myself I may as well move into metal sculptures full-time, at least that gives me an income, but I still have dreams … Never mind, forget about that. Are you ready to go now?’

  ‘I have to feed and water the animals.’

  ‘I can help with that,’ he offered and then, seeing my startled face, he said, ‘Only if you’d like me to, of course. Maybe you prefer to do things your own way.’

  Honestly? I didn’t know what to make of him. He seemed to be my new best friend, and while it was nice, it was also slightly disconcerting. It was a long time since any man was this keen to spend time with me, and as it was this man in particular … Hadn’t he had a thing with a model? I was hardly in that class. And then I thought, what the hell, let him get his hands dirty if he wants to. If he never came near me again I’d know, right?

  ‘Thanks, I could use some help.’

  We headed out together, me leading and him following. And actually, he turned out to be rather handy. He said he hadn’t had much to do with horses, and nothing at all with donkeys, but unlike some people, he wasn’t afraid of them. He had a gentle but firm touch—and no, I wasn’t going there. We finished up in record time, with Mitch supervising, and then I went inside to tart myself up while he washed his hands.

  We took his car—it was a bit more presentable than the ute—and I didn’t say much. Thoughts about my family were occupying me, so that I mostly stared out of the window at the parched landscape—the brief rain storm hadn’t done much to quench its thirst—until we reached Golden Gully.

  Our hospital was small, but it had a good reputation. Needless to say, the more serious cases were taken to Melbourne, but for Gran’s arm it was perfect. They could operate here and she’d be closer to home and family. Last night after they’d checked her out, they’d cleaned up her cuts and scrapes—the bump on her head wasn’t serious. According to the nurse on duty, my grandmother was a tough old bird.

  When we walked into her room she was propped up in bed, pale but bright-eyed. She smiled when she saw me, and I bent to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Hope,’ she said.

  Now that was slightly worrying. Had she forgotten who I was? ‘Sam. Faith’s daughter, Gran, remember?’

  ‘Of course I do! I’m not senile yet,’ she retorted, green eyes flashing. ‘I meant … has Hope gone?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, she left this morning, but she says she’ll be back as soon as she can. I’ll ring and let her know how you’re doing.’

  I had already been told that the operation would go ahead as planned this morning, and I could visit again this afternoon to check on her. I’d also been warned that sometimes when someone of my grandmother’s age had an accident it could have repercussions—in other words her mind might be affected.

  ‘It was just a silly error of judgement,’ Gran said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘I wanted to walk along the creek and see the cottage in the moonlight. I’d forgotten what an old chook I am now,’ and she gave a disparaging chuckle.

  ‘But, Gran if you wanted to see the cottage you could have asked one of us to drive you there! Lincoln wouldn’t mind if you visited. Would you?’ I looked at Lincoln with raised eyebrows and he took the cue.

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ he said, giving my grandmother a charming smile. ‘You could tell me some more about the history of the place. In fact, it’d be a good idea to write it down. I’ve been thinking about those five boys head to toe in the one bed.’

  His eyes had a slightly unfocused look, and I wondered if that meant he was thinking up lyrics for a song. It was probably the sort of expression I got when I was planning a new garden in my head, before I put pencil to paper. A creative look.

  Gran was sleepy, and they had medications to give her in preparation for the surgery, so we left. The hospital had my number, I reminded myself, and apart from a few minor issues, Gran was fit for her age.

  My stomach gave a growl and I remembered I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I might have ignored that inconvenient fact, but Lincoln must have heard, because he suggested we sit down in the old milk bar for a while. ‘We can discuss our research,’ he said.

  I wasn’t sure looking up a few newspapers deserved a discussion, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Anyway I was starved, and once we were seated I barely hesitated over the menu before ordering the full breakfast. Lincoln asked for a coffee and toast. Then he tried not to stare as I devoured my huge plateful.

  The Cantanis had sold the milk bar not long after I was born, so I never knew it as it was back then. Once the new owner had moved on, the place had been sold a few more times, and remodelled until it was unrecognisable, or so my parents had told me. Ironically, the latest purchaser had gone for the retro look, and stripped it right back. They’d made much of the vintage features, and I noticed the old metal milkshake containers were lined up in a row on a shelf above the counter, like the relics from the past that they were.

  I tried to imagine my mother working here, and my father and his brother, Pete. The thought of Pete sent me down a side alley for a moment, remembering last night and the realisation that I knew very little about the uncle who had died so young. I’d seen photos of him, and I knew he was very like my father. There had been one at Nonny’s, in pride of place, with him in his uniform, and forever smiling. I wondered where it was now that she was gone.

  It wasn’t until I finished my meal and set aside the plate that I realised Lincoln was no longer pretending not to watch me. He was even wearing a little smile, as if I amused him, and I wasn’t at all sure that was a good thing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I like a girl with a healthy appetite.’ He must have realised how that sounded because he tried to backtrack. ‘Not that you ate a lot. And even if you did then you’d probably burn it off with all the work you … oh God, unfortunate choice of words.’

  Was he having a go? I’d been all ready to take him on, but now I wondered if he was just lacking in some of the conversational skills.

  ‘I don’t always have a breakfast like this,’ I said warily. ‘Usually I don’t have time.’

  ‘I have a sister with an eating disorder,’ he blurted out, and instantly that changed everything. ‘Seeing you tucking in so unselfconsciously was a revelation. And a relief.’

  I didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘I’m not much of a breakfast person myself,’ he went on, sounding much more relaxed. ‘Too many late nights. Although I’m working on getting up earlier these days.’

  ‘Best time of the day, those first few minutes when the sun peeps over the horizon,’ I informed him, relieved to move on.

  He didn’t look entirely convinced and I hid a smile. Was there any chance of us ever getting together, with him up all night and me an early bird? Our body clocks would ensure that like the protagonists in the movie Ladyhawke, we only ever saw each other for a few fleeting moments of every day.

  After the milk bar, we headed over to the library. I knew the older issues of the Express had been photographed and put onto reels of tape, which were kept on metal scrolls. I’d seen people using the machines when I exchanged my books, and I’d heard the reason that they were placed right at the back of the library was so no one could hear the profanities when the tapes jammed.

  The Gold Country Express was the full name of the local paper, and we’d worked our way through quite a few issues before we found anything. The Dalzell family was mentioned several times—it was the most ‘important’ family in the district—and its members and their doings were always of interest. H
ubert ‘Bert’ Dalzell had a wife and three children, and when I found a photograph of them outside their house, smiling for the photographer, I was intrigued. This family had owned and lived in what was now Jason’s house. The children had played in his garden. It gave me a feeling of responsibility, and I knew I had to tread carefully in my garden restoration if I didn’t want to undermine the integrity of this historic place.

  Bert was of medium height, and very well dressed. Suave was a word that came to mind. His wife was tall and thin, and she had a stressed look in her eyes, as if right up until the photographer pushed the shutter she was saying she didn’t have time for this. The three children looked like typical bored rich kids.

  News of the scandal started about three issues later, but it was tactfully reported. I imagined that no one at the Express would want to upset the local bigwig. There were hints that Bert had been ‘caught up’ in a criminal investigation in Melbourne, and the police were ‘looking into it’. When he unexpectedly stepped down from his position in the government, the reporter said it was only ‘temporary’, and as soon as his name was cleared he’d resume his role. And then when he arrived home in Golden Gully it was ‘for a break’ from the stresses of such a high-profile position.

  But when his wife started divorce proceedings, the Express could no longer pretend everything was rosy. She went home to her parents in Melbourne and took the children, while Bert hid out in his house, refusing to talk to anyone. There were still valiant attempts to pretend that soon everything would be over, with Bert’s name cleared, but I got the feeling that no one really believed it.

  ‘Here it is!’ Lincoln pointed out the paragraph. I tried not to smile at his excited tone, and anyway I was no better. We were like two kids in a lolly shop.

  Mr Dalzell has not been seen at his home for the past three days. His car is also gone and a friend of the family told this reporter that Mr Dalzell has interests in Northern Queensland and has often expressed the wish to visit there, perhaps even to make a permanent home. The Police responded to our questions with the official comment: Inquiries are continuing.

  I tried to work out what this meant. Maybe I was imagining the link between Faith and Dalzell, and her leaving was nothing to do with him, and yet … There was something, and I was sure of it.

  Several issues later there was more news, although Bert had slipped to a smaller paragraph on an inner page.

  Dalzell car found! The vehicle belonging to the Honourable Hubert Dalzell, who went missing earlier this month, has been found. It was discovered parked at a train station in the north of the state, and it appears that the missing man may have caught an interstate train. Police are of the opinion Mr Dalzell is presently somewhere in Queensland.

  Well that was pretty cut and dried, I thought. Case closed.

  ‘Look at this.’

  Lincoln had scrolled back a page or two to an earlier issue, and another photograph. This one was taken in Melbourne, and I leaned forward to peer at the fuzzy image.

  ‘The Angel? That’s the nightclub where Mum worked in nineteen sixty-nine!’

  Although the newsprint was grainy, and the photo not so great, I could see Dalzell standing in the centre of the group. There were about a dozen people in all, crammed in together. I could imagine the photographer telling them to ‘squish up’. My eye skipped over the faces, searching for my mother. And there she was.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  Lincoln caught on fast. ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Yes. Not sure about the guy beside her in the dark glasses, but the woman on the other side is Mum’s cousin, Kitty.’

  ‘Did you know she worked there, too?’

  I thought about it but I couldn’t remember. ‘We don’t see her much. I think the last time was when I was about eighteen. We went down to the funeral for Mum’s aunt, that was Kitty’s mother. I remember in the car Mum and Dad had a massive argument.’

  Lincoln looked interested. ‘And what was that about, did you know?’

  ‘Dad didn’t want to go. He didn’t want Mum anywhere near Kitty.’ I glanced at him, as the pieces swiftly clicked into place. ‘Maybe it was really about the Angel.’

  Was I getting closer to the truth? Maybe, and yet it still felt like a story in a novel with half the pages missing.

  ‘Kitty lives in Melbourne. I don’t know where. I don’t really know anything about her except what I’ve told you. Hope might remember more.’

  But even if she did, would she tell me?

  ‘I wish …’ I began, and bit my lip.

  Lincoln seemed to know what I was feeling. He put an arm around me, which was a bit of a surprise, but a nice one.

  ‘Let’s have a coffee before you go back to see your grandmother,’ he suggested. ‘But first, I’ll ask if we can get printed copies of this stuff about Dalzell and the Angel.’

  I watched him make his way to the counter, where the bored woman slumped behind it suddenly sat up straighter. I frowned again at the grainy photo—at my mother’s young face and her happy smile. Was it her in the photo Jason had shown me? I was no longer sure. The guy next to her, the one in the sunglasses, was leaning close, as if he was murmuring something only she could hear. His hair was cut in a shaggy style—I supposed it was the era. Kitty wasn’t smiling at all, staring straight ahead as if she just wished it was over. Dalzell was right next to her. My mother and Kitty were, I realised, very alike.

  There was a caption underneath the photograph and I leaned even closer to read it, until my nose was all but pressed to the screen. I didn’t know Lincoln had returned and was standing behind me until he touched my shoulder and made me jump.

  His mouth twitched. ‘Sorry. I was just going to tell you they can copy it for us. What are you looking at?’

  ‘The caption. It’s smudged or something. I think it says: “The Honourable Hubert Dalzell takes time …”’

  Lincoln leaned in beside me. ‘“… takes time out from his busy … job”, is it?’

  ‘Sounds about right. What does “takes time out” mean? I’m not sure every politician of the day would think it a good idea to be hanging around the Angel.’

  Lincoln frowned. ‘Maybe he didn’t care. He might have thought he was untouchable.’

  I looked again at the faces. Dalzell knew my mother, and she knew him. Even if I disregarded the old photo, there was no denying this was a definite connection. Now I just had to find out if it meant what I thought it did.

  HOPE

  16 January 2000, Melbourne

  Hope fretted all the way from Willow Tree Bend to the outskirts of Melbourne, wishing she didn’t have to leave like this, and yet knowing there was nothing she could do if she stayed. Sam had things under control and Lily was only a phone call away.

  By the time they hit the suburbs she had convinced herself she was doing the right thing, and had set her mind to playing her part for the television program. She could do it, she was an actress for God’s sake!

  As long as there weren’t any nasty surprises.

  And that brought her thoughts around to Prue and Lena, something she’d put aside while Pete and her mother took precedence.

  How much did Prue know that she wasn’t telling her, and should she call her on it? But if she did, and Prue revealed whatever it was, what then? There was always the chance she could do what she’d always done, and lie her way out of trouble. Perhaps if she said nothing it would all blow over, and anyway, how did she know Prue was going to use whatever information Lena had given her in the program?

  Or I can just pull out and walk away.

  The idea was very tempting. But from experience Hope knew that telling the producers she was withdrawing would probably cause more ructions than proceeding. They could take her to court, but even if they didn’t there would be questions asked and bad publicity—and despite what some people believed, not all publicity was good. She supposed she could blame her mother’s accident, but it was only a broken arm and they’d be sure to point that out. />
  No, she would just have to grit her teeth and get through it the best way she could. On the plus side, she had to admit, the money would be welcome, as would be the possible future media appearances.

  She’d lain awake last night thinking about the irony of Sam’s job at the old Dalzell house. Who could have foreseen such a thing all those years ago? What were the chances of Sam becoming a garden designer and the Dalzell place being sold and the new owners hiring her?

  Problems kept piling up. Sam and the Dalzell garden, Lily with her injuries and looking so confused … Maybe someone was trying to tell her something? Was it time to face the dilemma she’d been avoiding most of her life?

  But one thing she did know, she couldn’t speak up without consulting Faith. Perhaps it was yet another way of procrastinating, but Hope clung to the decision like a lifeline. She told herself she wouldn’t do anything, come to any determination, until her sister was back home. Then they could talk about it face to face and reach a solution together. It was something they should have done a long time ago.

  And that presented her with another problem. Finding out why her sister had run off, and bringing her back home.

  Hope opened her Gucci purse and took out her notebook. Flicking through it, she found the page where she’d written down the name the homeless man had given her. Jared Shaw. Beside it was written the street in which the nursing home was situated. Acland Street.

  Good. She told herself that after she’d finished with the Looking Back team she’d visit Jared Shaw. He must remember Faith, he’d worked with her, and she had to believe he could help her understand what was going on.

  The car took her directly to the suburbs and the apricot-coloured building she remembered from last time. With a smile, she greeted the receptionist and followed her into the lift. Hope was aware she was looking good—something that increased her confidence. Classy, elegant, understated. The more approachable Grace Kelly.

  ‘Miss Taylor.’ There were smiles and nods, followed by murmurs of sympathy for Lily. She noticed that Prue wasn’t there.