Polite conversation. “How’s Sean?” “How’s Beth?” “How are you?” “How’s the store?”
Driving through the reds and yellows and oranges and flaming pinks and nervous greens of early summer; the car hot but not uncomfortable.
“I wish I could have stayed longer,” she told him. “There wasn’t time to get to know the girls.”
“You’re needed here, Tess.”
“What’s wrong!”
“Why should anything be wrong?”
Six weeks. Too long. “Why didn’t you bring Sean with you?”
“He wouldn’t come.”
Whatever was wrong, he was saving it, savouring it.
They turned off onto the dirt track before Heatherfield.
“I hoped you might drive on. I’d like to see him.”
“He’s not at work.”
She should have come home. “You’re worrying the hell out of me.”
“I told you. He’s fine.”
The corrugated track grey with dust, the nostalgic aromas of eucalypts and sawn timber and fresh mown hay and farm manure overwhelming, the huge clear sky and jagged peaks and golden wattles and shy wildflowers peeping through long grass reassuring. No smog.
Through the open gate, into the garage. The house immaculate. Teapot, cups, fresh-baked biscuits on the table.
“Get changed,” he ordered. “Fran sent across the biscuits.”
She insisted. “Where is he, Rory?”
“I’ll make the tea. Or would you rather coffee?”
She stood her ground. “Where is he?”
He switched on the electric kettle. “Sit down.”
She set down her handbag and sat at the table, a guest in her own home.
He waited on her, ominously stern.
She was disconcerted. The stranger who had aroused her only last night had been less strange, less unknown to her, than Rory.
The familiar tension of instinctive fear weakened her. She fought it. “Why isn’t he here, Rory?”
“He won’t come home.”
“You’re joking.” She made for Sean’s bedroom.
“Come back!”
She turned.
“Come back, Tess. It’s true.”
Six weeks. “What did you do to him?”
He waited until she was seated again, then hung his coat suit on the back of a chair, sat down and stirred sugar into his tea.
He was enjoying himself! A trap set for her. What? A game he was playing. What game?
“Where is he? Tell me where he is,” she begged. “Why won’t he come home? What’s going on?”
The phone rang.
She started up.
“Leave it.”
“Why won’t he come home!”
The phone shrilled.
“Leave it, Tess!”
Defiantly, she answered the phone. “Who is this?”
“Mum! Hi, Mum!”
“Sean…”
“When are you coming, Mum?”
“I’ve missed you, love. Where are you?”
“He’s at Fran’s.” Rory’s answer overrode Sean’s. “Tell him you’ll be there in an hour.”
“I’ll be there soon, love.”
“Okay.”
“Sean – is everything okay?”
Rory took the receiver from her, closed the connection.
She protested. “We hadn’t finished talking!”
“Get changed. We’ll visit him later.”
“Visit him?” She laughed. Rory had been inventing drama where there was none. “Are you telling me he prefers to be with Fran? Nothing’s changed. He can still stay there as always. I’m home now. We can be there in ten minutes.”
“We have to talk, Tess.”
“Whatever this is about, we can talk on the way.”
“Will you sit still and listen! We don’t have to rush off immediately. We’ll visit him later.”
“I don’t want to talk! I want to get Sean.”
“I’ll drive you later, Tess.”
“I’ll drive myself.”
“What happened in Sydney? What the hell’s got into you?”
“Unless you need the car?”
He flipped the keys across the table. “Be back in an hour.”
Would he confront her later? He’d be unhappy. He’d do something. But what?
She hadn’t driven for too many years. The car kangaroo-hopped out the gate, along the rutted road, out onto the highway. She pulled to one side, waited for a timber lorry to pass, commanded self-control and steered for the off ramp that led to Fran’s.
Clouds were gathering, the late afternoon light abruptly darkening when she reached the precise white fences of the farm. The cattle, intuiting a flash storm, were already sheltering under the widespreading trees. Opening the gate, she drove through, closed it and negotiated the curving track that led to the sprawling low-roofed farmhouse.
Sean raced to meet her. “Mum!” He hugged and kissed her and raced ahead. “Mum’s here! Mum’s here!”
Fran was in the kitchen. “He’s been waiting for you. Everyone else is closing up for the storm.”
“It was fine an hour ago.”
Fran hugged her. “You do look well! The break’s been good for you.”
“It’s going to be one hell of a storm, Mum.” Sean, excited, was making coffee.
“Sean’s had the kettle boiling ever since he phoned.” Fran set out cups and saucers. “Thank God you’re back. We need to talk.”
A few minutes polite exchange of news – how is Beth? James? The grandchildren? You’ve changed, Tess. Sean looks well –
Sean hovered, pouring coffee she could not even pretend to drink until, when Fran suggested he return to work, his face sullenly closed.
She was surprised. It was years since he’d done that.
“Mum will wait, Sean,” Fran reassured. “Won’t you, Tess?”
“Of course.” Rory would have to wait, too.
“Time to go, Sean,” Fran gently commanded. “Don’t worry. We’ll work it out okay.”
He shuffled across the room, kicked at the kitchen mat, hovered gloomily at the kitchen door but did not leave. He could not have lost so much ground in a mere six weeks. Why not? He’d done it before.
“Time to go, Sean.”
He refused. “I want to talk to Mum.”
“Work first.” Fran was adamant. “There’s a storm coming. They need your help out there.”
He reluctantly obeyed, closing the door softly behind him. He was upset, but good manners, so diligently drilled, had not deserted him.
“What’s wrong with him, Fran?” She was bewildered. “I don’t understand. Is he cross with me? What have I done? Why is he sulking?”
“He knows you’ve come to take him home.”
“Of course I’ve come to take him home! What’s wrong with that?”
“He’s in love.”
“What!”
“He’s grown up, Tess.”
“You call that grown up!” She was furious. “He’s not behaving grown up! He’s gone backwards! What have you done to him!”
Fran blanched.
She should apologise. She couldn’t.
“What did you expect?” Fran recovered. “You wanted him brought up like other kids. You got it. He’s grown from child to man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s in love.”
Impossible.
“He’s worried sick about how you’ll take it.”
The room spun.
“Rory telephoned after you drove off. He said you flew off the handle. He wanted to prepare you before you saw Sean. He wanted to talk it through with you before you came here. You wouldn’t give him time.”
She clung to the arms of the chair, willed the walls to be still.
“I’m so sorry.” Fran poured fresh coffee, black. “You’ve had a long day.”
If only Fran knew.
“Drink your coffee, Tess.
”
It was bitter, too hot to drink. Steadily, compelling self-control, she held the hot cup. There were new secrets to be kept.
Fran waited.
“It’s a shock,” she managed.
“You’ve had a long day,” Fran repeated. “What time did you get up?”
“It’s not important.” She shook her head. “I’m all right. Really. What’s this all about? How serious is it?”
“We should have seen it coming,” Fran happily gushed. “He and Cathie have grown up together. She adores him.”
Cathie.
“I do wish Rory had warned you.” Vaguely disturbed, Fran frowned. “They want to marry, Tess.”
The cup fell from her hand; scalding coffee seared through her thin frock. She felt nothing.
“Oh God!” Gingerly separating dress from skin, Fran bunched the searing material into a knot.
Shhh…shhh…
Fran thrust the knot at her. “Hold it, Tess! Hold the dress. I’ll be back!”
Obeying, she felt nothing.
Fran fetched ice, packed it onto her burned legs. There was no pain.
“Dear God!” Fran cradled her. “Tess! Please, Tess…”
Sudden pain flared. Don’t scream.
“Hold still,” Fran released her. “I’ll get more ice.”
Crushed dress around her thighs, raw skin. She lowered the skirt. Screamed.
“I’m here, Tess. I’m here. Take these…” Fran, providing aspirin and a glass of water, reapplied fresh ice. “I’ll phone the doctor.”
“No!”
“Tess – you need a doctor.”
She shook her head.
“Rory – I’ll phone Rory.”
“No!” She held Fran.
“Let me go, Tess.”
She tried to speak.
“Let me get help, Tess!”
Convulsing, she clung to Fran.
Fran held her, soothing her as a child. “Don’t cry…don’t cry…”
When she began to recover, the room was dark. “I’m sorry.” She freed herself from Fran. “The storm’s bad?”
“Forget the storm.” Fran inspected the burns. “Your burns will hurt a while. I don’t get it, Tess. The burns aren’t deep. Your dress took the brunt. What’s happening to you? I’ve seen you take worse pain without a whimper. What’s wrong?”
“What time is it?” She rearranged the wet frock. “I have to get home.”
“It’s tea time. Talk to me, Tess.”
Not possible.
“Does the thought of Sean and Cathie being together upset you this much?”
Control.
“I’ll phone Rory…” Fran began.
“Cathie and Sean?” Quickly, firmly, she interrupted. “No. That doesn’t upset me at all. It’s a surprise. It doesn’t upset me.”
“You’re not going to tell me what is upsetting you.”
“I’m sorry, Fran. Honestly. I’m really sorry. I just can’t talk about it. Not yet. Maybe one day.”
“Suit yourself.” Fran collected the empty cups and the ice bucket. “You should stay for tea. Why don’t you phone Rory?”
Six weeks. Her world had turned upside down in six weeks. Impossible. Incomprehensible. Why not? It had turned upside down before. But not like this. Not like this.
“I will talk about it,” she falsely promised. “One day.”
Fran turned from the work bench. “About Sean…we didn’t know how to tell you earlier. Not with all the trouble with Beth.”
“Has Rory known all the time?”
“Most of it.” Fran returned to her work.
“I’ll get Sean.” She went out onto the back verandah.
The dark clouds were already lifting, scudding overhead on retreating winds. No rain yet. No lightning either. Sean, Bert, the twins and Cathie were walking up from the outhouses. Laughing, holding hands. The twins, pretty blondes wearing coveralls and work boots. Working in Roland, they helped out on the farm after hours. She hardly knew them. Bert, solidly built, solidly reliable. A steady middle-aged family man; an uncomplicated man. The kind of man her father and her brothers would have been. Would have been – Bert had not been affected by war. He’d enlisted and been called back to the farm by his father’s premature death. She spoke to him rarely.
And Cathie. Like her sisters, a pretty young blonde, fine-boned and delicate, attractively tanned from days outdoors with her family. In all the years since her ill-fated childhood infection, she’d taken Fran’s daughter for granted. Cathie was ‘poor Cathie’ who hadn’t been accepted into school as Sean had. Poor Cathie who would have been normal but for unlucky chance. Poor Cathie, who had been expected to mature intellectually very little beyond her seventh year, who would always be a child. Now poor Cathie was the pretty young woman Sean wanted to marry – have children with?
So many questions. So much to know. So much to fear.
“Mum!” Sean assisted Cathie up the steps.
“Hi, Tess.” Bert kissed her. “Welcome home.”
The twins kissed her. Cathie kissed her. Nothing new, nothing different.
“I got my ring.” Cathie extended her left hand, ring finger.
“It’s a friendship ring, Cathie.” Bert was quick.
“Sure, Dad.” Cathie’s blue eyes danced.
“It’s a secret.” Sean placed his hand over the ring.
“I’ll look at it later,” she managed. “It’s time to come home now, Sean.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“I’m driving. Wash up and get your things.”
“Can Cathie come too?”
“No, Sean.” Bert again came to the rescue. “Not this time.”
“Okay.” Sean started indoors.
Following, she watched the family make for the bathroom.
Fran set out plates, ladled hot food onto them. “You’re so late now, Tess. You might as well stay.”
“Rory will be worrying.”
“Phone him.”
“No – thanks. We’ll be on our way.”
Sean and Cathie and the family returned.
“This feels awful.” Fran carried their plates to the large table. “Eating in front of you.”
“Rory will have something ready. Come along, Sean.”
Sean settled Cathie into her chair, took his place beside her.
“You aren’t eating here, love.” Fran told him. “Your Dad’s got your tea ready at home.”
He hung his head.
“Cut out the sulking, Sean,” Bert scolded lightly.
Sean did not move.
“That’s enough of that, Sean,” Bert ordered. “Move!”
She edged nervously forward.
“Sorry, Tess.” Bert stepped back. “I don’t mean to interfere.”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. But then neither was she okay. “You’ve had the responsibility for him. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“If you want to know,” Bert was blunt, “I reckon dragging him away right this minute is a bit rough.”
“It’s what Rory wants,” Fran reminded them.
“What about what Aunty Tess wants?” a twin asked.
“Keep out of this, miss,” Fran snapped.
“Take it easy, Fran,” Bert soothed. “They all know what’s going on. They’re all involved.”
“We don’t need this tonight,” Fran argued. “Tess has had a long day.”
The long day had followed an even longer night. She was out of patience. “Get your things, Sean. Dad wants you home.”
“Tell him I’m staying.” Sean straightened. “Tomorrow I’ll come home, Mum. Don’t worry.”
Suddenly, no sulks. He’d needed time. He’d been working through his problem. Her son was a young man with a mind of his own, the confidence to use it and the words he needed to communicate as he needed to. The temporary retreat to sulking? Probably prompted by that consummate trickster – fear. And who ever grew out of that?
Clearly, her work
was done. She must accept his decision. She kissed him and hugged Cathie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sorry, Tess.” Fran escorted her to the door. “It’s not going to get any easier.”
“See you, Mum.” Sean waved.
Switching on the outside light, Fran followed her to the car. “Are you sure you’re well enough to drive?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Senseless jealousy shook her. “Get back to your family.”
“Don’t blame me, Tess.”
“Get back to your family.”
Fran’s family, where Sean was at home, comfortable and happy. He loved the farm life. He loved Cathie. He belonged with them.
She started the motor, switched on the headlights, drove through the farm gate, closed it and drove on. If only she didn’t have to. The headlights ploughed through dusk towards the highway where the lights of homeward bound traffic streamed in inconsistent ribbons. She wasn’t ready to join them. Turning into the highway was turning back to Rory, to nowhere.
Slowing, she pulled sharply off the highway entrance road and stopped. Ahead was the muted glow of a farmhouse. She switched on the radio, flicked through only evening news, no music. She turned it off. Impossible to go home. Impossible not to. A timber truck, leaving the highway, lumbered past. A cyclist rode slowly past, stopped to inspect the stationary stranger and continued towards the farmhouse. Going home to family after his day’s work.
She must stop crying. She must think. There were decisions to make. Stop crying. Pray…
Pray! Who to? No one was listening.
Deliberately summoning rage, she burst into the house. “You should have warned me!”
“You’re late.” Rory was working on accounts.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Where’s Sean?”
“You damn well know where he is.”
“I told you.”
“You told me he wouldn’t come home. Not why.”
“You wouldn’t listen. Remember?”
“It’s not the point!”
“Grow up, Tess. What did you expect? You’re the one who wanted him normal. You got it.”
“You’ve been talking to Fran!”
“For God’s sake, Tess!”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I ate at Fran’s,” she lied.
Leaving him, she showered, changed, turned down the bed covers. Anger hadn’t helped. There were decisions to be made.
Autumn Music Page 26
