‘Fair enough. But you don’t have to worry about Michael lashing out at anyone.’ Nancy inspected her. ‘So, you told Matilda you saw a ghost by the billabong.’
Jed blinked at the change of subject. ‘Ghosts.’
‘All woo-woo and sheets?’ Nancy’s voice held neither belief nor incredulity.
‘No sheets. Just a girl, dressed like she was from last century, and a man and a sheep. They were happy.’
‘Even the sheep?’
‘Even the sheep. The girl was feeding it something.’
‘Matilda,’ said Nancy softly. ‘More than seventy years ago.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you know “Waltzing Matilda”?’
‘Of course.’
‘That’s where it all happened. Matilda’s father was the swaggie. The sheep was a poddy, tame. Matilda’s father was a union organiser. It was a set-up, to try to stop him leading the shearers’ strike at Drinkwater. Another long story. But that’s where he died, and Matilda saw it all. She must have thought you’d heard the story.’
‘And was using it to trick her?’
Nancy nodded.
‘I wasn’t,’ said Jed flatly. ‘Actually, there was another ghost as well. The night before. Except he probably wasn’t a ghost, even though he said he was. He fed me sausages. Talked to me. Ghosts don’t usually talk to me.’
‘Usually? You see them often then?’
Jed examined her. The enquiry was genuine. ‘Not often.’
‘But you see them?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Ghosts of dead people?’
‘Not really.’ Jed hesitated. It would sound stupid to say it aloud.
‘I won’t laugh.’
What did she have to lose? ‘I’m not sure any of the people I see are real ghosts, I mean dead people who sort of hang around. It’s more like sometimes, in some places . . . time is . . . rubbed thin. I glimpse people. They’re not dead when I see them. I see them in the time they were alive. Sometimes I see places with no one there. From the future too, I think. The first time it happened I saw a woman in a car like a bubble made of black glass. I’m pretty sure she was in the future. I was about three years old.’
‘Did the woman tell you secrets of tomorrow?’ The words were joking. The tone was not.
‘She said, “Wicked what, kid? What you doing here?” Or something like that. She was a bit hard to understand. I ran inside and when I looked back she and the car had gone.’ Jed shrugged. ‘It was only later that I worked out she must have been from the future. There was a boy I talked to a few times after that. His name was Albert. We’d just come back to Australia and I was lonely. I think Albert was too. He didn’t know what year it was, but there was a king on the throne. Albert wasn’t a convict. He was proud of that. I think maybe 1830, 1840. He had a funny accent, and found my way of speaking hard to understand too, but we both wanted someone else to talk to. I told him about Mum getting drunk and, well, things. And Albert told me about living in a hut, and stopping the sheep from straying. Then we moved. I didn’t see him again.’
‘You don’t think you could have imagined him?’ asked Nancy gently. ‘Kids do have imaginary friends. Especially lonely ones.’
‘Of course! It . . . it probably is just imagination. I like books about the past, about what the future might be like, and I let my imagination take over.’ Jed shrugged again. ‘Or maybe I’m crazy. But I don’t think I’ve ever done anything crazy.’
Crazy people had an excuse for what they’d done. She had none.
‘Could you be imagining you’re Tommy’s great-granddaughter?’ Nancy’s tone was still sympathetic. ‘We’ll help you whether you are or you’re not.’
Jed forced herself to look at Nancy steadily. ‘It’s not imagination. I didn’t know my great-grandfather was alive till I read an article about him. None of the girls at school had great-grandparents who were alive. I never even wondered who mine had been. My parents died when I was too young to really think about my family much.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Anyway, the Thompsons should have kept in contact with Mum.’
‘America’s a long way off,’ said Nancy mildly, her half-eaten piece of bread still on the plate.
Jed looked at it, at her. ‘You need to finish that.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ Nancy picked it up, bit, chewed, swallowed. ‘It’s funny. Food tastes good when it’s in my mouth. But my body forgets to want it. I’ll show you your bedroom.’
‘Thank you.’ Nancy’s kindness hurt more than the Dragon’s anger. She had never known anyone to give so easily. And no more questions. That was almost as great a gift as the food and the offer of a safe place to sleep.
Nancy grinned. ‘If your grandmother and my husband are brother and sister, then I’m your aunt. Or great-aunt.’
‘Should I call you Auntie Nancy?’
The smile faded as the older woman examined her. Nancy was far from a trusting innocent, Jed realised. ‘Just Nancy will do. Come on. I’ll show you your room.’
Jed followed her.
Chapter 10
JED
Two hours later she had peeled what seemed like a tonne of potatoes, as many carrots, all with their dirt and leaves still attached and needing to be washed, chopped cabbage and removed its caterpillars, and pushed herb-and-lemon stuffing up the backsides of four chickens. Nancy reappeared to thrust the chooks into the oven, throw the potatoes into a casserole and slosh them with cream. She handed Jed a bucket of apples. ‘Would you mind peeling these? Do you know how to stew apples?’
‘Yes. All of them?’
‘Please.’ Nancy vanished again. Jed kept slicing.
Was she cooking for the farm workers too? How many kids did Nancy have? Was one of them in a wheelchair? When Nancy stopped long enough she’d ask her. Now and then she heard the woman’s voice, singing from one end of the house or another, calling to a person or animal out the back.
This wasn’t like any home she had ever known, not hers, nor her former friends’ in Brisbane. Yet it did feel like a home, in some way she didn’t understand. Good vibes . . .
An engine growled in the distance, coming closer. Jed looked out the back door.
A van, though of no make she had ever seen before, blue and dusty. The driver got out. It was the nurse she had seen at Drinkwater, now in a floral dress, stockings and sandals, her make-up still immaculate. She opened the back doors of the van and pulled down a ramp, then reached in to unhook one wheelchair and then another.
Jed stepped out onto the ramp outside the kitchen. ‘Can I help you?’
The nurse smiled as she pulled down a third wheelchair. ‘We can manage.’ She rolled the first chair to the passenger door and opened it. A girl, twelve years old perhaps, swung out expertly, holding onto a swing-like bar, then settled into the wheelchair. A boy emerged next, a little older than the girl, his legs awkward in callipers. He reached in to grab a pair of crutches. The nurse wheeled another chair to the other side, then reached in to lift a small girl out.
Jed tried not to stare. It was impossible to tell how old the child was. Her body was a three-year-old’s, but her twisted face seemed older. Six? Seven? The nurse buckled a strap around the fragile body, as if it wasn’t strong enough to support the head that rested between two cushions on the back of the chair.
Jed stood back as the boy on crutches passed her and went into the kitchen. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Gordon.’ He didn’t seem surprised to see a stranger here, or even curious.
‘I’m Jed,’ she said as the boy lurched towards the cake tins on the table. She tried not to stare at the three children. What tragedy had struck this family? All three crippled by what she supposed was polio. Yet Nancy smiled and laughed as if nothing were wrong.
‘I’m Janine.’ The older girl in the wheelchair pushed herself after the boy. ‘Leave some cake for the rest of us, pig.’
‘Am not a pig!’
It was as if a cyclone had landed.
> ‘Children, children. Behave yourselves.’ The nurse pushed the small girl’s wheelchair up the ramp. Jed heard a cake tin clatter to the floor. The nurse held out her hand to Jed. ‘We weren’t introduced at Drinkwater. I’m Matron Clancy. Mrs Ben Clancy. Moira Clancy. And this is Marilyn Monroe.’
‘No, I’m not.’ The girl in the wheelchair looked mutinous. ‘I’m Scarlett this week.’ Tiny hands lay useless and twisted in her lap. Her legs looked even more fragile than her body.
Moira Clancy smiled. ‘I apologise. This is Scarlett.’
Was she supposed to call this woman Mrs Clancy or Matron Clancy? Jed settled on: ‘Pleased to meet you. Scarlett’s a lovely name.’
The girl smiled, her thin face twisting even more. ‘It’s the best, isn’t it? Did you KNOW it’s from a movie? Gone with the Wind. It’s Scarlett O’Hara really, but you can call me Scarlett.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jed, just as Nancy breezed in. She enveloped Gordon in a hug just as Moira said, ‘Gone with the Wind! Nancy, you didn’t take the children to Gone with the Wind.’
‘Yep. One of my favourite movies. On a double bill with One Hundred and One Dalmations.’
‘Nancy, darling, it’s not at all suitable for children.’
‘Yes, it was,’ said Scarlett. ‘Gordon, give me a biscuit.’
‘Say please,’ said Moira.
‘Please,’ said Scarlett.
‘I want to see the Christmas tree. Is it a big one?’ The boy half ran, half staggered out, followed by Nancy. Janine wheeled her chair after him.
Christmas? Jed hadn’t even thought about it.
‘Jed will look after me, if you want to see the tree.’ Scarlett O’Hara dismissed Matron Clancy. She looked at Jed. ‘Did you KNOW that Queen Victoria invented Christmas trees?’
‘Did she?’ Jed had a feeling that Christmas trees might have existed before the English Queen.
Scarlett nodded. Even that seemed an effort for her small body. ‘Could you give me a biscuit, please? A chocolate one with the strawberry filling.’
‘Sure,’ said Jed. She had avoided even looking at kids for the past year. But somehow there was no stab of guilt talking to Scarlett. This child must have experienced far worse than she had, but she was no ghost. She seemed possibly the most vivid and determined girl Jed had ever met.
She took a biscuit and held it out to the girl.
Scarlett O’Hara looked at her patiently. ‘You need to feed me. I can’t use my hands yet. I will one day though. Just hold the biscuit to my mouth while I take a bite.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Scarlett O’Hara generously. She nibbled the biscuit, then added with her mouth full, ‘You don’t have to hold the biscuit up while I’m chewing.’
Nancy and Moira arrived back from the living room. ‘There’s apple cake too!’ Nancy yelled to the others, still presumably examining the tree.
‘Nancy, they’ll ruin their appetites.’
‘Nope.’ Nancy hugged Moira, and kissed her cheek. ‘They’ll still eat like horses. Will you stay for dinner?’
Moira shook her head. ‘I’m needed back at River View. Still have the applications for the new therapist to go through. I spent too long at Drinkwater this afternoon.’
‘Well, come and see the Christmas decorations. Lee’s had some new ones in.’
‘Me too!’ said Scarlett.
They headed down another corridor, Moira pushing Scarlett O’Hara’s chair. The small girl gave Jed a grin as she vanished.
‘Excuse me.’ The voice came from the van.
Jed looked back out the door. A young man sat in the back seat. Why hadn’t he called out before? Why hadn’t she noticed him? Perhaps because of the shadows, or his stillness, no expression on his face, no ‘I am here’ posture. But as soon as she truly looked at him she realised he was ludicrously, extraordinarily handsome. Movie-star handsome, eyes as deep as the billabong, hands with long strong fingers. Early twenties. Fair hair the colour of bleached grass, slightly curly.
Then in the next second he grew older, the hair shorter, and shorter still: grey hair, grey beard, his face alight with laughter. And she loved him. Loved this man with the grey beard . . . Jed blinked and he was a young man again, his face showing nothing but a sudden faint contempt. She stared, unable to look away.
‘Have you seen enough, or would you like to see the stumps too?’ The voice from the back seat was harsh.
‘What?’ Jed tried to stop her mind wobbling. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘I realise you probably have never seen amputated legs before, but hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?’
‘What?’ Her eyes shifted down towards the floor of the van . . . Legs. Or rather no legs. Or two half-legs that ended below the knee under his trousers. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice your legs. I mean your, your . . .’
‘Stumps?’
‘Truly, I wasn’t staring at them.’ Why would anyone look at your legs when they could see your face? she wondered. ‘Do you need a hand?’
‘Yes. I accidentally pushed the wheelchair away. If you could just push it back again. Yes, that’s fine.’
‘Do you need more help?’
‘No! Thank you,’ he added. His voice wasn’t friendly, but neither was it sarcastic now. He grabbed the swing bar, and hoisted himself out, then down, his arm muscles and hands impossibly strong.
She was staring again. She couldn’t help staring. This was Juliet seeing Romeo across the room. Jill, in Stranger in a Strange Land, seeing Michael; Oscar seeing Star. Whoever loved that loved not at first sight.
No. Love at first sight did not exist. He was handsome, that’s all. Handsome was just sex and sex meant touching and she was Jed Kelly, who would not be touched . . .
She wanted to touch him. But why would a man as handsome as him be interested in her? Certainly no one would want her if they knew who she really was, what she had done . . .
‘Are you all right?’ He looked at her curiously from his wheelchair, his anger gone. He looked at her face too, though he had glanced down at The Beasts, prominent even in her too-small bra.
‘Yes. Sorry. I’m Jed.’ She decided not to add the ‘Kelly’. If only her hair wasn’t in stupid plaits. If only she’d changed out of this dumb dress, put on make-up, let The Beasts be useful for once. If only the world could shift three metres sideways and she were different, irresistible.
Lovable.
‘I’m Nicholas.’
Nancy must have got married in her teens to have a son this age. Or maybe she was older than she looked. ‘Your mother asked me to stay.’
‘My mother?’ Nicholas blinked, then laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Nancy? Good grief, did you think we were all hers?’
‘You’re not?’
‘Nancy and Michael don’t have any kids. Moira — Mrs Clancy — runs a rehabilitation home for kids near Gibber’s Creek. River View.’
Anguish stabbed her. That was where that bright-eyed Scarlett lived? No! ‘You mean these poor kids live in a home? That’s terrible! I’d like to burn every one of those so-called “homes” down. Except they’d just build new ones. Probably worse. It isn’t fair. They’ve been through so much already . . .’
‘Hey, hold your horses.’ Nicholas looked at her curiously. ‘What on earth are you on about?’
‘Those homes for kids are evil. Kids are starved. Bashed.’ She put up her chin. ‘Raped. And these kids can’t even defend themselves. Not in wheelchairs or callipers.’
‘You’re talking rubbish. I’m staying at River View myself. There’re no bashings. And definitely no rape. Who the heck have you been talking to?’
She hesitated. ‘People who’ve been in them.’
‘Well, I can tell you it’s not like that at River View. Mrs Thompson owns the place — the older one, Nancy’s mother-in-law. I think Nancy and Michael bankroll it. Four kids to a house with a housemother, and the best rehab techniques
in Australia.’
She looked at him warily. He did seem to be telling the truth. And why should he lie? ‘What are the kids doing at Overflow?’
‘Here for the weekend. Most of the kids only stay at River View during the week. Gordon and Janine live too far away to go home every weekend, and Marilyn Monroe’s parents don’t have her home even for Christmas.’
Jed relaxed. Whatever River View was — and she still had her suspicions, because adults could get away with hurting young kids, even if they left a young man like this alone — it didn’t sound as bad as other places she’d heard about. ‘She’s Scarlett O’Hara now.’
‘Could be worse. She was Tarzan of the Apes last month.’
Was that the whisper of a smile? ‘Why are you there, if it’s just for kids?’
The smile, if it had been a smile, vanished. He glanced at the house, sanctuary from questions, but his voice was still polite as he said, ‘My dad’s a friend of River View’s doctor, Dr McAlpine. I know his great-nephew too. I’d got as far as I could go with rehab in Sydney and Dr McAlpine thought the techniques they use down here might work better.’
‘Do they?’
‘Seem to be.’ The voice was curt.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’
He shrugged. ‘If I can get my knees working, it’ll be easier to walk with artificial legs. Less chance of complications too. Don’t want them to chop any more off.’ His voice was carefully toneless.
She didn’t know what to say. Nor what to do. He solved the problem by reaching up into the van and grabbing an overnight bag. He nodded abruptly to her and wheeled himself up a ramp onto a veranda. His wheelchair vanished around one wing of the house. She stared at the place where he had disappeared, feeling herself a little colder and even more alone.
‘Jed?’ She turned as Moira pushed Scarlett O’Hara down the ramp.
‘Hi, Scarlett.’
The Ghost by the Billabong Page 8
