Jed handed her a piece, buttered her own and spread it with Vegemite, then poured milk on her Coco Pops. ‘Are we still going into town?’
Nancy nodded, nibbling her toast with one hand as she poured frozen chopped vegetables into the casserole and shoved it in the fridge. ‘Ready when you are.’
The rain began as they passed the Drinkwater gates, thick drops that exploded on the bonnet of the car. They drove through a white net curtain. ‘Should be about an inch in this,’ said Nancy, steering around a puddle in the bitumen.
‘How do you know? It just said scattered showers on the radio.’
Nancy shrugged. ‘I don’t listen to the weather forecast.’ She gave a preoccupied grin. ‘Michael made me stop. Said I kept arguing with the forecaster, then was smug when I was right.’
‘How do you know more than they do?’
Nancy shrugged again. ‘Just do. Well, no, actually. It’s because I was taught.’
‘Can’t the Weather Bureau be taught?’
‘I don’t think they’d ever believe the kind of knowledge I have is anything they need to know,’ said Nancy shortly.
The pause lengthened. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is?’
‘Not sure I can. Not in half an hour in a car. I grew up with this land. Then Gran showed me how to see it. I don’t even know what I know half the time, till I need it.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Today’s rain. It’s going to hang around until Monday because it’s from the west, and the easterly will come in this afternoon and keep the wet over us. There were flying ants on Thursday night, a great cloud of them. The more ants flying, the more rain, especially at this time of year. Mostly we see them in spring. But there were no turtle tracks heading uphill last week — well, to be precise, ten days ago — that means the river’s not going to rise. There’d have been lots of other signs if this was going to be a big rain, or a wild storm . . .’
Jed was silent. She had never known a true home, a house with loving parents. Suddenly she realised that the land about you could be home too, if you knew it, and knew that you belonged to it, like Nancy. She was suddenly, deeply, envious. ‘Could you teach me things like that? If I came to live in Gibber’s Creek?’
‘Yes.’
She hadn’t expected the answer to be so unconditional.
‘Do you want to live here? There’s not much to keep a young person.’
But there could be, Jed thought. Not just washing up at River View or a café, or a job as a cleaner or barmaid. A real job. Gibber’s Creek was big enough to need a solicitor or another doctor, though she suspected she’d need an actual vocation to see her through the rigours of a medical degree and a residency afterwards. Law would be easier, but didn’t attract her . . .
Not a nurse, because nurses only got women’s wages. Not a librarian, though of all the jobs she’d have liked that the most, because librarians too only got ‘women’s pay’. She wanted a job where they wouldn’t sack you if you got married either. Her mind flew to Nicholas. She forced it back to now, the car and Nancy.
Nancy’s face softened. ‘Learning the land is mostly learning to look. City people don’t, much. They have to learn how not to look when they are surrounded by so many buildings and people. Too much ugliness, complexity, lack of privacy. Out here you need to look wide, out of the corners of your eyes, not narrow, in front of you. Hell’s bells,’ she added, swerving back to her own side of the road to avoid an approaching ute, looking like every other farm ute except for the rainbow painted on the sides. Jed wondered if it belonged to the shop owner, Raincloud. Surely no one else around here would have a rainbow on their ute.
‘Narrow vision comes in handy when you’re driving,’ Nancy added, ‘instead of looking at the paddocks. But its understanding changes too. Nothing stays the same. Time flows like a river, like seasons. No spring is quite like another one. Knowing the land is like walking in time.’ She shrugged. ‘Sounds silly when you say it aloud.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Jed hesitated. ‘It’s a bit like that when I see ghosts. As if the past and the future are all around us all the time, but sometimes you can glimpse them.’
She waited for Nancy to laugh or scoff. Instead she said, ‘You need to talk to Flinty McAlpine.’
‘The author?’
‘She’s Dr McAlpine’s sister. Their brother, Andy, manages Drinkwater.’ She grinned. ‘Or at least Andy and Michael and I have . . . interesting discussions . . . about managing it. There’s a giant flat rock on Flinty’s property where she claims time has worn thin.’
‘Flinty McAlpine sees people from other times?’ It hadn’t occurred to her that others might have the same skill as her. The usual reports of haunted houses were so different from her own experiences that she’d grown sceptical.
‘So she says. But she’s a writer, remember. With an excellent imagination.’
‘I’d like to meet her,’ said Jed, then stopped. Why would Flinty McAlpine want to meet Jed Kelly?
‘She’d probably like to meet you too. It’s good rain,’ said Nancy, obviously carefully changing the subject. ‘Soaking in well. Took three years after the last drought for the rain to really penetrate. The water just runs off instead of soaking in after it’s been dry too long.’
Jed vaguely remembered seeing images of the drought on telly, a paddock of skeletal cattle by an almost dry dam, a sheep’s skull lying in the dust. ‘Was it bad here?’
‘Bad everywhere. But better for us than most. I knew it was coming. Sold off most of the stock the year before, put the river flats down to lucerne. Lucerne roots can go down twenty yards — I mean metres. Gets to where there’s still moisture deep down. And the channels at Overflow stay green even in the worst.’
‘Is that how you got rich? Knowing when to buy and sell sheep?’
Nancy looked at her, amused. ‘We’re not rich.’
‘Come off it.’
‘The properties are worth a lot. But as we’re never going to sell them that’s irrelevant. As for income.’ Nancy shrugged. ‘A lot comes in and a lot goes out. Paying for River View and other things.’
‘You mean you give your money away?’
‘Spend it wisely,’ said Nancy dryly.
The rain gave a sudden scurry, thickening about them. Jed thought of her half-house in Queanbeyan. Would the roof be leaking over the sofa?
‘It won’t be raining in Queanbeyan. Probably not even in Gibber’s Creek. This will stick close to the mountains. But you should take a tent back with you.’ Nancy did her disconcerting mind-reading act. ‘Put it up inside the house. It’ll be warmer in a tent, as well as dry. Can give you a mattress too.’
‘Thank you.’ Nancy could have offered her money so she could rent a room, or even a caravan at the caravan park. Jed wasn’t sure whether to feel bereft or glad that she hadn’t given her the chance to refuse it. Because she would have refused. These months were for Tommy, and from her alone.
A tent, yes. Money, no.
‘No worries.’ Nancy bit her lip. ‘I might not be droving overnight for a while. Not at all, probably. Jed . . .?’
‘Yes?’
‘What if I’m not pregnant?’ Nancy clutched the wheel. ‘I don’t think I can bear it if I’m not.’
It was like an echo from more than a year ago, though her cry had been ‘How can I bear it if I am?’ All the future she’d imagined destroyed: becoming a mother — not a professional woman, but a disgraced single mother who had no way to support a child. Scholarships didn’t quite cover living expenses for one person, much less a baby too. You had to work as well. But how could you work with no childcare, or none that you could afford?
‘You’ll be right,’ said Jed softly.
‘I . . . I know. You can bear anything. It all passes, eventually. I should know that. Good things seep into the world again. I just want this so much.’
Jed was silent.
The rain eased, as Nancy had forecast, petering out a few kilom
etres from the town. There were no puddles at River View, except by a flowerbed that someone had watered.
Dr McAlpine was still on his rounds and they found an unknown locum nurse at the desk. They sat themselves in the empty waiting room, looking out at the river. Moira Clancy was off duty, Nancy had said. They could see her and another woman down on the river’s beach with half a dozen kids, some sitting on the sand, making sandcastles, two floating in the water, plastic rings around their middles.
‘Good therapy,’ said Nancy, too obviously trying to keep her voice light.
‘And fun.’
‘That too. Good morning, Joseph,’ Nancy added as Dr McAlpine came in. Jed stood awkwardly, then followed them into the consulting room. Dr McAlpine raised his eyebrows questioningly first at Jed and then at Nancy, who nodded tersely. Jed sat when he waved her to a spare seat.
He turned back and looked at Nancy in surprise. ‘Everything all right?’
‘I . . . I think I might be pregnant,’ said Nancy bluntly.
‘What?’ His face gentled. He glanced again at Jed, then back to Nancy. ‘Does Michael know?’
Nancy shook her head. Her hands were clasped so that the knuckles showed white.
‘Only one way to find out. Take your shoes off and hop up on the bed.’ He pulled the curtains around.
Jed listened to the sounds coming from behind it, intimate, terribly familiar. This baby is wanted, she told herself again. Wanted, wanted, wanted.
‘Well,’ said Dr McAlpine, and then, ‘Well,’ again.
‘What?’ Nancy’s voice was tight.
‘You’re pregnant. Hop down and we’ll talk about it.’
‘What’s to talk about?’
‘Nothing to worry about.’ Dr McAlpine’s voice was soothing. Too soothing, thought Jed. Which means there is something to worry about.
Nancy reappeared, adjusting her belt. She sat next to Jed, her hands tight in her lap again. Jed reached over and squeezed one, feeling the trembling. ‘Congratulations,’ she whispered.
Nancy bit her lip and didn’t answer. ‘Well?’ she asked Dr McAlpine.
‘I’d say you are about three months along. When was your last period?’
Nancy shrugged. ‘About seven months ago. I don’t pay much attention. They haven’t been regular since the war. Joseph, will I be . . . all right?’
‘Because of your age? There is an increased risk of miscarriage. You’ll need to take it easy. No heavy lifting. No lifting at all.’
‘But . . . but the baby?’
‘There is a very, very slightly greater risk of mongoloidism in the babies of older mothers, if that is what you’re asking about. It’s called Down Syndrome now. But I must emphasise the difference is very, very slight.’
‘I mean, the war. If it . . . damaged me so I haven’t fallen pregnant till now, could it affect the baby too?’
‘I think we must assume that your body is ready to be pregnant now. No bleeding?’ Nancy shook her head. ‘Dizziness? Bleeding? Swollen ankles?’ Nancy shook her head at each of his questions. ‘That’s good then. Morning sickness?’
‘I thought I caught a tummy bug about a month ago. A bit of nausea in the mornings, but hungry later in the day. I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been since before the war. I was sick again this morning, but that might have been nerves.’ She laughed unconvincingly.
‘All good then.’
‘You’re going to add “but”,’ said Nancy.
‘Yes. There is a but. You are forty-four. The body isn’t as supple at forty-four as it was at twenty-four. Your labour may be longer. You’ll be more tired. Probably there’ll be no problems at all, but I’d like you to go to Sydney to consult an obstetrician.’
‘No,’ said Nancy.
His gaze went soft again. ‘Nancy, I know how you feel. But this is for your baby.’
‘No. I . . . I know you mean well. But I can’t go to Sydney. If I did . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘Overflow got me back here once. I can’t leave it again. You said my body might be ready to have a baby now. I won’t be if I leave Overflow, even for a night. I know it. That’s all.’
‘You could get there and back in a day, if you left early.’
‘But what if the obstetrician wants me to stay for tests? No. Overflow kept me alive. If it wants me to have children, then I will. By staying here.’
Jed waited for Dr McAlpine to argue. He didn’t. He reached down to his desk, opened a file and made some notes on it. ‘Do you mind if I ask someone to come here then, to look at you?’
‘No,’ said Nancy tightly. ‘Do you think they’ll come?’
‘Yes. And charge a small fortune for it. I know a couple of good men I can ask. Nancy, I’m sure it will be fine. Truly. Have you felt it move yet?’ The question was slightly too casual.
‘I . . . I thought it was wind.’
He laughed, relaxing, a genuine laugh. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that.’ He quirked his eyebrow at her. ‘Can you tell Michael now?’
‘Yes. Yes, I can tell him.’ Suddenly she began to sob again, deep sobs ripping out of her, shaking her whole body.
‘Nancy!’ Jed hesitated, then wrapped her awkwardly once more in her arms. It still felt strange to feel someone else’s warmth. She was probably hugging her wrong, but Nancy seemed too upset to care. ‘It’s all right! There’s no need to cry.’
‘Every need,’ said Dr McAlpine softly. ‘My wife cried when she first got pregnant. I cried too. We’d been married over ten years.’ He met Jed’s eyes. ‘I was in a prison camp as well.’
‘The same one?’
‘No.’
He wasn’t going to tell her more. It was as if he and Nancy were members of a secret club, the war survivors’ club. Jed understood — really understood — that she was not the only one with horrors in her past. Maybe even guilt as sharp as hers. Yet these people led happy lives. Good lives.
‘I’m sorry,’ gulped Nancy.
Dr McAlpine stood. ‘Don’t be. I’ll make a cup of tea. May I ring Michael?’
‘Yes. Don’t tell him. I . . . I’ll tell him when he gets here.’
‘I’ll just say you need a lift home. I’ll drive your car home tonight. Blue can give me a lift back.’
‘Bring Blue to dinner. I’ll ask Moira too. And Mum. A celebration.’ Her sobs were almost under control now, hiccups, not gulps.
‘We’ve got the kids with us for the weekend. Home from school.’
‘Bring them too.’
‘I’ll bring champagne. You can have three sips, then no more till the baby is born. Will you tell Tommy and Matilda today too?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Joseph.’
‘I’ll get that tea,’ he said and left.
‘Jed? I’m scared. So scared.’
‘I know,’ said Jed. She wanted to say, ‘It will be all right.’ But she couldn’t. She stayed with her arms around Nancy instead.
Chapter 43
JED
Michael strode through the door in tatty moleskins and an elderly Akubra, glaring anxiously at Nancy and Jed sitting in the empty waiting room. ‘What’s wrong?’
Nancy managed a fuzzy smile. ‘Michael. Everything is all right. Very all right. I . . .’
Time to vanish. Jed slipped out the door.
She knew where Nicholas’s cabin was. And now she was no longer an employee but invited here by Nancy, she reckoned she could visit him there. She’d been disappointed the previous night to find he wasn’t at Overflow. But of course Nancy would not have been sure Jed would have returned with her. She might have been working, or even just unwilling to face everyone back here . . .
She heard the tap, tap, clink of the typewriter as she walked up the ramp. The butterfly-emblazoned door was open to catch any breeze, but she carefully didn’t look inside as she knocked.
‘Jed! What are you doing here?’ Nicholas wheeled his chair towards her. Once again she felt the jolt of seeing him a hundred times — old, young, in pain and laughi
ng, his face ginger bearded, grey bearded . . . And then the images vanished, leaving only him.
‘Nancy brought me. I’m back for the weekend.’
‘Thank goodness you didn’t hitchhike again. Did you hear about that last attack? They say the girl had been seen hitchhiking earlier that day.’
‘That was down in Victoria. Anyway, I told you, I can look after myself.’
Nicholas still looked at her for a long moment, then added, as if he was slightly surprised, ‘I’m glad to see you. Really glad. Thank you for coming here.’
He obviously thought she had come to River View to see him and she didn’t want to tell people about Nancy’s pregnancy before Nancy and Michael had a chance to. Besides, she wanted to be with Nicholas, even more than to see Tommy.
She nodded towards the typewriter. ‘How’s the book?’
‘Going well.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know if that means it’s a book others will want to read or anyone will publish. But . . . can I be honest?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think it’s good. Finally. I really do.’
‘May I read what you’ve done?’
He laughed. It was the most open laugh she had heard him give. You really are healing, she thought, and in more than just your body. ‘I was afraid you’d ask that. And hoping you would. Yes, please read what I’ve done so far. And tell me honestly what you think.’
‘I’ll be biased.’ She shrugged, and picked up the sheaf of paper, leafing through it.
‘You read quickly.’
‘Always have.’ She didn’t look up from the manuscript. He waited, looking at her, then at the kids down by the river, then at her again.
Finally she looked up. ‘Okay. You really want me to be honest?’
‘I want you to say, “Nicholas, it’s brilliant.”’
‘Okay. Nicholas, it’s brilliant. I’m not lying,’ she added. ‘But . . .’
‘There had to be a but.’
‘Only the last half really works . . . It’s all fascinating,’ she added quickly. ‘The Alpha Centauri enemy base, the death worms. But the bits before he gets drafted, back on Earth and then the moon . . . Sorry, I don’t know how to say what’s wrong with them.’
The Ghost by the Billabong Page 24
