The Road Back

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Working there? In what capacity?’ asked Chris.

  ‘I’m a literary agent. I had a couple of authors speaking.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. How long have you been an agent?’ asked Chris.

  ‘I started when I was living in London a few years ago and then when I came home I found another job with an agency in Melbourne. Then I was headhunted by a literary agency here in Sydney. They didn’t have to twist my arm too hard to convince me to come home,’ added Georgia. ‘I missed my old man.’

  ‘As if, Georgie,’ snorted Mac. ‘You’re too wedded to your job to have much time for your old man.’

  ‘He’s good company,’ said Chris with a smile. ‘And he gives good advice.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Georgia with a fond glance at Mac. ‘Now tell me, Chris, I get the idea, from what I read, that there seems to be a lot more to your story. I think it’s intriguing that a random group of men flung together on a particular project in Indonesia would all go on to such success. Dad says your mother was there too.’

  ‘Yes, and another woman, a midwife. I can’t find her in time for the article and Mum didn’t want to be in it.’

  ‘But those men are significant names,’ said Georgia. ‘So why do you think there’s more to tell? What did they cut out that was so important?’

  As the waiter poured their wine and they picked at the overflowing platter of cheeses, olives, dips, slices of ham and salami and pickled antipasto, Chris began to tell Georgia what had been cut out of his article and what else he felt should be written about the men.

  ‘It was so annoying that the magazine chose to ignore someone as interesting as David Moore in order to concentrate on Alan Carmichael, when David is just as accomplished in his own way. I think . . .’

  Chris suddenly paused mid-sentence, sipped his wine and then took a chunk of bread and dipped it into some excellent olive oil. ‘Sorry I’m going on so much. Let me get my dismembered story out of my system and I won’t mention it again.’ He reached for more bread.

  ‘Your article certainly has a fascinating cast. While it might be irritating that Alan Carmichael ended up being the star of your show, getting any sort of response from him is a coup. He’s notoriously private. So, well done, you. A couple of well-known writers have approached him with a view to writing an authorised biography. No joy there, however,’ said Georgia. ‘So what’s next?’

  ‘I’ll try to hunt around for another story, but I won’t put so much blood, sweat and tears into it,’ said Chris.

  ‘You won’t be able to help yourself,’ said Mac.

  The waiter came over and topped up their wine and Georgia returned to the subject of Chris’s article, asking him questions about what else he knew about the background of the Neighbourhood Aid project.

  ‘So what are you thinking, Georgie? Is there any more to this story?’ asked Mac.

  ‘More than what?’ asked Chris. ‘I haven’t been approached for any sort of follow-up piece.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of another article,’ explained Georgia. ‘I’m thinking there might be something here for me, for a book. You’ve thrown out some tantalising morsels. Maybe there’s something more to this.’ Georgia paused and cocked her head to one side. ‘I think you need to keep digging.’

  ‘Georgie has good instincts about this kind of thing,’ said Mac, smiling at Chris. ‘If she thinks there’s more to it, usually there is!’

  ‘A book? Wow, I never considered that. How do you judge if a book is going to work?’ Chris felt the adrenalin begin to kick in, and a feeling of excitement gnawed at him.

  ‘Pitch your ideas to me in writing,’ smiled Georgia. ‘Throw in everything you know, what you want to know, and where you figure the book might end up. The main thing, though, is finding a hook. Something to make a publisher sit up and take notice.’

  Chris took a sip of wine. ‘I would love to scratch below the surface a bit more and find out what makes these men tick. But who would want to read it?’

  ‘Australians like to read about other Australians, especially if they are successful,’ said Georgia. ‘We’re a curious lot. Bookshelves are full of biographies of footballers and cricketers, not to mention politicians. These four will make a nice variation on the theme. Still, don’t get too excited yet. I’ll have to pitch it to some publishers and they can be a hard bunch to impress.’

  ‘What if they bite?’ asked Chris, trying to sound calm.

  ‘You’d get an advance. Nothing too extravagant, especially given the shaky state of publishing at present, though it’s coming good. But an advance could help cover your research costs. Give you a bit of breathing space. Once the book is published, you pay back the advance out of the royalty payments. But Chris, an author gets a very small percentage of the book sales, so don’t go buying a house in Tuscany just yet.’

  ‘She’s right. Only a handful of authors in Australia do well enough to make a living from their books alone,’ said Mac. ‘Most have to take other jobs to keep a roof over their heads.’

  ‘Even so, writing can be satisfying, I’m told,’ said Georgia.

  ‘If you don’t starve first,’ said Mac. ‘Speaking of starving, look at this food. Magnifico!’

  The conversation became more general as they enjoyed the food. But while he made small talk, Chris’s mind was whirring with the idea of writing a book.

  They had ordered a fruit platter, but before it came the waiter placed a slice of cake complete with a flaring sparkler in front of Georgia. Mac and Chris sang ‘Happy Birthday’ lustily, while the birthday girl blushed with embarrassment.

  ‘What are you doing this afternoon, Georgie?’ Mac asked her as she polished off her cake.

  ‘Well, not eating, that’s for sure. I’m off home. Thanks for lunch, Dad. I’ll leave you two to talk newspapers.’ She shook Chris’s hand. ‘I meant what I said about a book. Keep digging and let me know if you think you’ve got something. If you have any questions, give me a call.’ She handed him her business card, kissed her father on the cheek and left.

  ‘Another coffee?’ said Mac.

  ‘Why not? What do you think about the idea of a book?’ asked Chris.

  ‘It sounds good to me. No harm in putting together what you can and letting Georgie see if anyone bites. As she said, these are prominent men. They’ll have some sort of pulling power.’

  ‘You must be glad to have her home.’

  ‘I am. I confess I miss her mother, so it’s good to have Georgie around. She’s got a dinky little house in Balmain that she paid a ridiculous sum for. Not that I see all that much of her. She likes to deal face to face with the people she’s representing, so she tends to zip about the country all the time. Very independent young woman. Career-focused. But Chris, if she takes you on, she’ll do a good job. She’s a hard taskmaster, but she knows her stuff.’

  ‘I have to say, Mac, I’m rather taken with the idea of doing a book. Something I can get my teeth into. My foray into freelance journalism got short shrift, so this idea appeals to me.’

  ‘Well, go to it, lad, and if you need me, feel free to ask. But trust Georgie. She’ll rip into you if the book’s not measuring up, but she also has the knack of making you see your story from quite a different angle. Anyway, if you like this book idea, give it your best shot.’

  *

  ‘Do you realise you haven’t stopped talking about the book since you got home last night and now for . . .’ Susan glanced at her watch, ‘half the morning?!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Chris, grinning as he sipped his coffee. ‘I’m just so enthused about the idea. I doubt I’ll turn into a fulltime author, but if I have a book published it could open a lot of doors. I’m so glad I had lunch with Mac. I had a great day seeing old friends. I needed the break. Now I think I feel keen enough to be beaten by the boys at golf next Saturday.’

  ‘Great. I’
ll be out for the day too. That’s the day David Moore will be here to help with our Landcare creek project.’

  ‘Really? Well, I could talk to him a bit more too, if he has time. Is he staying over?’

  ‘I offered him the guest cottage. Our Landcare group is very excited that someone with an international reputation is coming to give us some advice on restoring that poor old creek.’

  ‘Terrific. And what’s Megan up to today?’

  ‘She’s going out to Mollie’s. She so loves her riding lessons.’

  ‘I must go out and watch her sometime,’ said Chris. ‘Now I can’t keep up with all her activities.’

  ‘You’re right. If she’s not riding or playing netball or part of a debating team, she’s practising in the school orchestra. And there’s that jazz band that she’s joined with a couple of her friends. I’ve heard them play. At this stage all I can say about them is that what they lack in the way of talent is made up for by sheer enthusiasm. I’m so glad she’s got herself involved in all these projects. They certainly keep her busy,’ said Susan.

  David Moore arrived on Friday afternoon and suggested he take them all out to dinner to repay Susan’s hospitality.

  ‘Oh, I have a school orchestra practice,’ said Megan. ‘Thank you anyway, Mr Moore.’

  Chris hesitated, then said, ‘Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay in. I’m working on a plan for a book I’m thinking of writing.’

  David raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re writing a book? That sounds interesting.’

  ‘I’m sure Chris will fill you in when he gets the chance,’ said Susan.

  *

  When Chris got up the next morning Susan and David were ready to leave.

  ‘We’re off. I’m not sure when we’ll be home but do you think you could do us a barbecue tonight? There’s plenty of meat in the freezer and it’s all labelled, so you just need to defrost it. David’s kindly said he’ll supply the wine, but will you get some fresh sourdough bread from the bakery? That would be good.’

  Chris waved a hand. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll get it before I head off to golf.’

  Megan appeared in the kitchen dressed in the stretch jeans she called her riding pants, a T-shirt and an old flannel shirt of Susan’s. She was carrying a riding hat and wearing some battered riding boots that Mollie had given her. ‘Hi, everyone. Any porridge?’

  ‘Sorry, darling, no time. Have some cereal with a banana,’ said her grandmother.

  ‘I’ll make you some porridge,’ said Chris.

  ‘I don’t have time to wait for that, thanks Dad. Gotta go. Why don’t you come out to Mollie’s this afternoon and see me and Squire in action?’

  ‘Love to, sweetie. Depends what time we finish golf.’

  ‘Okay, whatever. Have a fun day, Bunny,’ Megan added as Susan, holding a piece of toast, gathered her things and she and David, looking slightly bemused by all the early morning activity, headed out the door.

  ‘See you all later,’ she called back happily.

  Chris watched his mother walk to her car. Even though she was wearing well-worn moleskin pants, boots and a pale blue shirt with a navy sweatshirt knotted over her shoulders, her expensive sunglasses pushed up on her head, Chris noticed that she’d taken great care over her make-up and was wearing her pearl earrings. He glanced at his daughter and smiled to himself. What his mother wore might be described as country chic, but Megan looked downright country. Apart from her multi-coloured nail varnish, there was no evidence of any trendy favourites or brand names. He wondered what Ruby and her Sydney set would have said about this transformation.

  ‘Have a good day, Megs. I’ll try to get out to see you, honey. I won’t linger at the nineteenth hole with the boys, just tote up my losses, pay up and leave.’

  ‘Dad, maybe if you played more, you wouldn’t always lose,’ said Megan, cheerfully.

  ‘You have a point there,’ agreed Chris.

  He stuck to his plan, and while he enjoyed the golf, Chris excused himself early, saying he wanted to head out and see his daughter’s riding lesson.

  Driving to Mollie’s farm, he marvelled again at the beautiful countryside, mellow in the late afternoon light. The shadows had begun to lengthen across the hills, and all the paddocks were lush, glowing emerald from recent rain. A sense of permanence and stability filled the valley as it sat at the edge of the ancient rainforest, while the nearby ranges concealed cascading waterfalls and uncharted territory. And tucked beneath those ranges in the crevices of the landscape, small villages and communities were filled with people leading full lives.

  He turned off to Mollie’s farm and headed up the rutted driveway to the farmhouse.

  He parked the car and headed down to the paddock, where he could see a small knot of people. He smiled proudly as he looked at Megan on horseback, confidently trotting around the makeshift arena.

  He continued to watch her from a distance, trying to reconcile this straight-backed girl, head held erect, legs tightly hugging the flanks of the sturdy horse as she bounced in unison with the movement of the animal, with the girl of just a few months ago, hunched over her laptop, slouching around the house, slumped on the sofa watching a video or playing with her phone. Chris saw that his daughter had suddenly become someone with different priorities. She was still determined, quick-witted and funny, with intriguing tastes and interests, but now Chris knew she was more grounded and seemed happier with her life.

  He walked towards the others and watched Mollie giving Megan directions, but then he was surprised to see that to one side of the paddock, leaning on the rails, were his mother and David.

  He joined them. ‘This is a surprise, seeing you both here. How’s she doing?’

  ‘We finished early enough to come over. Aren’t you thrilled, Chris! Look at her. Who’d have thought it! Surfer girl to horse rider in such a relatively short time. I’m so proud of her.’

  ‘You’d think she’d been born in the saddle,’ added David.

  ‘Of course, she still likes to go surfing at the nearby beaches, so she hasn’t given surfing away entirely,’ Susan told him.

  Chris said nothing as he lifted his arm to let Megan know that he was there, but she was concentrating so hard she didn’t notice.

  ‘She has a good seat, holds herself well,’ said David.

  Chris nodded in agreement, but suddenly he felt inexplicably miffed by David’s presence, although he couldn’t work out why. A few minutes later, Megan joined them and she hugged Chris.

  ‘I’m so pleased you made it, Dad. I’m getting trotting sorted out and I love cantering. Mollie says I should learn to jump, when she thinks I’m good enough.’

  ‘Do you want to do that?’ asked Chris.

  Megan nodded. ‘It would be the best ever.’

  ‘What do you think, Mollie?’ Chris asked as Mollie walked over to join them.

  ‘She’s a good student, Chris. Only have to tell her something once. So when I think she’s ready, I’ll be happy to teach her to jump.’

  Susan smiled at Megan. ‘Can David meet Squire?’

  ‘Yep. I have to brush him down and stuff. You can watch if you like.’

  So they all hung over the paddock fence to watch Megan expertly unharness and groom the placid Squire.

  David turned to Chris. ‘I saw your article. Thanks for including me. Brought back a few memories.’

  ‘It wasn’t even half the original piece I wrote. The paper slashed it back for space, as they do. I actually wrote a lot more about you and your work than was published,’ said Chris.

  ‘Never mind. But I thought what I read was interesting. That period of Indonesia’s past is fast becoming ancient history.’

  ‘Chris is going to write a book about it all,’ said Susan.

  Chris wished his mother hadn’t said that, not before he had formulated clear ideas
about what he actually wanted to say. ‘Yes, I think there’s a bigger story there. Essentially it will be about the four of you and your time in Indonesia and how your careers developed after that, if you have no objections. So, if you think of anything, anyone to interview, any anecdote, do let me know.’

  ‘That’s very flattering. I don’t feel that I have done anything special to warrant being part of a book. Will people want to read it?’

  ‘Chris is getting an agent. He’s spoken to her already and she assures him that people will be interested,’ Susan explained to David.

  ‘I hope that’s right. She hasn’t read anything yet,’ said Chris.

  ‘Well, best of luck,’ said David. ‘If you still want to do a story about Core Creek Organic Farm, let me know. I’ll be happy to give you some contact details.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m a bit disillusioned with freelancing at present, so I’m concentrating on this book idea.’

  ‘It’s starting to get dark, so we’d better get home and clean up before we have that barbecue,’ said Susan. ‘See you back at the house. Bye, Mollie, see you next week at book club.’ With a wave, Susan and David headed back to Susan’s car.

  ‘Do you want a ride home, Megs?’

  ‘No thanks, Dad. I have my bike. I’ve just got a couple of things to do for Mollie. I’ll see you there.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘David’s nice, isn’t he? Bunny said they had a great day cleaning up the creek. That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he had a lot of useful advice for them all,’ Chris said primly.

  ‘Daaaad . . . I meant about Bunny and David!’

  ‘What about them?’ Chris glanced at her.

  ‘That they like each other and want to do stuff together. I mean, you can see he adores her!’

  ‘Rubbish. They’re just old friends. You’re being a teenage romantic.’

  Megan chuckled. ‘C’mon, Dad, I think it’s lovely she has a special friend.’

  ‘I think you’re reading too much into this. It’s not the beginning of some romantic entanglement,’ said Chris, although privately he wasn’t so sure. ‘Be careful riding home on your bike. I thought you looked very at home on a horse.’