by Di Morrissey
‘Thanks, Dad.’
As Chris walked to his car, he wondered why he hadn’t noticed the interaction between David and his mother. He knew he was being silly, but he felt out of sorts about it. Perhaps somewhere in his head, he couldn’t help but feel that Susan was being disloyal to his father. The only man he’d ever seen his mother relating to was his father and since his death it had never occurred to Chris that she would ever feel remotely interested in the company of another man. But, he reasoned, she was a free agent. If his mother chose to enter into another relationship that was entirely her prerogative. But then, he rationalised to himself, this was probably just a brief interlude brought on by their recent reconnection. Soon David would return to his travelling and his work and the life he’d lived these past decades, and Susan would continue her full and contented life in Neverend. There was probably nothing in it at all.
Chris’s thoughts circled back to himself and the way his world had narrowed. He was becoming insular, where once he had been engaged in a broader way. He couldn’t bring himself to think of Neverend as just a backwater, but still, it would be good to involve himself in a project which would expand his horizons. Yes, he decided, he was looking forward to the challenge of writing this book.
As Chris drove Shaun’s courier van, he found his mind continually drifting to other places, events and imagined scenarios. He felt as though he was experiencing a parallel universe; sometimes it was an era that had existed before he was born, a time and place which had come alive through his mother’s Indonesian stories and photos. Other times, Chris felt that he was running up against his own childhood, for as he drove around the district, he realised that little had changed in the Henry Valley and surrounding hills. Even Neverend had hardly altered in the last forty years. Then he would be drawn back to the present as he tried to apply himself to the book he had committed to write. This was at once challenging and daunting, but Chris knew that he had to seize the opportunity that Georgia had given him. This book would be the way forward.
About a week after David’s visit, Chris was nearing the town at the end of his shift when his mobile phone rang. It was Megan.
‘Dad, can you pick me up from Mollie’s, please? She’s been going through some of her old things and she said I could take what I wanted. I can’t carry it all back home on my bike.’
When Chris arrived at Mollie’s farm, he stared at the saddle, boots, bridle and stirrups, what looked to be an oilskin coat, two riding hats and a saddle blanket.
‘Megan, what do you want with all this equipment?’
‘Dad, you never know when this might come in handy. Riding is a serious business,’ Megan told him gravely.
Chris was amazed by his daughter’s enthusiasm for riding, but as Susan had pointed out to him a few days earlier, it was likely to wane when the next trend beckoned.
‘Teenagers tend to move from one craze to another,’ she’d said. ‘Who knows what will be next? Come the Christmas holidays, it could be back to surfing or kayaking along the river.’
Chris helped Megan put the riding gear into the back of the van, but the thought that he and his daughter might still be here next year and maybe the year after that, or even longer, depressed him. It made him feel as though he was going backwards. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being here – for a while now he’d recognised what a pleasant lifestyle Neverend offered – but increasingly he was missing a serious career, a sense of achievement and being someone whose work was recognised and valued. He knew that if he was honest his feelings were partly about his ego and the status his career had given him, but the fact was that he felt he was stagnating. He was over forty years old and had a very hazy future. He tried to push these nagging thoughts to one side. Book, book, book, focus on the book, he told himself.
The research for the book was progressing. Evan and Mark had been very cooperative and Evan had even sent him a few personal notes and letters he had written of his time in Indonesia. Both had been pleased to speak with him on the phone, and had returned his emails so willingly that Chris didn’t feel as though he was intruding on their time and memories. Alan Carmichael, however, was proving to be much more elusive. Since their phone conversation, he hadn’t acknowledged any of Chris’s overtures. Chris was beginning to realise how fortunate he’d been getting even that brief interview with him for the magazine article.
That evening, Chris looked out of Susan’s living room windows at the soft folds of the hills, mellow in the late light of day. The weather was cooling and a thin wisp of smoke coming from the far end of the valley caught his eye. Chris vaguely recalled the long bike rides he’d taken with his mates on the narrow dirt roads that linked the old farms in that out-of-the-way area. He recalled Archie Doyle, a mate from school who’d lived on one of the small farms, and remembered going out to his place one day to pick apples from a heavily laden tree. Archie was a good footballer and had left to go to Newcastle to try his luck there. Chris wondered what had become of him. He’d have to ask Shaun, Duncan or Alex about him. They’d know.
Megan was tired and dirty and smelled faintly of hay and horses as she bubbled with the news of the day’s events.
‘Aaaaand, Ruby is so jealous about Squire, she says she’s always wanted to ride. First I’ve heard of that. But I promised that next time she comes up she can have a go.’
‘Are you are going to have a shower before dinner? You can’t come to the table like that,’ Chris commented.
‘In a minute, Dad. Actually, that reminds me, Ruby wants me to go down to Sydney, for her birthday. She’ll be fifteen and that’s huge.’
‘That’s nice of her. When is this extravaganza?’
‘Saturday week. I could fly down, couldn’t I?’
‘We’ll see. Where’s it going to be held?’
‘At Ruby’s. Her parents have a big undercover area around the pool. It will be too cold for swimming, but it will be great. Her mum said I can stay with them for the weekend. Ruby’s father is making mocktails.’
‘You mean expensive, doctored-up, fancy non-alcoholic drinks with names like Naked Lady and Surfer Stud,’ laughed Susan, looking up from the book she was reading on the couch.
‘Really, Mum, how do you know these things?’ Chris feigned astonishment.
Suddenly Megan’s expression changed. ‘But I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear. I’ve got no new clothes and everyone’s seen all my stuff already, it’s so old. I can’t go. Everyone will think I’m so uncool.’
‘Why don’t you and Bunny go into Coffs to buy something?’ asked Chris.
‘That’s a great idea, I’m sure we could hunt for something dressy there,’ said Susan.
‘Oh, you two don’t understand,’ said Megan, tugging at the sleeves of her dirty shirt. ‘What will all my friends think if I don’t wear something really up to date? I can’t look like I’m from Hicksville. And where will I get the money for those sorts of clothes? I’ve only just paid off my phone bill, so I’m still broke. I’m not going to go to Ruby’s party if I’m going to be embarrassed.’
‘Megan, I’m sorry,’ said Chris. ‘But I can’t splash out hundreds of dollars for party clothes. I just don’t have that much spare cash at present.’
Megan looked at her father and gave him a small smile. ‘That’s okay. I understand. I’ll just tell Ruby I’m too busy to come. Anyway, how would I get to Sydney? You probably can’t afford the airfare either.’
‘Don’t tell Ruby anything just yet,’ said Susan. ‘Give me a day or so to come up with an idea.’
‘Maybe if I did have something to wear, we could all drive down to Sydney together,’ suggested Megan, hopefully.
‘Not me,’ replied Susan. ‘David’s coming down from Brisbane that weekend.’
‘Again? More Landcare work?’ asked Chris, turning to face her.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Megan demanded. ‘They like
working on the Landcare thing together.’
Chris was silent a moment. Then he was conscious that Megan was giving him a death stare. He shrugged and said, ‘I suppose I can talk to David about the book while he’s here. Pick his brains a bit more.’
‘No, you can’t,’ said Megan, haughtily. ‘You’re coming to Sydney with me. Please, Dad. Bunny will think of something for me to wear that will make them all sit up and take notice. You will, won’t you, Bunny?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Susan.
‘All right,’ Chris relented. ‘If I get my book outline finished, I’ll be able to talk it over with Georgia when I’m in Sydney. I’ll give her a call.’ He looked at his daughter. ‘Maybe, if I’m there for two days, I might even ask Mark if he can spare some time to see me. But Megan, I reckon if you went down there looking as glamorous as you do now, you’d set a new trend. Go and clean up before dinner.’
‘Yeah, right.’ But she smiled as she glanced at her mucky jeans, dirty riding boots and an old fishing jacket she’d thrown over her shirt. The jacket had a lot of pockets and funny mesh loops and a faded badge sewn on the sleeve. It was weatherproof, kept the wind out and she liked its faintly fishy odour. She was still smiling as she headed for the shower.
After dinner, Chris phoned Georgia, apologising for the lateness of the hour.
‘No problem, Chris. I’m fine with it. How’s your outline coming along?’
‘Thin on the ground in some respects, but I’d like to run it past you. I could be coming down to Sydney the weekend after next. If I do, could we meet?’
‘Sounds like a good idea. You can email me what you’ve got so far and I can take a look at it and then we could discuss it over a meal, if that suits you.’
‘I’ll let you know our plans as soon as I can,’ said Chris, suddenly hoping that Susan would produce an outfit for Megan that would convince his daughter to go to Ruby’s party.
*
‘So we all have plans. That’s good, isn’t it?’ said Susan the following afternoon when Chris filled her in on what he was intending to do. ‘We’d better get that party outfit sorted out.’
‘Have you got any ideas yet, Bunny?’ Megan pleaded.
‘I have, but I don’t know if you will want to take up my suggestion. As you would say, it’s a bit “out there”,’ said Susan, using her fingers to make air quotes.
Megan frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I understand that you won’t be able to compete with your Sydney friends when it comes to designer brands, but I’ve thought of a way of getting around that. You could dress in something really exotic, something that doesn’t have a brand name at all. Something that will knock your friends’ socks off.’
‘What do you have in mind, Bunny?’ asked Megan, hesitantly.
‘I was thinking of something to do with Indonesia. I know I have some batik somewhere and I still own a lace kebaya top. You could go dressed as a Javanese girl.’
‘That sounds like a fabulous idea,’ agreed Chris, nodding encouragingly at Megan, who still looked dubious.
‘I also have some Indonesian jewellery, a lovely intricate necklace and earrings. You can put your hair up and wear flowers in it,’ added Susan. ‘It’s not fancy dress, it’s just different.’
‘Will I wear a sarong?’ asked Megan.
‘I’ll hunt out my old batik lengths and make you one.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Megan, slowly. ‘Maybe everyone will laugh at me.’
‘I think it will be fun, but how about we have a dress rehearsal before you make a final decision? I’ll have a burrow in my boxes after dinner,’ said Susan.
‘That sounds a lot better than the last fancy dress costume you did up for me, Mum,’ said Chris, the memory suddenly springing into his mind. ‘Megan, Bunny made me a swaggie’s outfit. You know the sort of thing, bush hat with corks dangling from it, a billycan on a stick, patches sewn on my clothes. I cringe just remembering it!’
‘But you won a prize, didn’t you? Don’t put Megan off, Chris. Take no notice of him, darling. You won’t know yourself when I’ve finished with you,’ said Susan as she gave her granddaughter a hug. ‘Trust me.’
A few hours later, as Chris finished the last of the dishes and was thinking of heading to bed with a book, Susan appeared from the shed. She’d been hunting around among the various boxes which stored the overflow of Baxter possessions, such as Christmas ornaments, keepsakes from Kate and Chris’s school days, a clock Susan said she planned to restore one day, various sewing and knitting projects and a tin trunk of photo albums and other memorabilia. Susan placed several folded lengths of batik and the lace kebaya on the kitchen table, along with a box and some papers. Chris hung up the dishcloth and smiled at Susan.
‘Mum, that lace top is beautiful,’ he said. ‘Megan will be thrilled with all this tomorrow morning. Can I open the box?’
Susan nodded.
Taking an intricate piece of jewellery from the box, Chris marvelled at the workmanship. ‘Wow, this is pretty fancy. I suppose it’s not real gold? Looks tarnished.’
‘Of course it’s not real gold, but it is gorgeous. It’s an Indonesian wedding necklace. It was a farewell gift from the villagers I lived with, but a bit too elaborate for me ever to wear. I think it will be great for Megan’s outfit. And Chris, look how lovely these batiks are.’ She stroked the soft fabric. ‘They shouldn’t be hidden away, they’re excellent quality, hand done, not like the mass-produced ones now. But I have no idea how I can display them.’
‘And these papers? What are they?’ said Chris turning his attention to the documents at the bottom of the box.
‘Oh, I thought you might like to see them,’ explained Susan. ‘I wrote to Jimmy’s family after he died and that’s the letter I got back in reply. And a year or so later, I can’t remember exactly, Jimmy’s brother wrote to me as well. That’s his letter underneath. There’re also some of the letters I wrote home and a few other little souvenirs from my time in Indonesia.’
‘I’d love to see these. Thanks.’
As Susan packed up the batik and other items, Chris kissed his mother good night, gathered up the letters and went to bed.
But his light stayed on for some time.
When Susan got up the next morning, Chris had already started tapping at his computer.
‘You’re working early, Chris. Inspiration in the night?’ she said, putting the kettle on.
‘I don’t know, but I’ve learned something very interesting. Mum, did you know much about Jimmy’s family?’
‘They seemed like very nice people from what I gathered. They were well educated and comfortably off. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it’s this letter Jimmy’s brother wrote to you after he had visited Indonesia sometime after Jimmy’s death.’
‘I remember it now. He said he’d gone to see if he could find out anything else about what happened to Jimmy, but he hadn’t been able to discover any more than I’d told him. Still, it was nice of him to write to let me know.’
‘You have probably forgotten Jimmy’s brother’s name. It was a long time ago, but Jimmy’s brother has done exceedingly well for himself. He’s a lot more than just comfortably off, now.’ Chris picked up the letter to show to his mother. ‘Jimmy’s brother is Thomas Fairfax Anderson . . .’
‘Jimmy and Tom, yes, that’s right,’ said Susan, as the kettle boiled.
‘Mum, Thomas Fairfax Anderson is one of America’s wealthiest men and one of its most influential financiers,’ Chris said, pointing at a picture of an older man on his computer screen. ‘You can’t live in the States for any length of time without being aware of Thomas F. Anderson. He brokers the most incredible deals. He’s behind really, really big contracts which build toll roads, airports, inner-city redevelopments. He has arranged money for film studios to develop high-tech animation. He ha
s a finger in almost every major infrastructure development in the US, because he organises the finance. He’s a major broker and he’s on the Forbes list of the one hundred richest men in America. Mum, it’s amazing that this man was – is – your Jimmy’s brother.’
‘Heavens, Jimmy said that his brother was interested in business, but I had no idea,’ said Susan, her eyebrows raised. ‘Do you think you might contact him for your book?’
‘I don’t think so. After all, none of you can actually claim to have met him and he wasn’t in Indonesia with you, so I don’t think he’s really relevant to this story. Just an amazing connection.’
Susan shrugged. ‘Never mind. Still, it is interesting.’
Later that day Susan brought out her old sewing machine to run up the sarong for Megan. She would have to take in the kebaya carefully by hand. After school that afternoon, Megan tried it on excitedly.
‘Please stand still, Megs. I can’t get an accurate length and you don’t want to trip over it. I’ll put a fold at the front so you can walk easily, but it will still hug your little waist and hips.’
‘Do you think I can buy some sandals in Coffs?’ Megan asked. ‘I love the pattern on this sarong, the flowers and birds. Oh, Bunny, everyone is going to be green when they see me in this! It’s just beautiful. Now I can’t wait for Ruby’s party.’ Her eyes were bright with happiness.
‘You can’t wear purple and black nail varnish with the outfit, but gold nail polish would work well. Let’s practise with your hairstyle a couple of times, so you can pin it up yourself.’
‘Ruby’s mum will help me,’ said Megan, twirling, the colours of the rich fabric shining in the lamplight. Susan smiled.
‘Now that you’re definitely going to the party, have you given any thought to what to give to Ruby?’ Susan asked.
Megan stopped twirling. ‘It’s hard. I’ll have to ask some of the others what she’s into now, but that could also be pointless because I have so little money. I did think I might give her one of Jazzy’s pictures. Jazzy’s making these gorgeous little paintings of animals wearing flowers for clothes. In her pictures the plants are taken apart and the different pieces of the flower are made into outfits, like hats and boots and jackets, and in one picture the animals, little fat frogs, are wearing ball gowns. It’s a bit hard to explain but the pictures are amazing – clever and funny. I love them. And she has the animals in silly fun situations. If I get one for Ruby, I think I’d get the one that has these cute frogs and a grasshopper dressed up in their plant outfits and shopping at the “Endangered Greengrocer’s Stall”. But then again I might get the one with the animals at “The Frogs’ Ball”.’
