by Jennie Jones
‘Her sister didn’t want any of them?’
‘The sister was living in Tasmania, had been for nigh on fifteen years. She was a step-sister, and all that memorabilia stuff was Rose’s father’s, not her sister’s.’
‘I see. Lovely vases. Did she make them?’
‘No.’
Adele paused, her mind working fast. The plaster and moulds, the connection to a publisher, the arty look. ‘You made them,’ she said, leaning forwards, arms on the table.
‘No.’ Imelda eyed her, but not in a critical way.
A lie, or a cover-up. She had to have made these vases. ‘Imelda,’ Adele said, curiosity ripping at her because Imelda hadn’t clammed up; instead she was looking at Adele as though challenging her to discover something. ‘You did make them.’
Imelda lifted her mouth in a reflective smile. ‘Not me. The me I once was.’
***
Adele had a missed call listed on her landline telephone monitor. It wasn’t the school, and it was a mobile. The number wasn’t from anyone she was associated with—not anyone in Sydney, like her landlord or workmates from her previous employer, and not anyone on the Dulili Project Committee whose numbers she’d been given.
For some reason, she thought it might be Tom.
Imelda had spent a few hours with Ali after school the day before, here at the house, showing her how to make her plaster cat. Not much chat from Ali, but she had asked a question or two. Adele had taken herself out of their workspace on purpose, and had continued with her tasks for the house. Imelda was trying to do something, or pursue something, but Adele had no idea what. Unless she was trying to fill a gap that Tom’s departure had created. Tom had said he’d be away a few days. Or had he? Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned how long he’d be away. Perhaps he didn’t know.
She pressed a button on the monitor, clearing the message list and dismissing the idea that it had been Tom calling her. If it was anything important, whoever it was would call back.
She grabbed her house keys and pocketed them, then headed out on her way to pick up Ali from school. She didn’t lock the door—there was no need—but she hadn’t got used to the idea yet and still carried her keys wherever she went.
When she got to the end of Thompson Street she paused when Sarah Pratchett came out of Imelda’s house, closing the door behind her.
‘Hello, how are you?’ Adele asked.
Sarah looked up and Adele saw that she’d surprised the woman. She had an absorbed look on her face, like someone who’d left a pan of potatoes bubbling on the stove and couldn’t explain the forgetfulness as she stared at the burned bottom of the saucepan.
‘Sorry to startle you.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Off to pick up Ali from school, are you?’ Sarah asked.
Adele nodded, and held Imelda’s gate open. She noticed that the latch fitted and snapped back into place perfectly, and wondered if Tom would mind her asking him how to fit a new one to her gate. No doubt she could figure it out for herself but it would be a good opportunity to get them back onto a neighbourly footing. If he wanted to speak to her again.
‘How’s it going for her?’ Sarah asked.
‘Good, I think. Cath Foster is fantastic.’ Adele hadn’t told anyone about what Tom had discovered, not even Cath. She didn’t want to until she had a little more explanation about the bottom of her own burned saucepan—figuratively speaking. Ali hadn’t changed too much around Adele since she’d first been taken to the park by Tom, but she did take notice of so much more than she had previously. Like watching Adele make dollhouse furniture and handing her the glue stick, or pointing out bits Adele had missed. It was the kind of interaction Adele had missed sorely over the last five months. ‘You remember that story you told me about your cousin’s little boy who didn’t talk after he lost his snake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think it was only grief, or was there something else that might have happened to him—perhaps he had a problem at school. Bullying, or something.’
Sarah stopped walking. ‘They brought up any number of reasons for it but as far as I’m concerned, it was grief.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve seen grief on many levels, Adele. It bites into some and they fight it. Others take it as though swallowing a spoonful of bad-tasting medicine, which then sits inside them and sours all hope.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Doesn’t matter what the grief is, it can be the death of a loved one, guilt over a promise you never kept, or the end of a life you’d once known and the start of another that’s … painful, or debilitating to your real self.’
Adele still didn’t understand. All she’d wanted was another clue regarding Ali but she’d have to wait until that clue popped up. Tom was the only person currently likely to be given a clue from Ali, and he was currently not in town.
‘It’s been a big day for Ali today,’ Adele said. ‘All the children were to present their homework posters, advocating the benefits of farming.’ Adele smiled, remembering Ali’s complete concentration on the homework project. She hadn’t received a telephone call saying all had gone awry, and she was almost used to not worrying about how Ali was getting on at school. ‘Not sure if Ali would have stood in front of everyone though, but I feel so comfortable in letting Cath handle it.’
‘She’s the best teacher,’ Sarah said. ‘Shame we didn’t have someone like her when Imelda and I were tots. Might have broadened our limited horizons well before we settled down to marriage.’ Sarah smirked. ‘Don’t tell my husband I said that.’
They walked to the end of Thompson Street and paused at the junction. ‘Are you and Imelda good friends?’ Adele asked.
‘We rub up all right,’ Sarah said, and once again Adele was aware of her concentrating on something else. ‘Used to be bosom friends back in high school. Then Imelda married Samuel, I met John, and our lives took different paths.’
‘It happens.’ All too frequently during Adele’s youth. As soon as she made a friend, her father was posted somewhere else. Apart from the time in Perth. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, tilting her head as she studied Sarah, who had become reflective again.
‘Not sure,’ Sarah said, then she brought her focus to Adele. ‘Imelda said she’s roped you in to help clean up the house frontages.’
Adele nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can, as I can.’
‘I don’t suppose Imelda told you what she was intending for the houses, did she?’
‘No, but Tom seems to think she might be about to sell them. Or try to.’
‘I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to get rid of them.’
‘They must be a burden. They look like they’ve been empty for so long that doing them up for any good reason would cost.’
‘It’s not that,’ Sarah said, glancing down High Street as though searching for an answer. ‘She asked me to call in today, which she hasn’t done since Katrina …’
Adele didn’t know at first how to fill the gap Sarah’s reflections had produced. ‘Did she want to see you about the church bric-a-brac sale?’ she asked. ‘I heard you were helping out with that.’
‘No. She asked me how often my children come to visit.’
Adele’s interest had been snared but she didn’t want to pry. Sarah was being as closed about whatever was troubling her regarding Imelda as Adele was by only sharing snippets of information on Ali’s progress. ‘Maybe Imelda misses Tom, with him being around so much more at the moment. She might be thinking about the loss of his company once he moves out of Dulili for good.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No. It’s not that either. Still. No doubt we’ll all be dealt a surprise when Imelda finally decides to share her plans.’ Sarah smiled. ‘You’d best hop across the street. School’s out.’
***
On Friday, Adele stood back and looked around her living room, trying to be subjective but pride seemed to be taking over.
She’d used the last of the golden-beach coloured paint that
had been left in the laundry and had sanded and waxed the wooden skirting boards. The large-print floral curtains that had hung in her bedroom in the Sydney flat now adorned her front window. The sand colour on the walls and the splashes of raspberry pink, lemon and cornflower blue on the curtains gave the room a warm and secluded look. Somewhere to rest, with the window open—once she figured how to get it unjammed—so that the spring breeze wafted the curtains and lifted the spirits of those sitting in the room.
She turned for the hallway, the thought of being secluded in this house for the rest of her life taking a sudden dive from exhilarating to saddening. She shook that feeling away. Home. She and Ali had a home. By the time Ali was ready to leave for college or university, Adele would be accustomed to being a solitary parent and single woman and would probably be looking forward to the solitude. Probably.
She stared at the floorboards. She’d used a lot of energy pulling up the threadbare carpet in the living room and hallway. Pent-up energy. Almost anger. At Tom, of course, for leaving.
No. Not that. For suggesting they get together for a brief affair. She’d been part excited, mostly affronted, and in the end—totally rejected.
She wrapped her arms around her body, frowning and compressing her lips. One day with Tom and Ali had started talking. One kiss from Tom and Adele had almost tumbled heart-over-sense in love. Almost. Over a week later, and her thoughts were even more heavily focused on Tom when they should have lessened.
She wanted the sexual companionship and the sense of being alive that waking at Tom’s side would give her, but she also wanted to nurture the sense of belonging that the last few weeks in Dulili had shown her. That would last a lifetime and see her through everything. She’d seen her child in a fresh light too. Ali had separated herself while she worked through a problem. Adele had to do the same, so that they could grow together; a mother and daughter family. She had to be strong, because Tom might be the man who broke her heart, and two men had already done that. Her father, and the man who was Ali’s father. There wasn’t a lot of heart left in a whole piece and what was there was needed for Ali, and for herself.
She forced herself out of her overemotional frame of mind and took her concentration back to the work and effort of the last few days.
The wooden floors weren’t in too bad a state. A bit washed out, but not damaged. She’d prised out a few nails and sanded any splintered bits of board. All that debris—the carpet and the old curtains—was now sitting in a pile in her back garden, so it wouldn’t be seen from the street front.
Her front garden was finished too. If she had visitors, they’d walk up a paving-slab path to her front door, which she was going to paint plum red, like Imelda’s.
A thump on the front door startled her. She turned and through the frosted panes of glass on the door, saw the outline of a tall man.
It could be anyone, she told herself. She’d bought some old wooden beams from a pile someone was selling second-hand outside the pub. She’d used them to edge the paving in the front garden. She’d got into a conversation with Jason, and he’d told her he’d ask his brother Johno to come over and collect the debris from her back garden and take it to the local dump.
But it wasn’t Johno standing outside her front door, she knew it. It was Tom.
She ran the palms of her hands over her hips, her breathing almost as erratic as the beat of her heart. The energy of the man penetrated even the door. How dare he have so much energy? How dare he carve a space inside her?
She walked to the door, intent on being as polite as she could while showing him, in no uncertain terms, that she danced to her own tune.
She opened the door, pulling herself up to stand tall. She kept her hand on the door and her features set at neutral.
‘I was a jerk,’ he said outright.
The intake of breath filled her chest. What response was she supposed to give? ‘You’re telling me’? Or ‘I understand’? Or ‘How do you manage to look so damn good?’
‘A total idiot,’ he added. ‘I apologise.’
She released the door, which wasn’t giving her enough support, and folded her arms across her chest to hold the apprehensions crowding her. ‘How did it go?’ she asked, refusing to be taken in by the handsome bulk in front of her. She could do this. She could remain neutral.
‘Bad,’ he said. ‘How’s Ali?’
‘Good.’
A smile crinkled his face. ‘You telling me she didn’t miss me?’
‘Not a jot.’
‘Rubbish. Did you miss me?’
Yes, although up until this moment, she’d thought it emotional torment. Berating herself for being taken in by a need to be wanted. Wanted by Tom—for longer than a brief affair. But she wasn’t going to let him know anything close to her real thoughts. She pulled her face into a quizzical frown. ‘What’s your name, again?’
‘Tom don’t-forget-who-gave-you-his-paving-slabs Wade. Can I come in?’
‘I’m busy.’
‘I had an idea regarding Ali.’
‘Come in.’
She held the door open for him. He wouldn’t let up, because he’d returned with his off-hand jocular manner; smiling even. Truth was tough, but this hard-working, honest man had captured a part of her heart and she wasn’t about to knock back the man who’d done so much for her daughter.
She squashed a nightmarish, recurring thought that she was falling in love with him.
It’s Ali, she told herself as she closed the door. I need him for Ali’s sake. He’s taken my heart because of what he’s done for my daughter. And she wasn’t going to let him take that piece of her heart and squeeze it until he drained her of all feeling.
He sauntered into the living room and to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’d lost the smile, suddenly. His shoulders were at a brooding angle, his chin lowered, his gaze on the curtains. ‘Every time I look at you, you’ve got this dewy, melt-my-heart look about you.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Adele said with more than a hint of sarcasm. She couldn’t help the way her face fell, or the way she appeared to others. And she didn’t want to know that he found her all ‘dewy’ when he looked at her. The thought stirred too much inside her—excitement, and a stimulating breathlessness. It wasn’t a feeling she’d had before—apart from when he’d kissed her—and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about it now. And she wasn’t falling in love.
‘What’s your idea regarding Ali?’
‘Life isn’t all sweet and rosy, you know,’ he said, still staring through the window. ‘No matter how many times you paint your walls. No matter how many flower-splashed curtains you hang.’ He flicked the curtain with his fingers, then settled his hand back in his pocket.
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He turned to her. ‘Life’s not fair.’
‘So says you. I say differently.’ He must have had a bad trip. This wasn’t the reunion she’d anticipated or prepared for. Politeness was nowhere to be found between them, and he seemed to be comfortable allowing his introspective feelings to manifest into bad humour, right in front of her.
‘Hope?’ he asked. She wasn’t sure if it was a quick burst of humour she saw in his eyes or a flare of irony. It was there one moment, gone the next. ‘Is that what you rely on?’
‘Well.’ She stepped backwards. ‘If it’s a fight you wanted to come in for, I’m not interested—’ She didn’t get a chance to finish. He crossed the room, took hold of her and pulled her against him, the strength of his hold more surprising than the sensations swimming through her at being in his arms and stuck to his broad, and far too comfortable, chest.
‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ he said. ‘It was a question. How do you do it?’
Her heart soared. This was the Tom she recognised. The one who appealed to her for help in the most abstract of ways. There wasn’t an untrustworthy ounce in his tall, broad body or in his heart.
‘I’m fighting here, Adele.’
> ‘Fighting what?’ she said, trying to breathe.
‘Tell me you need my help.’
‘I don’t need help.’
‘I came back because of you. Because of Ali too, but mostly because of you.’
‘Tom, no.’ If he was hoping for something between them, she’d have to stop it, which was going to be so complicated—for what she wanted for Ali, not to mention her heart, which was already spilling over in hope that he wouldn’t leave and wouldn’t let her go.
‘I left because of you and I was wrong to have done so. I’m sorry for that, Adele. I truly am.’
‘Let me go, Tom.’
‘Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me you don’t sense what’s between us.’
She shook her head. ‘It won’t work.’
‘I know.’
She inhaled, almost choking on the partial sob that had risen from nowhere and got stuck in her throat. ‘So we’d better not go anywhere with it. Perhaps you ought to leave after all.’
‘I just came back. For you.’
‘You mean for Ali.’
‘I came back for my little friend’s mother. If she wants me.’
Adele swallowed and gave herself time to address the pounding in her chest and the desire that was weakening her legs. ‘I don’t.’ She forced out the words, her back teeth clenched.
‘Yes, you do.’
Exasperation exploded. ‘So why ask me?’ She pulled, but he wouldn’t let her go. ‘What do you want from me?’ He wasn’t being fair.
‘Lean on me, Adele.’
‘I’m squashed against you!’
‘Not that.’ His grip on her tightened but his mouth curved to a gentle smile. ‘Lean on me. Ask me to help you.’
‘I don’t need to—you do help. With Ali, and with the house.’
‘Not that either. If you ask me to help you, I’m going to, but if you don’t, I’m walking away—not from Ali, but from you. Just right now, I need someone to need me. Give me a reason not to walk away. Please,’ he added.
He was going through his own hell, trying to sort out his business and the future for his friend. ‘You just need comfort, Tom, not me.’ Men needed sexual comfort. They wanted the softness of a woman and Adele wanted to help him—but not for a brief affair.
