by Jennie Jones
Tom thumped the table. ‘Jesus, Imelda, you drive me insane.’ He checked the clock on the wall but hardly saw the time. She was right, though. He had to have been here for about fifteen minutes.
‘There’s plenty of time to talk, Tom,’ she told him and he didn’t need to look at her to know that the Imelda Eyes were on him. ‘I need … space.’
He eased down when he heard her falter. Imelda never fumbled. And she was right, he had to go. ‘Okay,’ he said, and stood.
‘I need time to know how to put it into words you won’t take the wrong way.’
‘Why?’ he asked with a last-ditch attempt at getting information out of her. ‘And why did we move out of the middle house a year after Samuel died?’
She looked up at him and Tom saw his mother. Or rather, reflections of what he remembered about his mother from those two photographs of her as a child and as a teenager.
‘She loved you, Tom. From the day you were born—from before that, from the day she knew she was pregnant. But I’m afraid life caught her in a way none of us—including Katrina—had expected.’
***
Tom’s nerves were present and on show for two reasons. How would Ali react to him, and how would he respond if she shunned him for going away? That scenario made his muscles tense. He’d have to call Adele and get her to run down the street to pick the kid up. Then what would he do? Follow them back down Thompson Street and watch them close their front door on him?
He glanced around the women waiting for their kids. He’d arrived earlier than he intended by about three minutes. He hadn’t been concentrating, which meant the grimace on his face that he was trying to relax by taking surreptitious deep breaths was only resulting in deepening his frown.
Jesus, he’d never been so nervous.
When she stepped into the doorway, she paused. She’d seen him. Straight away. She hadn’t been chatting with the other kids who were barrelling past her, eager to get out of the classroom and into the sunshine.
His heart clenched pretty hard at the sight of her. He tried to rid himself of the feelings that had come from nowhere: relief at seeing the kid, relief that she still looked the same, and relief that he’d come back for her, but his heart wasn’t listening. It clenched even tighter in his chest, until he thought he might not be able to breathe.
He lifted his chin, raised his eyebrows and acknowledged her with a tilt of his mouth. At least his facial muscles were still working.
She didn’t respond, but she did make her way down the school steps and along the path.
He stepped aside when she came through the gate. ‘Hiya, kid. How’s it going?’
She nodded but didn’t look at him.
‘I’ve just been talking to your mum. Asked her if she’d let me pick you up.’ He paused, then turned, hoping she’d saunter alongside him as he moved off.
She did.
‘Your mum’s been doing a lot of work while I was away. Your house looks great. I missed out on all the action.’
He glanced at the top of her head. Brown hair, wispy looking, and a cute little nose. But he couldn’t see her mouth so he didn’t know if she was smiling or not.
‘What’s that?’ he asked pointing to the rolled-up paper in her hand.
‘Poster,’ she said in a small voice, hauling the strap of her school bag higher on her shoulder.
‘Want me to carry that?’
She shook her head.
They did the look right, look left routine when they reached High Street, and crossed the road. He glanced at Imelda’s kitchen window as they passed. Imelda had net curtains up, so he couldn’t see inside, but she was probably watching for them going by.
His chest tightened. There was too much damned pain in the world—and he was caught by everyone’s troubles. Ali not talking, Imelda’s pain—even though she hid it well—his mother and whatever her troubles had been, Scott and his struggle.
He needed to be in Dulili, and he was staying for the duration, but he was also needed in Canberra. There was only so much he could do on the phone. He prided himself on his work, even turning the big money jobs down when he felt they were unsafe, but now he’d lost his business due to Scott’s negligence. Although his mate had lost a lot more. He ought to be in Canberra, not Dulili, but Adele needed him for Ali, and Tom liked being needed. He lightened up when he thought about Adele and her soft elegance and her acceptance of his embraces and his kisses. There was a kind of beauty in just holding her.
‘I was thinking,’ he said, just before they reached their houses. ‘I might invite you and your mum out for dinner. What do you think? Might cheer us up.’
‘Are you sad?’ Ali asked.
‘No, just—you know.’ Hell, how could the kid know? ‘I missed you, that’s all.’
‘Is your friend better?’
‘No. Not yet,’ he added. ‘How’d your poster project go?’
‘I showed but I didn’t tell. Because I can’t.’
Tom blinked rapidly as she uttered the words. Can’t? Was that an admission of something? Or just a fleeting observation that didn’t mean anything? ‘My friend Scott can’t tell me what’s bothering him. It kind of upsets me.’
‘Does he show?’
Tom frowned. ‘What do you mean by “show”?’
She shrugged—something he’d never seen her do before. When she talked to him, it was always in a little voice, with no expression on her face or in her body language. Suddenly, she lengthened her strides. He looked down. She was copying his walk. He wasn’t walking fast, he never did when he was with her, and he got the impression she didn’t want him to walk any slower now. ‘It just means that other people can guess what you’re doing so that you don’t have to tell,’ she said.
‘So you show them instead of telling them?’
‘Yeah.’
Yeah? Had her speech changed?
‘Can I show you how much I missed you by taking hold of your hand?’ he asked.
She pulled her mouth to a cocky grimace. ‘If you like.’ She said it gruffly, or as gruffly as a little girl could manage, then glanced up at him.
He smiled. He did like. And for a fleeting moment, he saw himself in Ali. She was taking on his mannerisms. She was showing him her feelings. Like a friend.
‘Okay,’ he said offhandedly, bending to take her hand. ‘Thanks, kid.’
Chapter Nine
Adele sipped her wine and glanced at Tom and Imelda. They were throwing frowns at each other. It looked to Adele like Imelda didn’t want to be at the pub for dinner, but Tom had said she’d been happy to come so whatever the bad humour was, it had to be something that had gone on between them earlier.
The pub smelled friendly. It smelled of beer and cooking too, of course, but it also held the aroma of companionship, laughter and chatter.
Ali was sitting next to Tom. Occasionally he commented on the picture she was colouring in, or handed her a different crayon from the plastic cup on the table and suggested the leaves on the tree be two shades of green or the flowers have black centres and not pink. Ali said nothing, but she did attempt to please him by using different colours.
Adele hadn’t expected Ali to speak, not in the pub. Not in public.
Tom had ordered their meals, insisting on paying for everyone, even though Adele had given him forty dollars for her and Ali. He’d waved her offer away. ‘Let him,’ Imelda had said when he’d gone to the bar. ‘It’s not like he’s without any money. He’s smart. He’ll find his feet again.’
Had Tom lost everything? Adele hadn’t known it was so bad, although perhaps she should have guessed.
She glanced around the pub, enjoying its warmth and its charm. Even with clean but stained carpet and floorboards, the place had a polish to it. Scrubbed to a spick-and-span gleam. She couldn’t imagine bar brawls or drunkards, although she imagined it had seen its fair share of roughness, because that was life.
It was a good feeling, knowing people. Having them nod hello. Being made
to feel part of the country town community. And she hadn’t had to make sure Ali was okay, either. Ali had stuck by Tom the whole walk down High Street. She’d stayed at his side when they entered the pub too. Adele had been greeted by the people she already knew, and introduced to others. Tom had been ribbed about owing beers and returning favours, which he’d taken good-naturedly, always ensuring he knew where Ali was, that she was right at his side. Adele had spotted that care on the occasions she’d turned to check on Ali. The people here in Dulili, in Tom’s home town, must know how bad it was for Tom. He hadn’t told them, and probably didn’t want them to know, but each accepted the other without further questioning.
He’d been smart about having Imelda along. There was no focus solely on Tom and Adele. Imelda gave them proper decorum. She was the pivot, the woman who owned Thompson Street, the person who’d given her house for Adele, and the grandmother of Tom, who’d returned to town for a short while. Her presence automatically halted any ideas about funny business, or the start of a relationship between two single people.
A waitress came over to collect their plates. Ali’s child-size lasagne was half eaten, Imelda’s and Adele’s spaghetti carbonara were mostly eaten, and Tom’s triple-decker burger with the works had vanished about five minutes after he’d started eating. A big meal for a big guy. It hadn’t put up a fight. Neither had the potato wedges and the side salad.
Ali scooted over on the vinyl seat in the booth and Adele leaned down for her to whisper into her ear.
‘Okay.’ She made to stand. ‘Just going to the Ladies.’
Imelda scraped her chair back. ‘I’ll take Ali. I need to visit too.’ She stood and held her hand out to Ali.
Amazingly, Ali shuffled off the seat. Adele twisted her legs to one side so she could pass.
She watched them make their way to the Ladies, Ali’s hand in Imelda’s.
Astonishment seemed to have taken up a big space inside Adele.
‘I’m going at it too hard,’ Tom said, startling her out of her contemplations, and what it was that made her daughter accept some people and not others. She corrected herself: accept the Wades.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
He collected the cutlery that hadn’t been used and pushed it into a pile. ‘She said something today about showing the class her poster, but not talking about her homework—because she can’t.’
‘Can’t? She said that?’ She’d admitted that she couldn’t talk? Did this mean what Adele hoped? That Ali was loosening from whatever hold had such a tight grip of her?
‘That’s what I thought,’ Tom said quietly, his eyebrow raised, giving him an ironic expression. ‘You know, like—was she opening up? But I can’t figure out whether she was telling me she can’t talk or if she was just referring to the fact that she doesn’t talk. Means two different things, doesn’t it?’
Adele clasped the edge of the table. ‘It doesn’t matter—it’s a start. You got her to mention it.’
He shook his head, sighing. ‘Yeah, but now she won’t even talk, let alone show me her feelings—with the body language stuff.’
‘But we’re out, she’s unlikely to talk in public. And what do you mean, body language stuff?’
‘She started copying me. The way I walk.’ He smiled then, as though thinking of the memory fondly. ‘She shrugged, she pulled an off-hand smile, and she said “yeah”.’
‘She said “yeah”?’
‘Yeah. Kind of astounded me.’
‘My God, Tom. She’s moved from telling me that you need to be looked after and cared for,’ she pointed at him, referring to the time Ali had said Tom needed to be told they’d miss him if he went to visit his friend, ‘to showing you her feelings for you.’ And Tom was astounded? Astonishment rang from the rafters as far as Adele was concerned. ‘She likes you, Tom.’
‘Yeah—well, maybe.’ He looked to one side in frustration. ‘No,’ he said with finality. ‘I’m pushing it. She’s not talking to me now and I don’t know how to not push it.’ He leaned his forearms on the table, hands clasped.
‘She stayed by your side on the way here, Tom. She trusts you. Just be yourself.’
He grunted. ‘Not sure who that is anymore.’
He’d come back to town in such a bad, gloomy frame of mind. But he had returned. For Ali. Adele took a chance that nobody would see them in the corner booth and reached out to put her hand over both of his. ‘Even that’s part of who you are, so don’t change anything.’
‘What do you mean?’ He brought his gaze from their hands to her face and Adele pulled her hand away.
‘I mean stop being so grumpy,’ she told him. ‘And stop worrying about what you’re doing right or wrong, or pretty soon I’m going to be dealing with two people who are reluctant to talk.’ It wasn’t a good joke, but it was the only one she had.
He grinned, his gaze sweeping her face before settling on her mouth. ‘Wouldn’t mind leaning over and kissing you right now. How would you feel about that kind of just being myself?’
Humour and the kick of a thrill tugged at her belly. She wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do just that.
‘Later tonight,’ he said. ‘When Ali’s asleep. Can I come over?’
Her eyes widened, and she was already envisioning the scene. Her living room, the light dimmed, the curtains closed. He’d kiss her, touch her, she had no doubt of that. But where would it lead?
He studied her, his grin turning to a sultry smile. ‘To talk,’ he said. ‘Obviously, just to talk.’
‘Maybe.’ She grinned back. It would be a good test, she ought to let him come over. Not that she’d let anything sexual happen while her daughter was in the house. Not that any sexual thing was the first thought on her mind. Not quite the first …
‘Here they come,’ Tom said, straightening and pushing on the table to stand.
He pulled Imelda’s chair for her, ruffled the top of Ali’s head as she slid passed him and onto the booth seat, and waited until they had got themselves settled before sitting himself.
Adele sighed. She’d got herself tangled up with a chivalrous man. He would never do anything to harm her, or anyone around him, and he wouldn’t pressure her to take kissing and touching any further than she wanted it to go. Trouble was, she didn’t know if she’d reach a point where she’d want it to stop.
‘I got in touch with that old friend of mine,’ Imelda said to Adele. ‘About the book.’
‘What book?’ Tom asked.
‘Really?’ Adele said, leaning on the table and glad of the change in conversation. ‘What did he say?’
‘What book?’ Tom asked again.
‘The historic society book,’ Adele told him. ‘Is he interested?’ she asked Imelda. ‘Or could he let me know how to go about it?’
‘I thought it was going to be a pamphlet,’ Tom said.
‘It was,’ Adele informed him. ‘There’ll still be a cheap pamphlet but there’s so much wonderful history that I wondered if we could produce a coffee-table type book, and Imelda’s got a publisher friend—’
‘You’ve got a publisher friend?’
‘So what did he say?’ Adele asked Imelda.
‘Said he’d take a look. Needs you to compile an assortment of photos—not all, just some—and the typewritten stories that go with them, to give him a taste of what sort of book it might be.’
‘I can do that.’
‘Since when have you had a publisher friend?’ Tom asked.
‘I can put it together in a PowerPoint presentation, or a Word document—whatever he wants. I’ll start tomorrow. I start at the school next week.’ Adele halted, and looked down at Ali, remembering she hadn’t given her daughter this information yet. ‘I’ll be at school two days a week from now on, sweetheart. While you’re there too. But you’ll hardly see me. I’ll be in the office, not the classrooms.’
‘You think she’s going to be embarrassed by you, or something?’ Imelda queried.
‘No.’ Adele looked at Ali.
‘Do I embarrass you?’ She’d never even considered the possibility.
Ali smiled, looked at Tom, then back to Adele. She shook her head.
‘Nothing embarrasses this kid,’ Tom said.
Ali stifled a chuckle.
‘What?’ Tom said in an affronted tone, then shoved a finger into his chest. ‘Do I embarrass you?’
Ali grinned.
‘Oh, come on! How?’
‘Probably by taking too many turns on the swing,’ Imelda stated.
‘Big-kids swing,’ Ali said suddenly. ‘He fits on that one.’
The shocked silence at the sound of Ali’s voice went on for no more than a second but it felt a whole lot longer to Adele.
‘Well,’ Tom said, ‘thanks for that, kid. Remind me to be real narky with you tomorrow when I pick you up from school.’
Ali indulged him by lowering her eyebrows into a child-like grimace. Another bolt of shock hit Adele. This was what Tom had meant. Ali was copying his mannerisms.
‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘Partly narky.’
‘Okay,’ Ali said, and went back to her drawing.
Tom looked into Adele’s eyes and raised both eyebrows. She nodded, telling him she understood and thanking him for just being himself. Ali liked Tom the way he was and, honest to God, so did Adele.
‘So what’s with this publisher friend?’
Imelda grunted a laugh. ‘Don’t like being out of the loop, do you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m asking because I’ve never known about him before. Are you planning on eloping, or something?’
Even Imelda couldn’t hold her laugh. She shook her head. ‘Maybe one time I might have been tempted.’
‘You’re joking me,’ Tom said. He looked at Adele. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know!’ Adele said, splaying her hands in the air. ‘I just came in for dinner.’
Imelda wiped her smile away with a paper napkin. ‘Men don’t like being out of the loop.’
‘I don’t want to be in the bloody loop.’
‘Tom,’ Adele said, admonishing him for swearing.
