Other Side of the Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘Why, Mum?’ her daughter asked, sailing back into the room. ‘That laptop from Dad’s work is obsolete.’

  Sid’s expression let Nat know she’d instantly regretted her choice of words.

  • • •

  With both Jake and Sidney out, keen to find some sort of Blue Mountains nightlife, Natalie declared a cheese, crackers and wine night at her desk while she pondered Matthew’s company computer. The old-fashioned Apple PowerBook laptop was very different from her Toshiba, and navigating her way around the convoluted file system and odd keyboard was problematic. After several hours, tired and frustrated, with eyes blurry from staring at family photo files, Nat was clicking dreamily around the little icons on the desktop when a file list popped open.

  One folder was labelled: Personal Emails.

  Two subfolders were labelled separately: Greenhill and . . .

  ‘David?’ That certainly slapped her awake.

  • • •

  Sometimes a secret can seem like an affair. Isn’t that what Tasha had told Natalie one day?

  At some point Jake and Sid returned home, whispering and giggling up the stairs, unaware that their mother sat in the dark, only the glow from the computer illuminating the room that would become an office for the B & B, once all the boxes had been unpacked. A second bottle of red sat on the desk, but she knew another glass would tip her from tiddly to total inebriation.

  Would anyone blame her?

  Without thought for the late hour, Natalie picked up the phone to call the only other person who would understand the significance of her discovery.

  ‘Tash?’

  ‘Nat, darling, what’s wrong? You sound terrible. Marcus, honey, switch on the light,’ Tash said. ‘Is it Jake? Is Sid–?’

  ‘No, no, Tash, the kids are fine.’

  ‘Okay. Good. No, honey, the kids are fine. Nat needs an ear. Stay in bed, Marcus. I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Tash, I’m sorry. Calling you at this hour is unforgivable.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. And don’t you dare go anywhere. What’s up? Tell Tasha everything. From the beginning.’

  ‘I-I have Matthew’s old work computer set up, finally.’

  ‘Ah-huh! Go on, darling, I’m still here. Just slipping into my robe.’ There was a moment of static, perhaps the sound of Tasha’s receiver slipping through the arm of her dressing gown. ‘So, you were saying about Matthew’s old work computer?’

  ‘Yes. I’m looking at it now.’

  ‘Ah-ha!’

  ‘There are personal emails saved to a folder, Tash.’

  ‘Just one second, darling. I’m in the kitchen putting on the kettle.’ Natalie heard clattering and water running. ‘Okay, you say there are emails on Matthew’s old computer?’ Tasha was usually so quick to understand, and so attentive, but now all the pausing and banging and clanging made Natalie feel anxious. Had Tash not yet realised what this might mean? Was her friend even listening?

  ‘No, yes, I mean, the emails . . . They’re from David.’

  ‘David who, darling?’ Tasha asked.

  To be fair, Natalie had only mentioned David to her once, and it had been a long time ago. They had both been quite drunk, celebrating a particularly big sale and the spoils of another good year. Tash had a new beau by the name of Marcus–a lawyer of note and two years younger–and life for Nat seemed so good. She’d taken that opportunity to off-load the secret she’d been keeping for years and confess to her best friend her undying love for Matthew’s brother, how he’d had a terrible accident and never recovered from a coma, and how she’d talked his brother into running away. She may have told Tasha she was pregnant at the time. Maybe not–the alcohol had wiped some details of the evening away. The truth was, Natalie had only remembered the conversation even took place when Tash mentioned David’s name in passing some time later. To this day she was unsure how much Tasha knew and how close that late night, alcohol-induced version of the story was to the truth.

  ‘David,’ Natalie said exasperatedly. ‘I’m trying to tell you, Tash, that it’s David. Matthew’s brother. Remember?’

  ‘Your David? The one you–?’

  ‘Yes, that one.’

  ‘But you told me he died.’

  Natalie’s pulse hammered hard, her body throbbing in a staccato rhythm as the realisation set in. ‘He did. They told me. A coma. Life support. No hope, the doctors had said.’ Her mouth was suddenly dry, sticky with the sour residue of too much red wine. Several deep breaths to slow her thumping heart only made her more parched. ‘Matthew bore the brunt of his father’s anger and grief, so he and I ran away. My God, Tash! Matthew let me believe David was dead. But he knew. Matthew knew! Had he always known and never said a word? I can’t seem to think straight, Tash.’

  Back at Greenhill, before they’d talked about leaving together, had Matthew known there was a chance David might recover? Had he lied then and ever since? While Natalie thought she’d been securing her future by slipping into his bed to seal the deal, had Matthew actually been manipulating her?

  No! Natalie shook the thought away. Matthew hadn’t been capable of such deception. On the contrary, he’d always been too honest, too blunt and content in his black and white world with his high, if not sometimes questionable moral perspective. She’d trusted him completely.

  ‘Darling, Nat, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Tell me how could Matthew do this to me, Tash. Tell me I’m confused. Tell me this is all because I’m tired and terrified about being on my own in this place, and that in the morning I’ll wake up and know my call to you was a dream.’

  Matthew hadn’t simply broken their precious pact by keeping the past alive. David was alive and her husband had kept it a secret from her. Not only that, he’d kept in touch with his brother.

  For years!

  Natalie remembered all those nights Matthew had spent hunched over his laptop, and the way he’d snap the lid shut when she came into his study. She’d suspected a late-night love affair with another woman, but he’d probably been at his computer connecting with his past.

  ‘Oh my God, Tash! I’m not dreaming.’ A document folder on a computer screen held the truth. ‘David didn’t die.’

  ‘Nat, darling, is there someone there with you? Do you need me?’ Tasha sounded serious now. In fact she sounded breathless, like she was running up stairs. Where was she rushing to?

  Natalie wanted to run. She was so wired right now she could run all the way back to Greenhill, only a lifetime ago she swore she’d never go back.

  ‘I’m confused, Tash.’

  ‘I’ll jump on an early flight and come up. Okay? Now hold on, Nat, I’m waking Marcus.’

  ‘No need. I’m fine, Tash. I am.’ Natalie purposely slowed her breathing to quell the wild beating of her heart. ‘I-I shouldn’t have called at this hour. I drank too much wine and then had a bit of a shock and I overreacted. Nothing a good sleep won’t fix. Let me call you in the morning.’

  ‘It is the morning, darling. Marcus, honey, all good. Crisis averted–for now.’

  ‘My apologies to Marcus.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll let you go, but only if you promise to stay in touch. I think you’re right–you should get some sleep and call me again when you wake up. Call me anytime. Or I’ll call you. Okay? Marcus, honey, you can switch off the light now. And Nat?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What happened back then . . . It was all a very long time ago. Best let the memories go. Bye, darling.’

  It was a long time ago.

  Natalie hung up the phone and turned back to the computer screen.

  Twenty-nine years ago, to be exact.

  Where might that put David now?

  There were only six emails in the folder marked David–four from Matthew to his brother and two short replies from David, all of them written within a period of two years. She re-read them all carefully, looking for clues as to David’s whereabouts, but there was nothing. Besides, the emails were f
ifteen years old. He could be anywhere by now.

  The tall grandfather clock in the hall chimed, frightening Natalie, the jerky movement of her index finger on the super-sensitive mouse thingy accidentally launching another window to cover the email screen completely.

  ‘Stupid machine,’ she grumbled, pushing the laptop aside.

  She powered up her own PC, one she knew how to work, and googled David Hill.

  Too many.

  Next she tried refining her search, typing the word artist, then trying gallery names and capital cities. Could it be that David had been living in the same city she had, both of them attending the same galleries and openings and yet, like ill-fated lovers in a Hollywood movie, missing each other by seconds?

  No. Their dream destination had been Melbourne. Or had that been Tilly’s dream?

  Her frantic fingers flew over the familiar keyboard, trying different search criteria until, frustrated again, she looked back at Matthew’s laptop screen. Had the emails progressed to phone calls and that’s why there were so few files in the folder? Did this mean they’d spoken? Had Matthew actually seen David, with one of his trips away a return to the Greenhill property to see the rest of his family and bring them up to speed on his life? Perhaps Matthew’s need to stay in contact was an example of blood being thicker than water, or was there more to it than that? At a certain point in their marriage Matthew had grown angry about walking away from his inheritance. Maybe he was trying to get back into the good books with his parents. Natalie couldn’t know. She’d never know.

  The old clock struck three am, but Natalie couldn’t go to bed while her head was spinning with too much wine and too many possibilities.

  David Hill. David Hill. David Hill.

  She’d pored over hundreds of Google search results for his name, and then scoured Facebook, where mostly blank profile pictures stared back.

  Why bother, Natalie? What are you going to do if you find him listed? Message him? Call him, maybe? Go and knock on his door? And say what? Sorry for not believing enough in your will to live. Sorry for running off. Sorry for marrying your brother. Sorry for forgetting you.

  Maybe David already knew everything about Natalie and the children. Maybe Matthew had talked to his brother about what he’d always suspected but never asked his wife. By the time she’d got around to seeing a doctor in Sydney, he’d confirmed she was pregnant, but the baby could have been David’s or Matthew’s. It could also have been the result of that one occasion with Albie, but the mere thought had made Natalie want to vomit. When she saw Matthew cradling baby Sidney in his arms, Natalie had the only answer she needed. What Nat never realised was how unbreakable a father–daughter bond could be. Or how devastated Sid would be when Matthew died.

  Natalie should have got up, walked to the kitchen for water, cleared her head. Instead she poured herself another glass of wine. She was still having trouble accepting that David had lived–was living his life somewhere, with someone. Could it possibly still be the case? She turned to her husband’s old laptop and began flicking rapidly through the photos again, hoping to see a picture of David. How had he aged? What would he look like almost three decades later?

  The idea that he was out there, somewhere, but that she had no way to reach him–might never find him again or have the right to simply walk back into his life after all this time–filled her with a kind of bleak despair, and then, despite herself, she thought of Albie and all that he’d lost.

  During a brief telephone conversation with Albie trying to avoid his questions with small talk, she had thought to enquire about the Marhkts.

  ‘Don’t know much,’ Albie had told her. ‘Since returning to Australia I’ve tried to contact Ulf and Hilda, but the phone is disconnected and my last letter was returned to sender.’

  ‘Returning, Albie? Where did you go?’

  ‘I went back, Tilly,’ he’d said with a little spark in his voice. ‘I went back to Malta to try and find her. I thought meeting my mother, my blood, would help me get over missing you, but being in a strange country only made me more homesick for everything that might have been between us.’

  ‘Albie . . .’

  ‘Just hear me out. I miss you, Tilly. I miss us. I miss how we would tell each other everything. I’ll never stop missing you. You once told me we were the same. We were survivors. But I’m not doing a very good job of surviving on my own. But you . . .’ A touch of sarcasm accompanied his next words. ‘There’s obviously no stopping you. I see your picture in the social pages. You finally have your dream of a gallery. You’re happy and I’m happy for you, Tilly. Truly, I am.’

  ‘Then you have to leave me alone and let me live my life without fear of–’

  ‘Fear?’ Albie’s mood changed. ‘What have you got to fear from me? I’ve never done anything wrong by anyone–ever.’

  ‘Sorry, Albie, that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I’m trying to be happy, Tilly. I want to move on. I want to stop feeling like a piece of shit that no one wants to touch.’

  ‘Don’t say things like that. You’re a good man.’

  ‘How would you know? You don’t. You can’t.’ She could hear the growing desperation in his voice. ‘Maybe, if we can meet, just once, Tilly. It’s been long enough.’

  Long enough for what? She thought about asking, saying through a sigh instead, ‘Okay, we can meet. I’ll be in touch.’

  That was the day Tilly had changed their home number to private. If Albie was going to persist, at least she could restrict his calls to the gallery and keep any catch-ups from the family. That was when the emails had started turning up at work, which she read and deleted immediately to avoid anyone seeing them. Mostly they read the same way:

  You’ve stopped returning my phone messages. Don’t delete this email without first reading what I have to say. If you promise to see me one more time, I promise to never talk about what we did that night–to anyone, ever. Please don’t make me regret what we got up to as kids.

  With the two empty bottles of red on the desk now blurring into four, Natalie was none the wiser to anything except she was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning and she still had so many boxes to unpack. If she didn’t get a few hours sleep at least, she’d look like the wreck she was feeling right now.

  31

  Pacific Coast Base Hospital, 2015

  ‘You look like a wreck, sis. What did you get up to last night?’

  ‘Thanks, Jake. I see you’re back to normal.’ Sid dumped her bag on the chair and walked over to the window in Jake’s hospital room that overlooked scrubland and a small mob of wallabies grazing on a grassy corridor. One animal was close enough for Sid to make out a joey in her pouch, its stick-skinny legs jutting out at odd angles. Mama wallaby was not eating, instead standing tall, ears pricked, alert to predators that might want to harm her baby. Most of the mob seemed oblivious and happily grazing, stopping frequently to scratch with their little arms, while others lazed on their sides, propped on one elbow. ‘I hear all your test results are good and you’re in the clear. Just bruising and the leg wound to be dressed every couple of days. I’m glad.’

  ‘Could’ve been a lot worse than twenty stitches. I’ll be glad to get out of here and into a comfy bed.’

  ‘I was up late tweaking a design job and keeping clients happy. So glad I packed the Mac.’

  ‘Do you reckon I can borrow your laptop when I get out of here, sis?’

  ‘Maybe. Why?’

  ‘I want to google some stuff.’

  ‘You? Google?’ Sid could see a faint reflection of her face staring back from the window. She was smiling, both at her brother and the joey that was now hanging half in and half out of the pouch, desperate to reach the grass. Instinctively, Sidney placed a hand on her belly, her long sigh fogging the window and blurring the view. ‘Google what, Jake? Tell me and I can find what you need.’ She peeled her jacket off and draped it over the foot of the hospital bed.

  ‘No, thanks. I�
�m keen to do it myself. I’d use my phone but you know I’m all thumbs.’ He turned his palms up towards her. Her brother’s hands were big, manly, caring–just like Jake.

  ‘You were on my computer the other night! I knew it. What were you looking up? Were you downloading? Did you–?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, guilty as charged, your honour. Not sure the matter requires cross-examination.’

  ‘You do know I can check the browser history and, Jake, if you’ve been downloading porn, or–’

  ‘Whoa, there, sis! Since when have I been into that stuff? Like never.’ Jake grunted, folding his arms across his broad chest, then wincing in pain. ‘I’m sorry. I touched the golden Apple. I do beg your pardon. Sheesh! I can tell you’ve got your Mum mood on today. All I wanted to do was check out this albinism thing Pearl has.’

  So, Jake had wanted to understand. Sid bit back the urge to grin. She never saw her young brother as the type to want to understand anything–especially a female. To him a woman–any woman–was something you picked up on a Friday night and bonked any-bloody-where half comfortable in the hope he’d make a good enough impression to get a second shot. Pearl was definitely different to Jake’s usual pub pick-up and Sid guessed he didn’t want to stuff things up, or turn her off him by asking dumb questions.

  ‘That’s really sweet, Jake.’

  ‘Yeah, well, if you check out that browser history of yours you’ll see the first thing I tried searching was the word albino. That mostly resulted in baby rhino and hippo stories.’

  ‘Oh Jake!’ There was no more holding back her laugh.