Other Side of the Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘Really?’ Natalie looked at her watch. ‘It’s close to eleven am. Mandy will arrive to clean soon. You did tell him about checkout?’

  Sid sighed. ‘Of course I told him. I said the same thing I tell every guest. I remind them of the no-smoking rule, point out the emergency evacuation plan, and check they know when to bugger off. Mind you, the guy seemed a bit odd.’

  ‘Sid, darling, while I love having you here to help, I’ve told you before not to speak about our guests like that.’

  ‘Wait until you see him. You’ll know what I mean. I think he was pretending to be Italian. What would make a person want to be something they clearly are not? First he glared at me, then he put on this phoney accent. Brrrrr!’ Sid shuddered. ‘Kind of creeped me out. But when he asked for you by name I figured you forgot to put him in the reservations book. I’ll go knock on the door, give him a hurry on.’

  ‘And what about the gallery, Sidney?’ Natalie asked, her fingers still holding the pages of the newspaper, as though she was keeping her place until she could read in peace, without the interrogation. ‘While you’re in the kitchen lambasting our money-paying guests, who is minding the gallery?’

  ‘Mum, it’s Tuesday. We don’t open on Tuesdays. What’s got your attention in that newspaper this morning?’

  ‘Nothing at all. And you’ll be glad to hear I’m about to pop it in the appropriate recycle bin.’

  ‘But I haven’t read that yet,’ Sid said.

  ‘Waste of time.’ Natalie heaved her body out of the kitchen chair. ‘Not sure why I even have the thing delivered. If not for the guests, I’m sure I wouldn’t bother. The news these days is all party politics and celebrity rubbish.’ As she passed by the open laundry door where a trolley of fresh towels and sheets waited for Mandy, Natalie stopped. ‘You folded the towels?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Why, Sidney? Surely you’ve been staying here long enough to know we roll and ribbon at Brushstrokes. We do not fold flat.’

  ‘We’re out of ribbon, Mum,’ Sid said, wanting to add she knew, too well, how long she’d been back under her mother’s roof. She was feeling like a teenager again, saving her pocket money and counting down to the day she would get her own place. ‘I had to use our backup ribbon supply to prepare the room for last night’s unexpected check-in. Maybe we need a sign in the rooms so the guests stop flogging anything that isn’t pinned down or signposted.’

  ‘Don’t speak like that about the guests, please.’

  ‘Okay, to stop the guests souveniring the ribbon. Is that better?’ Sid now sounded like a teenager. ‘Why they take the stuff, I have no idea. Maybe if we didn’t use an entire spool for each room . . . They’re only towels, not works of art.’

  Natalie liked to show off her considerable artistic talents any way she could and the elaborate rolling and placement of thick, luxurious bath sheets on the guest beds–along with matching handtowels, washers and two bathmats–required lots of ribbon, and always of the wired variety so she could crimp and curl to create the perfect bow.

  ‘You know I like the ribbon on rolled towels.’

  ‘Mum, that’s the sort of single-mindedness you used to go crook on Dad about. Surely one day of folding is not going to kill anyone.’

  ‘Consistency and quality is the secret to our success for the past six years. Consistency and quality is what our guests pay for.’

  Sid wanted to laugh. Paying guests were no longer the norm, the result of her mother’s philanthropic approach, thanks to her husband’s life insurance and compensation payout.

  ‘Okay, so what do you want to do about the guest in the loft room?’

  ‘If the gentleman isn’t out shortly, I’ll go up and give him a hurry on. I’ll see you when you get back from town.’

  ‘Town? Why am I going into Leura?’

  ‘Ribbon, Sidney. Ribbon.’

  • • •

  The Blue Mountains morning peak hour, which basically consisted of those driving to the many train stations, and those heading down the mountains to the Penrith CBD and beyond, was over, making the drive into the pretty township of Leura a breeze. Sid enjoyed the drive and the quiet thinking time away from the claustrophobic conditions at home. She had a lot to think about. There’d be more still as the months marched on. She had to find a way over the hurt, get some more freelancing jobs under her belt, and then get herself set up in her own place–and in that order. She’d need somewhere affordable to live, which meant anything close to the city was impossible. The district would have to be a good one for a baby: safe and clean, with plenty of parks and open green space. What was the best environment in which to raise a child? Neither the high-rise life nor the suburban sprawl did anything for Sid. As lovely and secluded as Brushstrokes might be, living in such close proximity to her mother 24/7 was definitely out of the question. The longer she stayed, the shorter their respective fuses. It wasn’t that mother and daughter didn’t love each other. They simply got on each other’s nerves too easily. Maybe Tasha had been right–being too alike was the problem. Sid definitely was more Natalie than Matthew.

  The idea she took after Natalie hardly bolstered Sid’s mood as she returned to the car with a handbag overflowing with reels of precious pink ribbon. Even more worrying were the several missed calls on the mobile phone she’d mistakenly left behind in the car. The first missed number was Brushstrokes, making Sid shake her head.

  What now, Mum? Am I not back soon enough with the ribbon? Are the towels suffering separation anxiety?

  Missed calls numbers two, three and four–all from her mother–put an end to the flippant thoughts, while the constant engaged signal when she tried calling added an urgency to Sid’s trip home. She broke several traffic laws in her rush to get back to Brushstrokes, praying the old copper from the local station didn’t spot her Jeep. Her stomach roiled when she turned the car into Wagtail Lane and saw police lights flashing. When she saw an ambulance in the driveway to the gallery, her heart took a dive.

  ‘Mum!’ Not caring to parallel park, she mounted the kerb with both front wheels, almost hitting a small tree in the process, and scrambled out of the car. In her rush and confusion she didn’t notice the police tape or the uniformed officer standing at the entrance to the guesthouse.

  ‘Sorry.’ The officer’s extended arm barred her entry and took Sidney so by surprise that she slipped and almost fell. Thankfully, the policeman was strong, or used to catching dead weights, as he quickly steadied her, while his blue-uniformed body remained a barrier between Sid and the door. ‘Is this your permanent residence?’

  ‘No. Sometimes. At the moment. Yes.’ Sid whipped her sunglasses off and squinted at the officer, searching out a name badge. ‘Look, I was only at the shops for a short while. This is my mother’s house. Is she . . . Is something wrong? Please, tell me,’ Sid said, her hand busy fossicking in her bag. ‘Is my mother okay? I missed all these calls on my phone. Here!’

  Without even glancing at the screen she’d shoved towards his face, the officer said, ‘Your mother’s very upset, Ms Hill. She has a policewoman talking with her for the moment.’

  ‘About what?’ Sid was trying to return her phone to her bag stuffed with the reels of wired ribbon, when one spilled out leaving a pink trail over the porch. The officer’s gaze followed the spool on its wobbly journey down the three wooden steps–bomp, bomp, bomp.

  ‘You can leave that right there, Ms Hill,’ he instructed as Sid attempted to retrieve the wayward ribbon.

  ‘What? Why?’ She tried to shake his arm away. ‘And stop calling me Ms Hill. It’s Sidney.’

  ‘Can I ask you to wait by your car?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then perhaps you might like to move it off the footpath,’ he said, with one cocked eyebrow. His head indicated the illegally parked Jeep and Sid wondered if she was about to be booked when the policeman bent down to gather up the ribbon by hooking a pen through the spool’s centre.

  ‘Seriously, Officer Whatever
-your-name-is, what the hell’s going on?’

  ‘This ribbon . . .’ he replied, stony-faced.

  ‘Good grief, not you too.’ Sid channelled her exasperation into punching out Jake’s number on her phone. ‘What about the bloody ribbon this time?’

  ‘It’s yours?’

  This was getting ridiculous. Was she still asleep and all this was a bad dream? Was her mother’s painful predilection for perfection and pink ribbon giving her nightmares now? And why the hell was her brother not answering his phone?

  ‘I just bought the ribbon in Leura. This is my mother’s establishment. So, how about you tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘There’s been an incident involving a guest.’

  Sid’s first thought was the creepy guy she’d checked in last night. ‘Has he hurt my mother?’

  ‘What makes you think a guest might do something like that?’ the policeman asked. ‘Do you know the man involved?’

  ‘Shit, Sherlock, how about you stop with the freaking interrogation. If someone’s hurt my mother, I’ll . . . I’ll kill him.’

  ‘Too late, I’m afraid. The gentleman took care of that himself.’

  ‘He what? Are you serious? You mean he . . . In our guestroom? And Mum found him? Oh, poor Mum. I have to see her.’

  The officer relaxed his stance, probably due to the gush of Sid’s tears. ‘I wish I could let you in, but right now my purpose is to keep the crime scene protected and I’m kind of new to the job. But maybe while you move your car I can check how things are going inside.’

  ‘Fine, fine, I’ll move the bloody car, if you tell me one thing first.’ The policeman gave no indication, verbal or otherwise, to suggest he would, but Sid asked anyway. ‘How did he . . . You know . . . ?’

  ‘The gentleman hanged himself. Pink ribbon.’

  • • •

  ‘If this gets into the papers . . .’ Natalie was holding her head with both hands, shaking it from side to side in disbelief.

  Sid wanted to suggest they might be a little more concerned about this poor man and his family, but instead she asked, ‘What could be so terrible to make a person take his own life like that? And why choose our B & B?’

  Her mother didn’t say a word. Clearly still shocked, Natalie seemed almost on the verge of tears. Almost. Sid had never seen her mother cry, not even at their father’s memorial service.

  Jake finally arrived, having broken every speed limit and traffic law to reach the Blue Mountains ASAP. He agreed with Sidney that Natalie should not remain in the guesthouse and that once the police were done questioning her she should get away from the place.

  ‘And go where?’ Natalie moaned. ‘This is my home.’

  ‘Go and visit Aunty Tash,’ Jake said. ‘She’s always asking you down and you’re always saying the guesthouse is too busy.’

  ‘A busy guesthouse is a thing of the past once news gets out. Who would want to stay in such a place?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that happening, Mum,’ Sid said. ‘As shocking as a suicide is, I’m sure the media will have juicier stories. You’ll see.’

  39

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  ‘Can I come in?’ Pearl nudged the sliding screen door to the villa open with her knee.

  ‘Sure! How are you?’ Sid asked through a yawn.

  ‘I’m okay.’ She dumped two string shopping bags on the table. ‘But what gives between your mother and the boss?’

  After reluctantly saying goodbye to David earlier, Sid had made her way down the mountain, prepared to face her mother’s lecture on the way to Coffs Harbour to collect Jake. But when she arrived at the villa her mother’s bedroom door was closed and the tuneless rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody told her Jake was already back from the hospital and occupying the bathroom. While she would have enjoyed a long, hot shower, Sid was relieved to find herself alone with time to think about last night so she could mentally poke through the jigsaw pieces in her head for a starting point. There was a picture forming in her mind, but no sooner had Sid sat on the sofa than she must have nodded off, because when she woke to the sound of Pearl’s voice at the door the wall clock showed 11.59 am.

  ‘What about Mum and the boss, Pearl?’ Sid asked, while sleep-deprived eyes tried deciphering a note on the kitchen table.

  Sidney,

  Pearl arranged to have your brother transported back from the hospital early this morning. She’s reliable and I like her. I couldn’t sit around all day waiting for you to wake up so I’ve borrowed your car.

  Mum

  ‘My car!’ Sid peered closer in case she’d misread. ‘She took my car.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you.’ Pearl shook the second bag’s contents out and proceeded to unwrap a white paper parcel. ‘It was your car and so I presumed it was your mum. I saw her as I was leaving the gallery a while back.’

  ‘You bloody ripper!’ Jake hobbled from his bedroom, obviously planning to milk his injury for a while longer. ‘Thought I detected food.’

  ‘Sit,’ Pearl commanded. ‘I’ll bring your prawns on a plate.’

  ‘Will you peel them for me, too, wench?’

  ‘Keep that up and you’ll wear them.’

  Sid laughed at the expression Pearl pulled. Jake needed a few lessons on women, but she’d let him learn the hard way.

  ‘Thanks for collecting Jake for me this morning, Pearl.’

  ‘My brother, Adrian, was coming off a nightshift. Helps to have a cabbie in the family.’

  ‘Yeah, glad to be out of that joint. Thank your brother for springing me,’ Jake said. ‘Sid and I could’ve done with his jail-busting talents a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Jake!’ Sid fired a warning glance to remind him the subject of their grandfather was not common knowledge. At least she hoped he hadn’t mentioned the situation to Pearl. ‘How about you peel a prawn for me?’

  ‘Sure, sis.’ Obviously realising his near-slip, Jake sheepishly snapped off the prawn head and unfurled the brittle shell and legs from around the juicy, plump pink and white flesh. ‘Right, so, Pearl my girl, did I hear you mention Mum and the boss?’

  ‘When I saw her she looked so engrossed in conversation with the boss I thought it best not to interrupt.’

  ‘You couldn’t hear what she was saying?’ Jake asked.

  ‘No, but the body language suggested it wasn’t convivial conversation.’

  ‘Oh crap!’ Sid feared more apologies would be in order. ‘No doubt she’s making a fuss over Jake’s accident. Next thing you know she’ll have WorkCover investigating.’

  ‘That’ll make the unofficial part of the job a bit tricky for David,’ Pearl said, concern wiping her usual smile away.

  ‘Bloody hope not,’ Jake added. ‘You need to get up there, Sid.’

  ‘I would, only Mum has my car.’ Sid scooted the note across to Jake’s side of the table. ‘How am I supposed to get to work?’

  ‘Marilyn’s available. She’s parked by the workshop over there,’ Pearl said. ‘Tell Troy I said to take it. I’ll stay here with Jake. Although David texted me to say the gallery is closing for a few days.’

  He hadn’t mentioned that to Sid last night. ‘When did he text?’

  ‘After Jake’s accident. He didn’t mention it? He said you had other priorities.’

  Now Sid felt really bad. The man she’d initially thought rude and arrogant was actually super-considerate, charming, and funny, and the thought of him at the receiving end of a Natalie tirade, not to mention in trouble with WorkCover, had Sid contemplating Pearl’s offer. She could drive up in the Kombi van, and sooner rather than later.

  ‘Yeah, sis, off you go. More of these bloody beautiful prawns for Pearl and me.’

  ‘I’m not in that much of a hurry I can’t have one more,’ she said, taking another prawn, so fresh the head snapped off with an audible crunch. ‘I will borrow Marilyn, Pearl.’

  ‘No worries. She hasn’t had a run this week. Waiting on a new exhaust to arrive.’
/>   ‘Okay. I’m off,’ she said, grabbing her handbag. ‘Wish me luck.’

  Sid had between the villa and the Greenhill plantation to come up with a suitable one-size-fits-all apology to explain her mother to David.

  As she let Marilyn’s engine warm up, Sid deliberated over the manual gearstick, the clutch pedal, the floor-mounted steering wheel, and the fact that with no front engine she had not much between her and the bitumen. Then she reminded herself she could do anything. She’d learned to drive on an old manual transmission–hill starts and all. She just had to take it easy on a winding road now slick with rain and, as Jake would say, improvise, adapt, overcome.

  Come on, Marilyn, you and I can do this.

  Part 3

  40

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  To Natalie, driving up the hill in her daughter’s Jeep was a trip back in time, when an excited Tilly had sat in the front seat of the Marhkts’ tray-top ute, staring out the window, eager for her first glimpse of the mountain, and asking Ulf to retell Hilda’s story about the magic hill where a little girl’s dream of a forever home would come true.

  ‘Tell me again, please,’ she’d asked Ulf in her sweetest voice.

  He glanced momentarily at Tilly, smiled and said, ‘I think enough for now. We’ll be home soon and your mother’s the storyteller in the family.’

  The words home and family landed like butterflies on her heart. Tilly put her hand to her chest and felt the flutter of anticipation as she stared wide-eyed at the huge-est hill she’d ever seen.

  That was when she first saw David.

  He was stooped over, pushing his bike up the hill, a khaki canvas satchel slung across one shoulder and paintbrushes poking out of both back pockets of his shorts. He wore a battered straw hat with a wide brim and a thick line of sweat stained the back of his shirt. The weather was hot, the Marhkts’ old ute like a furnace, even with the windows down.