Other Side of the Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘Tilly?’ David sounded serious. ‘I’m happy to see you–and Grace, of course–any time.’

  ‘You are? Happy?’

  ‘Happier than I ever expected at this stage in my life. I might not have any family left, but you’ve helped me understand my brother, and with the truth about Dad’s crash you’ve provided a kind of closure.’

  ‘I’m glad. But, David, you have family. You have a granddaughter and you can be as much a part of her life as you like.’

  ‘You have no idea how much I want that. Have you found another place to live yet? I could come down to Sydney every so often.’

  ‘Tasha found me a place, not far from her in Melbourne. She wants me there to do another start-up gallery. I sure hope when I’m her age I can be as energetic.’

  ‘Melbourne?’ David said, dolefully. ‘When do you go?’

  ‘I told her no. The idea of going back to live in a busy city after the Blue Mountains is exhausting enough, and Melbourne is hardly the sort of place Sid would want Grace raised. The rental in Leura is good for now.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay here?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jake’s here and you’re driving back and forth so often. You left Greenhill once because you wanted the city lifestyle. You had a dream, Tilly. I get that. But you don’t want the city anymore and I need a business partner who knows how to get this artist retreat idea off the ground.’

  ‘I can offer money from the sale of Brushstrokes–’

  ‘I don’t need your money,’ David interjected. ‘If you’re looking to invest in something, talk to your son about renovating that little shack right on the cove that he and Pearl have been dreaming about turning into a café. It’s his inheritance now, if he wants it. Dad was planning to give it to Matthew and I reckon he would want Jake happy. Besides, they’re already arguing about the name. Pearl likes Watercolours Café. Jake, of course, is keen on Flippin’ Fishcakes Café.’ Tilly and David both laughed. ‘Pearl has been swanning around, planning a grand opening and who they’d invite. Reminds me a little of someone I used to know.’

  ‘Pearl’s a lot smarter than me. And I never swanned.’

  ‘You so did.’

  There was no holding back Tilly’s grin–something that happened a lot these days, despite an underlying sadness that would never go away.

  A buzzer sounded. ‘That’s the gallery,’ David said. ‘Make yourself at home, make tea, I won’t be long.’

  With Grace sleeping, Natalie walked the perimeter of the adjoining lounge room, straightening crooked frames and sculptures sitting skew-whiff on antique sideboards and shelves. She’d been thinking there was still so much of Rose around the house as she poked her head into each room along the bedroom wing, her mind already fixing them up as guestrooms. The last room had a No Entry sign written in black felt pen on paper. Of course she opened it.

  Shocked by what she saw–a storeroom with dozens of drawings–Tilly dropped into the old leather chair behind the desk to take it in.

  ‘Seems all the Hill women have a habit of ignoring directives.’ David pointed to the sign on the door.

  ‘You did say to make myself at home. What is all this?’

  David’s smile fell away, as though remembering something sad. ‘I imagine that’s what Sid was asking herself the day I found her. She’d been seated in that very chair you’re sitting in now, Tilly.’

  The studded leather armrest suddenly felt warm and comforting under her hand. Nat closed her eyes to imagine her daughter and gripped so tight that when she looked down she saw her knuckles had turned white. She wanted to stay there forever, in that chair, with Sidney.

  ‘To be honest, I avoided this room after I shifted all these in here.’ A flick of his hand indicated the myriad drawings. ‘Not sure why I didn’t chuck the lot away a long time ago. The result of a man wallowing in self-pity, I suspect.’

  ‘You had every right.’

  His shoulders lifted and fell again. ‘Something was stopping me, so rather than throw them away I stored them in here and shut the door. I thought the room was locked.’ He smiled. ‘But it wasn’t, as Sid discovered–and now you.’

  ‘I was checking out the number of guestrooms. Then I came in here and, well, Grace will need a bigger room soon enough. With these shutters open, there’s a gorgeous view of the mountains behind.’ To prove her point, Tilly adjusted the louvres on all three windows and flung open the French doors. ‘We can build a small courtyard outside. Somewhere safe and enclosed for Grace to enjoy. I’d worry about her getting too close to the plantation.’

  ‘You’ll come and stay–on the mountain?’

  Tilly smiled. ‘Grace will want to visit her Poppy, won’t she? In fact . . .’ She turned her ear to the door. ‘That could be her agreeing. Although I suspect it’s most likely a wet nappy.’

  Tilly attended to Grace while David poured tea.

  ‘How do you know a retreat idea will work this time?’ she asked.

  ‘We can make it work. Earlier, I said I needed a business partner. But I want more than that. I want you and Grace. After all, Greenhill will belong to her one day.’

  Natalie wanted to rush into David’s arms and never leave, but Grace started to cry and life wasn’t about Natalie and what she wanted anymore. It was about what her granddaughter needed.

  ‘This year has been such a difficult one–such sadness, always doubting myself and second-guessing everything. I think through my decisions these days, David. So, you’ll understand if I can’t commit to any permanent changes right now. Grace is my first priority and she’s growing fast. I want to savour every moment. She’ll be turning one soon enough,’ she said. ‘After that, winter will be almost over. I promise to have an answer for you by spring.’

  58

  Watercolour Cove - four years later

  ‘Hip, hip, hooray, hooray!’ Jake chanted. ‘Little Bump is how old today?’

  ‘You know I’m five, Uncle Jakey.’ Grace squealed as her uncle swung her in dizzying circles, around and around. ‘Wheeeeee! More! More! More!’

  ‘Maybe later, Gracie,’ Pearl said, intercepting her mid-swing and placing her on the ground. ‘Uncle Jakey looks like he needs to throw up.’

  ‘Uncle Jakey also needs to get into the kitchen and prepare the you-know-what,’ Tilly instructed. ‘You’ll find five candles in the top drawer.’

  ‘What’s a you-know-what, Nan Tilly?’

  Nan Tilly! She smiled, remembering baby Grace’s struggle to get her mouth around Nanna Natalie.

  ‘Why does Uncle Jakey always wear those funny pants with all the little black and white boxes when he’s cooking? And where is my poppy? And–’

  ‘Grace, Grace, all those questions! You’re sounding more like your mother every day, young lady. Shall we all go to Uncle Jake’s café for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Yaaaay!’ Grace cheered. ‘Poppy, Poppy.’ The girl ran over, barrelling into David’s legs and wrapping her arms tight. ‘Guess where we’re going for dinner?’

  ‘Gentle, sweetheart.’ Tilly raced over, hands outstretched, ready to pluck her granddaughter away. ‘You know we have to be careful so we don’t knock poor Pops off his feet.’

  ‘Stop fussing, woman. I’m knocked off my feet every morning, realising what a fortunate man I am.’ David tapped Grace on the nose. ‘If not for your mum and all her questions I may never have found you. Or you,’ he added in a whisper, kissing Tilly on the cheek.

  ‘And if not for Gracie, I would never have come home to Watercolour Cove.’

  ‘Hey, Miss Five,’ Pearl appeared on the veranda swinging a bright yellow gift bag from her index finger. ‘You missed a present. And the card reads To Grace from Nan Tilly.’

  ‘I was saving that gift until later, but bring it over, Pearl. Let’s do it now.’

  Grace met Pearl halfway, jumping and grabbing for the small parcel held out of her reach.

  ‘Come sit on my lap and we’ll unwrap it together. Careful,’ Tilly warn
ed, hugging Grace to her body while chubby fingers frantically ripped the wrapping paper off the small parcel no bigger than an iPad. ‘This belonged to your mum. I gave it to her when she turned twenty-one.’

  ‘But I’m only five.’

  ‘I know. We’ll help you keep it safe.’

  The family crowded around as Tilly helped Grace peel the final bit of wrapping away from the painting: two towering ghost gums and an early-morning sun casting shadow and reflection over a tranquil river.

  Grace pointed her finger at the signature she’d seen many times. Only last week her granddaughter had impressed her playgroup friends by signing her day’s work, like her Nan Tilly always did, before bringing it home for the refrigerator door. ‘Did you paint it, Nan Tilly?’

  ‘Yes. A very, very long time ago. Your poppy taught me how. And one day, Gracie, Nan Tilly and Poppy will explain to you all about the rule of reflection. How about we have cake?’

  ‘A swuggle first,’ Gracie said.

  ‘Did someone say swuggle?’ David hooked his arm around Grace, lifting her little body off Tilly’s lap with ease. He held her tiny back against his body to let her arms reach up and hook around his neck. Then he hugged her and kissed the soft mop of mouse-brown hair.

  ‘Swuggle!’ they squealed in unison. The combination sway, hug and cuddle was her Pop’s party trick and it came at considerable physical effort, but David loved it.

  ‘Look at me, Nan Tilly,’ Grace had called between squeals. ‘Spin me. Spin me.’

  ‘No spinning,’ Tilly told her granddaughter. ‘Poppy needs a little while longer before he’s mastered hurdy-gurdy manoeuvres.’

  ‘Should have that mastered by your twenty-first, sweetheart,’ David said.

  By now Grace had both feet back on the ground. She was looking up at David, her eyes sparkling. ‘What’s a manu-va, Poppy? When’s my twenty-first?’

  ‘Hey, enough with the curious cat act.’

  ‘What’s a curious cat act?’

  Jake came to the rescue, snatching his niece into the air and spinning her around and around. ‘Hey, Little Bump, Uncle Jakey can hurdy-gurdy you allllllllllll the way inside while Pearl hangs your birthday painting on the wall in your room. Come on, squirt. Then Pearl and me have to get to the café.’

  ‘What’s a squirt, Uncle Jakey?’

  ‘Oh, David,’ Natalie leaned into him as she watched the trio go. ‘All those questions of Gracie’s will one day require answers.’

  ‘I know.’

  The tapping sound of a hammer hitting a picture hook into the wall of her granddaughter’s room, and Gracie’s constant quizzing, stirred melancholy feelings in Tilly.

  ‘I can wish all I like that Sid was here with us today and that we all got our happy ever after. But I’ve always known, ever since running out on you that day, that I’d never deserve one. Was losing Sid my punishment? I wonder sometimes. Did the lesson I had to learn have to be so cruel on Grace? I know if onlys are a wasted thought, but . . . if only it wasn’t Sidney and it didn’t hurt so much.’

  ‘You’re not a bad person, Tilly,’ David said.

  ‘I was–once. But sometimes, to survive, I had to be. Thank goodness Grace is giving me a second chance. I get to raise another child. I get to be a better mother. I’ll do everything right this time.’

  ‘I know you will. I’m looking forward to watching.’

  ‘There’ll be no more secrets, that’s for sure. Grace will know who she is and where she came from. And she’ll know about me, too. No more hiding. I won’t feel shame for what I did while raising my family. Everything I did, I did for the children, because I didn’t know any other way. I had to keep them safe and give them the best life possible. There’s no pill, no potion, no process to turn back time, but I know one thing for certain . . . Grace will know the other side of the story.’

  Epilogue . . .

  Winter in Watercolour Cove would now always be a little more bleak for Tilly: drab days, bitter winds, uninspiring skies, and a lacklustre sea. Still the sun rose every morning and somehow she found her way through the season, wallowing in the warmth of her family’s love and the winter traditions that could make her smile–like little Grace’s birthday party and Pearl’s late-night picnic every solstice–now an annual culinary event at Jake and Pearl’s Salty Morsels cafe.

  But Tilly had a winter tradition of her own, which she met with mixed emotions each year by waiting until they were on the other side of the season, when the spring blooms that speckled the lawn cemetery with perfumed colour could gentle the unbearable heartbreak she lived with every day. For all the sadness some seasons brought, never once, in five years, had the first day of spring let Tilly down, with sunny skies to thaw her winter-weary bones and balmy breezes stirring up the scent of freshly-mown lawn to lift her spirits.

  Today was no exception and, as always, Tilly held on tight–a little too tight sometimes–to the tiny hand of her granddaughter as they made their way along the crushed gravel path. Grace chatted all the way from the car, naturally, and as she’d done since she could walk, she ran ahead as they neared Sid’s plaque, always with a shrill warning from Nan Tilly to be careful and not fall.

  They placed the flowers together, then sat on the grass where Tilly told Grace a favourite Sidney story.

  When it was time to go, when Tilly reluctantly tugged a teary Grace away, she said, ‘Come on, sweetie, time for Grandma and Grandpa Hill’s flowers. Here you go.’

  Tilly handed Grace two more small bunches of the jonquils and freesia stems that were growing wild among the Greenhill garden, now that Tilly was there to tend it every day. At the plaques for her great-grandparents, Grace always insisted on another story and Tilly now had a repertoire of the truth that she would be able to share with Grace over the many years to come.

  ‘Can I do the next one, too, Nan Tilly?’ Grace reached out towards the special bunch of flowers Tilly always kept till last. ‘He’s our family too.’

  ‘Yes, he is family, sweetheart. He is.’ Tilly struggled to keep herself in check as she handed the last bunch of flowers over. It wasn’t that she didn’t cry in front of her granddaughter. She’d shed more tears these past five years than in her entire life–both happy and sad. But, by reining in the profound misery she felt each winter, Tilly hoped Grace might grow up appreciating that missing someone should not be all sadness, but a celebration of life and love and family. ‘I think Albie would love your flowers, sweetheart.’

  • • •

  The night he died, Albie had penned two goodbye notes and, as Marcus had suggested it would, the confession he’d addressed to Tilly did prompt the overturning of Edward Hill’s conviction that same year. But the suicide note Albie had addressed To Anyone Who Cares had played on Tilly’s mind that terrible winter. Three short sentences over three lines:

  I am Alessandro Albertini.

  I am from Malta.

  I have no family.

  While Tilly had wanted to forget Albie, locking away the memory of that misty Blue Mountains morning in an impenetrable vault, sealed forever, Sid’s funeral had jemmied the door wide open. Tilly began to wonder what had happened to Albie’s body after he was taken away. Had people left him in a cold and dark morgue somewhere, waiting to be buried? Albie had hated the cold and the dark.

  Tilly could set things right.

  Tasha’s husband was able to discover that Albie’s remains had eventually been approved for release by the coroner’s office and handed over to the funeral home contracted by the state to conduct burials for persons with no next of kin:

  Further to your request for information regarding the state-funded funeral and cremated remains of the late: Unclaimed Male, Date of Death 01/06/2015. They will remain in the ashes room of the state contracted funeral firm of Starlight Funerals, to be scattered after twelve months if unclaimed, as per policy.

  ‘Policy?’ Natalie had repeated to Marcus over the phone. ‘Unclaimed?’

  ‘Unlike unknowns, who are not
identified, unclaimed means there are no known next of kin. The funeral home will keep the ashes for one year. After this time, if the box has not been collected, the policy document states his ashes will be scattered within the gardens of the funeral home. I’m afraid that’s what happens with state-funded funerals.’

  Just like that!

  A human boxed.

  A life obliterated.

  A future scattered.

  No headstone, no service, no extras, the policy had stated. The person would be provided with a properly made, conventionally shaped and suitably lined coffin. Nothing that attracted additional fees, such as church services, funeral notices or an upgrade of the coffin–and definitely no kindness from strangers accepted. The policy didn’t allow for such things. So the wealthy and privileged got extras and upgrades while the unloved, the forgotten and destitute were treated like paupers.

  Just like that!

  • • •

  The funeral home at Coffs Harbour had never had such a request–to facilitate the transfer of ashes and a dignified burial for: Unclaimed Male, Date of Death 01/06/2015.

  There were to be lots of flowers and a headstone that read:

  By three methods we may learn wisdom:

  First, by reflection, which is noblest.

  Second, by imitation, which is easiest.

  Third, by experience, which is the most bitter.

  Born 1958 ~ Died 2015

  Alessandro Albertini ~ Much loved son of Constance and brother to Tilly

  Forever friend, forever family

  The other side to my story . . .

  Just like there’s another side to the story, there’s also another side to getting a novel into readers’ hands. Please join me in thanking the people who have helped make this, my fourth novel, sparkle.