Book of Lost Threads

by Tess Evans

  Which she took at the Seahorse Hotel, Palm Beach, on the far north coast. The swimmers she’d brought from home made her look hippy so she bought new ones. The new ones looked much better.

  When the film crew were finished and had adjourned to the pub, Sandy, encouraged by his aunt, called out at Finn’s back door.

  ‘Finn, it’s Sandy. Can I come in, mate?’ He pushed at the door, fully expecting it to be open as usual. The door stayed stubbornly shut. Of course! Sandy realised. He’d want to keep out the TV crew. He tried again. ‘It’s me, mate. The door’s locked.’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Just checking how you are. You are okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Go away, Sandy.’

  Sandy returned to his aunt’s house. ‘He won’t let me in, Aunt Lily. He sounded sort of down. I’m worried. Should we leave him alone?’ Disquieted, they looked at each other. They’d both experienced depression and knew the thoughts that arose in times of darkness.

  ‘I’ll go back,’ said Sandy in response to Mrs Pargetter’s unspoken command, and he headed up the path again, to the front door this time, feeling for the key hidden under the loose verandah board. This decisive action surprised him. The incident with Aunt Lily, his mother’s journals and the Great Galah protest had served to slough off the fears that had encased him, and from this unpromising chrysalis there emerged a man that even he was beginning to respect.

  ‘I’m coming in, Finn,’ he announced as he turned the key in the lock. ‘We need to talk.’

  Finn was slumped in the armchair by the fire. He didn’t move or speak as Sandy came in, switched on the light and sat down in the chair opposite.

  ‘Talk to me, Finn,’ said Sandy, looking at him steadily. ‘Talk to me. I’m your mate.’

  Finn stared at the wall and drew hard on his cigarette. All he’d ever asked was to be left alone, and now it seemed he’d acquired the obligations of a friendship he’d never sought from a man whose ambition it was to build a giant galah. He didn’t want to talk; he wasn’t even sure he could articulate his pain. He continued to stare resentfully at a point somewhere above Sandy’s head.

  With new-found wisdom, the usually garrulous Sandy sat challenging Finn’s silence with his own. Finn was more practised, but with enormous self-control his visitor remained determinedly mute, waiting him out.

  ‘She didn’t care about her cousin, you know,’ Finn said finally. ‘It was all about the money. Even the police won’t absolutely confirm her identity.’

  ‘Are you convinced she was Jilly Baker?’

  ‘Of course. That’s obvious to any idiot.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Isn’t that what you wanted?’

  Finn shook his head in irritation. ‘Yes, of course I did. But I also wanted her to have a caring family. People to mourn her.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen, Finn.’ Sandy’s voice was firm. ‘You’ll just have to accept that and get on with your life.’

  Finn fought to contain his anger. He stood up and looked down at the seated man. ‘You’re presuming on our friendship, Sandy. I want you to get out of my house. Now.’

  ‘I’ll go. But before I do, think about this. You have a daughter who cares for you and an old lady who relies on you.’ Sandy stood up and indicated his own broad chest. ‘You have someone who’s willing to risk losing his only friend to tell him the truth.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s time to move on, Finn. I know what it’s like to be stuck in the past. You have what you say you’ve always wanted. Be grateful. All the rest is just self-indulgence.’ With some dignity, Sandy turned and opened the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ Heading down the path, he heard the decisive click of the lock behind him.

  ‘I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger, Aunt Lily,’ Sandy reported. ‘We’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll give Moss a call.’

  Finn, meanwhile, had returned to his chair, shocked at Sandy’s outburst. Self-indulgent. That was so undeserved. Was it self-indulgent to care about the fate of another human being? Was it self-indulgent to accept blame where blame was due? Sandy may have had his own epiphany, but he, Finn, would always be bound by the past. No-one could say he hadn’t tried to lay Jilly Baker to rest.

  He stopped himself there as an unpleasant truth presented itself. He had tried to do so for the first few weeks after the accident but then he’d just given up. It was Moss who’d tried to uncover the truth. Even the TV people had tried, whatever their motives were. He, Finn, had given up. Through this fog of self-loathing, the memory of an old man’s voice echoed in his head. Boniface had never given up on him.

  Look into your heart, Finn. That’s all the help I can offer.

  It’s not easy, Father Boniface. I’m not sure I know how.

  Your Silence. How do you spend your Silence?

  I fear I may have squandered my Silence, Father.

  Squandered?

  I used the time to relive my guilt.

  Wiser to seek beyond your guilt. Listen to your heart.

  The old priest’s voice faded, and Finn stirred the fire. Sandy’s words had shaken him, and he needed time to work things through. Ashamed of his outburst, he picked up the phone.

  ‘You’ve given me a few things to think about, mate,’ he told the relieved Sandy. ‘I’m going to go bush for a couple of days. No, I need to be alone, but I’ll be okay. Tell Moss and Mrs Pargetter I’ll see them when I get back. I’ll get a few things together in the morning and hike along to the Two Speck— you know, the usual camping spot—near old Jim’s.’

  ‘Okay, Finn.’ Sandy kept his voice neutral. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, mate.’ He hung up the phone and turned to Mrs Pargetter. ‘Finn’s going bush for a couple of days. Do him good. As a matter of fact, I need a couple of days away myself. I’ll ask Nessie Ferguson to look in on you until Moss comes up for the weekend.’

  The old lady clicked her teeth in annoyance. ‘I’ve managed alone for most of my eighty-three years, Sandy. I don’t need a babysitter now. Anyway,’ she added, ‘what’s wrong with asking Helen? Nessie Ferguson is a nosey parker.’

  ‘Helen’s going to be busy,’ he said, and disappeared out the door before she could protest any further.

  23

  Ana and Mrs Pargetter

  IN A NEAT LITTLE HOUSE just outside the country town of Shepparton, Rozafa Sejka leaned across the bed and opened the window. The weather was milder, she noticed; spring was her favourite season. When she’d first arrived, she thought the flowering of the wattle was the first harbinger of spring, but now she knew better and looked instead for blossoms on the fruit trees and the green spears of daffodils she had planted in her third year—the year she began to feel she belonged here. She and her daughters had come to this country town as refugees in late 2000. Their tragedy had almost overwhelmed her, and if it hadn’t been for Ana and Zamira, Rozafa would have given up long before they reached the relative safety of the refugee camp. Instead, she battled fear, hunger and fatigue to bring her daughters to this safe corner of the world.

  Ana had always been so clever. At school in Kosova she’d topped her class, and Rozafa and her husband had hoped that one day she’d go to the university in Prishtina. ‘Ah, Jetmir,’ Rozafa murmured. ‘She did go to university—in Melbourne, a place we had never heard of. You would be so proud of your Ana.’

  Rozafa roused herself from her reverie and continued to prepare Ana’s room. She had bought new yellow sheets and a doona cover in shades of sea-green. She ran her hand over the cover and frowned. What if Ana found this old-fashioned or ugly? What sort of furnishings was she used to now that she’d lived in New York?

  ‘Zamira,’ she called, and her younger daughter came running into the room, landing on the bed with a thump. ‘Miri! I’ve just made the bed for your sister.’ Rozafa shooed the young girl away, but she was smiling. ‘Come and help me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to prepare the meze for Ana’s welcome home feast.’

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nbsp; Twelve-year-old Zamira helped with more enthusiasm than skill, picking at the olives and pickled cucumbers as her mother attempted to arrange them on the plate.

  ‘Slice the cheese for me, wicked girl,’ her mother said, smiling in spite of herself. ‘And leave some food for your sister.’

  ‘I can hardly wait to see Ana,’ sang Zamira, dodging her mother’s wooden spoon. ‘She said she had a present for me.’

  ‘Greedy child.’ Rozafa’s reproof was mild. It was the Australian way to hide emotions but she understood the fierce bond between her daughters. They’d been through hell together, after all.

  It was a long wait at airport customs, but eventually Ana rushed out to hug her Uncle Visar and looked around expectantly for her mother and sister.

  ‘I’ve had to come straight from a job,’ Visar explained, noting her disappointment. ‘Rozafa and Miri are waiting at home.’

  As the truck approached Shepparton, Ana heard the faint call to evening prayer. She wasn’t religious, but the sound stirred her heart and echoed deep in her cultural memory.

  ‘Do you want to stop to pray, Dai Visar?’ she asked her uncle.

  ‘We’re nearly there, xhan,’ Visar said. ‘Allah will forgive a little tardiness.’ He stopped outside her house, and Ana’s eyes filled with tears as her mother and sister ran to the car from the verandah where they’d been waiting. They hugged and hugged again, finally moving Ana and her luggage into the house, where Visar discreetly left them to themselves.

  As Miri clung to her arm, Ana felt her tiredness melt away. She loved her life in New York, but right here in Shepparton were the two people she cared about most. After her sister reluctantly went to bed, Ana and her mother sat sipping bitter black coffee and a little raki, talking well into the night.

  When Ana recounted the strange story of Lusala Ngilu, Mrs Pargetter and the tea cosies, Rozafa shook her head. ‘Such a story! And the lady comes from here, in Australia?’

  Ana had already quizzed her Uncle Visar, whose one-man truck-driving business took him all over the state. ‘It’s only a few hours away by road. I’m sorry, Mama, but I’m going to have to deliver the gift from the ambassador as soon as possible. Dai Visar is going up that way in a few days. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll only be away for a night, two at the most.’

  Rozafa, who’d been looking forward to this time with her daughter for months, did mind, but said nothing. She was proud that the ambassador had trusted her Ana with his gift. ‘I’ve seen that man on the television,’ she said. ‘They say he may soon be chief of the whole United Nations.’

  ‘He’s a good man, Mama. I hope they’re right.’

  Visar loaded his truck and drove around to his sister’s house. He’d had some problems with a late delivery and it was after one when he and Ana were finally ready to set off.

  ‘I’ve booked us in at the Opportunity Hotel,’ he told his niece. ‘I don’t think you should call on the old lady so late.’ He turned to Rozafa. ‘Don’t worry, Rozafa, I’ll take care of your baby.’

  Ana smiled. She had lived alone in New York for eighteen months, and yet her mother and uncle were fussing about a couple of days in a country town. However, unlike many young women of her age, she was grateful for their concern. Her family was so small now, and all the more precious.

  Visar’s plan was to stay overnight in Opportunity and continue north with his load the next day, returning to collect his niece two days later. They arrived at the old-fashioned pub just in time to unpack and go down to dinner.

  ‘Dining room closes at seven thirty,’ said Marlene, who acted as receptionist, barmaid, and even waitress on slow nights. ‘Your room key opens the bathroom—down the hall to the right. Toilet’s next to the bathroom.’

  There were three other diners. They were all engrossed in conversation, and Ana was too shy to interrupt to ask if any of them knew Mrs Pargetter. Marlene was too busy to stop; tonight she was also in charge of cooking, as the regular cook had asked for the night off. Despite her curiosity, Ana had to wait until morning.

  As she and her uncle left the dining room, Marlene called out after them: ‘There’s only one other overnight guest and he’s gone out, so now’s a good time to use the bathroom.’

  Ana said goodnight to Visar, who decided to watch the TV in the bar. She was pleased to find that her room was clean, but noted that the sheets and towels were worn. She padded down the hall to have a shower and, returning to her room, climbed into bed. There was no television so she read a little then slept surprisingly soundly until, at five thirty, she heard her uncle leave the room next door. He’d mentioned an early start. Breakfast was from seven till eight, so Ana snuggled down and tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. At twenty to seven she got up and headed for the bathroom, surprised and embarrassed when a young man opened the door from the inside just as she was about to insert her key. They fumbled apologies and she slipped into the bathroom, clutching her robe to her throat. When she went down to breakfast, she saw that the young man was the only other diner.

  ‘Might as well sit you two together,’ the busy Marlene said. ‘Saves washing the tablecloths.’

  ‘Hello.’ The young man smiled. ‘I’m Hamish.’

  ‘Ana,’ she replied. ‘I hope you don’t mind . . .’ He had a nice smile.

  ‘My pleasure. I was lonely anyway and I wouldn’t dare defy Marlene.’

  Marlene brought coffee and Hamish looked at the newcomer over the rim of his cup. ‘Can I ask what brings you to Opportunity? I’m not a local myself. I’m a landscaping student. I’m spending a few days here to work on . . . a project. ’

  ‘It’s an interesting town,’ she said politely. ‘I’m not a local either. I’m from Shepparton.’

  He’d been listening carefully, but couldn’t quite pick her accent. ‘And before that?’

  ‘Kosova,’ she said briefly. ‘But I’ve just come back from New York.’ Anything to deflect questions about Kosova. ‘Actually, I’ve come to see someone. I was going to ask if you knew them, but if you’re not a local . . .’

  ‘I know a few people. Who are you looking for?’

  ‘A Mrs Pargetter. I have a package for her.’

  Hamish did his double-take. ‘Talk about coincidence! A friend of mine stays with Mrs Pargetter when she’s in town. I can take you there after breakfast, if you like.’

  Ana smiled her thanks, and they shared a grimace as they started on the lumpy porridge. ‘I’d like to let her know I’m coming first,’ Ana explained. ‘It’s a rather important package.’

  ‘I can call her for you,’ Hamish offered. ‘Can I ask why you’re delivering by hand? It’s a long way from New York.’

  Ana felt the need to impress this helpful young man. ‘It’s from the United Nations,’ she said, then coloured. She thought she sounded a bit pretentious. ‘I mean, I happened to be coming home and the ambassador asked me . . .’ She trailed off. ‘I should wait until I see Mrs Pargetter herself.’

  Hamish looked at her quizzically but didn’t enquire further. They spent the rest of the mealtime chatting pleasantly and were suddenly guiltily aware of Marlene hovering like a mascara’d vulture, ready to clear the table so she could move on to service the rooms.

  Hamish rang Mrs Pargetter and told her he was bringing someone to meet her.

  ‘Come around eleven,’ the old lady said. ‘We can have some morning tea.’

  Hamish reported this to Ana. He was enjoying her company and wasn’t ready to lose it just yet. ‘If you like, we’ll leave a bit early so I can show you around the town,’ he suggested with a proprietorial air. ‘New York it ain’t, but it’s nice enough, as these places go.’

  ‘I come from Shepparton,’ Ana replied, smiling. ‘That’s not exactly New York either.’

  They set off down the main street, Hamish carrying Lusala’s package. ‘It’s quite heavy. What is it?’

  Ana had to confess that she didn’t know, but she told him the story of Lusala Ngilu and the tea cosies.
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br />   ‘Moss told me about the tea cosies,’ he said. ‘In fact, Mrs Pargetter is knitting one for me at the moment. Apparently it’s a sign that I’m approved of.’

  ‘Moss?’

  ‘A girl I went to school with. We’ve been working on something together.’ Hamish was being evasive. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to identify Moss to this interesting new acquaintance. ‘She’s not a girlfriend or anything,’ he added, wishing he hadn’t as he saw Ana’s embarrassed smile.

  ‘The gardens look nice and green,’ she said, randomly.

  ‘Astroturf,’ explained Hamish. ‘Thanks to Mrs Pargetter’s nephew. A strange sort of bloke.’ At the thought of Sandy, he stopped. ‘Look, I know it’s an awful cheek but if the parcel is some sort of presentation, I’m sure there are people who’d like to be there. Mrs Pargetter is a much-loved lady. Would you mind very much if we take it back to the hotel until we see who’s around at the moment?’

  Ana would have preferred to return to her family but couldn’t help wondering what Lusala would have done. ‘You know her best. Whatever you think.’

  So Hamish returned to the hotel with the parcel, asking 308 Marlene to put it in the safe.

  Mrs Pargetter had been watching for them and opened the door before they knocked. She was a bit flustered to see Hamish with a young woman, and looked at him severely.

  ‘Come in. I’m not expecting Moss until the weekend. We’re going to practise her new song. Moss sings beautifully,’ she added for Ana’s benefit.

  Hamish made the introductions, and Ana sat down shyly on the proffered seat. Without her parcel, she felt something of an intruder.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Pargetter,’ she began. ‘I’ve just come back from New York. I’ve been working for the United Nations.’

  ‘What a coincidence.’ The old lady clicked her teeth in amazement. ‘I work for the United Nations too. From here, you understand. I couldn’t go all the way to New York. There’s Errol to consider. And far too much crime, from what I’ve seen on television. How long have you been working for them, dear?’