by Di Morrissey
‘Sorry, Mum, but I’m with someone, can’t talk right now.’
Josie paused. ‘I’ve caught you at a bad time.’
Ned felt a stab of guilt. ‘No, all’s good. Mum, I’ll call you back, promise . . . Talk soon.’
‘All right then, Ned,’ replied Josie in a disappointed voice.
He hung up. Toni popped her head out of the kitchen and gave him a questioning look. Ned tried to explain. ‘My mother’ll have me on the phone for ages. I can ring her later.’
‘You kinda cut her off at the pass,’ called out Toni, returning to the kitchen. Ned stood up and slouched in the doorway. ‘I don’t mind if you talk to your mother,’ Toni continued. ‘How long since you’ve spoken to her? Bit difficult out there in the bush with no reception.’
Ned tried to shrug off her comment. ‘Oh, it’s been a while, I guess. But she’s okay about it.’
‘I’d be phoning home if I were you,’ said Toni eyeing him.
Ned stared at her. ‘Not all families talk to each other all the time,’ he said defensively. ‘You sound like my little sister. I think I’m attentive enough.’
Toni’s mouth quirked. ‘I have a younger sister too. Drives us all batty the way she just takes off and goes AWOL. Calls only when it suits her. I don’t begrudge her doing her own thing but it just wouldn’t hurt her to think about the rest of the family once in a while.’ Toni smiled and she rolled her eyes humorously to show Ned she wasn’t trying to give him a hard time. ‘I love my sister, but she’s very different from me.’
Ned was quiet a moment. ‘I couldn’t be more different from my sister either,’ he said with a smile. ‘Bella is organised, efficient, reliable, smart and very professional in her work, just like our father was. She lives near our mother and is very caring.’
‘So that lets you off the hook?’ said Toni, raising an eyebrow.
Ned winced. ‘Yes, I guess I feel like it does. I don’t do well in a locked-down routine. Predictability bothers me. But, yes, I take your point, I will phone home straight after dinner.’
‘Look, I’ve already started dessert and it will take a little time. Why don’t you ring your mother while I put together my mouth-watering concoction?’ suggested Toni, ushering him out of the kitchen.
Ned sat down at the dining table again and called his mother back. Josie was thrilled to hear from him. ‘Where are you, how’re things with you?’ she asked.
‘I’m great,’ Ned said leaning back in his chair. ‘I’m staying in a jungle – well, the beautiful bush, but it’s remote. I’m house-sitting but there’s no phone reception. Right now I’m in town having dinner with a friend. Are you okay, Mum?’
‘I’m good, I’m good,’ Josie said cheerfully. ‘Bella’s on holidays! She took off with not much of an agenda or much booked – so unlike her – but she had a lot of leave stored up and they made her take it.’
‘Yes, she texted me and said she’s in Queensland. Is Brendan with her?’ Ned asked.
‘No, he’s not. Apparently he couldn’t take time off at such short notice. Bella’s at some lovely place on the coast, somewhere in north Queensland. Hidden Cove, I think it’s called. Is that near you? Maybe you two can meet up while she’s there. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’
Ned didn’t respond, so Josie continued.
‘Or maybe you could travel back together. Have you thought any more about my email regarding the dedication of the lecture room in your father’s name? I’m hoping you’ll change your mind about coming.’
Ned paused and shifted in his seat. ‘Um, I really don’t think I can make it, Mum. I have a responsibility to look after the place where I’m staying, the chooks and the garden and stuff . . .’ Ned heard Josie take a breath. ‘And I’m doing a lot of composing,’ he rushed on. ‘I really feel I’m getting somewhere. No distractions, that sort of thing.’
Josie was silent for a moment. ‘Well, that’s good, Ned. When can we hear something?’
‘Whoa, too early for that, Mum!’
‘I am so pleased you’re being creative, putting pen to paper . . . or rather, music sheet.’
Toni came back into the room and placed a plate in front of Ned.
‘Mum, I have just had a delicious-looking crepe with strawberries and cream put in front of me. I’d better go.’
‘Oh,’ said Josie, sounding disappointed. ‘Okay then. I understand. Do call me again as soon as you’re able.’
‘Will do. I love you, Mum.’ Ned hung up and put his phone in his pocket. ‘Mmm, this looks just perfect.’ He took a mouthful and smiled at Toni. ‘The strawberries have been soaked in something decadent.’
Toni smiled. ‘Cognac and red wine. Called drunken strawberries. I could only get frozen ones, I’m afraid, but I think it still works.’
They ate in silence for a few moments, enjoying the strawberries. Then Ned looked at Toni. Their eyes met and Ned slowly leaned towards her and licked a drop of cream off her lip, kissing her softly. ‘Are there any sober strawberries we could have for breakfast?’
‘Of course. I saved them specially.’
Ned gave a soft laugh as he took their empty plates, put them in the kitchen and then returned to Toni and took her in his arms.
*
The next morning, before Ned made his way back to his motel room, he and Toni made arrangements to meet for lunch at the seafood restaurant on the Endeavour River.
After he’d had a shower, Ned contemplated going to the supermarket. He knew he had to do a big shop to stock up on food. The roadhouse was good for essentials, but didn’t have much variety. But that mundane task could wait until he was ready to head back to the bush, so to fill in time before lunch, Ned decided to have a walk around the town, to savour the busyness of the shops and people.
He stopped at the library and, after explaining to the librarian where he was living, was invited to join. Half an hour later he left with a small pile of books, which he took back to his room. Then, with a couple of hours still to fill, he decided to make another trip to the Cooktown museum.
The woman at the reception desk gave him a friendly nod and said that she remembered him from his earlier visits. Ned replied that he thought the museum was very interesting and he enjoyed looking at the artefacts from Cooktown’s colourful past.
He took another look at the rooms devoted to Captain Cook and took some photos of the exhibition on his phone. He wandered into some of the other downstairs rooms and reacquainted himself with the large range of Aboriginal and Chinese artefacts on display. He was about to leave when he decided that he would like to revisit the old piano he had seen earlier, so he went up the stairs and walked along the corridor. Ned felt ridiculously pleased to see the instrument again. ‘You’ve had so many adventures, and yet here you are,’ he said quietly, resting his hand on its dusty lid.
He was about to turn and retrace his steps when he saw that there was a small room at the end of the corridor, and its door was open. Wondering what sort of exhibition was in there, Ned poked his head around the door and saw at once that it was a storage room. He took a step back and checked the front of the door, wondering if it was a restricted area, but he couldn’t see any signs so he stepped inside.
It was a small space, filled with shelves of folders and books and boxes labelled with dates and the details of their contents. But while the room was crowded and cluttered, the wide and high windows gave a bright, stunning view to the river. Whoever had resided in this room could have spent many an hour at these corner windows observing the town and the seafront.
He pulled over a box and perched on it in front of the windows, trying to imagine what the scene outside might have looked like more than a hundred years ago. And as he sat there Ned had the sudden feeling that small dust motes from long ago, echoes of events come and gone, of a life lived in this room, still lingered in the hazy sunlight filtering through the wi
ndows. Amongst what he had previously thought of as his aimless ideas, a small seed was making its presence felt. He needed to nurture the small shoots and roots he felt stirring.
Glancing around the room, he wondered what was in the boxes and cabinets. Curiously he lifted the lid of an old sandalwood box which was labelled: From the Bish’s archives. To be annotated.
He closed the lid of the box and retreated downstairs. Glancing at his watch, he decided that he should make his way to the restaurant for his lunch with Toni.
Toni greeted him with a smile. ‘How’s your day been?’ she asked.
‘Very enjoyable, but getting better by the minute,’ said Ned, and he knew it was true. He told her what he’d been doing. ‘I could spend hours at the museum. The exhibits are just wonderful.’
‘See that man at the table over there?’ said Toni, pointing discreetly towards a middle-aged man with thinning hair who was dressed casually in a polo shirt and cargo shorts and sitting with an attractive blonde. ‘That’s Ken Harris. He’s the museum’s curator. I’m sure he’d be pleased if you told him what you’ve just told me. Go on.’
‘He’s with someone,’ said Ned.
‘That someone is his wife. People don’t mind being interrupted if you have nice things to say about their work.’
Before Ned could say another word, Toni had already gone over to the curator’s table and, after a very brief conversation, she beckoned to Ned, who got up and joined them.
‘Ned, this is Ken and his wife, Emily,’ Toni said, gesturing to the couple. ‘Ned was just telling me how much he enjoyed your museum, Ken.’
‘Yes,’ said Ned, shaking Ken’s hand. ‘I think you’ve done a wonderful job with all those exhibits. It really shows the colourful past of Cooktown.’
‘Thank you, Ned,’ replied Ken, eyeing Ned. ‘Weren’t you at the museum earlier today?’
‘I was actually,’ said Ned, surprised to be recognised.
Ken smiled broadly. ‘I thought so! I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.’
‘I did. The museum is fascinating.’ Ken seemed very friendly and eager to talk about the museum, so Ned decided to ask about the mysterious box in the storage room. ‘I sort of wandered into a small storage room that was full of boxes. There was one labelled From the Bish’s archives. It looked very old and untouched.’
Ken laughed. ‘You can’t help smiling at such an Aussie note, can you? Actually, we haven’t had the box all that long; it was recently sent up from Cairns, where it’s been for years. The “bish” referred to on the box was the first bishop of Cooktown, Bishop Hutchinson. Unfortunately for us, the Cairns diocese kept his pectoral cross which was given to him by a Cooktown merchant. It was made from Palmer River gold, and together with the chain weighed a good two hundred and fifty grams.’
‘That’s a pity,’ laughed Toni. ‘I bet that would bring in the tourists.’
‘Do you know what’s in the box?’ asked Ned, his curiosity piqued.
Ken shook his head. ‘I’ve only had the chance for a quick look through it. It seems to contain his Bible and missal as well as a diary and some letters tied up with ribbon. There also seem to be some diocesan papers dating from the late nineteenth century.’
‘Do you think there is anything of great importance to the museum?’ asked Ned.
‘I couldn’t say,’ Ken answered vaguely. A waiter approached Ken and Emily’s table, his pad and pen at the ready. ‘Would you two like to join us for lunch?’ Ken asked.
‘That would be lovely,’ said Toni, sitting down.
The four of them ordered food and a bottle of wine. They chatted easily, enjoying the afternoon sun. Ken and Emily were delightful company and Ned found their conversation stimulating and entertaining. As they were paying the bill, the subject of the museum came up again.
‘One of our difficulties is time.’ Ken sighed. ‘We might have a great museum, but most of its workers are volunteers. That box you mentioned earlier, unfortunately no one has had the opportunity yet to go through the papers properly and I don’t know when we’ll get around to it. It’s a pity, though, because you never know what interesting things you might find. Still, I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually.’
Before Ned even realised it, he found himself volunteering to help. ‘Perhaps I could have a look through it?’ he said. ‘I can’t compose every moment of the day and a constructive task would make a nice change from talking to the chooks.’
‘Well,’ said Ken, ‘it would certainly be helpful if someone reliable could go through the box and at least make a detailed list of its contents. I know I’ve only had a quick look at what’s in there, but the job shouldn’t be too difficult and it would save me a lot of time.’
‘Great, well, I’ll come past the museum and grab the boxes before I head off again.’
Ken smiled broadly. ‘Thanks, Ned. That would be terrific.’
‘It’s always nice to meet people who appreciate the museum. I think it’s fascinating,’ said Emily.
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Toni, glancing at her watch. ‘Sorry, guys, but I have to get back to work.’
‘I’ll walk you back, if you like,’ said Ned. ‘See you tomorrow, Ken. Bye, Emily, nice to meet you.’
On the way back to the hospital, Ned asked Toni what her plans were for that night.
‘Well. I marinated way too many strawberries and I was wondering what to do with them.’
‘I could probably help you with that problem,’ said Ned with a smile.
With a few hours to kill before Toni finished work, Ned decided that he should call in to the Toppie to see Yolanda. When he went in, the pub was again full of tourists, but as soon as Yolanda saw him, she beckoned him over.
‘XXXX Gold, as I remember,’ she said. When Ned nodded in agreement, she poured him a beer.
‘I just popped in to thank you for putting me on to Carlo’s place. It’s perfect for what I want. Days and days of peace and quiet. No hassles. Getting a lot of work done. I don’t know how I can repay you,’ said Ned.
‘If you mean that, I can think of a way. We get lots of tourists in here all the time and it would be great if we could give them something to really remember Cooktown by. Would you put on a concert for us? Raise some dough for a good cause? Nothing fancy, just you and your guitar. Locals would love it, too.’
He hesitated, but then said, ‘Well, I suppose I could. When did you have in mind?’
‘What about next Friday?’
Ned nodded.
‘Great!’ said Yolanda. ‘We can do a bit of publicity. Good entertainment is a bit rare around here, so everyone will appreciate it.’
Ned finished his beer, somewhat bemused by the conversation and his commitment to perform.
At Toni’s later that evening, as they finished the strawberries, he told her of Yolanda’s idea.
‘That would be really good of you. I’d enjoy it too. Maybe you might have a Cooktown song ready?’
Ned grinned. ‘With any luck,’ he said.
*
The next morning, as Ned said goodbye to Toni, she said, ‘Next time you come to Cooktown, you might dispense with the motel room. It seems a waste of money to me.’ She gave him a cheeky smile.
‘Me, too,’ agreed Ned. He gave her a long, lingering goodbye kiss. ‘That’s just a down payment for my forthcoming rent.’
After he left Toni, he collected his gear from the motel before making his way to the supermarket, where he did a very large shop, stowing frozen items in Carlo’s ice-filled cooler. From there he drove to the museum, where Ken had the ‘Bish’s box’ ready for him.
Driving back to Carlo’s place from Cooktown, the time passed quickly as Ned thought very pleasant thoughts about Toni.
He was tired after he’d unloaded and packed away all his supplies and checked the chooks. Eventually he turned the lights on and
sat down by the river with a drink.
Suddenly he remembered that the box from the museum was still on the back seat of the car, so he retrieved it and carried it inside and put it on top of the bar. Why had he offered to go through it all? he wondered. It now seemed a rather tedious task.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said aloud.
Ned stepped back outside to retrieve his drink. Suddenly from the hills above the river the breeze brought to him the distinct pumping of ‘Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow’.
‘The Rivingtons, Full Metal Jacket,’ Ned murmured with a smile. ‘Yeah, way to go, Jack.’
5
That week at the river house, Ned found that some small ripples were now disturbing the placidity of his previous existence. His smooth routine and his concentration were no longer the same. He sat by the river for hours each day, barely lifting his guitar. One afternoon, standing amongst the chickens as they fluffed and muttered around his ankles, he finally smiled. His distraction was all to do with Toni. The chickens scratched enthusiastically in the dirt. The Rhode Island Red stood on her toes and shook her wings, puffing up her rust-coloured feathers.
‘Yes, yes, I know. Toni’s a gorgeous girl.’ There, he’d said it out loud. He felt a rush of warmth. Toni was affecting him more than he had realised. And it disturbed him. His feelings for her were surprisingly intense. With a frown and sigh, he went back indoors.
Ned had ignored the Bish’s box for a few days as he’d tried to regain his creativity and start composing again, but when he wasn’t getting anywhere with his music, his eye fell on the box and curiosity got the better of him.
He put it onto the billiard table and decided to make a start cataloguing its contents. He put some of the religious items to one side and looked at a pile of letters that were marked Returned from Dungarvan. He was puzzled for a moment, but then concluded that the letters had originally been sent to Ireland from Cooktown, some of them more than a century ago, and then someone had returned the collection to the Cairns diocese.
The letters were tied in neat bundles, some piles thicker than others. Curious, Ned picked up one of the letters and looked at the signature at the bottom. It read:
