by Judy Nunn
‘Oh.’ Another pause; Jess was now embarrassed at having been caught out. ‘It’s very kind of your mother to welcome a total stranger,’ she said, feeling a bit silly.
‘She’s not welcoming a stranger; she’s welcoming a friend.’
But upon their arrival two weeks later, Lilian ignored the strict instructions she’d received from her son over the phone and behaved outrageously, true to form.
‘Oh my dear look at you, you’re gorgeous,’ she said as she met them at the front door, Dave by her side. She embraced Matt with gusto then Jess with equal gusto, enveloping them one by one in swathes of multi-coloured alpaca, then stood back to admire Jess with an artist’s eye. ‘You didn’t tell me what a striking creature you were bringing home, Mattie –’
Dave interrupted, stepping forwards with outstretched hand. ‘Hello, Jess, I’m Dave.’ He shook her hand warmly, aware that the girl was confronted by Lilian’s brazen appraisal. ‘Don’t take any notice of her. She just wants to paint you for the Archibald.’
‘I do, I do,’ Lilian said enthusiastically. ‘I most definitely do! Just look at that face! Now come inside and close the door, for God’s sake, it’s bloody freezing out there.’
Adelaide was indeed undergoing a cold snap, the month of June ushering in winter with a vengeance.
They stepped inside to follow Lilian who like a ship under full sail led the way through to the downstairs main living room, where a log fire crackled cosily in the broad open fireplace.
Jess looked about as she went, at the sweeping central staircase, the high moulded ceilings, the large comfortable furniture and the artworks that abounded. The interior of the house was as impressive as its facade had promised, and Lilian somehow matched it to perfection. In fact to Jess, Lilian and the house seemed something of a pair, big and grand and a little overwhelming, but not pretentious – both just being what and who they were.
‘Sit and get some hot coffee into yourself immediately,’ Lilian ordered, throwing aside her alpaca shawl and lowering her considerable bulk into one of the armchairs pulled up in front of the fire. She’d put on quite an amount of weight over the past decade and was now a large woman, but she’d adjusted to her new size, which suited her and didn’t in the least slow her down.
Everyone obediently sat as Lilian proceeded to pour mugs of hot milky coffee from the large silver pot on the table beside her. Matt had rung during the taxi ride from the airport and she’d prepared the coffee for their arrival. They’d eaten on the plane, he’d said, so no lunch was necessary.
‘I loathe this cold weather and it must be particularly ghastly for you having just come from the Alice.’ She didn’t draw breath as she poured, handing the mugs one by one to Dave who obligingly passed them around. ‘As soon as we’ve got you warmed up, Jess,’ she said, ‘I’ll show you your room and you can settle yourself in. You’re upstairs in my studio apartment.’
‘It’s very kind of you, Lilian, thank you so much.’ Jess had no problem at all addressing Lilian by her first name as Matt had instructed she should. She’d asked him on the plane. ‘Mrs Witherton, Miss Birch or Ms Birch,’ she’d queried. The answer had been simple. ‘Lilian,’ he’d said, ‘they’re Lilian and Dave, never anything else. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them.’ She’d wondered how comfortable she’d feel, but Matt had been right, she had no qualms at all.
‘Thank you too, Dave,’ she said as he handed her a coffee.
‘No worries.’ Dave returned a smile.
‘We’re only too delighted you’re here, dear,’ Lilian continued. ‘How else would we get to see our son? He rarely deigns to visit us these days.’ She cast a mock glare at Matt, which although good-natured held a definite element of rebuke.
Matt just laughed. He was relieved Jess had accepted Lilian’s initial onslaught; for a minute there at the front door he’d wanted to kill his mother. Good God, he’d warned her they were strictly friends and that Jess was fragile about relationships. Lilian’s overt approval could have been shockingly misinterpreted. She just can’t help herself, can she? he thought with his customary exasperation. Things could have been worse: at least she’s not trying to pair us off.
Had Matt known what was going through his mother’s mind twenty minutes later as she took Jess on a personal tour upstairs he might have had true cause for worry.
‘You’ll have this whole area of the house completely to yourself for the weekend, dear,’ Lilian said as she ushered Jess into the huge airy studio with its separate bedroom and en suite. What a pity they’re not a couple, she was thinking, I do hope the situation rectifies itself at some stage. During their chat over coffee Lilian had found herself as much impressed by the fierce intelligence she could sense in the girl as she had been by the striking racial mix of her appearance, which she did indeed long to paint. What a perfect choice for Matt, she thought, vastly preferable to poor, beautiful Angie. Lilian constantly lamented the fact that the ghost of Angie continued to haunt Matt to the point where he simply couldn’t see any other woman as a potential partner. He’s thirty-two, for God’s sake, she thought: high time he found someone to share his life with.
‘But Lilian,’ Jess protested, looking about at the easel and the huge, scarred wooden table with its palettes and paints and pots of brushes; at the glorious works adorning the walls and the canvases leaning in haphazard clumps, ‘this is your studio! I’m intruding, it’s not right.’
‘You’re not intruding in the least, my dear. I won’t be able to work this weekend anyway. I have an exhibition opening tomorrow with all the attendant bullshit, endless discussions on hanging and lighting and social chit-chat with gallery owners who are little better than used-car salesmen.’ She halted abruptly. ‘No,’ she corrected herself, ‘that’s a terrible thing to say, I’m sure there are some very nice used-car salesmen. In any event, I shan’t be working.’ Even as the words flowed truthfully, Lilian wondered whether perhaps she should have lied. The downstairs spare bedroom served as a storage room these days and if she’d said she needed to work throughout the night Jess would have been forced to stay in the flat with Matt, which might have accelerated things. No, no, she chastised herself, Mattie would be furious. He’d know I was lying. I mustn’t be pushy, I promised.
‘The bed’s very comfortable.’ She threw open the door to the bedroom and ensuite. ‘Just ignore all this mess,’ she added, waving a hand that encompassed the studio in general.
But Jess didn’t even glance at the bedroom. ‘How could I possibly ignore all this?’ she said, awestruck, her eyes wandering the studio walls from painting to painting. ‘It’ll be like staying in the most wonderful art gallery.’
‘Well feel free to have a look around while you settle yourself in,’ Lilian said, ‘and then Mattie can show you the rest of the house.’ She was already starting off down the stairs. ‘There’s a very nice park nearby if you want to take a walk in this wretched cold,’ she said, calling a monologue over her shoulder as she went. ‘Dave and I are off to the gallery shortly to check on the hanging. We’ll talk during dinner – he’s making one of his stews, so don’t eat anything, they’re frightfully filling, terribly messy and quite divine.’ Her voice drifted back up the stairs long after she was out of sight.
Dave’s stew that night was everything Lilian had promised. A massive mix of oxtail and vegetables swirling about in a rich, red wine gravy, it sat in a giant cauldron in the centre of the table, a large pot nearby to house the bones as they ate. Dave himself stood at the end of the table ladling the stew into huge bowls, which he passed around while Lilian tucked her napkin into the open neck of her shirt, Matt following suit.
‘I warned you it’s messy,’ she said to Jess.
‘Now I really know I’m home,’ Matt grinned. ‘Dad’s stews are famous.’
Jess took the hint and tucked her napkin in at the throat.
They ate with spoons, the meat falling apart, and they sucked the marrow from the bones then threw them into the pot, a
nd they dunked slices of crusty bread in the gravy and washed it all down with an excellent Shiraz. Jess felt as if she were in a time warp at some sort of medieval banquet, yet at the same time very much at home. She also felt hungry after the long, cold walk she and Matt had taken in the park.
‘If we were standing on ceremony,’ Lilian explained, ‘we’d have plates and knives and forks and Dave would have served green beans on the side or something, wouldn’t you, darling?’ Dave returned a nod, aware no answer was necessary, and Lilian continued. ‘You’re getting the family treatment, Jess,’ she explained, ‘where he chucks every vegetable known to man in with whatever secret ingredients he uses. I’ve no idea what they are and I’ve never asked, but we like it this way.’
‘So do I,’ she said, ‘it’s delicious.’
They ate in relative silence until the initial pangs of hunger were satisfied and when they started to slow down they also started to talk, Lilian as always initiating the conversation.
‘I must say I was fascinated by your interpretation of Matt’s dreams,’ she said, sitting back and taking a breather from the stew. She’d actually been far more fascinated by the idea that Matt was bringing a girl home to meet them, regardless of his protestations they were ‘just mates’. It was surely a move in the right direction. She had, however, been genuinely interested in the girl’s beliefs, and was now even more so having met her. Jess was clearly an intelligent young woman, and spiritualism was such an intriguing concept.
‘The idea that he’s been visited by the spirits of his ancestors is in itself enthralling,’ she continued, ‘but to then discover the death of Brian Witherton in World War I was nothing short of extraordinary. We both thought so, didn’t we, Dave?’
Dave gave a dutiful nod, although he thought Lilian was being a little overly gushing, which of course was nothing new.
Jess interpreted Dave’s nod as his customary way of dodging the issue and realised that, polite though he was, he didn’t share his wife’s enthusiasm. She couldn’t help thinking how very often Lilian talked on her husband’s behalf. Surely that must be irritating at times, yet it didn’t appear to bother Dave in the least as he tucked into his stew.
‘So you don’t find it fanciful?’ she queried. ‘You don’t think this is all mere coincidence?’ She deliberately avoided Matt’s eyes, but her tone inferred ‘as your son does’.
‘Not in the least. Dave and I are both atheists,’ Lilian said, ‘and it’s probably because of our atheism that we have quite a strong spiritual affinity. I believe many atheists do.’
At that point Jess couldn’t resist a triumphant I-told-you-so glance at Matt, who merely shrugged in return. He’d long since given up being surprised by his mother. One simply never knew in which direction Lilian’s grass-hopper mind might spring.
‘At least I certainly do,’ Lilian went on, ‘and I know Dave does, to a certain degree anyway.’ This time she didn’t acknowledge her husband at all, but continued unabated and with passion: ‘I think it’s the outback that bred spirituality in us. Being in the desert where the light is so vibrant, feeling the land breathe – there’s an energy surrounding one, a life one can’t see but that one senses is there.’ Her eyes met Dave’s briefly before she turned back to Jess, adding with a hint of apology, ‘But I’m preaching to the converted: you feel the same way, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, I most certainly do.’ In the brief exchange between husband and wife Jess had registered Dave’s reaction, infinitesimal though it was. Well he’s certainly content for Lilian to speak on his behalf when it comes to the outback, she thought. Jess had felt a strong, personal link with Dave’s response. He feels the spirituality of the land as strongly as Lilian does, she thought, perhaps even more. Lilian may be voicing an artist’s opinion, but she’s expressing her husband’s innate belief to perfection.
Matt helped himself to a second serve of stew while the others, finally sated, pushed their bowls aside.
‘No clearing up,’ Lilian announced, ‘not yet. Ice cream a little later; time for talking now. Shall we attack the other bottle of wine, dear?’
Dave fetched the second bottle of Shiraz, which he’d opened and left on the sideboard to breathe.
‘Matt said you wanted to pump us for information,’ Lilian remarked, holding her glass out for a refill.
Jess cast an accusing look at Matt, who ignored her as he continued to hoe into his fresh bowl of stew.
‘So fire away,’ Lilian ordered.
‘Right.’ Jess took a deep breath and did so, directing her questions to Dave who had sat and was refilling their wine glasses. ‘Matt says you knew nothing of your grandparents on either side of your family, Dave.’
‘That’s correct.’ He answered with typical brevity. ‘The Brian Francis Witherton you discovered might well be my paternal grandfather, but I really wouldn’t know.’
Dave had found the discovery interesting, although the interpretations of his son’s dreams were far too fanciful for his liking. He was of Matt’s opinion.
‘Matt’s right,’ he’d said abruptly when Lilian had told him of the phone call, ‘pure coincidence. He’s working on a railway so he has dreams about railways, pretty obvious to me.’
‘Don’t be so literal,’ Lilian had scoffed, ‘the whole thing’s riveting and I for one can’t wait to meet this girl.’
‘Why? Because you think she might be the right one for Matt?’ Dave had queried with a wry smile. ‘I’d watch out if I were you: she’s probably whacko.’
‘You’re narrow-minded, that’s your problem,’ Lilian had replied. ‘Who knows what’s out there in the ether? Who knows the receptive capabilities of the human brain? Who can disprove there’s an afterlife?’ she’d demanded triumphantly. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio …’
Dave had opted out at that juncture. When she started quoting Shakespeare it was time to give up. But he’d happily agreed to indulge her whim and meet the girl. He’d answer whatever questions might be fired at him, although for the life of him he couldn’t think what possible information he had to offer.
‘I did a little more fact-finding, by the way,’ Jess said. ‘Brian was killed at the Battle of Fromelles.’
‘Ah.’ An interested nod; Dave waited for her to continue.
‘I can’t find any war pension record for a wife and child, though, so I doubt he was married when he enlisted.’
Lilian in true fashion was compelled to interrupt, ‘which means if he’s Charlie’s father, as he might well be, the girl he left behind must have adopted his name when she gave birth to his baby despite not having married him.’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Jess admitted; the thought had indeed occurred. She turned once again to Dave who was patiently waiting. ‘And your maternal grandparents?’ She felt a little intrusive asking intimate questions of a man who appeared so intensely private, but he was obviously expecting her to continue. ‘Your mother was adopted, I believe.’
‘Yes. Peg never knew her real parents and she never talked about the couple who’d adopted her.’ There was a brief pause, Dave glancing at Lilian, perhaps expecting a signal, but none was forthcoming. He turned back to Jess, whose eyes remained trained upon him, and for some unfathomable reason he found himself telling a truth he’d shared with no-one but his wife.
‘My mother ran away from home at sixteen,’ he said, ‘that much I know. It’s my belief she was abused by her father throughout her childhood and that her mother was aware of it and turned a blind eye.’
Matt looked up, stew no longer of interest: this was news to him. Why was his father sharing this information with a virtual stranger, when he hadn’t even told his son?
‘Peg never told me that,’ Dave went on matter-of-factly, ‘but I’m quite sure I’m right. She detested her adoptive parents in equal measure, never referred to either by name. It was always “that nasty man” or “that nasty woman” or “those nasty people”, pretending to shrug them off – rather childlike
really. Then she’d change the subject as if it didn’t matter. I’ve always believed those two were complicit in their contribution to a childhood that must have been hideous.’
He picked up his glass and sipped his wine, story over. Brief and unemotionally delivered as it had been, it had made a strong impact and silence reigned around the table, a silence into which Jess could read a great deal. She took a deep breath as something radical occurred. First and foremost, she was aware she had made a connection. How or why, she wasn’t sure, but it was apparent that Dave had never mentioned these views to his son, and equally apparent that his wife knew everything. Why me, she wondered, why did he choose to tell me?
Lilian remained silent, but appeared glad Dave had spoken so openly, and Jess, emboldened by the connection she’d made and by what she saw as Lilian’s approval, decided to push further.
‘Have you had any unusual dreams yourself recently, Dave,’ she asked, ‘any images that seemed particularly vivid or strange?’ He was clearly a non-believer and she hoped the question didn’t offend him, but she sensed something receptive in Dave, something that perhaps he was unaware of himself.
‘Nope, none whatsoever, sorry to disappoint.’ The reply was not rude, but certainly brusque. Dave liked the young woman and didn’t regret having been open with her for whatever strange reason had compelled him to do so, but he would not be drawn any further into this ridiculous realm of fantasy.
Lilian seemed the only one not to notice the awkward moment that followed.
‘Why do you ask that, Jess?’ she queried. ‘Do you think it likely Dave might be visited by an ancestor, his grandfather Brian, perhaps?’
Matt looked sharply at his mother. For all her professing to a fondness for things spiritual, was she being facetious? If so it wasn’t fair: Jess genuinely believed all this nonsense. But Lilian’s interest appeared quite sincere.
‘I don’t know,’ Jess replied, feeling self-conscious now, aware of the scepticism shared by father and son, but nonetheless determined not to back down. She would make no apology for her belief. ‘I somehow doubt it. I think the contact is being specifically directed to Matt.’
