‘I hate her,’ said Taylor and Clare forgot to breathe. ‘She’s a stuck-up bitch. But I know she loves my son . . . and I know he loves her, too.’ Taylor wiped her eyes and looked at Jackson. ‘That’s probably why I hate her, eh?’
Jackson smiled. ‘Quite possibly.’
She returned his smile, and it seemed to give her courage. ‘The fact is, Clare’s good for Jack. He’s talking and everything. I love hearing him talk. He only talks when he’s happy.’ She turned back to Jackson. ‘So I was thinking, ’cause I do love him so much, that I might give him to her.’ Clare’s breath returned in a heady rush. ‘But I’ll only do that if Jack can live with her at that farm. He likes it there. He’s got dogs and a pony. I want him to have a pony. And I’d have to be able to see him at Christmas and birthdays and holidays and stuff.’
‘Well,’ said Jackson, beaming. ’As you’ve now heard for yourself, Ms Mitchell, this is an unusual request indeed. I’ve never made a consent order before that has been conditional upon the child having a pony.’ There was laughter from the court and Clare felt tears beginning to slide down her face. ‘Ms Mitchell, I believe you’re poised to take up a position at the bar next year. That would of course be incompatible with Ms Brown’s request. Should you wish, we will continue with the hearing. But you should know that if you are agreeable I’ll have the relevant order prepared forthwith.’
‘Yes,’ said Clare, laughing through her tears ‘Yes, absolutely yes.’
‘Then I think we have reached an agreement.’
Sarah could no longer contain her outrage. ‘With respect, Your Honour cannot make an order that directs Ms Mitchell to remain at a certain address. Nor can you direct her to give the child a pony.’ More laughter. ‘I don’t think my client understands this.’
‘That’s very true, counsellor.’ Joe Jackson turned to Taylor. ‘I can’t direct Ms Mitchell to remain at this farm indefinitely. You would have to take it on trust, and of course you would always be free to apply for a variation of the order, should circumstances so demand. So, what say you?’
‘Sure,’ said Taylor. ‘I’ll trust her.’ Sarah threw her papers in the air.
Clare wanted to hug Taylor and never let her go, but the girl looked on guard. Better take things slowly. This was going to be a steep learning curve for the both of them
It was only when they were all directed to rise, and were filing from the courtroom, that she thought of Tom. She was going to be living at Currawong again. How on earth was that going to work?
Chapter 39
They were an odd assortment, all gathered in Clare’s untidy apartment. Jack and Samson in the lounge room, attempting a game of tug-a-war with an old tea towel. Taylor on her knees, getting in their way, trying to cuddle each of them in turn, without much success. Clare smiled. A lap dog and a baby doll would have suited her much better.
Ronnie and Grandad were perched on bar stools in the kitchen, talking a dime a dozen. Who would have guessed they shared a love of antiques? For the first time ever, the place felt like a real home. Clare cleared the clutter away in the kitchen, until she could reach the huge coffee machine squatting in the corner. A present from Adam that she’d barely used, but it might impress Ronnie.
She plugged it in and tried to remember the instructions. ‘Don’t worry about that, love,’ said her grandfather. ‘A cuppa will do me fine.’
‘Tea?’ asked Ronnie. ‘Yes, tea sounds like fun. Do you have one of those pots?’
For a moment, Clare didn’t know what Ronnie meant. ‘You mean this?’ She extracted a large and very beautiful old teapot from the back of the cupboard, a present long ago from her mother.
Ronnie clapped her hands. ‘Perfect. We’ll have a tea party, shall we?’
‘If you like,’ said Clare, abandoning the monstrous coffee machine and putting on the kettle instead. ‘It won’t be all that traditional. I think you’re supposed to have scones and jam, instead of take-away pizza, but we can pretend.’
Tom was standing at the window, staring out across the city lights. He’d barely spoken a word since the court case. Was he unhappy with the outcome? Was that it? If he was, he was the only one. What was it, she wondered, that he’d wanted to say to her earlier?
Grandad made himself useful, finding plates and distributing slices of pizza. Clare took a marrowbone from the fridge, and banished it and Samson to the training crate.
‘That’s cruel,’ said Taylor, patting the dog through the wire, and feeding him bits from her plate.
‘Come on, Jacky,’ said Grandad. ‘Sit up. How about some garlic bread as well.’
‘Pizza,’ yelled the little boy, and climbed up onto a bar stool. How happy he looked. How content, to have all the people who loved him together in the one place.
‘Clare,’ said Ronnie, in a wheedling tone. She didn’t look entirely at ease now, balancing a plate of greasy take-away on her knee, but she was making a valiant attempt to cope. ‘What a brave decision you made today. I do so admire you.’
‘Do you now?’ said Clare sweetly. She held the teapot aloft. ‘Tea?’
‘Please,’ said Ronnie as Clare poured. Clare had been stringing this out all day. It was kind of fun, torturing Ronnie. ‘When do you think you might talk to Paul?’
‘Paul?’ asked Clare.
‘Oh, come off it,’ snapped Ronnie. ‘You won’t be at the bar with Dunbar next year. Why don’t you just tell him? You have an obligation Clare, to tell him this very day. And you must ask him if he’ll consider me as your replacement. The job’s truly mine, in any case. You stole it, right out from under my nose.’
Clare grinned. This was the Ronnie she knew and loved. It was time to put her out of her misery. From the corner of her eye, Clare noticed Tom watching her. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Collar open. He looked very handsome, in the soft reflected light at the window. It emphasised his rugged features, his unkempt hair, his watchful eyes. He looked a little wild.
‘Relax,’ Clare told Ronnie. ‘I’ve already spoken to Paul. He’s very happy for your old arrangement to stand. In fact, he wants to meet you for dinner tomorrow night to finalise things.’
Ronnie’s expression collapsed into a teary mess, mascara running, smearing her face as she dragged her knuckles across her eyes. She clutched at Clare’s hand. ‘You’re my truest, dearest friend,’ she said, sounding slightly unhinged. ‘This job is my every dream come true. You have no idea. I’d cheerfully sell my grandmother for this chance. I’d even have stayed another year in the Valley, if Paul had insisted.’
‘Thank goodness it didn’t come to that,’ said Clare. The irony was lost on Ronnie, whose hands fluttered in the air like startled birds as she repeated her thanks.
Clare studied Ronnie’s exalted face. It told her something rather surprising, something she was very glad to learn. She didn’t really want the job, at least not the way Ronnie did. Ronnie had a fierce, uncompromising hunger for it. She wouldn’t have given it up for anything. How hard, then, must it have been for her to forgive Clare and offer her friendship? In spite of Adam, in spite of Paul. They may have started out as co-conspirators, but their connection had blossomed into something far deeper. This was a friendship that would stand the test of time.
Moments later, Ronnie was on her mobile, ordering buckets of home-delivered champagne. ‘And a bottle of whisky?’ She looked at Grandad, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘Single malt?’
He nodded, and Ronnie smiled. She cast her eyes around the room one more time, and her gaze settled on Jack. ‘And a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling wine, suitable for a small boy.’ She beamed at Clare, apparently pleased with herself for being so child friendly.
‘How about I take Jack and Samson for a walk?’ said Tom, who had mysteriously appeared at Clare’s shoulder.
‘If you like,’ she said coolly.
Taylor gave up trying to braid the back of Jack’s hair, and came into the kitchen. ‘Are you going with Tom?’ she asked Clare. ‘On the walk?’<
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‘No,’ said Clare.
‘Why not?’ asked Taylor.
‘I have guests,’ said Clare shortly. She turned away to collect the empty mugs, and began to stack them in the dishwasher.
Taylor pouted and took another piece of pizza. ‘I should have made you two get married.’ What? Clare dropped a teacup. It shattered on the floor. Taylor ignored it. ‘Tom’s nice. Jack would like having him for a dad.’
‘Taylor,’ said Clare. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ said Taylor, with exaggerated emphasis, as if Clare was a bit slow, ‘I should have made you two get married, like I made you go and live back at the farm with Jack.’
‘You didn’t make me go live at the farm,’ said Clare. ‘I’m choosing to live there.’
Taylor giggled. ‘I did too. And I could’ve made you marry him. I reckon you love my son that much. Tom should’ve thought of it, when he thought of the other idea.’
Clare’s hands went clammy. ‘What other idea?’
‘I’ve got a job,’ said Taylor, inexplicably changing the subject. ‘Out west. They’re going to train me to drive those monster trucks at a mine.’
Tom bent down to release Samson from his crate. ‘Don’t you move,’ commanded Clare. She grabbed Taylor’s arm and marched her over to Tom. The room went quiet. ‘Go on, Taylor,’ said Clare. ‘Finish your story.’
‘The Newstart Centre lined me up for the job weeks ago. I wanted to tell Sarah that you could keep Jacky, I really did, but she was so gung-ho about everything. I was scared she’d think I didn’t love him . . . so the case sort of kept rolling along.’
‘Go on,’ said Clare again. Everybody had moved closer to listen. ‘Well, I was so confused this morning,’ said Taylor. ‘What was I supposed to do? If I told people about the job, they’d think I was a bad mother. But if I got Jacky back, I couldn’t take the job, could I? I want it that bad. I’ve never had a job before. I think it would make Jacky proud of me.’
‘I think so too, love,’ said Grandad. Taylor shot him a grateful look. ‘Anyway, Tom saw me crying in the lobby.’ Taylor faltered again.
‘For God’s sake, just spit it out,’ said Ronnie.
‘Don’t you get it?’ said Taylor. ‘Today was all Tom’s idea. I told him that I wished Jacky could live at the farm with you. So he said, why don’t I tell the judge? He said nobody would think that I didn’t love Jacky. So I did. I wouldn’t have been brave enough if it wasn’t for him.’
Clare wet her lips with her tongue. ‘And . . .?’ she asked.
‘And I was just thinking, since Tom loves you and all, it would have been nice if I’d made you get married as well and then Jack could have a daddy . . . as well as a pony.’
‘Tom,’ said Clare. ‘Is this true?’ Taylor had begun to cry and Grandad and Ronnie led her in to the kitchen.
Tom nodded, his gaze bold and unapologetic. It put her unexpectedly on the back foot.
‘She told me she wanted Jack to live with you at Currawong, and I suggested she tell the judge. Simple as that.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ said Clare.
‘I tried. You wouldn’t listen. By the time the case was over, you already knew. What would have been the point?’
Clare shook her head in disbelief. She ran over the events of the day in her mind. It was true – he had asked to talk to her. ‘And what’s this about us getting married?’
He held out the palms of his hands. ‘Now that,’ he said, ‘is a new one on me.’
Clare tried to digest all she’d heard. Did the end justify the means? It was true that Taylor had held her over a barrel today, but the end result was that she had Jack. And though she was loath to admit it, it looked like she had Tom to thank. Clare turned on her heel to confront Taylor, who was sitting on a bar stool looking miserable.
‘You think I’m a bad mother, don’t you?’ said the girl, before Clare had a chance to speak. ‘To want the job.’
‘No,’ said Clare. ‘I don’t think that. But I also don’t think you should be keeping secrets and . . . and blackmailing me.’
‘Steady on, love,’ said her grandfather. He’d gone all protective of Taylor, and it irritated Clare.
‘What business is it of yours, if and who I marry?’ asked Clare. ‘And wherever did you get the idea that Tom loves me?’
‘He told me,’ said Taylor. ‘Not that he had to. Blind Freddy could see it a mile off. I just don’t think you know how lucky you are. You’ve got a farm, and horses and dogs. You’ve got Tom and he’s a hunk, by the way, in case you haven’t noticed. You’ve got Harry. He’s the sweetest old man in the world . . . You’ve even got my son, and instead of being happy, you’re storming around like you’re mad at everybody.’ It was the longest speech Clare had ever heard Taylor make. ‘I think you should thank your lucky stars.’
Jack crept over. He climbed the bar stool and nestled into his mother’s lap. Taylor folded him into her arms, and kissed his hair.
‘You know what?’ said Clare.
Taylor shook her head.
‘I think you’re right.’
It was the going away party she’d missed the first time round, all her legal aid colleagues gathered together after work on her final day. Roderick thumped the table. ‘Will everyone please charge your glasses.’
Clare helped herself to a glass of Riesling from the cask and poured another one for Ronnie. Her friend took a sip and made a face. ‘The only thing worse than this wine is having to listen to one of Roderick’s speeches,’ she whispered.
Clare giggled. Ronnie was right. He did go on a bit. She nibbled a Sao biscuit topped with gherkin and cheese while Roderick cleared his throat. ‘As we gather to farewell our colleague, Clare, I’m reminded of words spoken by Brutus in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, “There comes a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.” Such a tide has swept Clare from us. We hope that for her, the flood will lead to something better than it did for Brutus and Cassius . . .’
A sprinkle of laughter. Debbie looked confused. Ronnie looked bored. She’d miss these people, these friends. Clare gazed out the window to the wizened Coolabah tree. It was her friend, too. She wished she could spirit it away with her, back to Currawong. She wished she could set it free. Ronnie dug her in the ribs just as Roderick finished. ‘. . . So I ask you to be upstanding and drink to Clare and her future.’
It was growing dark when Clare finally waved goodbye and headed for the car. She clicked the key to unlock it and sat awhile in the dark. Then she got out again, retraced her steps and slipped around the side of the building to her Coolabah tree. It stood forlorn on a patch of dead grass, narrow leaves trembling in the breeze. Silhouetted against the sunset, its spindly branches looked like crooked hands reaching skywards, begging for release. Clare ran her finger down its rough furrowed bark. She scanned its sparse canopy until she found what she was looking for. There, at the tip of a low hanging bough. Clare reached up and plucked a drab bunch of grey-green gumnuts. She collected a few more off the ground. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told the tree, before she turned to go. ‘Grandad will know just what to do with these.’
Chapter 40
Clare awoke in her own bed, in her own little room, back at Currawong. The candlewick spread, the pretty lamp, the lacy curtains, nothing ever changed in this space. It could have been her first night back at the homestead, and all that had happened these past few months might well have been a dream. It was both a comforting and unsettling thought. She was certain of one thing though. Last night with Tom had been no dream.
Clare stretched, cat-like. What time was it anyway? The bunya pine in the yard already cast a shadow on the window. She checked the wind-up alarm clock beside the bed. It was later than she thought.
A knock came at the door. ‘Breakfast’s up, sleepy head,’ said Grandad. Clare hopped out of bed, and into jeans and a T-shirt. She pulled a comb through her tousled hair, slipped on sandals and was ready to go
. It took her two minutes. How different from her mornings back in Brisbane, juggling Jack and Samson and traffic: juggling everybody’s expectations, including her own. She’d been exhausted before she began. The contrast made her smile.
‘What’s this?’ asked Clare. Beside the bacon and eggs, the buttery toast and the jar of Vegemite, was a big bowl of fresh summer fruits.
‘Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ said Grandad. ‘I learned a thing or two those few days I stayed with you in Brisbane. I learned that I like fruit for breakfast.’ He turned to where Jack was chewing on bacon rind. ‘I’m going to make you a nice fruit salad, lad.’ He searched around in the fridge. ‘Now where’d I put that yoghurt?’
Jack pulled a face and escaped out the door, where Samson was patiently waiting for him. The dog gave a joyful bark, and the two of them ran off.
Clare smiled and looked round for Tom. Last night they’d spent a magical evening; forgiving, re-joining, falling in love all over again. Grandad had thoughtfully retired early, leaving them to share chips and beer and cherries out on the verandah. They’d talked until way after midnight. About their childhood and families. About their hopes and dreams and the things that made them who they were. They’d reconnected with a deeper understanding.
Mother Nature had turned on a spectacular show, as fork lightning cracked over the Bunyas, dazzling the eyes. A deafening boom of thunder had made Clare jump against him, and Tom had snatched her in his arms. She’d almost cried out at his touch, at how much she wanted him.
Afterwards they’d sneaked down to the surgery and had sweet, slow sex – the pair of Boobook Owls in the recovery room providing the soundtrack, a duet of low, rhythmic love calls. Clare had stumbled back to bed in the pale light of picaninny dawn, knowing life didn’t get any better.
‘Where’s Tom?’ asked Clare.
Pregnancy testing cows at Kingaroy.’ Clare smiled, wondering how Tom was managing on hardly any sleep. ‘I thought we might spend the day together,’ said Grandad. ‘Just you, me and Jacky. We could go for a drive into Dalby, maybe have a picnic at Myall Creek. Or what about a carriage ride into Merriang and lunch at the pub. Fleur could use a bit of a run? What do you say?’
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