The Cottage at Rosella Cove

by Sandie Docker

  What do you think about Charles? After Father’s favourite author. It is a strong name. Or Matthew? After your beloved grandfather. Something for you to ponder in those lonely moments between rest and battle.

  My nights are a little less empty now, with our son growing inside me. You are here with me. A part of me. Though I miss you every moment of every day.

  Stay safe, my dearest.

  Ivy

  Nicole fingered through the pile of letters to the end, just as she always skipped to the last few pages when reading a new novel. The first few letters were dated close together, the next becoming more sporadic until there were great gaps of time between each one. She didn’t count them, but they were many, from this first in 1941 to the last in 1976.

  She took out the next letter, but then put it back. She’d treat this like a book where she would pace herself out, reading only a little every evening. Mark always questioned how she was able to do it – how she could put it down each night. But to her it was easy. The quicker she read something, the quicker the joy would end. And she never wanted it to end. She had lots of practice drawing out a good book. Right up till the very last chapters, at least – and then she raced to the end.

  Having brought no books with her, perhaps Ivy’s letters could substitute.

  As she re-read the letter, her own loneliness enveloped her and memories of a life now gone swallowed her.

  November, Two Years Ago

  The sun glinted off the ripples in the harbour as small boats and large ferries cut white lines through the water. Nicky looked out at the sails of the Opera House before them and watched the throng of people meander by, then turned back to the plate of pasta and glass of wine in front of her.

  Jane had organised Sunday lunch with Nicky and Mark at one of the sun-kissed restaurants that lined the concourse of the Opera House so they could meet her new boyfriend, Miles. He was tall and lanky with a goatee, and couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  As the waiter cleared away the plates, Jane cleared her throat. ‘Miles and I have something to tell you.’ She beamed. ‘We’re getting married.’

  Nicky jumped up from the table and threw her arms around her friend. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘It won’t be a big affair. No hoopla. Just a few friends at the registry office, maybe.’

  ‘Do you have a date?’ Nicky asked, sitting back down.

  ‘Well, unlike you two slow pokes we’re not going to take forever to set a date. We’re planning on an early winter wedding. Maybe up north so it’s warm.’

  ‘Oh my gosh. That’s so … well, congratulations.’ Nicky raised her glass. ‘This most definitely requires a toast.’

  Nicky had so many questions. It had been a couple of months since they’d caught up properly – she’d been so busy with her edits they just hadn’t found the time. A coffee here, a phone call there, was all they’d managed. So much had happened in between. They excused themselves and ducked to the bathroom, where Jane told her the whole story, from how she’d met Miles, to how she knew so quickly he was the one, to how soon they’d be moving in together. By the time they started heading back to the table, Nicky was satisfied Jane was in fact very much in love and happy, and the men were deep in conversation about some sort of financial investment strategy.

  ‘Ah, here they are.’ Miles grinned as Jane sat down beside him.

  ‘We didn’t think you were coming back,’ Mark said.

  ‘Ha, ha.’ Jane took a sip of water. ‘A good catch-up takes time. I hope your ears were burning, you boys.’ She tapped Miles on the chest. Mark frowned.

  As they finished off their drinks, the girls talked about their wedding plans, Jane’s far more detailed and formed than Nicky’s. Miles and Mark sat back and listened dutifully and when the bill came they split it. The afternoon sun began to sink behind the Harbour Bridge and they walked along the concourse, Nicky and Jane arm in arm.

  ‘I’ve finished my manuscript,’ Jane whispered in her ear.

  ‘What? That’s brilliant. Why didn’t you tell me?’ Nicky hugged her tightly.

  Jane shrugged. ‘You’ve been so busy. And I figured now you’re a big-shot author, you might just laugh at me.’

  Nicole stopped walking. ‘I’m hardly a big-shot. And I would never laugh at you or your writing. I love you both.’

  ‘Well, then. I was wondering, maybe, only if you have time. Would you take a look at it?’

  Mark caught Nicky’s eye and tapped on his watch, and she paused, trying to figure out what he meant.

  ‘I mean, it’s okay if you say no. I’ll understand.’ Jane’s voice was soft.

  ‘What? No. Of course I want to read it.’ Her hesitation had given Jane the wrong idea. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Jane let out a deep breath. ‘Thank you. Just to tell me what you think. Nothing more.’

  Nicky put her arm around Jane’s shoulder and they continued along the concourse.

  ‘Well, that was a bit of a shock.’ Mark pulled Nicky closer to him in the back of the taxi.

  ‘Yeah, but they seemed so happy, didn’t they?’ Nicky lay her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I suppose.’

  Nicky knew that tone of voice. ‘What?’ She lifted her head. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just kind of wonder why it’s so out of the blue. You don’t think … no. That’s stupid.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I just wonder, with all your success and us getting engaged, maybe she’s just looking to take some of the limelight.’

  ‘Jane? No way. She’s not like that. You saw them together. They are totally in love.’ Her voice caught on the last word. It wasn’t like Jane to be so impulsive.

  Mark shrugged, but Nicky could see the doubt in his eyes. Doubt she was herself trying to ignore.

  ‘I don’t know. Just seems a bit odd.’ He shrugged.

  Nicky stroked his arm. ‘I think it seems perfectly romantic. Does make you wonder, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If we’re ever going to set a date.’

  Mark shuffled back in his seat. ‘Is that what you two were talking about in the loo?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  Mark shook his head. ‘We’ve talked about this. Once I’m firmly established as partner, then we can look at setting a date. Besides, we’ve got a lot going on with your book release. Don’t you think we should wait till after then?’

  They’d had this discussion before, Mark ever practical and wanting to wait till just the right time. Nicky was just so impatient for her life as Mrs Avery to start, for them to become the family she so desperately wanted.

  ‘I know. You’re right.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Hey, princess.’ He cupped her chin in his hand. ‘It won’t be long. I promise. We’ll get married, have lots of babies and be a family.’

  Maybe Mark was right and they were better off waiting. As long as it wasn’t too long. She didn’t want to end up like her parents. No, it was fine. They were still young. Another six months, or twelve, wouldn’t make a difference.

  They had plenty of time.

  Outside Trevor’s Tradies, Nicole struggled to fit the ladder in the car. It wasn’t a huge ladder, but even so, her tiny hatchback was no match for it. But she needed something taller than the little stepladder that had come with the cottage if she was going to have any chance of fixing the ceiling, which was the next job on her list.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’ Danny waved as he walked up the street.

  ‘I appear to be losing this battle,’ Nicole said with a laugh.

  ‘You know, you can just borrow mine. Anytime.’

  ‘It wasn’t that expensive.’

  Danny frowned.

  Damn. She didn’t want him to think she was some poor no-hoper. She was. But she didn’t need others knowing it.

  ‘I meant so you didn’t have to steal someone else’s car to get it back home.’ His eyes were soft and gentle.

  ‘Oh.’


  ‘Tell you what.’ He lifted the ladder with ease. ‘You help me with something and I’ll throw this on the ute and bring it out to the cottage.’

  In the front seat of his ute were two boxes of books.

  ‘We’ll take one each,’ he said.

  ‘Okay. And where are we going?’

  Danny pointed towards the grand old building that housed the post office. Nicole had noticed it the day she’d arrived with its brick and stone arched frontage and clock tower you could see from almost any point in the town centre. A heavily pregnant woman with blonde hair tied in a loose bun waved to Danny as she guided an old man outside and Danny put his box down and sprung up the three steps to help him navigate his descent.

  ‘Thanks, Danny,’ he whispered hoarsely and patted his shoulder. ‘You’re a good kid.’

  The old man hobbled down the road and Danny watched him till he was sure he was steady on his feet.

  ‘That’s Bill Tucker. Ninety-four years old and still walks everywhere. They don’t make them tough like that anymore. Let’s get these inside.’ He picked up his box.

  Once inside, Nicole saw that the building opened up into two distinct sections. The post office to the right and through another set of doors, the library.

  The blonde lady greeted them as they entered.

  ‘Beautiful day, hey?’ she said. ‘Shame I’m stuck in here.’

  ‘Sure is. Nicole, this is Jacqui.’ He introduced the two women. ‘How’s the bump?’

  Jacqui rubbed her protruding belly gently. ‘Heavy and in the way. Not long now, though.’ Her smile held little joy.

  ‘The wager at the pub on the baby’s name is heating up, you know? The sooner you put us all out of our misery, the better.’

  Jacqui laughed. ‘The sooner I put myself out of this misery, the better. Have a good one.’ She waved as she headed into the post office.

  Danny filled Nicole in on the bets the whole town were taking on what Jacqui and Jason would name their fifth child.

  What had started out as a friendly bet one night between George Russo, the pub owner, and Trevor took on a life of its own and once the pool reached five hundred dollars, George suggested donating the money to the preschool refurbishment and the entire population of the town got behind the idea. Three thousand dollars had been raised so far.

  Danny steered Nicole to the left as the glass doors to the library slid open. The delicious smell of the books hit her and for a moment she stopped, closed her eyes and drank it in. She hadn’t seen any sort of bookshop in town. Not that she could afford such luxuries. She wasn’t surprised Rosella Cove didn’t have one. Most small towns these days had lost theirs. She hadn’t even thought to ask anyone if there was a library. That didn’t surprise her, either. The not asking. She hadn’t exactly had too many coherent thoughts lately.

  A gentle cough from Danny brought her back to the present and she set the box down on the counter in front of them.

  ‘It’s not big. But it’s got a half-decent selection. What it does boast, though, is the best in modern technology and terrific Wi-Fi. And a pretty good local history collection.’

  Nicole walked around the shelves and computers. It was a pretty good set-up. No rival for her local back in Sydney, of course, but impressive for what it was.

  A woman came out from the back office and stood behind the counter. ‘Hey, Danny. I see you’ve brought in more history books to donate.’

  Danny lifted one of the boxes onto the counter.

  Nicole recognised the lady. It was the older woman from the hardware store. Cheryl.

  ‘Hi, Nicole. Nice to see you again.’

  ‘Cheryl.’ Nicole gave a little wave. ‘I thought you worked at Trevor’s.’

  ‘Three days a week I do. I volunteer two days a week here. You need to fill this out,’ she said, pushing over some papers, ‘and I’ll set you up with a borrowing card.’

  Even though she wasn’t going to be in Rosella Cove for very long, the thought of six whole months without a book was one Nicole couldn’t bear. She signed the application and Cheryl issued her with a card straightaway.

  ‘Tada. You’re now a fully fledged library member with access to all that we have.’

  ‘Did you want to get something now?’ Danny asked.

  No. She wanted to come back when she was alone and could take all the time in the world to peruse the shelves. Not that it would take long, she thought, looking around the small space. But, still.

  ‘Okay, let’s get that ladder of yours home.’

  Danny dropped the ladder just inside the front door of the cottage and left Nicole to her tasks for the day. Now that the walls were stripped, she had to clean them. All her research told her that if she didn’t prepare the walls properly before painting them, the paint wouldn’t stick right and in a few years it would be peeling off.

  She did think about trying to get away with that. It wasn’t like she was going to be here when anyone discovered her shortcut. But there was still so much wallpaper glue on the walls, and she was pretty sure someone would notice if she just painted over the top of that, so she may as well do the job right.

  After three hours of painstaking washing and scraping and scrubbing, Nicole was regretting her decision not to take a shortcut. Maybe she could’ve got away with it – she could have passed the lumps and bumps off as some sort of modern take on stucco. Still, having the ladder meant it was easier to reach the top of the walls. Why hadn’t she thought to get one earlier?

  The ache in her shoulders soon became too much to bear and she finally decided to put her tools down and take a long, hot shower.

  Afterwards, under soft lamplight, Nicole curled up on the old floral sofa in the living room. With her dressing-gown wrapped tightly around her, she ticked off her to-do list for the day. Buy ladder, check. Finish cleaning the walls, check. Read Ivy’s next letter.

  Nicole sipped on her cup of tea and broke the wax seal of the next envelope. A tingle of excitement bubbled through her.

  19th March, 1941

  My Dearest Tom,

  Your gift arrived today and with it a swelling of joy in my heart. Our little one will have the spinning top his father crafted from the branch of an olive tree so far from home.

  Nicole ran into the kitchen and took the spinning top out of the cupboard. Was this it? Any lingering doubts she had about reading a stranger’s thoughts dissolved. This was going to be her next great read.

  In answer to your question, yes, I suppose we must consider the possibility you suggest, and I do believe that if I am indeed carrying a girl, you would spoil her rotten. I am certain it is a boy, and will still try to steer you towards Charles, but I will indulge you. Briefly. How do you feel about the name Charlotte?

  I have placed the spinning top on the mantle above the fireplace, next to the picture of you. Right as I placed it there, I felt the baby move for the very first time. I believe he recognised his father.

  When I travelled to see Father in Sydney last week, I found the most delightful wallpaper – pink and blue panels with little toy soldiers and bouncing balls and blocks in red and blue and green. I have begun work on the nursery, hanging two walls already and I shall complete the third today. It is keeping me busy and distracted from thinking about the atrocities you are surely surrounded by. I pretend each day you are here beside me, helping me ready the room for our little arrival.

  There are whispers that Japan’s threat closer to home is escalating and troops may be recalled. Perhaps, my love, you will be on home soil sooner than expected, even if not home with me.

  Oh, my. Your son just gave me an almighty kick. He knows I am writing to you and says hello.

  I walked into town today and encountered Joan Wetherby. I have tried, as you wished, to make friends with your old chum, but it seems she has no desire to let me in. I was standing outside the post office chatting idly with young Lucy Falcon, the woman who moved into the yellow house on Cove Road just before you shipped out. Joan sauntered u
p beside us, greeting Lucy, ignoring me. That woman has always been cold towards me, but never before has she completely forgotten her manners. She did not even ask after you.

  Oh dear, your son is restless tonight. Perhaps he did not like the vegetable soup I made for dinner. I thought it quite delicious. We have not faced the harsh rations here that inflict our English sisters, and I had all manner of vegetable to make use of.

  My love, I must cut this short. Evening melts into night and I wish to take a walk in the moonlight like we did when you were here.

  Stay safe, my darling.

  Ivy

  Nicole folded the letter carefully and slipped it back into its envelope.

  She reached for the next one. No. With her old life now gone, routine and order were all Nicole had left to hang on to. The days were easy enough to fill with tasks, but the nights were excruciating in their loneliness. Metering out Ivy’s letters went some way to easing those dark hours.

  She pulled out her notebook and started making scratchy marks. Ivy. Tom. The nursery. The baby. Around her words she doodled pictures – ivy leaves on a vine, a spinning top. Random thoughts and half-ideas.

  Five

  February, Last Year

  The end of the signing line was finally in sight. It was the last of Nicky’s author talks. As much as she loved them, the schedule had been gruelling, and she was relieved this was the end.

  She kept checking the crowd all night to see if Jane had turned up.

  ‘She didn’t come?’ Mark appeared beside her.

  Nicky shook her head. It was her own fault. Jane had sent through her manuscript before Christmas, but with all the preparation for her book launch, Nicky just hadn’t got to it.

  She’d apologised. More than once. But now it was getting embarrassing. She hadn’t texted Jane in weeks, shame stopping her each time.

  No wonder Jane didn’t come.

  ‘I did tell you not to get your hopes up.’

  He had. More than once. Nicky played moments from the last few months over and over in her mind. Was Mark right? Had she just not seen the signs of jealousy? One of his greatest assets as a lawyer was being able to read people. Maybe he saw the truth about Jane that Nicky had refused to accept. She didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was there. Maybe Jane wasn’t the friend she thought she was.