‘Then one day, out of the blue, she said she was leaving me. That she never actually wanted kids. Turns out, she’d just been stringing me along, pretending to want kids. She had her eyes on Grandpa’s money. But she fell in love with a bloke from Woodville and couldn’t keep up the pretence anymore. So, she dumped me. Just like that.’
Nicole reached across the sofa and touched his arm briefly. He pulled away slightly.
‘A year later they were married. And she got pregnant. I didn’t take it too well.’
Nicole swallowed deeply.
‘When I saw Mark here, with you … and I had no idea what was going on. I just saw red. Sorry.’
‘I guess we both could’ve handled things differently.’
He shrugged.
Nicole took a deep breath. She had to ask. She had to know. ‘So, what do we do from here?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. This is a lot to take in.’ He stared across the room. ‘For both of us.’
Yes it was. She turned her head away from him, shame blooming in her chest.
‘What if …’ Danny’s voice was soft, tentative, and Nicole turned back towards him. ‘What if we start again?’ Danny held out his hand, which she took. ‘Hi. I’m Danny Temple. I love history, I play footy and I do odd jobs around town.’
‘I’m Nicole Miller. I write books, I cook badly and have recently got out of a less-than-healthy relationship.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Danny’s grin spread across his face.
Thirty-two
In the warmth of the midday sun Nicole carried a small fallen branch of gum, waving the leaves slowly above her head. A childhood spent fending off diving magpies had taught her well – with glorious spring days comes swooping season.
As she approached the boatshed she let the branch drop, sure she was safe. The door was ajar. Stepping over the fallen picket gate, she moved towards Ivy’s bench.
It was empty.
She went back to the front door of the boatshed and knocked.
No answer.
She called out Charlie’s name.
No answer.
She pushed the old wooden door and it creaked open.
‘Charlie?’
No answer.
Past the dusty boxes she shuffled, whispering his name. When she got to the bookcase she could see Charlie lying in his bed and she moved quickly to his side.
The rise and fall of his chest told her he was still breathing. She reached out and touched his hand.
‘Can’t a man sleep in peace?’ he grumbled, his voice weak.
‘The door was open. I was worried.’
‘What rot. I’m perfectly fine.’ He tried to sit up.
Nicole leaned her weight in to help lift him.
‘Don’t need your help.’ He coughed.
‘Clearly,’ she said. ‘I’m going to go get the doctor. I’ll be right back.’
She turned to leave, but Charlie grabbed her arm.
‘No. Just fix me a cuppa.’
‘Charlie, you need more than —’
‘Fix me a cuppa, or leave me the hell alone.’
He pointed to his small sink and the rusting kettle.
Nicole didn’t want to leave him alone, so she boiled the water. Charlie took his cup with shaking hands and Nicole pulled the only chair in the room up to his bed.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m old, is all.’ Charlie barked and started coughing again.
‘I really think you should see someone.’ Nicole frowned.
‘Why? So they can take me away and shut me up in some sterile room with a bunch of sick strangers who’ll infect me?’
‘Charlie, I’m your friend. The closest thing to one you’ve got, anyway, as far as I can tell. Let me help you.’
‘If you are my friend, then you’ll do as I bloody well ask.’
Nicole looked into his eyes. There was no fear, though there was weariness.
‘Stop fussing,’ Charlie grumbled. ‘I thought I could rely on you not to get soppy.’
She smiled weakly.
‘Besides,’ Charlie said. ‘If you knew who I really was, you wouldn’t be wasting your energy.’
‘I may not know who you were, but I reckon I know who you are.’
‘Humph.’
Charlie pointed to the floor and Nicole saw the Scrabble box.
‘Now that wouldn’t be fair, taking advantage of you like this.’ She forced a smile.
‘You wish.’
Charlie tried to stand up and Nicole reached out her arms to help.
He pushed her away.
‘Okay, okay.’ She backed off. Slightly. ‘Just trying to help.’
‘Just answering the call of nature.’ He steadied himself on his feet. ‘Been managing that on my own for more than seventy years. Don’t need no help now.’
Watching him closely, Nicole hovered not too far from the bathroom door, trying to look like she wasn’t waiting for him.
‘So?’ He crawled back into bed. ‘Are you going to set this thing up, or not?’
He pushed the board towards her.
Nicole stayed with Charlie all afternoon and into the night as he drifted in and out of sleep after their game. Through the portal window the morning sun began to rise and Nicole shifted in the armchair, her shoulders stiff.
‘Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?’ Charlie’s voice, heavy, broke the silence.
‘Not today.’
‘Other people to annoy?’ He sat up with considerable effort.
She shook her head. ‘Nope. Just you.’
‘You didn’t stay all bloody night, did you?’
‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’ The wheezing from his chest, the coughing all night, had concerned her.
‘Of course I am. I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘You do look better this morning.’
‘Of course I do. Go wait outside. I’ve got something to give you, but you’re not bloody watching me get dressed.’
Nicole hovered by the door to the boatshed, listening for any signs of a fall, or anything wrong at all.
‘Good God.’ Charlie pushed her aside as he opened the door. ‘Give a man some room.’
Nicole backed off.
‘Here.’ He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. It was the same size and shape as the envelope he’d given her to post a few days ago. ‘I need you to post this for me.’
It was addressed to the same Mr A.W. Dixon in Sydney as the first envelope and the name seemed vaguely familiar to Nicole, but she couldn’t place it.
‘Today.’
‘Soon as the post office opens.’ Nicole touched his arm in reassurance.
‘You can leave now.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I should stay for the day.’ Nicole smiled.
‘God save me.’ Charlie shook his head. He glanced at the envelope in Nicole’s hands.
‘All right, I’ll head off, then. This thing won’t post itself!’ She waved it in the air.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Charlie furrowed his wrinkled brow. ‘Have I got to put up with you tomorrow, too?’
‘Afraid so.’ Nicole smiled sweetly. ‘Lucky you.’
She kissed him on the cheek.
‘Anything I can do before I go, Charlie?’
‘Promise you won’t be back before next Sunday.’ A smile broke through his grumpy facade.
‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep.’ She waved as she headed up the path.
It was still another half-hour before the post office opened, so Nicole walked back up the path to the cottage. She sat on the verandah with Ivy’s box.
15th January, 1973
My Dearest Tom,
I have spent the last few days sleeping on an armchair in the boatshed and my back is so terribly sore. As is my neck. I find it painful to sit here and write, though I feel compelled to keep going.
I went d
own there on Thursday morning for our usual chat, and a cup of tea, but I was not prepared for what I found.
Charlie was not waiting for me on your bench, which was strange, and I heard a noise coming from inside the boatshed. I walked round to the door and it was ajar. I had not noticed that when I arrived. I called out his name and was met with an incoherent mumble. I was most concerned, so I went inside.
He has done quite a good job in there, I must say. Some shelving as you enter, a little kitchenette. I would prefer a splash of colour, but you men are different. Somewhat sparse but rather neat and tidy. Then I came to the bed.
Atop, Charlie was lying in his underwear only, surrounded by maybe a dozen bottles. I did not count, though I did note there was whisky and rum and wine amongst them. All empty, bar the vodka bottle in his hand.
I removed it promptly and poured it down the sink. He tried to protest but was so inebriated he was unable to even raise his arm.
I cleaned up the mess around him and got a washer and bucket of soapy water to clean him up. The stench! I have never smelled anything quite like it.
Once he was tidied, I pulled his covers tight and he fell asleep immediately. Or perhaps he fell unconscious. Either way, I was not able to leave him alone.
So, I pulled the old armchair next to his bed and settled in.
On day two he became quite agitated and demanded to know where his drink was. When I told him it was gone, he screamed at me and threw his bed linen at my head. Luckily it was soft furnishings as I am not as nimble and quick-of-reflex as I once was.
I will confess, my dearest, that I was quite frightened. I have never seen such anger and I certainly felt like fleeing. I do not know why I stayed.
That is a lie. Of course I know. I owed him. I owed him for that night on the beach. I owed him for the years of companionship that have kept me going. Besides, what have I at this stage of my fading life to lose?
I could not abandon him.
On day three he was silent and still, just lying there. I remained silent also, simply watching. He refused to eat and only drank water when I was insistent.
This morning we took a walk together down to the cove. He confided in me that it had been five years this very day since the incident he had fled and he had been hoping to pass it by in a drunken stupor.
The irony was not lost on me and I imagine cut even closer to the bone for him.
He sobbed in my arms, wondering what had become of those he had left behind. I told him it was not too late to find out.
‘Clearly it is,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’
‘I see a man whose guilt and pain have overwhelmed him. But no more.’ I looked him in the eye. ‘No more.’
He stared at me and I held his gaze. He put his right hand over his left chest. ‘My promise to you,’ he said. ‘I’ll never take another sip.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Promise me you will somehow make right your wrong. For whatever reason, you and I have been given this second chance together. Do not waste it. Do not get to the end of your life and look back and not see any good.’
He nodded.
I have returned home this afternoon to shower and will head back to the boatshed once I have finished this letter. I believe he will be okay, but I must make sure.
Oh, my love, what will happen if he succumbs again?
Time is creeping by. Today and what is left of mine. Time. There it is again.
I will leave you here, my darling, and check on Charlie.
Take care, my sweet. Till we see each other again.
Forever yours,
Ivy
A chill tingled up Nicole’s spine. She had sat in the same chair Ivy had and kept watch over Charlie.
Thunder boomed across the peninsula and lightning burst across the darkening sky. As a morning storm rolled in, an almighty crack shook the cottage and heavy rain began to fall.
Nicole put Charlie’s letter on the mantle inside and lit a fire the way Danny had shown her. The weather app on the phone suggested the storm would clear later in the day. She could go back and check on Charlie then.
Snuggled on the sofa in front of the fire, Nicole opened Ivy’s next letter.
3rd July, 1974
Thomas Wilson,
I do not know why you never told me. Were you worried how I would react?
I have been visiting Joan every week for the last month as her health failed drastically. Cancer, the doctor said. She has had few visitors – hardly surprising. In Peggy’s absence I felt someone ought to be there for her.
We were all expecting her to pass weeks ago, but the stubborn woman hung on. Not surprising, I suppose. That woman would have no qualms telling God Himself off if she did not agree with his plans to take her. When I arrived this morning she lay in her bed, gaunt as always, more grey than usual. She had a photo clutched to her chest.
It was a photo of you. You and Joan together. She did not want me to see it, but I had to give her her medicine and she was too weak to stop me.
I recognised your suit. It was the one you were wearing the night we met, the night of the Spring Dance. I also recognised Joan’s dress. Did you go to the dance that night with her?
Nicole opened her Ivy folder and pulled out the newspaper clipping with the photo of the Spring Dance. Joan, Ivy, Thomas, their story now complete.
I asked Joan about the picture. She touched the photo and whispered something I could not quite make out, before succumbing to a coughing fit and falling out of consciousness.
Her breathing became very shallow and I called Doctor Johnson Junior. He said all he could do was make her comfortable. We sat together by her side and watched over her.
As dusk crept upon us, she sat up and grabbed my hand. She looked me in the eye and smiled at me. The first time ever, I believe, that woman has graced me with a genuine smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and raised her frail hand to my cheek.
An hour later she took her last breath. I do not suppose there will be many to farewell her. She had few friends and so many of us are now gone. The burden of living to this wretched age, I suppose, when funerals replace weddings and wakes replace baby showers, and we mark the years with ever fewer Christmas cards.
My head is heavy tonight.
I must sleep.
Ivy
Nicole opened her notebook and outlined a scene. The feeling that surged through her as she wrote again was thrilling.
The rain began to slow and black storm clouds dissipated as the sun forced its way through. Nicole put down her pen and picked up Charlie’s second letter.
When she returned from town she headed straight for the boatshed and knocked lightly on the old wooden door.
‘What?’ came the weak bark from behind.
Nicole entered and the air caught in her chest. She made her way to Charlie’s sleeping area and found him sitting in the chair shivering.
‘You’re going to freeze to death.’ She chided as she ripped his quilt off the bed and wrapped him tightly in it.
There was a packet of cup-a-soup on the sink and she boiled the jug.
‘Drink this.’ She handed him the hot mug.
‘I’m fine.’ He grumbled.
‘You can keep telling yourself that, but I don’t believe you.’
Eventually Nicole convinced Charlie to climb into bed. Once he was there, it didn’t take long for him to drift off to sleep. She took the opportunity and ran back to the cottage to gather a few supplies – a blanket for herself, a casserole she had in the fridge, some paracetamol.
The day melted into night and Nicole kept vigil.
Despite the medicine she’d given him, his temperature stayed high.
Charlie grabbed her arm.
‘I can’t get them out … the flames are too big … I can’t …’
He fell back on the pillow.
Nicole rinsed the washcloth with fresh cold water and lay it gently across his forehead.
Somewhere around two in the morning, Charlie’s
fever broke. Relief washed over Nicole.
A few hours later, as sunlight filtered through the portal window of the boatshed, Charlie stirred.
‘Are you here again?’ Charlie sat up, clearly weak, but the colour had returned to his skin.
‘I didn’t want you to miss me.’
‘I can’t miss you if you never leave.’
Nicole laughed.
‘You can go. I’m fine.’
Nicole raised an eyebrow.
‘If I promise to let Doctor Johnson check me over, will you leave me in peace?’
Nicole made the call and as the doctor arrived, she left.
‘I’ll be back,’ she called.
‘I’m sure you will be.’
Walking up the path to the cottage, Nicole stopped and stood at her front gate, admiring the garden and lawn that was now settling nicely. She was in awe of the job Jack had done. She really ought to do something special to thank him.
Danny had been going quietly about replacing and repairing rotting wood around the verandah. A little one day, a little more the next. Their conversations were becoming easier, lighter since that night she’d told him about Mark and her past.
All that was left of the renovation was the back garden, which could be tackled at any point really, and a few, small cosmetic touches in the two bedrooms. And the painting outside. That was the task that would make all the difference now. The cottage would look finished, show everyone who passed how much it was loved, be the pride and joy of the cove once more, perhaps. The transformation complete. And then she’d have to give it up.
‘Hot pink and lime green.’
Nicole jumped and turned to see Danny’s smiling face. ‘Sorry?’
‘Colours. For the outside. Hot pink and lime green. She’d really stand out then. Passing ships could use her as a beacon.’
‘I will if you will.’ Nicole grinned.
‘Or subtle greys, perhaps, or beige.’
‘It was originally blue and white.’ Nicole turned back and looked at the cottage again.
‘Will you stick with that?’
The Cottage at Rosella Cove Page 24
