‘Maybe. Maybe a slightly different shade or tone. Definitely steering away from pink though.’
‘Brunch?’ He held up some shopping bags. They headed into the kitchen and Danny made himself at home, opening cupboards and drawers as he prepared them each a plate of lamb roast rolls with gravy.
‘A girl could get used to this,’ Nicole said.
‘Nah, this is a one-off.’ Danny grinned. ‘It’s really the only hit in my cooking repertoire, so I usually keep it in reserve till I need it, but I figured, well, with everything that’s happened, I wanted to do something nice for you.’
‘You’re forgetting pancakes,’ said Nicole. ‘You make pretty mean pancakes.’ She swore he blushed a little.
‘True. Next time it’s your turn, though, seeing I’ve got nothing else.’
‘Then you might want to have a few extra helpings.’ Nicole laughed. ‘You are familiar with my lack of cooking skills?’
Danny nodded gravely and served himself another slice of lamb. ‘I hear they are improving, though.’
‘Slowly.’
‘How’s Charlie?’
‘He’s back to his usual grumpy self again, so much better. Doctor Johnson is with him now.’
When they finished eating, they washed up the dishes together and Nicole walked him to the door.
‘See you.’ He swayed on his heels for a second and then turned and left.
Thirty-three
Nicole spent the evening on the floor of the spare room applying the last coat of gloss to the skirting board. Danny had texted her about an hour ago with a simple ‘Goodnight’, but it was enough to give her hope. She knew she had to be patient and that was okay.
Hope was a pretty powerful force. Ivy had taught her that.
She flipped open the wood box and took out Ivy’s next letter.
30th November, 1975
My Dearest Tom,
Today is the last Sunday of the month and we had yet another lovely picnic. The sun was glorious and shining, but not too hot. The wind we have been having for the past few days stayed away and the entire town seemed to be spread across my lawn on brightly coloured picnic blankets with baskets full of food. I cannot believe how it has grown over time, but I relish in it. We have not missed a month since the first picnic with Father Anthony.
He brings the Sunday School kids each time and now William Tucker brings the football team. It is wonderful seeing all those people running on my lawn barefoot, enjoying themselves. Carole’s little girl, Amanda, seemed to like tearing up the grass and putting it in her mouth.
Nicole couldn’t suppress a giggle, picturing a tiny, redheaded Mandy eating Ivy’s lawn.
Some of the children play elastics. Some of them have races. The grown-ups seem to have just as much fun. Some of them have races too.
Everyone has it down to a fine art now, setting themselves up comfortably for the afternoon. I always have a few tables with drinks and a selection of salads and some fruit. I decorate the tables with bright flowers from the garden in tall vases and short vases, round and square, glass and ceramic.
Charlie stayed a little longer than usual after helping me set up today. Perhaps he was concerned about my fatigue this morning. But once everyone arrived I was fine, and he soon disappeared.
I have decided what to do with this place, my love, when my time comes as it inevitably will. I am astute enough to know my body slowly fails me, as age dictates it must. I hope you do not disapprove of my plans. Charlie has shown no further relapse and I believe when my time comes he will feel it keenly. So, I have decided to leave him the cottage and the boatshed. Did Mother just turn in her grave? It may just keep him going and he is the only family I am left with.
Charlie owned the cottage. Her suspicions were confirmed.
I spoke with the lawyers on Friday and it is arranged. They couriered the paperwork to me and I sent it straight back signed. The courier was a nice young man. I served him some tea. I must buy some more. It is very expensive these days, but one cannot live without.
I am thoroughly exhausted tonight. But I shall sleep with an easy mind and light heart knowing this is now taken care of.
The courier’s name was Tom. Can you believe it?
Forever yours,
Ivy
PS The Royal has a new owner. A funny little Italian man. I am enjoying his pasta on a Friday night. It is not as good as Fabricio’s mother’s, but it is delicious. I should give Charlie my pasta maker. Or perhaps donate it to the church. I am sure someone will make better use of it than I.
Nicole paced the living room. There was no long-lost cousin from Sydney. It was Charlie all along. Charlie and Ivy’s story was now complete.
She replaced the letter and touched the next one in the box. It was terribly thin. She pulled it out. The usually beautiful script was shaky and Nicole’s heart started to race.
29th January, 1976
My Dearest Tom,
I write this with desperate haste.
I have called for Doctor Johnson, my love. He will be here soon. I could not leave without saying goodbye and I must return your letters to their hiding place before he arrives.
My time is here, it seems. I do not wish to go. What if I cannot find you? I want to stay here with my picnics, with Charlie. He needs me.
I am coming to you, my dearest. Will you be waiting?
It is time.
Ivy
Nicole’s hands shook slightly. She looked in the box for the next letter. There had to be another. 11th January, 1941 – the first one. She frantically filed through the envelopes, hoping she’d missed one; put one out of order. There had to be more.
But there wasn’t.
An image of Ivy lying on the hearth having returned the box to its hiding place in the fireplace just in time, close to her beloved Thomas, came to Nicole’s mind and she let the tears flow unhindered.
Thirty-four
Charlie was waiting for her on the bench seat when Nicole arrived at the boatshed the next morning.
She hesitated then sat beside him. He didn’t bark at her to get up.
The day was already warm, but Charlie sat beneath his rug.
‘What’s that?’ He looked at the carved wooden box in Nicole’s hands.
‘Actually, it’s for you.’
‘What do I want with a box?’ he asked. He looked at it more closely. ‘This looks like one I gave away many years ago, if I’m not mistaken.’ His eyes widened. ‘I made this for Ivy after she helped me …. What are you doing with it?’
‘I found it in the cottage.’
‘Where?’
‘Behind the fireplace,’ Nicole said, and Charlie narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I found it not long after I moved in.’
She opened the lid, revealing its contents, the stories that had kept her company these past months.
‘What are they?’ His voice was low.
‘Letters. From Ivy to Thomas. She didn’t want them found by her mother, or anyone else, I guess,’ Nicole said.
‘Then why have you got them now?’
‘Well, I started reading them. They’re beautiful. They deserve to be shared. They detail her life from the time Tom died to when she did.’
Charlie became very still. ‘What’s in them exactly?’
‘All sorts of things. Stories about Joan Wetherby, Lucy, the picnics, meeting you,’ Nicole said the last words slowly.
‘What right have you to go through someone’s private memories? You nosy girl. Give them to me.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me burn them.’
Nicole took Charlie’s hand gently and squeezed it.
‘There is no way I’m letting you burn them,’ she said calmly. ‘I love these letters and I love Ivy. But I did bring them here for you to read, if you can promise not to destroy them.’
‘Don’t want to read them. Rubbish letters.’ He shook his head.
‘Charlie.�
�� Nicole looked him in his fright-filled eyes. ‘Whatever is in your past, she didn’t reveal it here. She was truly your friend and I thought you might like to know that.’
Charlie stared at her.
‘The Charlie I care about is here, now. Not in the past.’
‘If you knew my past, you wouldn’t care.’ He cast his eyes downward.
‘Ivy did.’ Nicole shrugged.
‘She was an angel on Earth.’
‘You saved her life.’
He looked up sharply. ‘She saved mine.’
‘And you both helped me find mine again. I think you should read them.’ Nicole held the box out to him.
He hesitated, then took it, running his fingers over the carved shells, and Nicole noticed the despair in his eyes. He turned his head and took a few deep breaths.
‘Shall we play today?’ Nicole asked, changing the subject. ‘Just a quick game. Or should I let you rest?’
‘Play.’ He took Ivy’s box inside and returned with the Scrabble board.
‘… And e, e, m.’ Charlie laid down his tiles. ‘Redeem, on a double word score, means … means I win.’
He smiled a smile Nicole hadn’t seen before. Nervous? Worried?
‘So, fifteen to six,’ Nicole said. ‘Tomorrow is my comeback.’
‘Tomorrow you will taste the bitterness of defeat once more.’ Charlie shrugged.
‘Your cockiness will be your downfall, you know?’ Nicole packed away the board and carried it to the boatshed door, leaving it with him there.
Charlie watched her go and shook his head. No amount of good manners would get him past St Peter. But he’d made peace with that a long time ago.
Inside he sat on his bed, the pile of letters beside him. He didn’t want to read them, face what was inside. But maybe he was supposed to – his final penance.
It was easy, at first, reading about his beloved Ivy. Easy until he got to the letter he’d been dreading. From the date he knew what was coming and he hoped Nicole was right and that Ivy had treated the story of his arrival, of his past, with delicacy. Not that she owed him that, but he hoped nonetheless.
As he read her next letter his heart began to ache, and as he continued with the next, and the one after that, melancholy swept over him.
He read until the dawning hour of morning broke sunlight over the ocean and into the portal window, sending golden rays into the boatshed.
Carefully, he put all the letters back into the box and stroked the lid as he closed it. He felt close to Ivy once more – a gift he would never have hoped for, but one he cherished.
There was one last task. He knew what he had to do next.
As he shuffled towards the cottage, Charlie’s pulse quickened. Every new beginning means something has to end.
He was okay with that. Not happy, but content. It was how it was meant to be.
Nicole was outside painting one of the verandah supports. Good. He wouldn’t have to knock on the door. He wouldn’t have to go in. He could never go in when Ivy was there. To go in now would be a betrayal.
As he pushed open the gate, Nicole turned around and walked down the verandah steps to meet him and he handed her Ivy’s box.
‘Thank you for sharing these with me.’ He hugged her. Tightly. Quickly. Then he pulled away.
‘If I’d known they’d turn you into a marshmallow, I’d have given them to you long ago.’
‘No need for that,’ he grumbled.
‘Will you come in for a cuppa?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said, and shook his head.
‘At least sit down and tell me more about her.’
‘What’s in there is pretty much her. She was one special lady. Not perfect, but an angel to me. Keep them safe.’ He tapped on the box.
‘I will. Are you sure you don’t want a cuppa?’
‘I’m sure. You can make yourself useful though.’
‘What do you need?’ she asked.
‘Send this. Today. By courier.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She saluted. ‘Any more and I’ll have to start charging you a service fee.’
‘Please.’ He smiled. He owed her so much, but a smile would have to do.
At least for today.
‘I’ll do it at lunch.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. For more than you will ever know.
He gave her the envelope and pressed it in her hands.
She was a good girl. This letter would mean he’d finally have a chance at doing something right with his life.
‘You’re welcome.’ Nicole tilted her head slightly.
‘Place looks good.’ He turned to leave.
‘Do you like the colour?’
‘Prefer the original, but it’ll pass. I suppose. Don’t give up your day job, though.’
‘Don’t have one.’
‘Yes, you do,’ he said, giving her a pointed look. And Nicole frowned.
Thirty-five
Nicole headed into town, the sun warming her skin, the gentle breeze teasing her hair. Charlie had been insistent that the letter get posted today and with the only task on her list for the day – painting the verandah supports – now finished a stroll in the midday sun was perfect.
She paid Jacqui for the postage and had a cuddle with Amy.
‘My, she’s growing,’ she noted, cooing at the baby perched on the post office counter.
‘They make a habit of it.’ Jacqui smiled. ‘Do you want to take her out for a bit? Give her some fresh air?’
‘Oh, no … I couldn’t. I can’t. I —’
‘She’s been fed and changed and there’s really nowhere you can go where you can’t get back here in about fifteen seconds if you need to.’
Jacqui looked so tired Nicole couldn’t ignore her plea for help. She gave in, and pushed down the little voice of fear inside. She put on the baby pouch and Jacqui helped her position Amy, who seemed very happy in her new spot, where she could face the big wide world.
‘Thanks,’ Jacqui said with a sigh, laying her head on the counter.
‘No dramas. We’ll go buy some lunch for Aunty Nicole and visit Aunty Mandy, and …’
Nicole gently closed the post office door, pulling down the small blind that covered the glass panel and turning over the open sign to read ‘back in ten’.
Nicole walked down High Street and passed Bill Tucker. He was faring well, but his arthritis was playing up a bit. He was looking forward to the grand final on Saturday, though. Jim was off to a job fixing old Grandma Cartwright’s loo, which had nothing wrong with it, the old duck just liked the company. He wouldn’t charge for the visit. You’d think the family would pop in and see her some time, but they were always too busy. Greg Telford was on his lunch break, and was thinking of getting something healthy, like a salad. He couldn’t have a carb-blowout before the most important match in Ranger history. His dad would have something at the store for him.
Grinning broadly, Nicole headed to the hardware shop. As she arrived she waved at Trevor, who was helping Mr Greene jam a mower into his car boot. Amy blew spit bubbles in greeting.
Cheryl and Mandy rushed over and happily made a fuss over the baby, taking it in turns to hold her with one arm, all the while continuing to man the counter and scan nails, painting tape, and wooden stakes with the other, chatting to Amy in between serving customers.
When Nicole started to leave she was met with cries of protest. ‘Can’t you stay longer?’ Cheryl pleaded. ‘Playing with this little sweetie sure beats counting screws any day.’
‘Sorry, but I’d better get her back.’ Nicole slipped Amy back into the pouch. ‘She’s been so good; I’m afraid my luck’s going to run out.’
Mandy came out from behind the counter. ‘One last kiss before you go, cutie pie.’
‘Mandy,’ Nicole fanned herself with her free hand, ‘I never knew you felt that way.’ She raised her cheek for a peck.
‘Ha, ha.’ Mandy bent down and kissed Amy on the forehead.
‘Oh,’ Nicol
e said, turning back before leaving the shop. ‘What do you reckon about post-match celebrations at my place on Sunday?’
‘I reckon great.’
‘I reckon you’re pretty confident they’ll win.’ Cheryl laughed.
‘If not, it will be a commiserations party instead.’ Nicole smiled.
By the time she got back to the post office, Jacqui was awake and looking much brighter.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she took Amy back.
Meandering up Wilson’s Road, Nicole began to sweat, yet the day had cooled. A goanna walked beside her in the gravel, its head bowed, and her stomach churned, her pulse quickened.
A sudden gust of wind made the branches of the gums sag, the burden of their leaves too much to bear under such force. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She looked around. No one was following her.
She walked straight past her cottage, something telling her to keep going down the path to the boatshed. Her chest tightened and she picked up her pace, breaking into a jog. With every step she got faster. She ran straight past the open boatshed door to the side of the small building.
Charlie was sitting on the bench, face turned towards the sky, his head resting on the wall behind him, one shoulder dipped down.
Nicole stopped.
She took three deep breaths and walked slowly towards him, squatting beside the bench. She checked his neck and wrist and placed her hand close to his mouth and nose to feel for breath. A futile gesture, she knew. She’d noticed his sunken cheeks, ashen skin and open mouth the second she saw him, and she knew.
She leaned her head against his knee, held his cold hands. ‘Oh, Charlie.’ Great gulps of tears burst forth and she let them come. ‘Goodbye, friend.’
What a powerful word. Friend. What an inadequate word.
She sucked in great gulps of air.
He’d have hated such a display of emotion. A wry smile touched her lips.
Thirty-six
The Cottage at Rosella Cove Page 25
