Family Baggage

by Monica McInerney

  At her desk in the Turner Travel office, showered, made up and in the full Turner Travel uniform, Melissa Turner hung up, cursing the nurse in the Geelong hospital. How dare she refuse to go and wake James up, especially after Melissa had stressed how important it was.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Turner,’ the nurse had replied in an infuriatingly calm voice. ‘You said that last night as well. And the night before. It’s not good for your husband to be woken in the middle of the night, you know.’

  ‘But it’s nearly eight, not the middle of the night. And I should know, I’ve been awake since five a.m. It’s an important family matter.’

  ‘Family? Close family?’

  Melissa thought for a split second about inventing a problem with Molly, their fifteen-year-old daughter, before changing her mind. She had heard Molly come in from swimming training already and the adjoining wall between the office and the house carried sound so well there was every chance Molly would hear her and protest. Melissa told the truth. ‘It’s about his sister. His foster-sister, at least. Lara.’

  ‘Has she been in an accident?’

  ‘Well, no —’

  ‘So it’s not a life and death situation?’

  ‘No, but —’

  ‘Then I’m sure it can wait until after your husband’s had his breakfast.’

  Melissa had hung up, loudly. Perhaps it was a shame she had called so late the night before, pretending it was a family emergency. One of the nurses had obviously reported her. It had been important, though. She’d had an idea for revamping their coach tours to the Gold Coast. James told her he hadn’t minded at all. He was always understanding about being woken in the middle of the night. She often had her best ideas then. And as he said many times, it was her middle-of-the-night ideas that had got the company back on track.

  She’d been in a terrible state since Austin called two hours before with his bombshell about Lara not turning up to meet Harriet and the Willoughby group. He’d made it clear he’d only rung her because he hadn’t been able to get past the ward gatekeepers to James either. They’d had a terse conversation – she and Austin had never got on and even an emergency such as this wasn’t enough to forge bonds between them. She was desperate to talk to someone about it, to start putting a rescue plan into action. Thank God Gloria would be in soon. She could share the burden with her.

  Melissa tried Lara’s mobile number again, making sure she was dialling the correct international codes. It had been working perfectly two days ago, the last time she and Lara had spoken. A quick call, to confirm that the hotel in St Ives had a lift. Lara had sounded fine, businesslike as ever.

  She tensed as Lara’s recorded voice filtered down the line. She knew from Austin that Harriet had left several messages. She decided to leave another. Just in case.

  ‘Lara, it’s Melissa. We need to talk. I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re not in any trouble. Ring me, please. Or send an email. We’ll sort it all out, all right?’ She thought perhaps that she sounded too cross and hastened to make up for it before the space for messages was filled. ‘I mean it, that I hope you’re okay. So call us, will you?’

  It was so odd. What could have got into her? Had she met someone and fled to a love nest? Discovered she was pregnant and run away to do something about it? No, that wasn’t Lara’s style. Not organised, under-control Lara. Organised, under-control Lara who had just left nervy, basket-case Harriet in charge of a group of twelve people. Melissa felt her temper rise. She should have known something like this would happen. Hadn’t she told James it was a mistake sending Harriet back on the road? She should never have let him talk her into it. He’d sat there going on and on about Harriet needing her confidence built up again, that she was much better again, she had been one of their most popular guides, all the groups had loved travelling with her, Melissa only had to read the comments book, they all said how kind and sweet and fun she was, blah blah blah, on and on until Melissa had eventually pleaded a headache and given in.

  Not for the first time Melissa wished James had several other sisters, preferably six or seven, each with business and tourism management degrees, instead of just Harriet and Lara. Not that Lara was strictly his sister, of course, and one had to make allowances for Harriet since her breakdown, but it really did sometimes feel as though she, Melissa, was the only one keeping the business on an even keel.

  What she found hardest about working with the Turner family was the ripple effect, she decided. Something happened to one, and it affected all the others. Like when Neil and then Penny had died. Of course it was sad, but that was the natural order of things, wasn’t it? Parents died, children took over. You got on with it. Not that she was that close to her own parents, in fact she rarely saw them these days, but they were happy enough in the old folks’ home, she knew. And she would only unsettle them unduly if she was to start calling in each Sunday the way some people’s relatives did. The monthly visits worked well for them all. If they were to die, of course she’d be sad, but she would get on with it. Not like the Turners. James had gone so serious. Austin had become even more impossible. Harriet had fallen to pieces. Even Lara had gone strange, announcing out of the blue she was going to study in England. How were they supposed to work productively together in these kind of circumstances?

  She checked the time on the airplane-shaped wall clock above the front door. Ten to eight. She’d have to pop her head in to the house soon and make sure Molly was ready for school and had remembered to have her breakfast. At least she was still eating properly, and doing her homework, and behaving normally, not like some other fifteen-year-olds around town she’d heard about, getting up to no good, going off the rails. And Gloria would be in any moment, too. Thanks heavens for one non-family employee, even if she possibly should have retired years before.

  Melissa turned to her computer. She’d try and distract herself with work while she was waiting for Gloria. Beside her was a pile of books on the archaeological settlements of Sweden. Axel Dortmund, the owner of one of the guesthouses on the Merryn Bay beach, had come into the travel agency a month ago, offering to lead a study tour to Viking settlements in his native country. An early listing on the Turner Travel website calling for expressions of interest had yielded an encouraging number of inquiries.

  There was no accounting for taste in travel, Melissa thought for the hundredth time since she and James had taken over the running of Turner Travel. And thank heavens for that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In her bedroom at the back of the house adjoining the travel agency, Molly Turner was nearly ready for school. She’d been up since six-thirty. She had crept out of the house and cycled, half-asleep, to the pool, barely spoken to the other members of her swimming club, swum her usual twenty laps and been back home and showered by seven-thirty.

  Sometimes her dad was up when she got back, making coffee or sitting at the table reading the paper, but not this morning. Poor old Dad, stuck in hospital, she thought. Silly old Dad, falling off the ladder. She hoped he was missing them, stuck in Geelong. She and her mum had been to see him at the weekend and were hopefully going again this evening, after she’d finished her afternoon swimming training. He’d looked funny in the bed, with his leg all plastered up, a cage under the covers making him look five times bigger. He’d been as lovely as ever, though. Some of her friends complained about their dads, and she did her best to join in, but the truth was she really liked her dad. It was her mum she had problems with …

  She went out into the backyard and slung her towel, bathers and damp tracksuit over the clothesline, pegging them haphazardly. It was a beautiful autumn day, the sky blue and clear even this early in the morning. She picked a late plum off the tree by the back door as she came in and bit into it, the juice already warm from the morning sun. Passing through the kitchen, this time she noticed the signs of life, the toaster out, the dishes drying in the rack. Her mum must have gone into work early. Gloria wouldn’t like that, Molly thought. She’d heard
her say many times how much she liked that quiet morning time in the office on her own.

  Molly went into her room to dress. She was still wearing her summer school uniform, a knee-length blue cotton dress, but once the winds started up in May they would all switch to the longer blue winter skirt and jumper. She tied her still damp strawberry blonde hair back into its usual long thick plait, adding a glittery hair slide for that touch of glamour, as her friend Hailey called it. She rubbed moisturiser into her bare brown legs and applied the barest minimum of tinted moisturiser to her face. Proper foundation was banned, but she and her friends had discovered this was the next best thing. She found her lip gloss and put it in her pocket. That was also banned but they all still wore it anyway. She’d apply that on her way to school. Next, her earrings – simple gold studs, anything showier was also banned. Finally, she strapped her watch on, a small oval face and a blue leather strap. The school even had strict guidelines about what sort of style the band could be. Nothing too showy that might cause envy, apparently. It was stupid, she thought. All these rules and regulations, piled one on top of the other. If the teachers only knew what the kids got up to. Which reminded her …

  She put her hand under the mattress, rummaged inside the little hole she had made in the stuffing and pulled out the packet. She pressed out the pill, swallowed it and hid the packet again. It was the only hiding place she’d been able to think of. Her mother still tidied her room and put her clothes in her drawers, even though Molly had tried to make her understand she was happy enough to do it herself.

  ‘You’re still my little girl,’ her mother had said, ignoring that at five foot five Molly was now nearly a head taller than her. ‘I don’t mind doing it one bit.’

  Molly’s friends couldn’t understand why she complained. Their mothers insisted they clean their own rooms and do their share of the housework. Jacinta and Hailey even had to do their share of the washing – and so did their brothers.

  ‘When does your mother get time to do this housework, Molly?’ Jacinta’s mother had asked, after overhearing the conversation in the car one afternoon. ‘She works full-time, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She gets up early,’ Molly said. ‘And she does some of it at lunchtime.’ It had got worse since they moved into her grandma and grandpa’s house. At least in the old house, a couple of miles away from the main street, her mother hadn’t been able to nip in and out during the day. Now there was only a door dividing the travel agency from the house. Molly couldn’t leave anything lying around in the morning. She never knew when her mum might be popping in and out of her room, doing a spot of tidying, as she put it.

  ‘So when does she relax?’ Jacinta’s mother had asked.

  ‘She doesn’t.’

  Mrs Symons had laughed, but Molly hadn’t. It was true. Her mother didn’t relax. Not even when they went on holidays together. She would be checking out the hotel or the caravan park, or all the local tourist attractions. Molly always had to try out all the attractions for children, too, and give full reports.

  ‘It was okay,’ she’d say, in answer to her mum’s questions after she climbed off a funfair ride or came out of a museum.

  ‘What do you mean it was okay?’ her mum would say, pulling out her notebook.

  Molly hated those questions. ‘It was just okay.’

  She’d mentioned it once to Lara, the day before they were going away on another research holiday, even though she felt a bit guilty complaining about her mum. Lara had got it immediately. She worked with her mum every day, Molly supposed, so she knew what she was like. She’d given her some good advice. ‘Okay isn’t that descriptive a word, Mollusc. Think about it as if you were telling one of your friends what a place was like and use that word. Your mum wants to know what it will be like for kids, so that would be really helpful. One good, juicy word should do the trick.’

  Lara had been right. Molly had described the next set of attractions as awesome, scary, wild. Her mum had been really happy and had got off her back. Molly had texted Lara straight away. It workd. U r genius. She’d got one back minutes later. No, u r. L xxx

  Molly checked her mobile phone now, where it was recharging by the chest of drawers. She’d been keeping half an ear alert for it all night, hoping to get the reply text from Lara. Usually she came back to her quickly, as soon as she got one of Molly’s messages, even if it was to say Stop Txting & Get Bk 2 Work! There were no messages, though. There hadn’t been any for nearly two days now. It was a bit weird.

  Maybe her latest message hadn’t got through, she thought, even though she knew it had. She had waited and watched for the Sent sign to flash. But maybe it had gone astray on the way. It was a long way for a few words to travel, from Australia to England. It wouldn’t hurt to send it once more.

  She had to type it all out again. She hadn’t dared to leave the message in her outbox. Her mother had started occasionally picking up her mobile phone and reading her saved messages and Molly had already had to explain a potentially embarrassing text she had sent to one of the boys in her class. Luckily her mum hadn’t known what some of the abbreviations were, but she’d been suspicious. ‘Your mobile phone is for communication not for flirting, Molly, remember that please.’

  She had to be joking. They all used their mobiles to flirt. She tapped on the keys. L, Nd sm advce. Boy stuff. Cn u cll me? Lol M xxxxxx

  She pressed Send. Waited. Message sent appeared. She crossed her fingers Lara would call her back soon.

  Molly had thought it would be fine, Lara being away for these three months. She’d been excited for her, too, getting the chance to study in England. She’d gone to the airport to see Lara off, and they’d been texting and phoning each other while she’d been away. But she still really missed her. Things weren’t the same when Lara wasn’t around. She knew some people thought Lara was a bit stuck-up, but she really wasn’t. She was quiet and calm, but underneath she was really good fun and she always seemed to understand how Molly was feeling about things.

  She was great with fashion tips too. Molly really liked Lara’s clothes and the way she wore her hair. Lara was always really happy to let her borrow anything, too, or to show her different ways to style her own hair, like in plaits or French twists, or once even using chopsticks in a sort of bun. She’d even spent a whole afternoon helping Molly get ready for a school dance, when she was going in fancy dress as a pop star, helping her tease her hair and put on loads of make-up until she looked exactly like someone on MTV. It had been great fun, a real laugh, like being with a really cool older friend or big sister rather than an aunt.

  Molly had gone out a couple of times with her other aunt Harriet since Lara had gone away, once to see a film, the other time to do some shopping, and it had been good but they just didn’t have the same kind of friendship as Molly had with Lara. Harriet had changed so much. She used to be great fun, always ready to mess around and have a laugh, but then all that stuff had happened on that tour, and for ages after she’d seemed to be really quiet. Molly’s dad had taken her aside one day, asked her to be extra kind to Harriet, that she was finding life tough, ever since her mum and dad had died. That was fair enough, Molly thought. It had been awful, especially when it had been one after the other like that, but how come everyone else hadn’t fallen to pieces the same way? She’d asked her mum once, really casually, but she’d been no help. So she’d asked Gloria. Molly was actually a bit scared of Gloria, the way she sometimes seemed to know what you were thinking before you knew it yourself, and the way she would speak her mind. But at least she always told you the truth.

  Gloria had thought about it for a little while and then said she thought it had been extra hard for Harriet because she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her parents, the way Austin and James and Lara had.

  Molly found that a bit hard to understand. ‘She was at their funerals, though. She said goodbye then. Everyone did.’ The church had been packed both times.

  ‘I meant when they died, Moll. Harrie
t was the only one of the kids who wasn’t with them when they died.’

  Molly still didn’t really understand why that would have made Harriet go funny. It wouldn’t have changed things even if she had been there, would it? Her grandpa would still have died of the heart attack and her grandma would never have recovered from the stroke. She’d heard lots of people say it at her funeral. That it was better she had died, that she might have been paralysed if she’d lived, in a wheelchair or in hospital all the time.

  She still wondered if that’s what Lara and Harriet had been talking about that night out in the garden, the night of Lara’s farewell drinks party. It had definitely been about Grandma but she hadn’t heard enough to know exactly what. It hadn’t been a big party, mostly their clients, friends of Lara’s and Harriet’s, people they knew from around Merryn Bay, friends of the whole family. Even Austin had come down for it, even though it was just a few weeks before he was going on that big tour of Europe and probably catching up with Lara anyway.

  Molly had enjoyed it. She got to be waitress at these family or Turner Travel parties, which meant getting to move around as much as she liked and not getting stuck in boring conversations with clients like that scary lady Mrs Lamerton, who lectured all the time about how things had been in her day. Molly had run out of clean glasses and her mum had asked her to go and get some more from the boxes outside. She’d gone out and nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard voices in the garden, until she realised it was Lara and Harriet. She was about to go over to them when something stopped her. They weren’t talking. They were fighting. But in a strange way. She’d never heard Harriet speak in a voice like that, either before or since. She wasn’t shouting. Neither of them was. That’s what Molly thought about afterwards. How quiet they had both been, but how strange Harriet had sounded. Lara had been standing still, not reacting at all. Harriet had been asking her something. ‘Lara? Is that true? I have to know, can’t you see that?’ Molly hadn’t been able to hear the rest of it or what Lara said in reply. She’d heard a murmur, and then Harriet’s voice again, soft at first, then louder, sounding like she was really upset but trying not to cry. ‘I can’t understand. How could you have done it?’