The idea of packing everything up again was daunting. Emily felt tired just thinking about it.
She wished it was all a nightmare she would wake from. But of course it wasn’t; this was very real. She patted the dog and let out a loud sigh before sitting up.
‘Come on Gracie, we’d better get started,’ she said. She glanced at the vacuum cleaner, where she’d left it to answer the door. ‘But if she thinks I’m going to finish cleaning, she can bloody well think again!’
Back in the kitchen, with notepad and pen in hand, Emily wondered if she should phone her parents.
No.
As much as she wanted her father’s sympathy, the first negative comment from her mother would probably send her over the edge. She’d lost her best friend, the possibility of romance, and her dream house in one fell swoop. And she still had the funeral and then the Strattens to deal with. She was feeling far too vulnerable to risk a conversation with Enid.
She’d been a bloody idiot trusting people’s word and not seeking professional advice. Not once but twice. The last thing she needed was Enid pointing out what a fool she’d been!
No, she’d start packing; one room at a time. It would keep her mind off John’s funeral. At least there was the farm to go back to.
Lucky I didn’t offer the place to Nathan after all, she thought bitterly.
For a moment she wondered if Tara would replace her with other tenants. Perhaps she’d just wanted her out, specifically.
She went out to the shearing shed to retrieve the boxes of newspaper and bubble wrap that she’d put there a few days before. Dark clouds were looming, gathering thick and heavy overhead. She’d better phone Two Men and A Truck and see if they could move her Friday morning. Their ad had caught her eye in the last bundle of junk mail she’d received in her post box. She now almost snorted at the thought that Barbara would say that was a sign. Everything was a fucking sign if you looked hard enough!
Thankfully the guys who ran Two Men and a Truck were quite recent arrivals in town and hopefully wouldn’t know the ins and outs of her life with John Stratten. Not that she could afford to be picky. No. Gran would say, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, my dear.’
Thanks Gran, real bloody helpful. She silently cursed and then looked up suddenly at hearing a loud crash of thunder, followed by another, and then the tinkle of hail on the roof.
Fine. Whatever. Do your worst. With a scowl firmly in place, she prepared to start packing.
Chapter Thirty-six
Emily stared at the boxes and piles of newspaper and bubble wrap on the floor around her and could not find the energy or inclination to tackle the mammoth task. Perhaps after a mug of Milo. But she couldn’t even make herself get up to get it. She sat at the kitchen table feeling stunned. Her mind couldn’t think past what Tara had said. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was shock, self-pity, guilt and sadness.
The house would be sold and then torn down, she just knew it. And it was her fault. If she hadn’t been there, hadn’t upset Tara just by being alive, it would not be under threat. Could she fight this? Should she fight this? She loved the house; not just its bricks and mortar, but its soul, its connection to her father, and most of all for being her haven when she’d needed it. She had grown there, felt safe there.
And now her time there was up. It wasn’t fair. No, it wasn’t. But it was reality. She’d already been humiliated when she’d dared to leave John, and she was facing worse once news of her being his executor and beneficiary got around.
Was this a sign she needed to leave this place? Not just the house, but the district? Was this what the fight with Barbara was about – the universe giving her a clear path, setting her free to move away unencumbered?
Where would she go? Adelaide? Melbourne? Just the thought of being in a city that size gave her goose bumps. All those people swarming around her, invading her personal space.
She liked that here in Wattle Creek she could stop on a corner and chat to people she knew. Sure, there hadn’t been so much of that lately, but things would settle down again; someone would do something worse and deflect the gossip away from her.
Was there a life with Jake in Melbourne awaiting her? She could at least go and see how the land lay with him. And Liz had said before she left John that she was always welcome to stay with her. Should she take her up on her offer?
But would that just be running away and not facing up to things? There was a lot to be done here wrapping up John’s estate. Could she do it from Melbourne, or perhaps hand it over to Gerald and Thora? Maybe she should just tell them and walk away with nothing; start again somewhere.
Perhaps this is karma.
Had she brought all this on herself? Was she getting all she deserved? Suddenly the walls were closing in on her. Emily needed air.
She stumbled out of the kitchen and made her way slowly up the gully with Grace trotting alongside. When she got to the orchard, she sat with her back against the tree where her father had sat the day he told her about his first love Katherine and his connection to the house. Instead of scurrying off after scents, Grace curled up in front of Emily and laid her head on the cross of her ankles.
I can’t fight her. How can you fight someone doing something just because they don’t like you? There was nothing to leverage or work with. Even if there was, Emily didn’t think she had the strength. She was tired. Not sleepy tired, not the sort of tired from overexerting muscles, but a weariness that went right to her soul. Something like she imagined soldiers must feel; battle fatigue.
She’d been through so much recently. It was hard to believe how much. She needed a break. But how do you have a break from being you? It was one thing to escape from a familiar landscape, but her problems would all still be here when she came back. If she left before sorting out her friendship with Barbara and talking to Thora and Gerald, she’d have all that waiting for her when she returned.
She understood how people could disappear, just drop out of society. But there was no way she could do that. As much as her mother drove her mad, Enid was just Enid. She could never hurt her like that.
And the thought of never seeing her father again made her heart clench painfully and the tears start to roll slowly, one after the other, down her cheeks. They had become so close recently. If there was any good to come out of all this then it was her relationship with Des. And Grace. And Barbara and David. And Jake. She felt sure they would come back to her when the dust settled. She was lucky she had people who cared, which was a lot more than many people had.
And, okay, so she’d just been evicted. But she wasn’t out on the street; she had the farmhouse to go back to. Even if Thora and Gerald didn’t agree with her inheriting their son’s estate when they learnt of their separation, they would never see her homeless.
Emily felt bad for the house, but she couldn’t fight Tara. Maybe someone else would do the place up. She had to think that, believe that. It was not life and death. She had John’s funeral to get through, and a very difficult conversation to have with his parents. It was going to be very awkward, but it was not mortally wounding. She had to pull herself together and deal with things like the strong, independent woman she was learning to be.
She eased Grace into her lap and hugged her tightly. As much as she didn’t want to comply with Tara, she knew she had to. She didn’t need more angst in her life. And she certainly didn’t need to be the centre of any more gossip. She just wanted a quiet, calm life. Preferably with Jake in it. Really, she only had herself to blame. If she’d sought legal advice and got things signed off properly, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She should have learnt that after the settlement fiasco.
Emily let go of Grace, uncrossed her legs, and got up. She made her way slowly back down to the house. Inside she put the kettle on.
She sat with her hands wrapped around a mug of Milo, waiting for the boost of energy she needed to start the packing. Instead, her tired mind moved to thoughts of John’s funeral the next day. H
ow was she going to stand up there beside Thora and Gerald with the whole town watching, knowing they were being deceived? The Strattens were very fair people. She wasn’t close to them and she found them a little standoffish, but they had never done the wrong thing by her. They were private people who did a lot for their community. Thora had raised tens of thousands of dollars for charity through her famous garden parties. As far as Emily could see, Thora and Gerald had never deliberately hurt anyone. Whatever John’s issues with them, they were his own, just like hers with Enid.
So how can I knowingly throw them to the wolves tomorrow? And stand by and watch?
Without knowing exactly what she was doing, Emily grabbed her keys and phone, took David’s lease from the manila folder and the lawyers’ letter from the table, and stuffed the documents into her handbag as she strode down the hall. She pulled the front door closed behind her and put the bewildered dog beside her in the yard, barely noticing the rain now pouring down upon her. She got drenched in the short dash to the car. But she didn’t care.
The sudden downpour had made the already damp driveway greasy, and a few times the car slid in the mud. Emily’s heart raced as she fought for control, being careful to steer out of the slide and not brake, just as her father had taught her many years ago.
She sweated under her t-shirt and light woollen jumper, causing an odour of wet sheep to surround her. She was grateful for having to concentrate so closely on the road; that meant she didn’t have the chance to run through scenarios for what she would say when she arrived at Thora and Gerald’s. She just hoped they would be home and not with a houseful of guests.
Chapter Thirty-seven
When she pulled up on the wide gravel driveway in front of the sprawling modern brick house, Emily realised she had only been there a handful of times in all the years she’d known John. To say he hadn’t been close to his parents was the understatement of the century.
Thora opened the door as Emily raised her hand to knock.
‘Emily, how nice to see you. Come in.’
No going back now.
Emily noticed Thora’s slightly raised eyebrows. She must look an absolute fright. Here she was with wet hair plastered to her head, standing on the doorstep in her rattiest jeans and an out-of-shape jumper with holes and frayed edges. And in front of her was Thora Stratten, dressed neatly in capri pants and a knitted top, with not a hair out of place. She probably didn’t even own a pair of jeans.
‘Hi Thora. Thanks.’
As she moved into the hall and offered her cheek for the customary air kiss, Emily was stunned to instead be embraced and held in a tight, lingering hug. She hoped she hadn’t just put muddy brown streaks down Thora’s cream top.
‘Come through. We were just having a quiet drink.’
Emily wondered what the time was. Had she rudely turned up right on lunchtime? She felt as if she’d lost a chunk of time. No, it must be mid-afternoon. ‘Gerald, Emily’s here,’ Thora said as she ushered her into the plush formal lounge room off the hall.
Gerald Stratten stood and also greeted her with a warm smile and hug. ‘Have a seat,’ he said. ‘We were both just having a drop of brandy in a glass of milk. Very soothing,’ he added sadly, nodding at the glasses on the coffee table. ‘Would you like one? Or perhaps tea or coffee. Or something else?’
Brandy in milk sounded like a very good idea. She certainly needed soothing; her heart was racing at a furious pace and her brain was feeling addled. Did she nod to the offer of brandy? Or perhaps she answered. She couldn’t remember, but Gerald left the room.
‘And darling, get Emily a towel for her hair, there’s a dear,’ Thora said to his retreating back. For a split second Emily wondered if she should go off and tidy herself up properly. But she stayed put, feeling very self-conscious and really wishing she had thought to get changed and not let herself get wet.
Enid would have had kittens if she saw her like this, but beyond the initial slight amusement at the corners of her mouth, Thora didn’t seem offended by her dreadful appearance. They spoke haltingly about the recent wet weather and Thora was telling Emily about the weeds taking over her garden when Gerald reappeared with their drinks on a tray and a thick fluffy white towel draped over one shoulder. After putting down the tray he handed Emily the towel. She looked at the towel in her hand, suddenly unsure if the correct protocol was to take herself off to the guest bathroom.
‘Dry your hair, dear, before you catch your death,’ Thora said. She sounded so much like Gran, Emily felt a wave of sadness and nostalgia wash over her. But she was soon distracted by the blush making its way up her neck.
‘I’m so sorry about turning up like this. I must look a fright,’ she said helplessly.
Gerald and Thora just smiled politely and turned their attention to their drinks. Emily swiped the towel across her hair while their attention was diverted. And as she ruffled her locks she wondered how to begin the conversation that had to be had.
‘Now, everything is organised for tomorrow,’ Thora began. ‘The outfit you chose was just perfect. I think John…’ Gerald squeezed his wife’s hand as she choked up. She shook her head as if shaking the tears aside, and continued. ‘The church ladies are doing the…’
Emily’s heart rate rose. She needed to get this over with. But she couldn’t interrupt Thora, whose words just sounded like white noise in her ears. Despite sitting there nodding and looking intently at Thora, she was only taking in the odd word here and there. She finished with her hair and draped the towel around her shoulders, not seeing anywhere more appropriate to put it. All around her was polished timber and leather.
When Thora finally took a breath, and before she could go on to give the names of the hymns that had been chosen, Emily took her opportunity and leapt in.
‘Thora, Gerald, I’m so sorry, but there’s something you need to know.’
Her earnest tone caused them to look up quickly. Emily took a long sip of her drink. The brandy making its way through her felt good. After a moment she forced her eyes up from her glass to meet their gazes. The world seemed to have stopped. The room that had been warm and inviting was now eerily quiet. Was it suddenly a few degrees colder? She took a deep breath, put down her glass, began picking at the frayed bottom edge of her jumper.
‘I know the funeral will be daunting, it will be for all of us. But we’ll get through it together,’ Thora said.
Emily shook her head. She took another, deeper breath, pushed her jumper away, clasped her hands together and looked from one to the other and back again.
Gerald put his hand over his wife’s.
‘I don’t know how to tell you this. I really thought you already knew.’ Emily fiddled with her jumper again; stuck her finger into one of the holes. She nibbled on her lip.
‘Knew what? What did you think we knew, dear?’ Thora asked. She spoke so kindly and looked so fragile, Emily felt the desire to flee and not hurt her.
‘I had left John,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, left him where?’ Thora said, clearly confused. ‘Were you meant to be in the vehicle with him? Well, thank goodness you weren’t.’
Gerald had a knowing expression. He squeezed both of Thora’s hands. ‘It might be best if you just come out with it,’ he said quietly. Emily could almost hear the unspoken words: ‘Dear, we’ve lost our only son; there’s not a whole lot that could hurt us now.’
She found herself wondering if she was sitting where the policeman had sat when he gave them the news. She took a deep breath.
‘Thora. John and I had separated. I had moved out. I thought you knew. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.’ She was rambling. She forced her mouth shut.
‘Oh well, no marriage is always smooth. I’m sure…’ Thora said.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ Emily persisted. ‘We were going to get divorced.’ There, I’ve said it. It’s out now. There was no sense of relief, no feeling of being unburdened.
Thora looked sad and confused. Geral
d looked sad and… Knowing? Had he known? Something? Anything?
‘But I don’t understand,’ Thora said.
‘Darling. What she’s saying is that they had separated…’
‘Why?’
Why did we separate or why didn’t John tell you? There were so many questions. Emily took another deep breath. She wished she hadn’t come. This was even harder than she’d imagined. She’d rather be yelled and screamed at. There was a thick, awkward silence as she tried to sort out the jumble of words and threads in her mind.
‘We weren’t happy – hadn’t been for a long time,’ she finally said with a sigh.
‘All marriages take work; it’s about compromise, making it work.’
Emily looked down at her hands. How much should she tell them? The man, her estranged husband, their son, was dead. What was the point of dragging up all the gory details now? ‘The thing is, I just wanted you to know because otherwise tomorrow you’ll…’
Thora suddenly brought her hands to her face, as if finally understanding. ‘The whole district knows, don’t they?’ she said, aghast.
Emily nodded solemnly.
‘Thank you for telling us,’ Gerald said. ‘It must have been difficult for you to come out here. And you didn’t have to. But we’re grateful that you did. Thank you.’
‘I’m not sure how it went wrong,’ Emily said, feeling the need to explain. It was a lie; of course she knew where it had gone wrong. It had gone wrong from the start, when he hadn’t wanted to share the running of the farm; had tried to keep their worlds separate.
It was all becoming very clear, as she sat there looking at this impeccably dressed woman in her impeccably decorated room. John Stratten had chosen a townie over all the farmers’ daughters, because he wanted a wife like his mother. She’d gone about it all wrong; wanting to – expecting to – stand beside him and toil the land together.
‘Was he cruel to you?’ Thora suddenly said.
Emily saw a montage of their life together flash through her mind. She nodded. ‘He wasn’t very nice at times, no.’ Oh, God, please don’t ask me for details.
Time Will Tell Page 25
