by Fiona Lowe
At first the support was practical: stopgap childcare for the little girls when other arrangements fell apart and advice about lawyers. But one day, Sarah and Ellie arrived with Gus and while he took Noah and the girls to the park, the three of them sat drinking wine and talking as if they were old friends instead of strained in-laws.
Slowly, her friendship with Sarah not only resumed but changed into something deeper, more of a shared understanding rather than Anita being in awe of Sarah and Sarah being the wiser older woman.
If Sarah’s brush with a marriage break-up had forged this closer bond, it was Ellie’s experience as a single mother that provided the potting mix to grow their friendship. Although Ellie wasn’t as open as Sarah when it came to chatting about personal things, Anita knew that if she rang Ellie at three in the morning, the only question Ellie would ask was, ‘How can I help?’
Her brothers-in-law had also adopted her and she appreciated Alex’s business advice and Luke’s mate’s rates when he’d replaced all Mill House’s aged plumbing. When the banks prevaricated on lending her the amount she needed to convert the stables into a function venue, Sarah and Alex’s offer of a business loan was a godsend. Despite how busy Alex’s massive sustainability project at Riverbend kept him—tree planting, the installation of solar hot-water systems and using renewable biofuel—he still found time to mentor her. Whenever she thought about how much he’d taught her, Anita almost cried with gratitude, but any time she tried to thank him, he’d shrug and say, ‘Any questions you’ve got about the bloody financial software, ask Sarah.’
‘Anita!’ Sarah held up her champagne glass with one hand and pointed to it with the other.
She crossed the lawn and Alex stood as she arrived.
‘Don’t go on my account.’
‘Come on, Dad.’ Emma was tugging on Alex’s hand.
‘I’d love to stay and chat but Emma needs me on her T-ball team.’
‘Sit, Anita,’ Sarah said, pouring her a glass of champagne. ‘We can watch this hotly contested game together, because I apparently lack the ball skills to be helpful.’
Ellie joined them, bringing her drink and a platter of nibbles with her. ‘And as the bride, I’ve thankfully been spared. But Luke, Noah and the other Sorenson men can’t resist the challenge, so they’re in.’
‘Plus, I paid a fortune for this dress.’ Sarah handed the full flute to Anita. ‘I’m not ruining it for T-ball glory.’
‘It was worth every cent. You look fantastic. You both do.’
‘Thank you. You should add personal stylist to your list of talents. With your advice and an eye for a bargain, both Ellie and I are better dressed now than we’ve ever been.’
‘I’m just happy to help.’
‘I love this ring.’ Sarah picked up Ellie’s left hand, tilting it back and forth, watching the many facets of the diamonds and the emerald-cut sapphire catching the light. ‘Anita, have you decided what you’re going to do with your diamonds from Grandma’s brooch?’
Sarah had insisted that the diamonds in the Jamieson brooch be divided between the three of them. Each received four large diamonds and a ring made from up from the baguette diamonds. Ellie was using the baguette ring as her wedding band, two of the large diamonds in her engagement ring and the other two for diamond studs, which nestled in her earlobes.
‘I’m keeping the big diamonds for the girls,’ Anita said. ‘When they each turn eighteen, they can decide if they want a ring or a necklace. What about you?’
Sarah had been pondering this question for the last few weeks. ‘I was thinking of doing something similar.’
Anita frowned. ‘I can see that working for Emma, but the boys?’
‘We know the diamonds make a beautiful engagement ring,’ Sarah said, thinking of Finn and wondering about Gus. She hoped the changes to the marriage act were only a matter of time but even if future Gus did meet a man he wanted to marry, did gay men have any use for diamonds? She guessed she’d learn, just like she and Alex were learning other things. Being the parent of a gay child was a lifelong learning curve. To be honest, being a parent of any child was.
Phoebe and Ruby suddenly squealed. Emma groaned loudly and everyone watched Gus dive and capture a high ball before loudly declaring his father, ‘Out!’
Anita yelled, ‘Go, Gus!’
He turned to the table, his handsome face alight with a broad smile and gave them all a big wave.
‘He’s done so well this year. What are his chances at the draft?’
‘Apparently good,’ Sarah said, ‘but we have to wait and see. I worry he’ll get drafted to WA or somewhere equally far away. I’ve got my fingers crossed for a Melbourne team, then he and Finn can share a house. That way I’ll still worry, but I’ll worry less.’
After a lot of thought, Gus had decided to limit his coming out to just his parents and siblings, joking that he was too young to be an AFL gay icon. If he got the chance of an AFL career, then he’d think about it. ‘I just want to come out to people when I’m ready.’ They couldn’t argue with that.
Whether it was the relief of telling them he was gay or the relief that Sarah and Alex had reconciled, or a combination of the two, Gus had returned almost immediately to being his happier self. His life was full and busy doing Year 12, playing footy and being in the band. He’d cheerfully completed his mediation-mandated community service and continued helping at the nursing home long after his prescribed time was over.
‘Mum, do you reckon if they knew I was having this much fun with the old dudes, they’d have made me do something else, like picking up rubbish?’
‘They’re just happy you’re happy and unlikely to deck anyone again. So are we.’
He’d looked sheepish. ‘Yeah. It was dumb. Sorry. Hey, did I tell you old Mr Prentice remembers Grandpa playing footy? He said he won best and fairest six years in a row.’
‘Did he?’ Sarah had told Gus her suspicions about her father’s sexuality. ‘I wonder if he remembers a man called Gary Longmuir?’
‘Probably. His legs might not work but there’s nothing wrong with his brain. He said he had some photos of Grandpa at his house. Maybe we could ask his daughter if we could look at them.’
‘Do you think we could interview him and record him? I’d love to know all about my dad’s football career and anything at all about the man I think he loved.’
‘That’d be cool. I’ll ask him.’
She and Gus had a date with Ron Prentice the following week and Sarah couldn’t wait.
As she watched the T-ball players and listened to the good-natured sledging between Luke’s brothers, she said to Ellie, ‘Those Sorenson boys are competitive.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Tell me about it. Whether it’s cooking a barbecue, playing Trivial Pursuit or sport, they’ve elevated it to an art form.’
‘One of the things I value most about the three of us is we’re not competitive. Despite our occasional hiccoughs, we’re always working on acceptance.’ Sarah raised her glass. ‘I love you both.’
‘I love you both too,’ Anita said. ‘I couldn’t do half of what I do without you two. Thank you.’
‘I spent a lot of years thinking I didn’t need either of you, but I was wrong. I wouldn’t be without you now.’ Ellie raised her glass. ‘To always having back up.’
‘To sisters,’ Sarah said. ‘Woman’s best friend. Let’s drink to that.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Birthright could not have been written without the assistance and the support of many different people. Special thanks to writing mate and conference ‘roomie’ Jennifer Kloester for the laughs, the cheerleading and sharing her story with me, which sparked one thread in this book. Thanks to Jane Tierney for chatting about life in a big family and coping with ageing parents and to Kate Parsons for answering my questions about life in the high country, for sharing her mother’s 1970s cookbook as well as making me fall down laughing with photos of party cuisine—frankfurters stuck ‘stylishly’ into a pineapple. Ah, the so
phistication!
A friend and passionate sourdough bread enthusiast kindly shared her precious time and chatted with me about the challenges and highlights of running a successful business with a spouse, as well as giving me a tour of the bakery, feeding me amazing bread and promptly answering a bevy of frantic text messages as I wrote the book. Angus Cameron from Meredith Dairy filled me in on sheep, goats, cheese and sustainable farming practices, and kept me inspired with his Instagram feed. What’s not to love about kids frolicking in spring pastures! Justin Hartnett, an estate lawyer, explained the basics of wills and power of attorney and helped me solve a plot problem that would not be thrown out of court. Kandy Shepherd filled me in on pony clubs as well as answering all my equestrian questions. Any and all mistakes are mine.
I was born on the edge of Victoria’s high country, and as a keen snow-skier, the north east has long been a favourite part of the state for me. Just standing among the snow gums brings me peace. I try to visit each year and I am fortunate to have good friends in the district who are generous with their hospitality and will answer random questions such as, ‘How much does a cup of coffee cost in Mansfield and Bright?’ Thanks to Eryl and Keith Lowe for all the cycling stories and introducing me to ‘turbo buns’.
On the publishing front, thanks to my agent Helen Breitwieser for her support and wise council. To editors Annabel Blay and Kylie Mason who have the hardest job. Thank you for putting up with my moaning as you challenge me not to rest on lazy writing laurels but to hone my skills to make each book the best it can be. Thanks to my publishers Sue Brockhoff and Rachael Donovan for their support and to the great team at Harlequin and HarperCollins who work tirelessly behind the scenes with cover design, marketing and getting the books onto the bookstore shelf so readers can buy it.
The writing life would be a lot harder without the support I receive from my family and writing friends. There are always deadlines when things are very intense and I hibernate in the office for weeks before coming back, blinking into the light to find the house still standing. Norm, I couldn’t do it without you.
A huge thank you to my generous readers. I am heartened by your letters, emails and texts. I am very aware that the selection of books available to purchase is greater than most of our budgets and I very much appreciate your choice in purchasing this one. I hope you enjoy Birthright. If you do, please tell your friends and subscribe to my newsletter at fionalowe.com. Happy Reading!
BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
We’re spending our children’s inheritance is a popular bumper sticker. In the novel, Sarah says inheritance is a privilege not a right. Do adult children really believe this?
Experts say planning is important to avoid heir warfare but can emotion ever be taken out of a will?
With the Baby Boomers holding more than half of Australia’s wealth, elder abuse is on the rise. Is there any way of preventing this within families?
Family inheritance traditions today can still disadvantage women. Discuss.
Sibling rivalry does not always stop in childhood and can adversely affect adult interactions. Think about your siblings. When you gather, are there moments of reversion to childhood roles?
Sarah was judged by Anita for leaving her son when she moved out of Riverbend. Do you think women are judged more harshly than men if they move out of the family home?
Secrets and lies morph over time to become family folklore. How hard is it to dismantle long-held beliefs?
Catch up with Fiona Lowe’s bestselling novel Daughter of Mine, an enthralling story of lost love and tangled family secrets set in Victoria’s stunning Western District.
Here’s a sneak peek ...
OUT NOW!
CHAPTER
1
‘Auntie Harry, look at my frog.’
Harriet Chirnwell recoiled as her eight-year-old nephew, Hugh, thrust a muddy bug catcher under her chin. She could just make out a tiny frog nestled in the greenery.
‘It’s our frog,’ Ollie corrected. He was the younger twin by four minutes.
Harriet’s nose wrinkled as the rancid scent of mud and sheep dung hit her nostrils. ‘And you found it down at the dam.’
‘Yes!’ the twins chorused, sounding surprised that she’d guessed correctly.
‘Why is there mud on my clean floor?’ Xara, Harriet’s middle sister, walked into the kitchen. She pushed her daughter, Tasha— the twins’ sister—in her specially designed wheelchair.
‘We’re showing Auntie Har—’
‘It was a rhetorical question, Hughie.’ Xara shook her head indulgently. ‘Trust you to find the only mud on the farm during a drought. Go back to the mudroom and take off those boots. You too, Ollie. Now.’
Ignoring the groans of her sons, Xara lifted Tasha from the wheelchair. While she positioned her in a foam chair in her favourite spot by the window, she said, ‘Hello, Harry. I didn’t hear you drive up.’
‘European engineering’s incredibly quiet,’ Harriet said, getting a thrill just thinking about her new car. ‘And those sheep in the home paddock are bleating so loudly I’m surprised you can hear yourself think.’
Xara threw an old towel down on the muddy floor and while she mopped it around with her foot, she stirred a pot on the Aga that smelled deliciously like beef and ginger. ‘I keep telling Steve it’s time Chump, Chops and Racka went on the truck but you know how pathetic he is with the ones we hand raise.’ She reached left, opened a cupboard, grabbed two thick-rimmed mugs and threw a teabag into each.
Harriet flinched. She preferred her tea in a bone china cup and made with leaves, not dust. ‘Do you still have those Royal Albert mugs I gave you for your birthday?’
‘Sorry.’ Xara sounded completely unapologetic. ‘I usually hide your mugs at the back of the cupboard but after your last visit, I forgot. Steve took one down to the shearing shed and Hughie dropped the other one.’
The twins rushed back in whooping, ‘Cake, cake, cake,’ and Tasha squealed, joining their enthusiasm. The ear-piercing shrieks formed a wall of sound that forced every nerve ending in Harriet’s body to fire off a salvo of tingling aversion.
She wasn’t particularly fond of children. As a general rule they were sticky and damp, loud and unruly, and they came with an inexhaustible supply of questions, which she found disconcerting. Of course, she was fond of her daughter, Charlotte. She loved her, especially now that that she was no longer sticky and clingy. Harriet considered Charlotte, now almost eighteen, to be one of her greatest achievements; the others were the day she become a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons and the year she joined her father in his medical practice. Over the last decade, she’d taken the practice into the twenty-first century while maintaining a successful and happy marriage to James. She had no time for women who said it was impossible to have it all and her usual response to such statements was that it came down to choice. She’d chosen James because his drive and determination matched her own and he wanted what she wanted. Now, twenty years after saying ‘I do’, they were Billawarre’s power couple: rich, respected, well educated, philanthropic and with the added prestige of being descended from the squattocracy.
Her mother’s family, the Mannerings, had been the founding family in the district, arriving in 1838. They’d gone on to establish a farming dynasty as well as diversifying into manufacturing. Harriet loved that she could trace her Australian heritage back to William and John, who’d arrived from England with a mob of sheep and a vision. Since those early pastoralist days when the brothers had bred sheep, cattle, racehorses and children, their descendants included a very successful gold prospector, businessmen, war heroes and heroines, parliamentarians, doctors, an Olympic equestrian and a novelist.
It was a family to be proud of, and throughout the one hundred and seventy-five years since the Mannering brothers had crossed the Moorabool River, there’d always been at least one branch of the family living in Billawarre. It gave Harriet a reassuring sense of tradition and a great deal of famil
y pride. Like her mother before her, Harriet had been named after her great-grandmother. She’d continued the tradition, naming Charlotte after her own great-grandmother, and she hoped that when the time came—in another fifteen years or so—Charlotte would consider doing the same.
Harriet glanced around the farmhouse kitchen and pursed her lips. She had no idea how Xara could be so laid back in the presence of so much chaos. When Tasha had been born with severe cerebral palsy and requiring twenty-four-hour care, Harriet had assumed Xara would stop at one child. After all, Harriet had stopped at one. She’d been stunned by the amount of time and attention a child took and Charlotte was healthy and developmentally normal—gifted, even, in some areas. Between piano lessons, ballet lessons, pony club, extension tutoring and general school commitments, Harriet and James had juggled their careers and employed Nya Devali to fill the inevitable gaps when neither of them were available. It had been a huge relief when Charlotte had turned thirteen and gone to boarding school, just like Harriet had at that age. The school holidays were always a bit of a struggle but Charlotte enjoyed spending time with her aunts and Harriet always scheduled a few days off in the middle of the break, whisking her away to Lorne or Noosa depending on the time of year. Of course they took an overseas holiday every year, alternating between skiing in Europe or Canada and visiting somewhere warm. Last year, Harriet had even conceded to Charlotte’s request to go to Bali and she’d been pleasantly surprised by the beautiful north-coast resort.
Harriet honestly couldn’t imagine her life with more than one child. She could still recall how stunned she’d been when Xara had announced she was not only pregnant again but with twins. That night, as she and James had been getting ready for bed, Harriet had said, ‘What on earth were Xara and Steve thinking, getting pregnant again?’
James had come up behind her, pulled her in against him and pressed his lips against the crook of her neck in the exact spot that made her melt. ‘I doubt at the time they were thinking at all.’ His deep, rumbling voice had vibrated against her skin, making her shiver in anticipation.
