by Di Morrissey
‘Georgia has done more than enough. In the last couple of days she’s vacuumed rugs and cleaned windows. She’s done a lot of dusting, too. There are so many things I’ve neglected and Georgia’s kindness has only reinforced that. I can’t even pick all the mandarins from my tree. You must take some with you. They’re the best they’ve been for years.’
‘I’m sure you’ve just slowed down in the cold weather. Come spring you’ll blossom,’ said Chris.
‘You know, Chris, Georgia has made me see this place through new eyes. I look back at its past. I like to think of all the memories and family history that is here. Georgia has such fresh young eyes, she keeps seeing the potential of this property.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Chris.
‘She’s full of ideas. Like the old barn. Georgia suggested that it could be reborn as a lovely family retreat, or a cottage.’
‘Could you rent it out as a farmstay sort of thing, or use it as somewhere for the grandchildren to stay?’
‘Heavens, do you think something like that would work? But I’m not sure I would like to take such a venture on at my age.’
‘You could make a bit of pocket money renting it out,’ said Chris encouragingly.
Chris got up as Georgia appeared and pulled over a cane table for Georgia to set down the tea tray and then she poured Jean a cup of tea.
‘Are you happy with the photos you took?’ he asked her.
‘I think so. I’ve resisted going through them. I’m trying to work by instinct and not be a slave to technology.’
‘Goodness, we were so judicious with the pictures we took with our old Box Brownie. Couldn’t snap away at everything, we would soon have run out of film. And you had to wait a week for the prints to come back to the chemist shop,’ said Jean with a smile. ‘A bit different now. Georgia took hundreds of photos.’
‘But you took enough photos to have a wonderful record of this house and your family,’ Georgia said to her. She turned to Chris and added, ‘Jean is going to lend me her photos so that I can do parallel illustrations. It’s going to make a wonderful book.’ Her voice was filled with enthusiasm.
‘A book! Wonderful idea,’ said Chris. ‘Do you have a good agent who could sell the concept to a publisher? I can recommend one.’
‘Silly! Even if I do get it published, it won’t make me rich, but maybe Jean will be able to get some of her fencing fixed. We’re going fifty–fifty on any profits,’ Georgia explained.
‘My dear, that’s not necessary,’ Jean protested.
‘We agreed to be partners,’ said Georgia firmly. ‘And Jean, this place could do with some work. New fencing, a bit of weeding, that sort of thing.’
Jean shrugged. ‘I know, dear. It’s a shame the land’s not being utilised. There’s seventy acres out there, all the way to the river flats, and it’s being overrun with weeds. My husband was always very particular about invasive species, but I’ve had to let the place go, I’m afraid I just don’t think I have the motivation to do any of that anymore. There comes a time in one’s life when things start to become too much of a problem.’
‘Jean told me that she is thinking of selling up,’ said Georgia.
Chris stared at them. ‘Really? Are you sure, Jean? That’s amazing. This could be quite a perfect solution for someone I know.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Georgia. ‘Who do you know?’
Chris nodded his head, almost laughing. ‘Jean, Mum and her friend David are looking for land somewhere in this area so that David can develop a bush food programme. Quite possibly your property would be suitable. May I suggest they come and see you?’
‘Of course, dear. I’d love to see Susan. And really it might just be the right time for me to move on, although I would be very sorry to leave Applebrook.’
‘David is an agronomist who lives to restore soils and keep creeks clear of weeds and experiment with sustainable crops,’ said Chris. ‘He would take very good care of this land.’
Georgia stared at Chris. ‘What a fabulous idea. I do hope it works out for you all.’
Jean took Chris’s hand. ‘When you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn to trust and simply deal with what life throws you. Maybe this is exactly the right time for me to leave this place.’ She patted his hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Georgia was telling me about what happened with your book, Chris. You’ll see, dear. Something will come along and things will work out as it seems to be for me, and you’ll wonder why on earth you got so upset at the time.’
‘I hope you’re right, Jean,’ said Chris.
Jean smiled and picked up her cup. ‘Oh, I know I am, dear.’
It seemed to Chris that suddenly everyone else had a project, a plan, but he didn’t. He felt raw, exposed and vulnerable. But he tried not to let it show.
Chris missed Georgia madly after she returned to Sydney. Her visit had marked a milestone in cementing their relationship. But Chris wasn’t sure quite what lay ahead for them both, and he decided that it was best just to take things day by day.
Megan returned from Perth full of stories of her adventures. The first evening back she settled on the couch next to Chris while he was reading a book.
‘I missed you, Dad.’
‘I missed you too, sweetie. But you had fun, right?’
‘Yep. Mum and I are besties now.’
‘But haven’t you always been pals with your mother?’ Chris asked.
Megan wriggled a bit, then said, ‘I suppose, but it’s different this time. Now we’re, like, grown-up girlfriends. We talked about everything, even sex.’
‘Did you? That’s good,’ said Chris warily. ‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?’ he added, rather hoping that Jill had covered everything.
‘Are you having a really serious relationship with Georgia?’ Megan asked, earnestly.
Chris paused a moment. He really didn’t want to have to explain his love life to his daughter, but he realised that she had a right to the truth about himself and Georgia.
‘Yes, I am, honey, because we love each other.’
‘Is Georgia going to come and live with us?’ Megan asked.
‘I don’t think so. She has a job in Sydney. What if we moved back to the city?’ he asked suddenly.
‘No way! I’m not ever leaving Neverend. Tell Georgia she has to come up here. Okay, Dad?’ She jumped up.
‘Sure, I’ll tell her you said so.’
When Chris later told Susan what Megan had said, Susan smiled.
‘That’s all good,’ she said. ‘Megan has settled so well in Neverend now. She knows she has two happy parents, even though they are on opposite sides of the country, and a network of friends around her. She’s found where she likes to be. What about you?’
Chris sighed. ‘I guess I don’t feel quite the same way. I’m glad Jill is happy and that Megan feels secure with us in Neverend, but Mum, let’s face it, I’m hardly doing well financially. I seem to be no further ahead with my career decisions than I was when I first arrived here more than six months ago. And I have no idea where my relationship with Georgia is headed, either.’
‘I don’t suppose Georgia would consider moving to Neverend?’
‘Possibly. She works from home, and I suppose she can travel anywhere to see clients. But that’s not the only factor in play. I want to be able to be at least an equal financial partner in this relationship,’ said Chris. ‘Losing the book deal has pulled the rug out from under me yet again.’
‘Yes, I know things seem bleak at this stage, but I’m sure that will change. Something will turn up,’ said Susan, comfortingly.
Chris was not so sure.
But then a change of luck came out of left field.
Chris and Susan were in Coffs Harbour on a shopping expedition, and they’d just popped into the large supermarket for some groceries when a pleasantly voiced woman, a bit younger than Chris, stopped Susan.
‘Mrs Baxter! How lovely to see you. Rememb
er me? I’m Bronwyn, Allsop. I’m Bronwyn Johnston now, complete with two kids. I was in your class for three years. I mean, they were different classes, not the same one three times over.’ She laughed amiably.
‘Of course, Bronwyn, how lovely to see you. This is my son, Chris,’ said Susan warmly, gesturing to Chris.
Bronwyn nodded. ‘I remember Chris from school, but you were a few years ahead of me, so I don’t suppose you remember me.’
‘But I do know who you are,’ said Chris with a smile. ‘I used to listen to you all the time on local radio. Haven’t heard you lately, though – are you still with the ABC?’
‘Absolutely, but I’ve been working on the south coast for a while. I’m just back here now. I’ve been promoted. I’m the local station manager.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Susan. ‘That’s wonderful. You have done well.’
‘Thank you. I’ve followed your career, too, Chris. I’ve so enjoyed reading your columns in the Coastal Star. They are very entertaining and you certainly display an intimate understanding of this area. I suppose you’ll be off to another posting soon.’
‘I’m staying in Neverend for a while longer.’
‘Chris has moved back home. He’s writing a book,’ Susan interjected.
Chris shrugged. ‘Actually, the book deal fell through, so my principal job is driving a courier van for Shaun French.’
Bronwyn cocked her head and looked at him for a moment. ‘Are you really planning on staying in Neverend? If you are, you might be just what I’m looking for. One of our journalists has taken up a position in Canberra, so I’m looking for an experienced journo to replace him.’
Chris hesitated. ‘Unfortunately I’ve had no experience in radio, Bronwyn. I’m a print journalist.’
‘Chris, a good journo is a good journo, regardless of the medium. You can always be trained to do radio.’
‘Are you serious?’ he asked, with an incredulous laugh.
Susan seemed to catch the hint of interest in his voice. ‘Chris, I think that sounds like a terrific idea.’
Bronwyn leaned towards him. ‘Look, why don’t you put in an application? There will be lots of others applying, but you have a great deal of journalistic experience and you certainly know this area. I can give you a try for a couple of months and if it all works out the way I think it will, then you can become a permanent staff member.’
‘Suits me,’ said Chris casually, but his eyes were sparkling.
‘Give me a call at the office after nine. As the station manager, I do the breakfast shift, so I’ll be off air by then. I’d give you one of my cards, but I never have them on me.’
‘Thanks, Bronwyn. I’ll call you after nine,’ said Chris.
‘Great. Gotta go. My kids have probably filled the trolley with junk by now. Talk soon. See you, Mrs B.’
‘It’s Susan,’ she called out as Bronwyn hurried down the aisle to find her children. Susan turned delightedly to Chris. ‘Can you believe that, Chris? Such a wonderful opportunity, don’t you think?’
‘Mum, I may not be suitable,’ said Chris, shaking his head.
‘Don’t be such a pessimist.’
‘All right, I’ll give it a whirl. Local radio might not be Washington DC, but reliable news is important whatever the subject and wherever it’s broadcast,’ Chris said, warming up to the idea. ‘I have to say, Bronwyn seems bright and capable.’
‘She always was a smart girl. I remember that there was a write-up about her in one of the local papers some time back. It seems that although Bronwyn was always being courted to move on to bigger things she and her husband prefer living in the country. Neither of them wants to move to the big smoke.’
Chris didn’t answer, but he was thinking hard. While this offer could be the answer to his problems, would working in local radio be too stifling? He pulled out the shopping list.
‘Have we got everything? Corned beef, tomato paste, laundry detergent, a job for Chris . . . Yep, looks like we can tick those off and head home.’
Susan laughed and tucked her arm through her son’s as he pushed the trolley towards the checkout.
*
Georgia was thrilled at his news when he called her later on. ‘That’s wonderful, Chris. If it comes off, you can retire from the courier business and go back to what you do best, writing and reporting the news. A book can wait.’
‘There’s a lot that could go wrong, Georgie, but I am going to apply for the job. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll be given a try-out and prove to be no good for radio.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be great. Anyway, we’ll keep our fingers crossed that Bronwyn is bowled over by your talents. I’m proud of you, my darling. And I haven’t given up on you as my client either.’
*
‘Are you going to be a DJ on the radio? How cool!’ exclaimed Megan that night at dinner.
‘No, I’ll be one of the station’s journalists, writing the news and reading it on air.’
‘That’s cool, too,’ said Megan, graciously. ‘Wait till I tell everyone at school.’
‘Whoa, I’ve just put in my application. I haven’t got the job yet,’ said Chris with a grin.
For the first time in ages, Chris felt re-energised and enthused. Radio would be a new medium for him to master and he would be a working journalist again, doing what he did best, keeping people informed about the issues that impacted on their lives.
*
One afternoon a few days later, Chris was at Jean’s house chopping some firewood when his phone rang. He lowered the axe, mopped his brow and answered. He felt a thrill as Georgie’s voice came on the line.
‘Hey, you. Where are you? Can you chat?’
‘Georgie, I always want to chat with you. When are you coming up? I miss you,’ he said. ‘And why are you calling me? What can’t wait till tonight?’
Georgia took a breath. ‘I’m actually wearing my agent’s hat, Chris, not my “I love you” one. I was at a book launch earlier in the week and met the new CEO of Port Publishing, an independent outfit that manages to attract some pretty good writers. Paul likes to find people with something interesting or provocative to write about, politicians, academics, former diplomats, those sorts of people. Several of his books have done surprisingly well. Anyway, he agreed to meet me and I went to see him this morning.’
‘What about? A new client?’
‘No, a client I’ve had for a while. You. I pitched an idea for a book that I know you could write and he loved it.’
Chris was silent for a moment. ‘Oh? And what sort of book would that be?’
‘I know I should have run my idea past you and I’m sorry I didn’t, but sometimes you have to strike as soon as you see an opportunity. I showed Paul those couple of sample chapters you wrote for your first book. He really likes your writing style,’ said Georgia, enthusiastically.
‘So what is it I’m going to write about this time around?’ said Chris cautiously, wondering what Georgia was going to come up with.
‘I mentioned some of the stories that you’d told me about your time overseas, not just the articles you’ve written, but the background to them, the digging you did to unearth them. You’ve had some extremely fascinating, funny, scary experiences and I think you should share them.’
‘Who’d be interested?’ began Chris.
‘Don’t be silly, young man,’ said Georgia briskly. ‘The work you’ve done as a reporter around the world is a dream job to most people. Many foreign correspondents are celebrities.’
Chris couldn’t help but smile. ‘Foreign correspondents are supposed to be out of sight, telling the story, not at the centre of it. Anyway, it’s not always as exciting as it sounds.’
‘You’re a terrific raconteur, Chris. You can make anything sound exciting. You can tell the story behind the headlines. I think that the way you tracked stories down could be as interesting as the stories themselves.’
‘I’m not sure. Is this pushing one’s own barrow re
ally me? Your father doesn’t believe in journos thrusting themselves into the limelight. Besides, look what happened to my last book effort. Maybe I don’t have one in me,’ he sighed.
‘Chris, have you any idea how many books get turned down by publishers?’ said Georgia, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘A whole lot more than get published. And it’s frequently the case that a writer’s first attempt ends in failure. But even if it does, just trying to write something is good practice. When you were working on your first book, one of the things you told me you got out of it was that you found your voice. You learned to move from being a newspaper writer to being a book writer, so that experience was worthwhile.’
‘I suppose so,’ Chris said quietly, but he was secretly pleased to know that Georgia had listened to what he’d said.
Georgia ignored his comment and continued, ‘Only in novels does an author have a sensational overnight success. In real life, writing a book is a long, hard slog, and even then there is no guarantee of success. I think that you could make it as a writer, but only if your heart is really in it. So would you please write down a few thoughts that I can show to the publisher?’
‘Hmm. Let me think about it.’
‘An expression of interest from a dedicated publisher isn’t to be sneezed at, Chris,’ said Georgia, sternly.
Chris could hear the excitement in her voice, the eagerness, the enthusiasm. ‘What an ungrateful sod I am. I don’t deserve you. I wish I could kiss you. Okay, I’ll give it a shot, Georgie,’ he said contritely.
‘Fantastic, I’m so pleased. Can you get down to Sydney any time soon and bring your ideas? I’ll set up a meeting with Paul and we’ll go in and see him.’
‘Any excuse to see you! But seriously, I would love to have another attempt at a book. Thank you for this opportunity. I love you, Georgie.’
‘I love you, too.’
Chris rang off and returned to his wood-chopping detail with renewed energy. New opportunities seemed to be springing up everywhere.
*
Chris began to put in long hours on his writing again, gathering together his old stories and looking at the emails that he’d sent his mother over the years, pleased that she had always been reluctant to discard anything. He was often deep in thought as he wandered around the house, out onto the verandah and into the garden before returning to his desk. Even Megan noticed his deep absorption in the task and teased him.
