by Jane Carter
He added sugar and stirred it round. He had a strong square hand with blunt fingers—they didn’t look like city hands. Faces and hands always fascinated Diana.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ said Patrick. ‘How come you ended up in London?’
‘I was lucky, when I finished college, I won a kind of a resident scholarship with a potting commune in London, run by five wonderful potters.’ She was well aware how lucky she’d been. ‘And one day, with their encouragement, I took some of my pots to the gallery with theirs. The gallery owner was standing behind me watching me unpack, and he asked me how much I wanted for one of my pots, then doubled the price. He didn’t even blink. A few days later he’d sold them all. That was my first sale, and that man, Sebastian, became my agent. It went from there.’
Patrick smiled at her. ‘That must have been an exciting day for you.’
‘Mmm.’ She shrugged. He could tone down the smile—it made her shivery. ‘Lucky, I guess, very lucky.’ She paused, and then couldn’t resist. ‘Is there a Mrs Patrick?’
‘Not a present one. I was married before, to Vanessa.’
‘Right. Any children?’
He shook his head. ‘So what are you going to do, Diana? Are you planning to stay? I have a feeling it would go down well with your family.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been the best daughter to them. Actually, I was pretty bad, when I think about it. I kind of exiled myself from my family, pushed them away, thinking I’d be stronger if I weaned myself, you know?’
‘We all have to wean ourselves at some stage.’
‘Do you miss Ireland?’
‘You know, there’s definitely a connection. I think I may have inherited some farming genes along with my accent.’ He was laughing.
‘I could have been a farmer, if things had turned out differently. Isn’t it weird? A throw of the dice.’ She traced the rim of the small cup with one finger. ‘Your grandparents were very brave coming to a new country. I’ve lived in England for the last twenty years but I’m still considered a foreigner. You get very sick of the convict jokes.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ said Patrick. ‘Do you think you’ll stay here?’
She looked at him. ‘There’s no simple answer. I feel like I’m split down the middle. Charlie’s parents want me back there, or at least they want the children. They have been very kind—kinder than I deserve really. They didn’t want Charlie marrying me in the first place, but we got on better as time went on. After the kids …’ She trailed off. She must ring her in-laws; she would when she got back tonight. It was daytime there now.
‘We live in Gospel Oak, a great community with lots of different people. There’s a sixties’ housing estate across the road and millionaire mansions around the corner.’ She grimaced. ‘The kids are at a good school, and we found this great house. It’s in a row of Victorian brick terraces, you know, with a string of gardens behind them. We …’ She hesitated. ‘I have a beautiful studio at the top of the house, with a tiny glimpse of Hampstead Heath between all the chimney pots. It takes me just two minutes to get to the bottom of the Heath. Now that is a beautiful open space.’ Diana looked up to find he had that look in his eye again It unnerved her. ‘Downside, you’re never without people around you. I used to run on Hampstead Heath, but all the people …’ She shrugged. ‘The problem is you’re never alone in London, are you?’
‘You needed to be alone?’
‘In my studio I was alone, with my clay and my wheel and my kiln.’ She was talking too much. She looked away from him and laughed. ‘Not that I ever got away from the kids. Now that Saskia is at school though, there is more time. You must enjoy the peace and quiet at Lost Valley.’
Patrick put down his coffee cup, pushing his chair back. ‘That’s for sure. I’m sorry. I’m enjoying this, but I think it’s time to go. I don’t want your parents to worry.’
‘Oh! I had no idea of the time.’ Diana flushed.
* * *
It was silent in the car. The easy conversation had subsided into an uneasy quiet. Diana watched the dials with their bright white lights, then moved her gaze to Patrick’s hands, resting competently on the wheel. He switched on the radio. Music filled the car. She knew that song so well.
‘No, turn it off please.’
Patrick swiftly turned it off. ‘Sorry.’
‘No.’ Diana shook her head. ‘It’s me. I used to play it in my studio all the time when I was at my wheel. Charlie used to … he used to sing it, and say it was written for me, only me.’ Help. She took a deep breath. ‘“She”. Do you know it? From the movie Notting Hill. You know at the end, where they’re looking at each other?’
‘Of course I know it. It had me in tears, too.’
Diana didn’t answer.
Then he broke the silence. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you.’
Diana turned to look at him and waited for him to continue.
‘We—Vanessa and I—did have a child. He lived to twenty-seven weeks, but he was stillborn. Rory, we named him Rory.’
No, you’ve lost a child, not a child. Nothing could be as bad as that. Diana was silent. Words stuck in her throat. What could she say? How could you bear losing a child?
Her parents had. Cody. Sharp as a tack. So beautiful.
‘That’s just awful,’ she said finally. ‘Rory is a lovely name.’
‘I got to hold him. He was still warm, and so perfect. It was just such a shock. We didn’t expect—I guess no one expects that to happen.’
‘No, you don’t. Giving birth is all about life.’
‘You know the worst thing was filling out the form, the registration, that was tough.’ His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. ‘So … It gets better, that’s all.’
‘Thank you.’ Diana was quiet for a moment. ‘You probably think I’m mad, but could I hold your hand, just for a moment?’
Patrick stretched out his left hand and Diana tentatively took it in both of hers. She ignored the tingle that ran through her. Instead, she concentrated on its strength, tracing the blunt fingers, the well-shaped nails, the warmth. She squeezed gently at first, and then harder, before raising it to her cheek and brushing her lips along the back. She sighed and closed her eyes. It would want to get a whole lot better.
You know, you could say you were sorry. She waited. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t going to happen. Damn you, Charlie.
The car had stopped and she was sitting there, still holding Patrick’s hand. They were at the gate. She opened her eyes. Patrick was watching her but said nothing.
Embarrassed, she released his hand. ‘Thank you. Thank you for dinner. I’m so sorry about Rory. Don’t come any further, you’ll wake everyone up.’
Patrick reached into the compartment under the radio and took out a card. ‘I’m off to Sydney in the morning. Ring me if you need anything.’
Diana stood just inside the door, listening to him drive off. How weird was that? He probably thought she was a crazy woman. Realistically, how could she refute it?
The house was so quiet. Everyone must be asleep. They certainly had gone to bed early. She looked at the clock. It was only nine thirty. Diana got into bed, carefully moving Saskia to her side, and she turned right over and slammed into her again. Diana lay there, eyes wide open.
Time for a tea.
Quietly she got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. She stood watching the kettle boil. They say you should never do that.
That was so weird in the car just now, holding Patrick’s hand and talking to Charlie in her head. Could she fall for someone else just months after Charlie died?
Stella came into the kitchen. ‘Hello, did you have a good night? Patrick’s nice, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Nice’ didn’t describe Patrick. He was charming, sensitive and thoughtful. Diana smiled. Her hand still tingled. She went to reach for another mug. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Stella. ‘Charlie would want you to be happy, you know.’
She wanted to talk again. If only she’d let it rest for a while, until Diana was ready.
‘Have you thought any more about putting the children in school?’ said Stella.
‘Are you getting sick of them?’
‘No, of course not.’ She went to get the milk out of the fridge. ‘We, um, just thought …’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not ready to make a decision yet. There’s no point in them going to school if we’re going back soon.’
‘Of course, take your time.’
‘You know I appreciate so much being here,’ said Diana. ‘It’s hard for you and Dad, I know that. Just, thank you. Goodnight, Mum.’
‘Goodnight, Diana. Sleep well.’
She left her mum to finish her tea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘A picnic?’ There were three blank looks from the couch.
It was time to move the bodies from in front of the television. Diana had bought some sausages yesterday and asked her mother to make dough for puftaloons. Which had resulted in a blank look from her mother, too.
‘I haven’t made them for so long, I don’t know if I can remember how.’
But Diana had worked it out, and the mixture was in the back of the ute, along with a saucepan, an old plough disc, sausages and a loaf of bread, newspaper, matches, fruit juice poppers, and some marshmallows she’d bought yesterday. Her mother had come out with a litre of oil, which she’d forgotten, just as they were setting off.
‘For heaven’s sake, be careful with the hot oil,’ said Stella. ‘Will you be all right starting the fire? Put it out carefully, won’t you?’
Diana grinned and, along with her hatted, coated and booted children squashed into the front of the ute, set off.
As for starting a fire, for heaven’s sake, she and Rosie had done this hundreds of times. To be totally honest, didn’t she need some time alone with her kids? It was amazing how good they’d been.
Diana glanced over. The three faces weren’t exactly alight with excitement. She started to sing. Milo and Saskia joined in. Teddy Bears, picnics and woods.
‘It’s called “woods” in England, isn’t it, Mummy? Here it’s called “bush”.’ Milo, ever a fund of information.
‘Sure is.’ She stopped at a gate and without prompting, Milo got out to open it.
‘Where are we going?’ Saskia was renowned for not taking anything in.
‘We’re going down to the creek, to my favourite place on earth, Saskia, for a picnic.’
‘What are we going to eat?’ Sienna sounded doubtful.
‘Sausages and puftaloons.’
‘What are puftaloons?’ asked Milo as he got back in the car.
‘They are little pieces of heaven, but you’ll have to wait to try them yourselves and see what you think.’ Diana smiled, she could hardly contain her excitement.
They were wending their way, slowly this time, down the same hillside where she’d come off the bike. It was such a beautiful day, sunny, no wind rustling the pointed narrow leaves of the sharp-scented eucalypts. Oh how she’d missed the soft, grey-green of the gum trees.
They had come as close as they could get in the ute. The rest of the way they had to clamber down, loaded up with implements and food, Diana helping Saskia, sliding down the last bit. It was worth it. Just the look on the kids’ faces made her smile. The creek did a sharp turn but the ground beside it was flat, covered in a soft grass, some blackberry bushes and ferns. Large granite boulders littered the creek bed, which was largely dry now with just a few pools and wet, springy patches. The trees here were huge, white box, that showered the ground with creamy white, fluffy blossoms in spring. It was pure magic. Birds were singing, and Diana pointed to a little grey wallaby as it hopped slowly out of sight. The three were speechless. It was their first wallaby.
‘A kangaroo!’ Milo was squeaking in excitement.
‘No. That, my children, is a wallaby. Kangaroos are bigger. Okay, first things first. We need wood.’ The three kids stood and looked around them but didn’t move. ‘I mean we all go and get some wood to make a fire,’ she repeated patiently.
‘A real fire, Mummy?’ Sienna looked as though she was going to give her a lecture on lighting fires.
‘Yes,’ Diana replied firmly. ‘A real fire.’
They gathered the wood, then she set about showing her children how to build a fire. The kids stood silently as she piled the wood and scrunched-up paper. Luckily she’d brought enough paper, and the fire soon started and was burning brightly. Next they had to hunt for stones to put the plough disc on.
Diana heard a shout from the other side of the creek. A man and horse were standing there, and she had to look twice before she registered who it was.
‘Mal!’ Diana waved and shouted. ‘Come on over. There’s a gate over there.’
There was a gate in the boundary fence in case sheep got caught down here during floods. It probably hadn’t been used for years.
Mal led his horse carefully over the creek, which had pitifully little water in it. It really was just a series of puddles. He tied the reins to a low branch so his horse could feed on the short pick.
‘Well, well, you on a horse, I never thought I’d see the day,’ Diana teased him.
‘Just because your dad was mad about bikes and you didn’t know anything about horses, doesn’t mean I didn’t.’ He squatted down before their fire, poking around it with a stick. ‘This is going well. I saw the smoke.’
‘See, I remember how to light a fire. How’s Rosie? I haven’t seen her since the races.’
Milo came up carrying a heavy stone, much too big for their purposes, and dropped it at their feet. ‘That’s a big one, Milo. Look who’s here.’
Milo’s face lit up and he stuck out his hand. Mal shook hands and then turned to Sienna and Saskia with a smile. ‘You’re all working hard.’
‘We saw a wallaby.’ Saskia was clearly dying to get in first to tell him.
‘We’re getting stones to put the disc on so we can cook sausages.’ Sienna still sounded doubtful. She held out her offering—two small stones. ‘Look, Mummy, what about these?’
‘Fantastic but we need some more.’ Something clicked. ‘My parents didn’t send you to check on us, did they?’ Diana asked Mal.
‘No, of course not. Well, they did tell me where you’d gone when I rang a little while ago.’ He stayed staring down at the fire.
‘Would you like to join us, share a sausage?’
He looked up then and Diana was surprised to see an almost shy look cross his face. A flash of a memory of how the old Mal looked, way back when. She grinned at him and his face lit up.
‘If you’ve got enough.’
‘Oh, we have more than enough.’ Diana waved airily towards the basket on the ground. ‘There’s tons, much more than we need. So explain why you’re riding around on a horse?’
‘The boss loves his horses. He likes me to exercise them every now and again.’
‘So he has stock horses on Lost Valley, as well as racehorses?’
‘Yes, a few Aussie stock horses, but they’re mostly racehorses. There are about ten here, and the others are in Canberra. He’s got, I don’t know, four or five in training, I think.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how horses disappeared from the scene while we were growing up and now they’re back.’
‘They were around because they were useful, now they’re for pleasure.’
Diana and Mal both pushed two large rocks up either side of the fire to rest the plough disc on. Then she roped Mal into getting more wood, bigger bits than they had managed to find. The fire was really catching on now.
The children were all introduced to the horse, whose name was Satan. For some reason, the enormous black horse didn’t frighten them as much as the dogs had.
‘I’ve picked him some more grass.’ Sienna held out her offerings and laughed as the horse b
lew most of it away. Mal showed her how to offer him grass with it lying on the flat of her palm. She laughed again as he nibbled delicately at her hand.
‘It tickles.’
‘Come on, Sienna, help me get drinks for everyone,’ said Diana. ‘I think the fire needs to quieten down before we put the sausages on it.’
* * *
Providing lunch for two was a very different agenda from lunch for six. Stella got two cup-a-soups out of the pantry and put some toast on and wondered vaguely if it was enough. It looked a bit sparse. She was waiting for Tom to come in and worrying whether the others would be all right. The weather was perfect. She’d had no idea how sick you could get of blue skies. But cloudless blue it was today. Again.
It’s all the other things that could go wrong. The ute could break down, and all she could do was pray they’d be careful with the fire.
That night when Diana was at Rosie’s, Stella had got the children to ring their other grandparents. They obviously had a good connection with them. Sienna talked for ages. She was the most like Charlie in looks—she had his eyes. Stella sighed, she didn’t know why they got off on the wrong foot with Charlie, but there was no denying they had. They were all so uncomfortable with him. She thought it was because there was no ‘wearing in’ time. No time to get used to the idea of Diana being married to an Englishman and all that entailed. All she could think was that this strange man was taking their daughter away, forever.
A Londoner, he’d called himself. He’d never been on a farm before. All of a sudden they were married and he was there, Diana’s husband. Mal had been so different. Stella stopped buttering for a moment. They had known Mal forever. He’d spent more time on their farm when he was growing up than at home. Not that she blamed him—he was an only child living with his grandparents. They’d died soon after he and Rosie had got married but they didn’t leave Mal much, mostly a big pile of debts. When everything was sold up there was just enough for them to put a deposit down on those acres and the little cottage. They’d done an amazing job with that, though.
