by Jane Carter
Six pairs of eyes stared at her with alarm. They trooped past her, mumbling apologies.
Charlie was furious. ‘How dare you, those people were my friends.’
‘I’ve had enough, Charlie, don’t you dare do this again. I don’t know what you were going to do with Poppy but you’re not going to do it in our house.’
‘You wouldn’t care, you wouldn’t give a damn who or what I brung,’ he coughed, ‘brought home.’
‘I am so sick of this, Charlie. Sick of your Peter Pan ways. Grow up. And I think you’d better get out. Go and find Poppy for all I care. Just get out. Get out.’
The car keys were sitting on the hall table. Charlie swept them up and walked out the door.
* * *
The guilt swept over her now. Made her feel sick.
‘He grabbed those keys and walked out the door and killed himself.’ She took a breath. ‘No, it was wet and he was drunk and he just skidded off the road into a tree. Oh Christ, I can’t bear it.’ The sob stuck in her throat. Through her tears Diana registered a plate full of salad and cheese slices and pickled onions sliding on to the table in front of her. ‘I can’t eat this, Bart, I’m sorry.’
She picked up her bag and raced outside before the huge racking sob erupted. Johann caught up to her on the street and wrapped her in another of his bear hugs.
Diana howled into his chest. ‘It’s entirely my fault. Can’t you see? I killed him.’
‘This is a mighty public confession you’re making. Do you want to get us arrested?’
‘Jesus, Johann, I deserve to go jail. I should be garrotted, tortured, hanged.’
‘You exaggerate, surely. Anyway, they don’t hang people any more. I’m not so sure about the garrotting.’
‘Then I remember the kids. They need me. I can’t say anything. I don’t get to be punished.’
‘No worse than you hating and punishing yourself, I’d be thinking.’
They came to a little park at the end of the street and Johann led her to a wooden bench where they sat down.
‘Charlie was an idiot, he shouldn’t have got into that car. It was an accident. Right, now listen to me. How do you think Paul caught AIDS?’
Diana looked at him in amazement. ‘Not through you?’
‘No, Diana,’ Johann said. ‘Do you think I’d still be here? I took him to a party one night, they were my friends. He felt I was neglecting him, we had a fight and he went off with one of them. And for the next three long years, I had to watch the love of my life die before my eyes. Every day thinking if only we hadn’t gone, we hadn’t fought, he hadn’t …’ He shook his head. ‘Well, you see, it’s not much different, is it?’
‘You seriously can’t blame yourself for him getting AIDS.’
‘Well, it’s not much different to what you’re suggesting, is it?’
‘How do you cope?’
Johann shrugged. ‘The first year after Paul died, not very well. Then you realise you’re alive and Paul’s dead. Then you ask yourself, would he want you to be miserable all the time? And you realise, no, he would not. He’d want you to be happy again, be all the things he loved about you, and he’d want you to love someone else.’
‘I just wish I hadn’t said those things,’ Diana said miserably.
‘And don’t you think Charlie is wishing he hadn’t drunk that bottle of red and walked out the door that night? He has to take responsibility for the things he did.’
‘I just never got to say I didn’t mean it.’
‘Go on, then, say it now. Yell it out so he can hear you.’
Diana looked around her. The park looked nearly empty. There was a young woman with a huge pram over in the distance … but so what if she did hear?
Diana stood facing the fast, rolling clouds as they galloped past. He had to be up there. She shouted into the summer sky, ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.’ She took the handkerchief Johann offered and blew her nose. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ she said, louder this time.
Charlie didn’t say anything. No thunder or lightening, not even a gust of wind.
No voices in her head. She looked around, not even a feather floating.
Johann smiled at her and she looked doubtfully at him.
‘That’s it?’
‘Nope.’ He slung an arm around her neck. ‘It’s just the beginning. Better?’
She nodded.
‘Good! Feel like eating the best Ploughman’s in the universe?’
She nodded again, managing a wobbly smile this time. Strangely she did feel a tiny bit better. They got up and walked back into the pub.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Stella closed up her iPad with a sigh.
‘Finished?’ Tom didn’t look up from his newspaper, spread out on the kitchen table.
‘Yes. You didn’t want to use it, did you?’
‘No, I’ll get on to that English chap tomorrow. Did the pictures go through?’
‘Yes, Diana texted me back—perfect, she said. This is all so strange. “Australian sunsets, glorious colours” is what she wanted for her catalogues. So I take them with the iPad and send them straight across the world. It’s completely bizarre. It’s taken me an hour.’
Car lights striped across the windows.
‘Who’s this?’ Stella went to the back door. ‘It’s Rosie.’ She took a second look ‘And Mal. They didn’t say they were coming over, did they? I’ll put the kettle on, or Mal would like a beer, probably.’
Tom grunted. Stella gave him a quick look. It had been ages since her daughter and her husband had just dropped in. They hadn’t had much to say to each other. What could you say?
Rosie put her head round the door. ‘Can we come in?’ Without waiting for an answer she came bouncing in the door. ‘It’s still cold, isn’t it? Mum, we just had to show you. Look what we’ve got.’ And she waved something at them. ‘Tickets to London. We’re going too, to Diana’s exhibition, and then we’re doing the continent.’
‘Whoa. You’re coming over for the exhibition? In September?’ Stella was astounded. She and Tom had bought their plane tickets weeks ago.
‘Yes, but I don’t want you to tell Diana, right? Keep it a secret.’
Stella felt like bursting into tears. ‘Rosie, this is fantastic, I’m so thrilled. What’s happened to change your minds? The last time I was talking to you there was no way you were coming.’
‘A change of direction.’ Rosie smiled at Mal and Mal’s smile back spoke volumes. ‘Go on, you tell them.’
‘We’ve just signed the lease on a restaurant in town.’
‘What?’
‘It’s Mal,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s always wanted to run a restaurant. So we’re researching, and we have to go overseas to do it properly. How fantastic is that? My job will be all the front of house stuff, and his will be in the kitchen. Isn’t this just the best thing you’ve ever heard?’
‘Who’s going to do the cooking?’
‘We’ll put a chef on to begin with,’ said Mal. ‘And I’m putting my name down to take some courses next year.’
Stella sat down. ‘Where did all this come from?’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Rosie.
‘We’ve been talking about it for months and we finally decided a couple of weeks ago,’ Mal explained, ‘but we wanted to wait for the lease to be signed.’
‘And then our plane tickets arrived,’ Rosie blurted, ‘and we had to tell you or I was going to explode.’
‘Rosie, Mal,’ Stella said, ‘I’m thrilled for you.’
Tom went to the fridge and got out two beers. ‘Congratulations. Would you like a beer?’
Mal nodded, and the two men stepped out onto the verandah.
‘I can’t wait to tell Diana,’ said Rosie, ‘but I’ve got to tell her in person. I was such an idiot before she left. Everything was closing in on us, Mal and me. We were very unhappy. But this is what Mal has wanted to do for ages. We just couldn’t work out how.
’
The kettle boiled, its shrill whistle cutting across the kitchen. Rosie got up to make the tea.
‘So what changed everything?’ Stella asked.
‘Well, you did.’
‘When?’ She was mystified, still trying to take it all in.
‘Mum, Mal was so unhappy. He was doing it for me. Staying here, I didn’t realise what was happening, only that he wasn’t happy. I thought it was me he was unhappy with. But after the funeral we started to talk and … you’ve got to keep talking to each other, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Stella said faintly.
‘Mum, he’s changed. Look at him. This is our thing, not mine, not his—ours. Don’t you see?’
Stella and Rosie looked out at their husbands, standing on the verandah. Mal was talking and Tom was listening intently.
Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. When had she ever stopped saying to her girls you’ve got to keep talking? A relationship, any relationship, needs work and keeping the lines of communication open.
‘I’m so happy for you, darling. This is such good news. What are you going to call the restaurant?’
‘The Bowerbird Cafe, and there’s going to be lots of blue decor. What do you think?’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
September had arrived in a flurry of autumn leaves, bringing with it both excitement and dread. Diana’s parents were arriving Thursday morning and the exhibition opening was on Friday evening. Patrick, good friend that he was, had arrived yesterday and Diana had conned him into helping deliver the pictures and pots she’d prepared round to the gallery tonight.
‘So, it’s all in.’ He closed the door of the van she had hired.
‘It’s so good of you to do this. When you said you were arriving a couple of days early and then you offered to help.’ Diana grinned at him.
‘Why am I not so sure about this?’ Patrick quizzed her.
‘It won’t take too long. The gallery’s about fifteen minutes away. I’ll just get the kids.’
* * *
The gallery was eerie with no one around. Open packing boxes littered the floor, pictures were stacked against the wall. It seemed to object heavily to the kids and Patrick and Diana interrupting its holy quiet time. Milo ran across the open floor, jumping two boxes and skidding to a stop in front of her.
Diana looked up from the crate she was jimmying open. ‘Milo, if you do that again I’ll, I’ll fry you in oil. Please be careful.’
‘Look, I found the catalogues,’ said Milo.
‘Thank goodness, put them on the desk near where you come in.’ She turned to Patrick. ‘That’s the second batch. They had to be done again, the colour was simply dreadful and they’d left some of the prices out.’
‘Where do you want me to put these?’ he asked. ‘They’re marked Fragile.’
‘Everything is fragile, including me.’ Diana took a quick look. ‘Ah, over in that corner, thanks.’
The girls came in carrying a box awkwardly between them.
‘No, what are you doing?’ She flew over towards them, scattering packing case straw as she went. Patrick was there before her and lifted it away from them.
‘It’s the last one, Mummy, and we thought we could do it.’ Sienna looked so pleased with herself.
‘Thank you, girls.’ She let out a breath of relief. ‘Now you can relax. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ She looked at Patrick.
‘I don’t classify anything we do together as bad.’ Patrick chuckled and sat on the floor. ‘That’s everything in from the truck. How much more do you want to do tonight?’
‘Now it’s all in, I can just fiddle. I can’t thank you enough. Bill Sutton offered to help but he’s really not strong enough.’
Patrick reached up and pulled her down beside him. ‘Why don’t you sit for a minute and tell me your plan.’
She was so aware of Patrick’s arm. A restless energy made her want to spring back up but she made herself sit still for a minute.
‘Charlie’s pictures are going on that wall and over there. They’ll look beautiful—you’ll walk in and they’ll hit you and draw you round the corner. See, where the window will throw light onto that little table, I’m draping a fabulous piece of material down the wall and over the table. It’ll be a backdrop, a bit like a silken waterfall.’
‘Two days will be enough?’
‘Plenty. They’ll have to be. Ask me again on Friday afternoon at four. Actually, I wouldn’t advise that. No one talks to me the afternoon before.’
Patrick looked at her curiously. ‘That isn’t like you.’
‘You forget, I’m an artist. Before an exhibition I can be moody, eccentric and insane. It’s allowed.’ She blinked and jumped to her feet.
‘I’m so nervous. Mum and Dad are coming in two days. Somehow that scares me more than anything. Thank you for coming, Patrick. I wasn’t sure, when I sent you the invitation, whether you’d be able to come.’
‘It’s my pleasure, that’s what friends are for.’
Diana gave him a quick look.
‘I can’t face cooking or food, really. How about we all go out for dinner? It’s on me.’ She paused, looking around, just before she turned off the light. So much work. Now the empty spaces were filled with pots, jugs and crates. Two more days, she thought.
Moments later, they were all seated on gold-woven cushions at the Indian around the corner. Patrick was good at organising, she’d give him that.
‘Thursday, after the opening, the Sutton’s have asked us all round to dinner. Then they’ll look after the children if we want to go out.’ Diana stopped for a moment. Was that crossing the friendly line they’d established? Patrick may not want to go out with her.
‘I think I like that idea.’ He signalled the waiter.
Diana’s pappadum broke in her hand. She swept up the bits and sprinkled them on her meal. ‘Right. It will be good to see Mum. I know how much they’re looking forward to this trip.’
Patrick smiled.
‘And I can’t wait to see them. Sienna, please don’t eat all the chutney, pass it around. Sienna does love the hot mango chutney.’
‘By the way,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ve a friend who has a minibus. I was wondering if I could take you all out to pick up your parents when they arrive on Thursday.’
‘That would be wonderful. Perhaps we could come back via Buckingham Palace? I don’t know how Mum and Dad will be, comatose probably, but I’m dying to show them around. We’ve got a trip planned for Dad to Grantham, where the Aveling-Barfords were made—you know Dad’s got an old Aveling-Barford grader. That’s after we get the exhibition over and done with.’ She sounded like a babbling brook.
Patrick laughed. ‘How did you unearth all that?’
‘Not me. The internet! My parents have discovered the internet. We Skype, we email—we don’t exactly do Facebook or Twitter yet, but it’s a start.’ Diana laughed.
‘And Stella, I hope you have something organised for her?’
‘Oh yes, Madame Tussauds, and the Victoria and Albert Museum. First on the list, isn’t it, girls?’
‘I can’t wait, Mummy,’ said Saskia. ‘Stella is going to see my school too.’
‘Absolutely. Two sleeps to go.’
They delivered the taxi truck back to its special car park. Walking home with Patrick and the kids, Diana felt tired. Not the desperate, numbing tiredness she suffered before—this was plain exhaustion, mixed with excitement that her parents would be there on Thursday. To see her work. She was absolutely terrified.
‘Beer?’ Diana asked. The kids were in bed and Patrick was standing in the hallway, his coat in his arms, obviously wondering whether to leave or not. She didn’t want him to go.
‘Thanks. Yes I will.’
Dinner had been so much fun. Milo teasing Patrick about the terrible scores the Aussie cricketers were getting. The girls telling Patrick about the concert they were in. He’d seemed very relaxed then; now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was her making him nervous.
<
br /> ‘Thank you for all your help.’ She handed him a beer.
‘Really, stop doing that.’
‘What?’
‘Thanking me.’
‘You’ve come a long way, and you’ve been a great help.’
‘I had fun,’ he said. ‘Are the kids settling back in okay?’
‘I don’t know. Everything’s supposed to be getting closer with the internet but Mog’s Hill still seems worlds away. It’s just so different.’ She studied her beer bottle. ‘It’s funny, sometimes Milo will ask about the farm and Tom. So we ring, and the girls love talking to Stella. Connections have been made. Our trip was not in vain.’
‘I’m glad you all came out.’ Patrick was looking at her intently. She felt a little flustered.
‘I don’t know, maybe I’ve made it worse. Milo gets this broken look on his face sometimes …’
‘He’s lost his dad.’
‘I know. I worry if we go back he won’t have an identity—will he be Australian or English? Say Ireland’s playing Australia, who do you really want to barrack for?’
Patrick laughed. ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi. I appreciate my Irish heritage but it’s Australia all the way for me.’
‘What will Milo do?’
‘Make up his own mind,’ Patrick said. ‘I’d better be going or I’ll fall asleep on the carpet and I’ll wake up with all these jungle animals roaring around me. It wouldn’t be good. I won’t see you tomorrow, but I’ll be ready with the bus on Thursday morning. How about six?’
‘If you’re sure, that would be wonderful.’
A kiss on the cheek and he was gone. He was a great friend, that was for sure.
* * *
Diana was surprised the next morning to hear the front doorbell chime. She had the vacuum cleaner out and was trying to give the house a final spit and polish before her parents got in the next morning. The kids were at school and she had little time to spare. There was still so much to do at the gallery.
She flew to door and wrenched it open. Her sister stood there, wrapped in a woolly jacket with a red scarf wound around her throat.
It was, Rosie, slightly apprehensive, eyes filled with tears, standing there on the step.
