by Sasha Wasley
Mum nodded. ‘Yes. Yes. That would be …’ Her attempt at confidence failed her and she sucked in a breath.
I cut slices of bread and dropped them into the toaster, trying to focus on the task as my tears dripped onto the counter.
‘She had such good things to say about you, Lott,’ my mother said. ‘She adored you. She said you’ve brought happiness to her house.’ The ache in my throat sharpened. ‘She said you have substance.’ Mum sniffed her swollen nose. ‘That you helped her sort things out that have been worrying her for a long time.’ I raised my eyes and found her looking up at me. ‘And that you have Pris Brooker’s measure, and that Angus cares a lot about you. I was thinking about it all day yesterday. Caroline made me realise how hard I’ve been on you. I was unfair. I was so fixated on our differences that I forgot that compassion – love – comes first. Caroline would never have forgotten that.’ My mother gulped and I gazed at the electrical element in the toaster, my tears turning it into a red fuzz.
She found her voice again. ‘You know, when I first came to Bonnievale thirty-five years ago, I had no friends here. No one warmed to me. I laughed about it with your father. I joked that I should have known better than to expect I would find anyone who shared my values or interests in a backwater like Bonnievale. I didn’t particularly care because I still thought I’d end up moving back to the city or overseas.
‘Then we bought the newsagency and I found myself changing my mind. I liked running the shop. I loved your dad, and then I got pregnant and I knew this was a good place to raise a child. I started to think we should stay in Bonnievale.’ She wiped her nose. ‘But I still had no friends. I was thirty-seven weeks pregnant and the doctor said I should stop working so I just killed time every day: cleaning, reading, sitting by the lake at Centenary Park. I met Caroline there. She was on a bench at the playground, rocking a pram – Angus. He was colicky, she told me, and needed a lot of walking, rocking and driving around. I was a bit confused to see her with such a young baby and wondered if he was her son or her grandson, but she asked me when my baby was due and we got chatting, so I found out that he was a late surprise for her and Ted.’
The toast popped and I put it onto two plates, listening hard. Mum shooped out another tissue.
‘She was so easy to talk to. I told her about my journalism work and the newsagency and Dad. I confessed that I hadn’t managed to make any friends in town. I don’t even know how she got it out of me. I’d never acknowledged before how lonely I was. But Caroline said, “Well, having a baby will change all of that!” Then, when you were born, she turned up in the hospital with Angus while I was arguing with the nurse and having a hell of a time trying to learn to breastfeed you. She whispered that she’d had the same nurse, and wasn’t she a dragon? It made me feel so much better! She’d brought you a teddy bear – you’ve still got it. Then she made sure I came along to her mother-and-baby group and slowly I built some friendships in Bonnievale, and it became a real home. I think I was a perfect candidate for post-natal depression, you know, but Caroline rescued me. She was patient with me, no matter how harsh or unsympathetic I was about people sometimes. She taught me to be kind. Helped me see the other side when people made choices I couldn’t understand.’
I opened the fridge door to get the butter and saw the leftover plum cake – the cake I had helped Mrs Brooker bake two days earlier. I held my breath, willing myself to stay strong.
‘I owe her so much,’ my mother said.
In the afternoon, Toby called my parents’ house again. ‘Hey, Lottie. I’m bringing Angus back to ours for the night so he’s not by himself, all right?’
‘He won’t be alone. I’m going back to Brooker’s, so I’ll be with him.’
Toby hesitated. ‘Angus isn’t doing too good.’ His tone was apologetic. ‘Jo reckons he’s in shock. He probably needs a night to get his head screwed on straight.’
That made me want to be with him even more. ‘But the picking crew …’
‘All good,’ he said. ‘I’m managing it.’
‘But I can cook for him and make sure the animals are okay.’
The silence was an instant too long. ‘Nah, all good,’ Toby said. ‘We’re just gunna have some beers and order pizza.’
Why did he seem so cagey? Reluctantly, I agreed to leave Angus in Toby’s hands for the night. He said they would sort out the chickens and dogs, so I stayed at home, sleeping fitfully in Elizabeth’s bed. I called Angus’s phone in the morning and when he didn’t answer, tried Jo.
‘Hey, mate,’ she said. ‘How you holding up?’
‘I’m okay. I’m trying to get hold of Angus.’
‘Toby took him home.’
‘He didn’t answer his mobile.’
She paused. ‘He could be on the tractor.’
‘What’s going on with him, Jo?’
‘I don’t know. It’s the shock, I guess. He’s talking shit – blames himself.’
‘We’re all blaming ourselves. Pris has probably said awful things to him, as well.’
‘Yeah, she did.’
‘There’s nothing anyone could have done. I need to see him.’
‘Maybe give him a few days.’ Her voice was uncertain.
‘Jo, his mum died. I want to be there for him. I’m going to see him.’
‘No, seriously, Lott, give him another day or so—’
I drove straight to Brooker’s. The house was empty; the dogs absent from the yard, so I trudged up the track to the big shed. Blue pranced down to greet me and Bundy followed more slowly, his tongue lolling in leisurely greeting. I couldn’t see the pickers, although I knew they must be there. I found Angus loading crates onto a trailer hitched to the tractor. When he caught sight of me, he wiped his hands on his shirt and headed my way. We met in the shade of the shed. I had been going to hug him but Angus stopped a couple of metres away from me and his manner made me hesitate.
‘It was a stroke,’ he said.
‘A stroke …’
‘They did an autopsy. Doctor says she had vascular dementia.’
‘Oh. What are you doing working?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘What else is there to do? The fruit’s not going to pick itself.’
‘Angus. Please don’t blame yourself for what happened.’ He watched me wordlessly. The togetherness, the shared grief I’d expected transformed quietly into cold dread. I gazed at him, the pain inside me growing every second, pressing outwards, inflating against my insides until my breathing grew short.
Angus dropped his eyes. ‘The cops made contact. Under the circumstances, they’re postponing things until the funeral’s over. Make sure you keep your story straight, all right? You weren’t there.’
I didn’t answer. He kicked a plastic bucket into a corner of the shed, making Bundy startle. Angus looked at the dog in consternation. After a pause, he leaned down and scratched Bundy’s ears. Blue pushed in for her share and Bundy sat, leaning against Angus’s boot. Tears escaped my eyes.
Angus glanced my way and saw them. ‘I’m sorry.’
I didn’t want to be crying in front of him. I didn’t want to beg either, but the word came out of me as a weak croak: ‘Please.’
Angus stared at the dogs. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, softly. ‘My policy.’
I almost demanded to know where his policy had been after the ball but – but Angus had just lost his mother. Instead, I turned away. Blue scampered happily at my heels as I walked. We made it a good way down the orchard track before she realised Angus wasn’t coming too and stopped, looking back at the shed.
I understood why he was doing this. The understanding held me together until the sound of the tractor starting up unravelled it. Then I stopped, almost unable to believe what was happening. Blue whined at me.
‘Go on.’ My voice seemed to come from someone else’s body. ‘Off you go.’
She didn’t like that and took a few dismal steps towards the shed before pausing to look back at me.
‘Go on!’ I said.
Blue wheeled around, her tail low, and trotted up the trail towards the shed. I shaded my eyes so I could peer up the hill in the summer glare, and there he was, seated on the tractor, chugging away from me into the orchard.
I gave Angus space and time. I stayed at my parents’ place and didn’t visit the farm. I waited a few days for him to change his mind before I allowed myself to get properly angry.
After that, I worked in the newsagency every day and fumed. Jo tracked me down, hovering near the counter until the man I was serving departed.
‘Lott, how you going, babe?’
‘Not bad.’ I nodded at Amelie. ‘How’s the bub?’
‘She’s good. What’s going on? Why did you move out of Brooker’s?’
‘Angus didn’t want me there.’
Dismay crossed her face. ‘That’s not what he reckons.’
I fumed harder but found my audition voice. ‘Oh, really? What does he say about it?’
‘Uh, I don’t know. He didn’t want to talk about it.’ She hitched Amelie higher on her hip. ‘But he reckoned you left.’
I shook my head, teeth clenched. ‘Unbelievable.’
Jo looked like she might cry. ‘He’s wrecked, Lott. His mum – and cutting down that bloody tree. He’s gotta go to court, did you know?’
I nodded and stared at the glass counter, new season Scratch ’n’ Wins stuck to its underside.
‘Mrs B’s funeral is on Thursday,’ she added.
‘I know.’
‘Will you be there?’
‘Of course.’ I couldn’t stand her thinking the worst of me so I blurted out the truth. ‘He sent me away. Angus. He didn’t want me.’ The admission made me want to curl up in childish misery.
Jo was frowning. ‘Nah.’
‘Yes, Jo. He’s got this “policy”.’
‘Yeah, we know about the policy, but it’s just a joke. Not real …’ Doubt crossed her face.
‘It’s real. I’ve seen it. He’s got all this stuff in an envelope with the word policy on the front. Doesn’t get much realer than that.’
Stunned silence. ‘Shit,’ Jo said at last. Amelie squawked and Jo jiggled her a little. ‘I had no idea.’
I kept my gaze on the chewing gum stand and breathed slowly, waiting for my eyes to dry. If I blinked, tears might fall.
‘This has been a massive shock for him,’ Jo attempted. ‘If you give him a bit of time—’
‘I don’t think time will change anything for Angus,’ I interrupted. Jo’s eyes folded in sadness and I attempted to rein in my anger. ‘Jo, I appreciate you coming in to tell me about Mrs B’s funeral. I’m definitely going. I don’t wish Angus any ill-will, but he doesn’t want me around any more. I’m trying to respect that.’
She nodded slowly. ‘I’m really, really sorry, Lottie. I didn’t realise how bad things were with Angus. I always figured his stupid policy thing would fly out the window as soon as he found someone he cared about.’
Her eyes were so sorrowful, and she was representing Angus in such an honourable light, I felt torn between sympathy and white-hot anger. ‘I guess he’s got his reasons,’ I said, adjusting items on the counter.
Jo’s lips turned down in the same way all my customers’ lips did when I told them they hadn’t won the lotto. She sighed.
‘Yeah, maybe. Okay, I’ll see you Thursday. Me and Toby are hosting the reception afterwards, so we can catch up then, all right?’
‘Sure. See you then.’
The service for Mrs Brooker was held in the tiny local funeral home. Afterwards we all trailed down the road to the Bonnievale Pioneer Cemetery to see her interred beside her husband. I mostly avoided looking at Angus, but when I did happen to glance his way, I saw he had his hair tied back neatly and was wearing the pinstripe suit – the one he’d worn to the ball. This time, he had the jacket on, too. I hated how handsome he looked: the broken parts all hidden away. Mum clung to my hand throughout the service, weeping in silent heaves as we dropped flowers and handfuls of dirt onto the coffin in its deep hole.
After the burial we went back to Toby and Jo’s place. Jo and her mum had been cooking all week by the look of it, and people got stuck into the mini quiches and cupcakes. The beer and wine flowed. I left Mum and Dad with friends and went to find Pris. She was standing in the lounge, looking at a framed wedding photo of Ted and Mrs Brooker that had been arranged on a shelf with a candle and vase of roses.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Pris.’
Her face was tighter than I’d ever seen it. ‘Thank you.’
‘It was clear how much she loved you.’
A slight narrowing of her eyes – Pris obviously didn’t like to imagine herself lovable in any way.
She wasn’t to be outdone in the niceties stakes, though. ‘She cared very much about you, too. She liked having you around the place and seemed to think you had character.’ Her lips drew inwards. She didn’t need to add what a poor judge of character Mrs Brooker had been because it was right there in her face.
In spite of her delivery, I was touched. ‘I really wish I’d had more time with her.’
This was the perfect release trigger for Pris’s barely contained anger. ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ she snapped. ‘If Angus had let her come and live with me, she’d be safe and well today.’
‘It could have happened while she was with you, too,’ I said.
‘How did she get out of the house?’ It was like she’d been holding the question inside until this moment. ‘I keep asking him and he just shakes his head at me – he doesn’t have an answer. The doors should have been locked.’
‘The doors were locked.’
‘Then how did she get out in the middle of the night?’
‘When someone lives in a house for fifty-odd years, they know how to get out of it, doors locked or not,’ I said. ‘Please, Pris, don’t say things like that. We’re already devastated.’
‘I’m devastated.’ Pris was acerbic. She adjusted the position of the vase and stared at it in disapproving silence for some moments, as though she disliked its colour or pattern.
‘That’s what I mean,’ I said. ‘Blaming people won’t bring her back.’
‘And what am I going to do without her?’ Although it was said in her usual grumpy tone, I got the feeling she’d meant it softly. Perhaps Pris was even asking it of herself, in despair.
I put an arm around her shoulders. She tensed immediately and shook me off. A man from the RSL approached and Pris spoke to him in a brisk voice, hastening to cover her moment of vulnerability. I left them to talk and joined my parents where they were seated with Liv and her mother.
‘All right, Lott?’ Dad asked.
I nodded. ‘You need anything? Coffee or whatever?’
‘All good, sweetheart.’
‘How’s your chicken?’ Liv shot me a conciliatory smile.
‘She’s okay, but a fox got a few of them the other night, just killed them all and ran away.’
‘Oh, shit. That’s sad.’
‘Yeah. Chooky survived, though.’
My parents and Liv’s mother discussed foxes and chickens. Liv leaned closer under the cover of their conversation.
‘Hey,’ she whispered. ‘There’s a rumour you were with Angus when he cut down the Olde Peach Tree. Is that true?’
I turned away wordlessly and went to help Jo in the kitchen.
My parents were ready to leave after an hour. I’d been ready for much longer, drained by the sadness of the funeral and trying not to look at Angus as people moved around him, offering their condolences. He had been clutching the same beer in his hand for as long as I’d been surreptitiously watching him. Obviously my mother and father would have to speak with him before we departed, and I had little choice but to trail behind. We stood before him and painful silence ensued.
‘I’m so sorry,’ my mother said. ‘I’m going to miss her so much.’
‘I know everyone’s probably saying th
is, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out,’ my father added.
‘Thanks.’
My parents hovered, waiting for me to speak. Angus shot a swift look my way.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ I said.
He nodded. My parents steered me away but I couldn’t resist one last look as we stepped out through the front door. I caught Angus watching me leave.
My mother helped me turn my bedroom back into a bedroom, restoring my single bed and digging Big Bear out of the wardrobe – the teddy Mrs Brooker had given me when I was just a couple of days old. I stroked its satin ears and the ribbon around its neck: apricot-coloured gingham. I was relieved I hadn’t thrown it away during my declutter. It gave me a spark of – well, not quite joy. But comfort.
I was not above hoping Angus would contact me, but as the days passed, it became clear that he would not. I lay in bed at night and had hypothetical conversations with him. It was my only satisfaction after the way he’d crushed my heart.
I worked shifts at the Rabbit’s Foot. ‘I’ll look for a job,’ I told Mum. ‘I’m not going to freeload here for long.’
‘There’s no rush,’ she said. ‘Stay as long as you want.’
Other than performing, there wasn’t much I was qualified to do. I resigned myself to unskilled work, perhaps in hospitality or retail. I got a new SIM card for my phone, but I didn’t buy any mobile data. I only used the phone for calls and texts with my family or prospective employers.
While it was just me and my mother in the newsagency one morning, and Mum was sorting Valentine’s Day cards in the back room, Gemma di Bortoli dropped in.
‘Hi, Charlize,’ she said as though we were old friends. ‘How’s it going? You’re working here now?’
‘Good, thanks.’ Rookie mistake, asking two questions at once. I could choose which one to answer and she would look pushy if she repeated the other one.
‘Harvest Ball was awesome, wasn’t it? Great work. Loved the “ambassador” thing. So much more politically correct than Peach Queen.’ She grinned as though she thought I would enjoy that remark.
