Feels Like Home (9 page)

Ryan fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the phone. ‘Sorry,' he said, glancing at the screen. ‘I have to take this. It's Mum.'

Jo nodded and backed away from him. ‘Of course.'

‘Mum, what's wrong?'

‘Wrong? Why would there be anything wrong?'

‘I don't know. I guess I just wasn't expecting you to call.' His eyes followed Jo as she made her way back to Pepper.

‘It's nothing. I just wondered if I could get Ella from school today?'

Ella's name brought him crashing back to reality. The realisation of what he'd almost done hit Ryan like a punch in the gut. He had a life, dammit. Responsibilities. Commitments that were way too important to risk on some leftover feelings from a long-ago romance. Besides, Johanna Morgan wasn't the person he once knew. She belonged to another world. And with another man.

‘Ryan? Are you still there?'

‘Yes, sorry, Mum. You can get Ella if you like, that'd be great. Sorry if I sounded distracted but I'm in the middle of something. I'll call you later, okay?'

Jo had unsaddled Pepper and was walking towards him, tack in hand and a wide smile on her face. He should never have come here. Being alone with Jo was too risky. Hanging around here was only going to make matters worse. He eased himself back into the saddle, and gave her a wave. ‘Gotta go,' he called, ignoring the look of surprise on Jo's face as he tapped his heels into Mack's side. ‘I'll drop off some extra feed for Pepper later this arvo. No need to wait at home, I'll dump it in the shed and keep going.' He rode away without waiting for a reply. Today he'd been stupid, but through the intervention of the gods — or more accurately, his mother — he'd managed to dodge a bullet. He wasn't going to tempt fate again. From now on he'd keep his distance.

CHAPTER

8

The drive to Bellington — or Belly, as the locals had always called it — was anything but relaxing. For all Jo's complaining about crowded subway cars and smart-mouthed taxi drivers, at least those methods of transport didn't require any skill on her part. Either the Jeep was being deliberately recalcitrant or she'd forgotten how to change gears. Maddock's Road snaked around the edge of the National Park, and it took all her concentration to negotiate the twists and turns as she climbed out of the valley. It didn't help that the local sawmill drivers used this route. Meeting a log truck on the wrong side of the road would not end well.

Once she was out on the highway and safely in fifth gear, she relaxed enough to let her mind wander to yesterday's debacle with Ryan. Riding to Mason's Ridge with him had been a colossal mistake. There were too many memories there, and it seemed they'd both been swept up in some kind of stupid nostalgic belief that the mistakes of the past could be reversed.

At first it had been nice, comforting even, to slip back into the easy banter that had once come so naturally. But they'd gotten carried away and somehow managed to cross a boundary that shouldn't have been breached. They'd hurt each other enough in the past. Any type of romantic liaison, no matter how fleeting, would only serve to reopen old wounds. So why did her overactive imagination keep playing out the ‘what ifs'?

She couldn't seem to help herself. Ever since their almost-kiss had been interrupted she'd been fantasising about feeling Ryan's lips on hers one more time. Last night, while suffering yet again from an attack of insomnia, she'd even entertained the idea of a holiday fling, but in her heart she knew that it would never work.

The sign to the Windmill Retirement and Nursing Home pushed all thoughts of Ryan to the back of her mind. Right now she had bigger things to worry about. Jo took in a few slow, deep breaths in an effort to prepare herself before stepping into the Dragon's Den.

Strictly speaking, the Dragon's Den was Katherine's study back at Yarrapinga. It was the joke she shared with her father, their little secret, and to this day it made Jo smile. In hindsight she knew it was his way of making it easier for her to deal with a mother who had little time or patience for an imaginative child. He never criticised Katherine, or challenged her parenting decisions, but in his own way he'd tried to show Jo that her mother's constant disapproval wasn't always warranted.

Now the Dragon and her Den had moved. Hopefully her fire-breathing days were over.

It was Jo's first visit to the Windmill. When she came home for her father's funeral it had been a whirlwind visit. She'd seen her mother at the service, of course; a carer from the home had brought her along. Katherine had been agitated all day, wailing and howling at the church and then complaining about the venue at the wake, much to Jo's embarrassment. The footy club had organised the whole thing after they'd gotten Jo's go-ahead via Steph.

‘This is just so tacky. Your father will be rolling over in his grave, Johanna,' Katherine kept insisting. If he was, Jo doubted it was due to her choice of venue for the wake.

When she wasn't complaining, Katherine had been grabbing Jo by the hand and telling her to run, to get away from Linden Gully while she still could. It was disconcerting to say the least. At times she seemed calm and like her old self, but moments later anxiety and agitation would overtake her. Jo understood why her father had made the decision to place Katherine at the Windmill. Obviously he'd not been well himself, although he'd never said as much, and caring for Katherine was a full-time job.

The Windmill wasn't the dingy, prisonlike environment she'd imagined. In fact, the reception area was not unlike a five-star hotel. Pale pink overstuffed sofas faced each other in the centre of the room and a large floral arrangement adorned the glass-topped coffee table between them. Jo caught herself tapping her fingers on the marble counter in time to the muted Muzak that filled the room as she waited for the receptionist to greet her.

A woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a lank ponytail looked up from her computer screen and raised an eyebrow. ‘Won't be a moment.'

Jo stopped the tapping. Clearly the receptionist was less than impressed. Putting the gatekeeper offside wasn't likely to make the visit any easier, especially if the Dragon starting acting up. Jo smiled at her. ‘No hurry,' she said.

The woman took her at her word and continued to type for a few minutes before enquiring tersely, ‘Patient's name?'

‘Morgan. Mrs Katherine Morgan.'

‘And you are?'

‘Her daughter.'

The receptionist stopped tapping at the keyboard and looked up at Jo. ‘Johanna Morgan?
The
Johanna Morgan?'

Jo nodded. ‘Um, I guess so. I mean, yes, I'm Johanna Morgan.'

‘Oh Miss Morgan I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting like that. You should have said…I mean it's not often we have, you know,
celebrities
here at the Windmill.'

‘Oh, that's okay. I hardly think I qualify as a celebrity.'

The woman's brow creased in confusion. ‘You're the author, Johanna Morgan, the one who is engaged to Zachary Carlton, right?' Her eyes moved up and down Jo's body as if she was trying to reconcile the real-life version before her with the magazine images. ‘You wrote
Hollywood Kisses
and
New York Nights
, right?' she added, as an obvious afterthought.

Jo nodded.

The woman stood up, smoothed her skirt and rushed around to Jo's side of the counter. She extended her hand for Jo to shake. ‘Carol,' she said. ‘I'm the office manager here at the Windmill. We've communicated via email many times.'

Jo shook her hand and smiled. ‘Ah, yes, Carol, so we have. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.'

‘Oh it's an honour to meet you, Miss Morgan. Fancy having Zach Carlton's fiancée right here in front of me! Of course I'm a big fan of your writing too. We've all read your books here, and we can't wait to see the movie of
Hollywood Kisses.
It'll be out soon, won't it?'

Jo tried to ignore the feeling of crushing dread she felt every time the movie was mentioned. Lydia had negotiated a great deal money-wise, but the movie rights to the book had been sold unconditionally, which meant the producers could do whatever they wanted with it. She hadn't been consulted at all about the script. When Zach brought home his copy to show her she'd opened it with great anticipation. By page fifty she was crushed. Her darkly funny, ironic book had morphed into a sex and shopping drama — the antithesis of what she'd intended. The fact that Zach had the lead role in the movie made matters even worse.

She forced herself to keep smiling. ‘I believe so, although I've not had much to do with the movie.'

Carol was unfazed by her remark. ‘How thrilling to have something you've written made into a movie. Your mother is over the moon for you.'

‘Really?' Jo couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘I wasn't sure if she knew. I write to her every week, but as she never responds I'm never really sure if she's receiving my news. As you probably know she won't talk to me on the phone.'

‘The phone is difficult for her these days. She finds it confusing to talk to someone she can't see. However I know she gets your letters. I deliver her letters personally and she sometimes asks me to read them to her, which I'm, of course, more than happy to do for her.'

Jo raised her eyebrows.
Something to remember for future correspondence.
‘Are her eyes failing?'

‘Oh no, it's not that. It's just, well, she has good days and bad. On her bad days, she can't…she doesn't know how…'

‘She's forgotten…' Jo's words caught in her throat, ‘…she's forgotten how to read?'

‘You didn't know?'

It shouldn't have come as a shock. Katherine was in this place because she had dementia. Of course she forgot things. But reading? Jo could barely remember a time when her mother didn't have a book or a document in her hand. She used to cook with one hand stirring the pot, the other turning the page. Jo shook her head slowly. ‘I get regular reports from the nursing staff and her doctor, and I guess I should have put two and two together. It just never occurred to me that…' A lump formed in Jo's throat and she couldn't continue.

Carol looked at her and Jo saw genuine sympathy in the older woman's eyes. ‘Some days she manages. In fact sometimes she's quite lucid and knows everything that's going on. Those are the days that she talks about you and tells us how she always knew you were destined for something special.'

Jo smiled in spite of her bewilderment. Destined for something special? Her mother had never said as much to her. In fact, she'd frequently predicted Jo would end up a teenage mother — or possibly a drug addict, after the time she'd caught Jo and Steph smoking behind the shed. She realised Carol was waiting for her to speak. ‘And on the other days?'

‘As is to be expected in these cases, as time goes on she's having more and more bad days — days when she thinks she's nine years old again, or when she doesn't know where she is or even who she is.'

Jo blinked back the tears beginning to form in her eyes. ‘Clearly she's deteriorated since the last time I saw her. Do you think she'll recognise me?'

Carol hesitated. ‘If she's having a good day, or a good moment, she might. Shall I take you through and we'll see?'

‘Oh, there's no need for that. I'm sure you're far too busy, I can —'

‘Nonsense. The receptionist is due back from her break any minute. I was just covering the front desk for her. I'll be happy to show you through.'

It seemed Carol was determined to witness the happy — or otherwise — reunion. She beckoned for Jo to follow her through the automatic glass doors. They proceeded past a large light-filled sitting room, a cafeteria-like dining room and then through a labyrinth of corridors. Most of the rooms they passed had closed doors, their nameplates the only clue that an actual person resided there. Occasionally the door was ajar and Jo caught a glimpse of a withered man or woman glancing hopefully at her and then deflating once they realised her footsteps were not going to pause at their door. This was no hotel, despite the plush lounges and grand piano in the sitting room.

Acid rose in Jo's throat as Carol stopped at a thick glass door and started punching a security code into the neon-lit keypad on the adjacent wall.

‘Is this door always locked?' Jo asked.

Carol nodded. ‘This is the high dependency unit. Most of the residents in here have severe dementia. They're prone to wandering, and we can't have that now, can we?'

‘I suppose not,' Jo said quietly. Images of her mother swirled in her head — meticulous Katherine on Christmas morning, dressed in a pretty floral sundress, admonishing six-year-old Jo for not taking the time to open the card before ripping the paper off a perfectly wrapped Christmas gift; intelligent Katherine curled up on the couch in front of the fire, black-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose and a copy of Margaret Atwood's
The Handmaid's Tale
in her hand; gracious Katherine serving aperitifs to a group of guests at a rare dinner party hosted at Yarrapinga.

This place, this home filled with feeble octogenarians, was not a suitable residence for the Dragon. The mother she knew was fierce and capable and certainly wouldn't be happy in a place like this. What had Daddy been thinking when he deposited her here?

There had to be another way. Jo wasn't sure exactly what the alternative might be but she knew there was no way she could leave Katherine to languish here in this repository for those who had passed their use-by date.

The glass door swung open. ‘After you,' Carol said. Jo entered the unit and braced herself for what was to come.

‘This way.' Once again she followed Carol down a series of corridors until she came to a halt outside a door bearing Katherine's name. Carol rapped loudly on the door and opened it without waiting for a response.