Hello from the Gillespies (29 page)

Genevieve and Victoria drove back to Errigal together, in one of the station’s four-wheel drives. Joan’s husband had organised two of his stockmen to deliver it to them in Port Augusta.

The twins wanted to do a quick clean and, more importantly, to prepare their mother’s new room. They were putting her in the old governess’s quarters, where her overseas visitors always slept. It had a good view of the Chace Range, and French doors leading out onto the verandah. It was simply decorated: cream-painted walls, one wallpapered in a light floral pattern – chosen by Angela herself. There was a double bed, which they made up with crisp white sheets and a floral quilt, bought by Angela. On the bedside table, they placed a small glass vase holding two red roses from the bush near the pottery shed.

After her room was ready, they hurried through the house, taking down any photos that Angela featured in. They gave the rest of the house a quick vacuum and dust.

They radioed their father, who was still thirty minutes away. They had the house to themselves for what would probably be the last time for weeks. This was their best chance.

They went into the bathroom. They did the tests, put them aside and waited the required time. On the count of three, they turned them over.

One was positive. The other wasn’t.

The twins were in the kitchen drinking tea when the others arrived. As the family came in, it became clear that Ig had volunteered to show Angela around the homestead and the station buildings. Lindy kept saying that she wanted to help. Ig insisted it was his job.

Nick put down Angela’s suitcase. The same one she’d had in the Adelaide hotel. ‘Let Ig, Lindy. He asked first.’

‘How nice to be fought over like this,’ Angela said, smiling. ‘It would be very nice if Ig showed me around today. And you can show me more tomorrow, Lindy.’

Ig looked pleased with himself. Lindy relaxed. Genevieve stepped in. ‘Good thinking, Angela, thanks. But Victoria and I are showing you your room.’

They all walked down the hall and out across the verandah to the guestroom. Angela looked around happily. It was beautiful, she told them. So elegant. What a wonderful view. The bed looked so comfortable. ‘And look, roses. What a nice touch,’ she said. She leaned down and breathed in the scent.

They all went still. These were her roses. From the rose bush planted by Nick. The bush she had tended so carefully for years, even when water was scarce.

She straightened and smiled. ‘I do like roses. It must be hard to keep flowers growing out here, is it?’

Genevieve was the first to answer. ‘It is, yes. Even harder to grow a lawn, as you’ll see. Or not see.’

Victoria continued the tour. ‘Here’s your bathroom. Your wardrobe. If you need more coat hangers, just let us know.’

They had filled the wardrobe with clothes from her own room. That had been Ruth’s idea. ‘Don’t make a fuss about them,’ she’d told them. ‘Just put them there.’

Angela looked around again. ‘It’s a lovely room, thank you. Perfect. And where will Lexie sleep when she gets here?’

They hadn’t thought of that. Victoria stepped in. ‘Lexie can sleep in here and you and Will will have the main room.’ She nearly said ‘your and Dad’s room’. ‘Our parents’ room’.

‘Where is your mother?’

Ruth had told them to prepare for that question too.

‘She’s away,’ Victoria said.

‘On holiday?’ Angela asked.

‘No. A sort of study trip.’

Angela had lost interest. She was standing at the window exclaiming over the view. The view she had seen every day for the past thirty-three years.

‘Do you ever get tired of this?’ she said, turning around, her eyes wide. ‘Look at the colours! Do you mind if I step outside?’

She pulled at the nearest of the two French doors. The right door. There had long been a trick to opening these doors. She’d remembered it.

Outside on the verandah Genevieve and Victoria had placed a small table and a cane chair.

‘You can have breakfast out here every morning if you like,’ Victoria said. ‘Our other guests often do.’

‘I might spend all day out here,’ Angela said.

Ig followed her. ‘Can I give you the proper tour now? This is just the house. The best stuff is outside.’

‘I’d love that, thank you,’ Angela said. ‘Remind me again, Ig, how old are you?’

‘Ten.’

‘A great age. Can you ride a bike?’

‘I can drive a car.’

‘Really? At ten? You do start early here.’

He nodded. It was Angela who had taught him to drive.

‘I’ll take you for a drive later if you like,’ Ig said.

‘I don’t think so, Ig,’ Nick said.

‘Ready, Angela?’ Ig asked.

‘Whenever you are,’ she answered.

Nick and the three girls watched as Ig led her across the yard and opened the gate. They couldn’t hear what he was saying, but they could see him pointing out the different buildings, and across to the Chace Range. Beside him, Angela was nodding and listening.

‘Is it just me, or is this the weirdest day of our entire lives?’ Genevieve said.

‘I think it’s only the start,’ Victoria replied.

A short time later, Nick left the room to go to the office. He needed to catch up on some emails, he told them. Victoria, Genevieve and Lindy stayed where they were, looking out the window, still watching Angela and Ig.

‘What could they be talking about?’ Genevieve asked. ‘They’ve been standing there chatting like that for ages now.’

‘They’re probably talking about Robbie,’ Victoria said.

‘Or to Robbie,’ Genevieve said.

Nick returned. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Fine,’ Genevieve said. ‘Still completely weird, but fine. Are you okay?’

He nodded.

‘Dad, you have to say more than that,’ Genevieve said. ‘It’s going to be strange at first, Ruth told us that. She also said we have to keep talking to each other about how we feel.’

‘I’m fine, Genevieve. That’s what a nod means.’

He left the room again.

‘He’s definitely not fine,’ Lindy said.

Back in the office, Nick shut the door.

He’d done his best to stay calm in Adelaide; in Port Augusta. For Ig’s sake. For the girls’ sake. They were watching him so closely, following his lead, he knew that. He couldn’t let them see his true feelings.

He’d spent more time with Angela than all of them. Hours by her bed. This New Angela looked like his wife. Sounded like his wife. Smiled and laughed like his wife. But everything she said was tearing into him. She kept talking about this Will. About Lexie. London. Asking him the same questions about the station, the names of his children.

They’re your children too
, he’d wanted to say.
It’s your home. I’m your husband. I am. Not this Will.
He couldn’t say any of it. He had to trust Ruth’s advice, go along with it all.

If he could have done anything to turn back time, stop the accident from happening, he’d have done it. Was this memory damage of hers his fault too? If things had been better between them, if he had talked to her more, if he hadn’t reacted the way he had to her letter, would her memories of their marriage, their lives together have been stronger? Strong enough to cancel out this Will, this Lexie, her fantasy London life? He hadn’t asked Ruth any of that. She already knew more than he would like anyone to know about his wife, his marriage, his family.

He felt the despair come over him again. Like fog, stealing in. No. He wouldn’t let it. He closed his eyes. He tried to recall all the advice Jim, his psychologist, had given him.
Change the radio station. Don’t listen to the bad thoughts.

It was harder than ever. Before Angela’s accident, he’d been getting better at dealing with his negative thoughts about the station. About the mining lease. There had also been a new development to think about: the conversation he’d had with Kevin Lawson the night of the woolshed party, the offer Kevin had made. No rush with your decision, Kevin had said. We’d be talking next year at the earliest. Nick had said he would think about it. He was still thinking about it. But other things had priority now.

Not other things.

Angela.

The children were coping better than him. Ig was the most relaxed of all. The three girls were following Ruth’s advice to the letter. He was the one at sea.

He stood up and turned to look at the wall of photos, as he often did when he was in here working. The photos of him and Angela over the years. Of course, they were gone. He was taken aback at the flash of sorrow he felt. His wife was no longer his wife. He no longer had any photos of her either. Tears came to his eyes. He roughly wiped them away.

While Angela had a nap, Genevieve phoned Joan and filled her in on how the homecoming had gone, how they were all following Ruth’s advice, going along with whatever Angela said.

‘And is that okay?’ Joan asked. ‘Are you all coping?’

‘Better than we expected. It’s easier than we thought. She thinks everything is lovely. Wonderful. That we’re the perfect hosts and all she has to do is be the guest. She hasn’t done any of the things she’d normally do after being away: sweeping every floor, rummaging in the freezer, telling us to empty our suitcases, putting on a washload. We gave her a tour, made her a cup of tea and then she said she was going to sit on the verandah and read. Making it very clear she didn’t want any company at all. She wanted to know what time dinner was, and what it would be, and also managed to let us know very politely but firmly that she’s also looking forward to a glass of wine, preferably on the verandah around six p.m.’

‘And what will you be having for dinner tonight?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing. You don’t feel like coming over and giving me a few cooking lessons, do you? Now?’

Later, over dinner – a lasagne made from ingredients Joan had found in the freezer – they made polite conversation. It was nothing like their normal noisy family dinners.

‘Do you have children yourself, Joan?’ Angela asked.

‘Two grown-up kids. Neither of them wanted to stay on the station. One is in Queensland, the other is in Sydney. And I’ve got five grandies.’

‘Grandies?’

‘That’s Australian slang for grandchildren. We shorten everything here. Footy. Barbie. It’s like our national pastime.’

‘How interesting,’ Angela said politely. She continued to eat.

Joan seemed to be hitting the right note with her conversation, not batting an eyelid about Angela’s odd questions or replies. Angela had been using the words grandies, footy and barbie herself for years.

‘And what about you, Angela?’ Joan asked. ‘You have just the one daughter?’

‘That’s right. Alexandra. We call her Lexie. She’ll be here soon too.’

‘And whereabouts in London do you live?’

‘Do you know London?’

‘Only from films and TV shows. It always looks grey. Grey skies, grey buildings.’

‘It often is grey. But I love it. We live in Will’s family home in Islington. His grandparents bought it before the war. His mother grew up there. She left it to Will.’

‘And you’re from there too?’

‘No, I’m from a much less grand area. Forest Hill, in south London. I grew up in a council house. My parents were in their forties when they had me. I was a surprise child.’ She gave a merry laugh. ‘What about you, Joan? Do you have children?’

They all stopped eating. ‘Yes, I do, Angela. Two grown children. And five grandchildren.’

‘How lovely,’ Angela said.

In her room soon after dinner, Angela finished getting ready for bed. She was very happy here. It all looked just like she’d expected an outback station to look. Her room was lovely. So peaceful. So quiet.

She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the verandah, to breathe in some of that fresh, clean air again. How beautiful it was. They seemed like such a nice family. She was very lucky.

She couldn’t wait for Will and Lexie to meet them all.

Joan came over for dinner the next night too.

Genevieve had invited her to come every night if she wanted to. She’d also asked for her help in ways other than cooking. ‘I think you should get her talking as much as you can about her real life. See if that sparks any memories. It might be stronger coming from you than us.’

Joan invited herself to join Angela for a pre-dinner glass of wine on the verandah. The sun was setting, the sky a vivid red, the air filled with birdsong. In the old days, she and Angela would have talked nonstop. Now, Angela was content to sit quietly.

Joan began the conversation, talking about all the years she had come here to visit the Gillespies, what a great family they were. Not just Nick and the children. Their mother too.

‘She’s a lovely woman. Warm, friendly, talented. A dear friend of mine, actually.’

‘She’s away at the moment?’

‘That’s right. A study trip.’ The children had coached Joan on that too. ‘I’ve known her since she first came here. She had the twins less than a year after her wedding. She was new to station life, on the other side of the world from her parents and friends. It wasn’t just a new city or country, either, but a new life in the middle of nowhere, really. Nick’s a great husband and father, and he was a great pastoralist too . . .’

Angela didn’t react.

‘But he was completely clueless when it came to looking after twins. I spent a lot of time here when they were small. After Lindy was born, just before the twins turned three, I practically moved in. I was here every day; sometimes I stayed overnight. Three little kids needed at least two pairs of hands, sometimes three.’

Genevieve came out, carrying a bottle of wine. She refilled their glasses. Joan smiled at her.

‘I was just about to tell Angela what a handful you were as a child, Genevieve. How hard it was for your mum to have three children under the age of three.’

‘She and Dad only had themselves to blame. No self-control. We were angels, Angela. Truly.’

‘Three devils, and this one was the worst,’ Joan said, gesturing to her. ‘The ringleader from the start. Born first and bold as brass.’

‘Joan, you’re not painting a very nice picture of me in front of our guest.’