Hello from the Gillespies (16 page)

Genevieve smiled. ‘Is that “I hear” as in you read it in Mum’s Christmas email? Hilarious, wasn’t it? One of her best yet. We’ve had so much fun reading it to each other and acting it out, haven’t we, Victoria and Lindy? But then, we do that with Mum’s letters every year. The old-fashioned entertainments are the best, don’t you think, Victoria?’

‘Undoubtedly, Genevieve.’ Victoria smiled. ‘So, Jane, you’re home for Christmas? And you’ve brought a friend, I see.’

‘He’s my flatmate. He’s a Christmas orphan. His parents are overseas, so I invited him here.’

‘Lovely,’ Genevieve said. ‘Just your flatmate? Not your boyfriend?’

Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘You might know this already from my mother’s letter, but I’m a terrible gossip,’ Genevieve said. ‘I also like to make sure I have my facts right before I start spreading stories about people.’

‘He’s my flatmate.’ Jane’s tone was chilly now.

‘Thank you for the clarification,’ Genevieve said cheerily.

Jane turned away from her. ‘So, Lindy, how are the cushions going?’

Victoria answered for her. ‘Flying through the roof! Mum’s email really did the trick. That’s what I call a successful viral campaign.’

With perfect timing, they were interrupted by a family friend from Hawker. ‘Love the sound of those cushions, Lindy. Can you do one that says “Happy Birthday To Me”? It’ll make my husband feel guilty every time he looks at it.’

‘You bet. I’ll call you on Monday,’ Lindy said.

‘So, you’re back home for a while too, Victoria,’ Jane said. ‘Sydney got to be too much?’

‘That’s right, you missed our speeches earlier, didn’t you? Yes, I’m doing freelance work for the radio station in Port Pirie. A series on well-known families in the area, those who have made their mark, added to the community in some way, or whose families have a long history in the area.’

There was a pause. Jane was waiting for her family to be asked. Victoria didn’t ask.

Lindy couldn’t bear the tension. She turned to Richard. ‘Are you staying long?’

‘For a couple of weeks, until early January. I —’

Jane took over. ‘He’s coming camping with us over New Year’s. His first camping trip. He’s such a city boy, aren’t you, Richard?’ She looked directly at Victoria. ‘Fred’s back from Canada too. We’re a full house at the moment.’

‘Fred’s back?’ Genevieve said, sounding surprised. ‘What wonderful news! For a holiday or for good?’

‘For good,’ Jane said.

‘And with a Canadian wife and a troupe of Canadian children?’ Genevieve asked.

‘No,’ Jane said. ‘He’s single.’

‘Imagine that!’ Genevieve said. ‘Someone as handsome as Fred, single. You’re a fount of knowledge, Jane, thanks so much.’ She gave a big, fake smile and then spoke to her sisters. ‘Mum’s giving us all death glares. We’re supposed to be handing out sausage rolls. I hope you didn’t miss out on food as well as the speeches, Jane? Richard? Help yourselves, won’t you?’

Victoria grasped her younger sister’s elbow. ‘Lindy, coming?’

Lindy turned back to Jane and Richard. ‘See you later.’

Jane just nodded.

‘I hope so,’ Richard said.

‘“I hope so”,’ Genevieve echoed once they were out of earshot. ‘Ooh, Lindy, I think he likes you.’

Lindy ignored her. She let her shoulders fall. ‘Thanks, both of you.’

‘Any time,’ they said in unison.

Outside the woolshed, Ig was showing a group of the younger kids around the cubby. One of them wanted to dismantle it and start again. He was pulling at one of the boxes. Ig stopped him.

‘My cubby, my rules,’ Ig said.

At the end of the tour – it didn’t take long – they sat on the ground in a huddle.

‘Is this where you and that imaginary friend play?’ one kid asked.

‘Here. Everywhere,’ Ig said.

‘How do you get an imaginary friend?’ another asked.

‘You just decide to have one.’

‘So we could get one too?’

‘Of course.’

‘When? Now?’

‘If you want.’

‘What’s yours called?’

‘Robbie.’

‘I’m going to call mine Spiky.’

‘That’s your cat’s name,’ one of the other kids said.

‘It can have the same name as a cat, Ig, can’t it?’

‘It’s better if it doesn’t. Otherwise they get confused when you call their names.’

‘Oh. Right.’

They fell silent as they tried to come up with suitable names for their new imaginary friends.

Nick was at the bar with three neighbours. He hadn’t seen a lot of them recently. He said it was because he’d been so busy researching his family tree. They nodded. They’d read Angela’s Christmas letter too. In the days when Nick was working full-time on the station, once a week he’d go into Hawker for a few beers in the pub, a chance to talk about life and work, family and sport. He hadn’t been there in months. He hadn’t had much to say lately. No good news, anyway. He’d also heard too many stories over the years of men around here drowning their sorrows in the bad times, being too damaged to work again when the good times returned. He’d made the decision several months earlier to stop drinking. He’d only had Coke so far tonight.

He thought of the latest session he’d had with Jim, his psychologist. His doctor had been right. Their talks were helping. Jim looked like a farmer: sturdy, a bit younger than him. Like someone he’d see at the Hawker races, or the football. It made opening up easier. He’d been half-expecting someone who resembled a professor, an intellectual, someone who would look down on him. Instead, he’d been very down-to-earth.

He’d asked Nick questions. Listened. He’d talked more about Nick learning to take charge of his thoughts. About the importance of staying fit, keeping up the walking, any exercise at all. About staying careful around alcohol.

Nick had talked about the trip to Ireland. How he’d considered cancelling it when he’d read Angela’s letter. How he’d thought it over, realised how much money he’d spent on the research already, paying Carol to set up his itinerary, how it would all go to waste. More waste. He’d cut the trip short instead. He would go only to Ireland, not to London, Italy or France. There’d been no more discussion with Angela about her coming with him.

Jim had asked about Angela too. About their marriage. That had been harder to talk about. Nick had tried, but then the words had stopped coming. We’ll take it one step at a time, Jim had said. They’d made another appointment, for after Christmas. On the way out, Nick had felt something he hadn’t felt for a long time. A faint stirring of hope.

‘Beer, Nick?’

It was another of his neighbours. One he hadn’t seen in months.

‘I’m all right, thanks, mate,’ he said, holding up his glass of Coke. ‘Let me get you one.’

Celia was in a corner of the shed, sitting in a row of chairs with three women of her age. A disco of sorts was planned for the younger ones later, but for now, the music was still quite low.

All their talk was of Angela’s Christmas letter.

‘I think you’re taking it very well,’ one of the women said. ‘I’d be livid.’

Celia remembered this woman being livid most of her life. ‘If you can’t have a sense of humour, where would you be?’

‘But Angela called you an interfering old bat. How can you even stay in her house?’

‘It was that or be home alone for Christmas. What choice did I have?’

The woman went quiet.

Lindy was at the bar when she felt him beside her. Richard.

‘Great shed. Great party,’ he said.

He smiled at her and she suddenly wanted to tell him everything.

‘I’m sorry if we seemed strange before. Genevieve and Victoria were just protecting me from Horrible Jane.’

‘Horrible Jane?’

‘It’s what we call her. We always have, ever since she started bullying me at school.’

‘So she hasn’t changed much over the years, then?’

Lindy blinked. ‘You’re talking about a friend of yours like that?’

‘She’s my flatmate, not my friend. And she’s a great flatmate, actually. A bit bossy at times, but she lives with three guys. Without her, the house would be chaos.’

‘Well, I think she must want you to be more than a flatmate or she wouldn’t have invited you home.’

‘She felt sorry for me.’

Lindy scoffed at that. ‘She just wanted to arrive here with a handsome man so everyone would think you’re her boyfriend.’

‘You think I’m handsome?’

‘I think you’re very handsome,’ she said mournfully. She shouldn’t have had that last drink. Gin always made her gloomy.

‘I wish you’d given me your phone number that night,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she said, blushing.

‘Would you give it to me again now, instead? Maybe I could ring you when we get back from the camping trip. Come and visit you here before I go back to Melbourne.’

Lindy could see Horrible Jane making her way across to them. She would have said yes anyway. But knowing Jane was nearby made her put on an even brighter smile. And possibly also made her speak that little bit louder as she gave him her number.

‘I’d love you to come and visit, Richard. Any time you like.’

‘You okay?’ Joan asked Angela.

‘Fine. I think. How can that be?’

‘Maybe you’re drunk?’

‘I haven’t had a drop yet.’

‘Have you and Nick talked much tonight?’

Angela shook her head, then massaged her temple.

‘Is your head hurting again?’

‘No,’ she lied.

Joan gave her a sceptical look. ‘You take a break. Have a glass of wine. I’ll go and get some more sausage rolls.’

Angela took her advice. She went across to the bar and poured herself a glass. She was only alone for a moment. People started coming up to her to talk about her letter. Not just to say they’d read it, but to share their own stories. She heard about one neighbour’s difficult husband: ‘You should be glad Nick doesn’t talk to you. My husband never shuts up.’ She heard about another neighbour’s difficult children: ‘At least yours went away before they came back. Mine have just never left.’ Another neighbour had strong opinions about family reunions: ‘The devil’s invention. Who wants to be stuck in a room with a hundred people who look just like you, only worse?’

‘And Nick’s really going to Ireland, is he?’ one said. ‘On his own? A reconnaissance trip?’

Another neighbour joined in. ‘I heard him talking about it too. In late February, is it?’

So he was still going. He hadn’t told her yet. ‘It’s a great idea, I think,’ she said brightly. ‘Someone needs to make sure the hotel doesn’t have holes in the roof before two hundred demanding Gillespies arrive for their reunion.’

‘He’s holding it in Cork, isn’t he? My great-great-great-uncle was from Cork. Or was it Carlow? It’s a fascinating story, actually. He came out to Australia in 1840, after he and his —’

Angela took her chance. ‘Can you excuse me? I just need to heat up some more sausage rolls.’

On her way out to the kitchen, Angela looked around for the twins, hoping one of them could give her a hand. She spotted Genevieve in a far corner, a crowd around her, hanging on her every word. Angela could only imagine what Hollywood gossip she was sharing. It took her longer to spot Victoria. She eventually saw her at the edge of the woolshed. She was sitting down on one of the long benches, deep in conversation with someone. Not just in conversation, but smiling and laughing. It was a man. A blond-haired man. A familiar man.

Angela stopped and stared. Could it be? She recognised him just as she saw Victoria throw her head back and laugh, as if she were the happiest person in the room.

It was Fred Lawson.

Angela hadn’t seen him in years. It had to be ten years, at least, since he’d upped and left, leaving Victoria in tears. Angela had been surprised when they broke up. She’d always thought Fred and Victoria had something solid.

She walked over to them. Fred stood up, smiling. He’s changed, Angela thought immediately. Not in height or build. He was still as stocky, still a little shorter than average. Still with the same blond hair, round face. But he seemed more sure of himself. More quietly confident.

‘It’s really good to see you, Mrs Gillespie,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the great party.’

‘It’s lovely to see you again too, Fred. Welcome home. How was Canada?’

‘Awesome.’ He smiled. ‘That was a deliberate Canadian accent, by the way. It was awesome though. But it was time to come home again.’

‘And what’s next? Will you be staying around here?’

Before he had a chance to answer, they were interrupted.

‘Fred Lawson, as I live and breathe. Who let you back into the country?’

It was Joan. He gave her a hug.

‘Look at you, all grown up,’ Joan said, beaming at him. ‘I thought we’d never see you again. So, have you brought a Canadian wife home with you? Left a dozen broken-hearted Canadian women behind?’

Beside him, it was clear Victoria was waiting for his answer too.

‘Of course not,’ Fred said. ‘They never had eyes for me. Not with all those strapping Canadian mounties around the place.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Joan said. She turned to Angela. ‘I need you. We have to thaw out our emergency food supplies. It’s as if these people haven’t eaten in weeks.’

Angela smiled at Fred again. ‘Great to see you, Fred. Come and visit any time.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Gillespie.’

As they walked away, Joan whispered under her breath, ‘Talk about two blushing lovebirds. Are they back on, do you think? Already?’

Angela looked behind her. Fred and Victoria were in deep conversation again. ‘It’s beginning to look like that,’ she said.

Nick was heading to the bar to check on the beer supplies when he heard his name. He turned. It was Kevin Lawson. Nick hadn’t seen him in weeks. Maybe even months. He’d never counted Kevin as one of his close friends. The problems with Jane and Lindy, then Fred and Victoria, hadn’t helped. No matter what, though, they’d stayed good neighbours. If Kevin ever needed Nick’s help, he gave it. It worked both ways. That’s how it was out here. You helped each other, be it with the stock, during the floods, the fire season, the good times and the bad. That’s how it had been, at least. Over the past year or more, Nick hadn’t shared his worries with anyone, let alone his neighbours.

‘Great party,’ Kevin said. ‘Hell of a turnout.’

Nick nodded.

‘Been a rough year for you too, mate. Hear I missed your speech earlier.’

‘You didn’t miss much,’ Nick said.

‘One of the blokes said you reckoned you’d had no choice. That you had to accept the mining offer.’

Nick waited. Here it was, what he’d been expecting all night. The anger. The lecture.

Kevin Lawson surprised him. ‘Wish you’d talked to me first.’

‘About what?’

‘An idea I’ve had. Got a few minutes now?’

Nick nodded.

The party was still going strong at midnight. If they’d had close neighbours, they would have complained. As it was, their neighbours were at the party. The family’s speeches and Nick’s almost-tears had become the night’s big talking points. The women approved. It was good to see a man showing his emotion, several said.

Angela knew that people had been watching her and Nick all evening. There’d been nothing to see. They hadn’t exchanged a word. It had nothing to do with the letter or the tension in their marriage. They’d both simply been too busy keeping the food coming, the drinks flowing, the music playing, their guests happy.

Angela also knew that people had been watching her and Celia all evening too. The speeches at the start of the night had definitely helped defuse the situation, by making her letter out to be some kind of joke, but afterwards Angela had realised none of the family had mentioned Celia. She’d decided it was probably for the best. Why draw any more attention to what she’d said about Celia in her letter? Angela had avoided talking to her so far tonight. Not just tonight either. In the days since Celia had arrived on Errigal, through accident or design, she and Angela hadn’t been alone together. It was time they did speak to each other. Hopefully there was enough conversation and music that no one would overhear if Celia decided to attack her. Which she had every right to do, Angela conceded.

‘Can I get you anything, Celia?’ she said, sitting down beside her. There was almost always an empty chair beside Celia. People didn’t tend to sit next to her for long.

‘No, thank you, Angela.’

‘Are you tired?’

‘Not yet.’ They sat in silence for a moment, watching the people on the dance floor.

Celia spoke. ‘You’re not the first person to call me an interfering old bat. Though, in fact, I think she called me an interfering old bitch.’

Angela wasn’t sure if she’d misheard. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘My daughter-in-law. Peter’s wife. The French woman.’

Angela kept her mouth shut.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Celia said.

The old-fashioned phrase almost made Angela smile. But she stayed quiet. Maybe this was the key to getting on with Celia. Stay mute. In the glow of the party, the evening almost over, the worst shock about her letter gone, Angela could feel a stirring of sympathy for the older woman. She was about to apologise for what she’d written when Celia turned to her.

‘You should think yourself lucky you have a husband like Nick. You don’t appreciate him. Oh, yes, my henpecked husband was probably glad to get away from me, as Joan so kindly said and you so kindly wrote to one and all in your letter. But not as happy as I was to see him go. He was never a good husband. Too weak. Lazy. I ran the business, he didn’t. I’m the reason it was a big success.’