Out of Alice (31 page)

It was the first time Sara had flown business class. The hours since Frank had dropped her at the Hilton's entrance had sped by, a blur of emotion and half-assimilated impressions. Already the man beside her, seat semi-reclined now that their dinner trays had been removed, had assumed familiar proportions, as if their acquaintance really did reach much further back than a few hours. There was still so much unsaid between them, but for the moment her brain and bruised heart could hold no more. The final parting with the Ketch family had been wrenching. She relived it again behind closed lids and saw Becky's face, her tears brimming like translucent pearls and spilling from her swimming eyes. ‘I don't want you to go,' she had sobbed, and at that moment Sara had not wanted to leave either. She had watched Len and Frank shake her father's hand, seen their quiet assessment of him. Jack's words,
You've got the Ketches in your corner now
, had whispered in the corner of her mind. She wanted them to like him, it was somehow necessary that they should not find him wanting in any way, and she was relieved when he and Frank had immediately found common ground. Helen had made tea. Sara had never felt less like taking refreshment but had seized the chance to spin out their time together. She chatted with Becky and promised Beth that she would write and keep them informed of anything she learned from the police.

When it was finally time to go, Beth, the most self-contained of women, had hugged her hard, murmuring, ‘Dammit! I am
not
going to cry. Don't forget to write, will you? I want to know – we all will – how you get on.'

‘Yes,' Sara answered fiercely. ‘I'm coming back, you know. I can't see myself settling in Sydney. The Alice is much more my style. Let's not lose touch. I want to know how Sam's doing, and when the rain comes.'

She had found Sam himself resting in the lounge, thin and boneless-looking but quietly satisfied. ‘My blood test was good and I didn't have the chemo, Sara. The doc said the next lot could wait, then we'd see.'

‘Did he?' Sara felt an instance of fear for him then dismissed it. Beth hadn't mentioned his missing the chemo but that was good news, surely, if the blood tests were okay? The blinds had been closed and the air conditioner hummed quietly on the wall. ‘Don't get up.' She patted his stick-thin leg. ‘I just want to tell you goodbye and that it's very important that you work hard at getting well. Your family needs you, you know, Sam, and so does Redhill. Besides, I'm coming back out here and when I do I want you to be strong enough to give me riding lessons. You said you would, remember?'

‘Yeah, and I will.' His gaze, so much wiser than his years, held curiosity. ‘Do you like your dad, Sara? Uncle Jack said you'd be happy when you met him, but grown-ups lie sometimes when they don't want kids to know things.'

She caught her breath. ‘Well, yes, I do like my dad. Of course, I don't know him properly yet, and that's why I'm going away now, because knowing anyone takes time.'

‘But you aren't happy,' he objected. ‘I can tell.'

She laughed shakily. ‘Because I'm leaving you all. But I'll becoming back, you know, to tell you about Sydney and my new brother and sisters. And to see the country when the drought ends. Your uncle told me about how it changes but I want to see it for myself.'

His smile had bloomed at that. ‘I'm glad, Sara. You'll see, it'll be worth the wait.' She had taken that gallant hopeful smile with her as Frank grabbed her bag and they all moved towards the door. There was another round of hugs from Helen and Beth while her father stood by and let Frank load her luggage. Last of all she felt the strong embrace of Frank's arm and the roughness of his aged skin against her cheek. ‘You want me to kick that idiot son of mine for yer?' he murmured, and she'd given a little spurt of helpless laughter that could easily have turned to tears.

‘Just tell him . . .' She couldn't find words for all she wanted to say. ‘Never mind. I'll be back this way, Frank. I might get to tell him myself.' Then she was in the car, twisting in her seat, waving frantically as the house slipped behind them and the first of the streetlights came on. The sun had gone and the sky was deepening to violet above the solid line of range either side of Heavitree Gap. Soon, another hour or so, and the plane would rise and all the world she had recently known – the Alice, the sand country, the mulga – would slip away behind her, lost in the vast void of inland Australia.

‘It's a long flight,' John Randall said. ‘You should get some sleep.'

‘Yes.' Sara was exhausted, her limbs too heavy to move. She had reclined the seat to its limit. ‘I think I will. I feel . . .'

‘I know.' His smile was rueful, understanding. ‘Like a hill fell on you. Emotional overload. Rest yourself.' The stewardess came at his signal and returned almost immediately with a light blanket, which Randall spread over his daughter. ‘Let it all go for now, just till we get there.' He dimmed the lights above them and her last impression as her eyes closed was an awareness of his gaze resting upon her, while the night slid by outside. A quiet joy slipped into her heart and spread there, like a tree taking root, as sleep carried her away.

Sydney airport was less crowded at night; the shops within the concourse were closed and it was mainly security people moving about. Feeling crumpled but somewhat refreshed, Sara and her father descended to the ground floor and waited for the carousel to produce her luggage. Outside the terminal the night air was sultrier than the desert but there was scarcely time to feel it before the taxi was swooping away from the kerb, darting through bewildering lanes of traffic that carried them into the city, then on towards Watson Bay.

‘Where do you live?' Sara asked.

‘Vaucluse. Fran and I chose the place just before Sophie was born. The kids love it because it's close to the beach. Justin's a surfer and Mandy belongs to the local life savers' club.'

‘Oh, excuse me.' Sara tried to strangle the yawn that slipped out. The brief spurt of energy she had experienced on waking had passed and she longed only for bed.

‘Not far now,' John Randall said. ‘Ah, here's the street. Do you feel like food, Chrissy? Fran'll make you a snack if you want something.'

Sara yawned again. ‘Oh, I can't seem to stop. No, thanks. I just want to sleep.'

‘Then so you shall.' Her father leaned forward. ‘The one on the right with the tall gate,' he told the cabby, and leaned forward pressing the remote opener he had taken from his pocket. The gates slid aside and a moment later they had arrived.

It was a big house, Sara saw, double-storeyed with metal balcony rails. A light burned behind long drapes in the downstairs front window and another switched on as they stepped between tall pillars into the portico. Behind them the cab wheels swept around the driveway, crunching over gravel, and somewhere water played amid a smell of humus and damp greenery. The air was filled with scent – roses or jasmine, Sara wondered? An outside light came on, casting the shadows of palm leaves onto a brilliant green patch of lawn. Randall was pointing his fist at the gate and as it closed the front door, inlaid with leaded glass, opened and Frances Randall stood there. She was a trim, vital figure in her early forties with broad cheekbones, dark eyes and black hair that swept to her jawline.

‘Christine!' Her hands were out as if to embrace Sara. ‘Come in. You're here at last. Welcome home!' Sara found herself clasped in a light embrace. ‘The girls and I seem to have been waiting for you forever!' Frances confided. ‘Hello, darling.' She kissed her husband's cheek and slipped an arm around him. ‘How were your flights?'

‘Good, and as you see, she's here. Chrissy, this is Frances. Which room have you prepared, love? She's tired. We'll go straight up and everything else can wait till the morning. The girls asleep?'

‘Hours ago. And Jus rang. It's this way, Christine. You sure you won't have something? There's water and biscuits in your room, but if you'd like a hot drink . . .'

‘It's kind of you but no, really, dinner was fine, very substantial. I'm just tired.'

‘Then here we are. You've got her bag, John? Okay then. Your bathroom's through there and breakfast will be whenever you want it.' Frances took a quick look around the pretty, spacious room with its en suite facilities and floor-length curtains that matched the ruffled bedspread, and paused at the door to smile at Sara. ‘I'm so glad you're here, Christine. You're living proof that miracles can happen. Sleep well, my dear.'

‘Thank you, and for the lovely welcome,' Sara responded, gazing around. ‘It's a beautiful room.' She patted the plump pillow sheathed in crisp linen. ‘I'll sleep like a top here. Thank you again. Good night, Frances. 'Night, Dad.'

‘Goodnight, Chrissy.' He brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘Sweet dreams, poppet,' he murmured, then he too was gone.

Alone at last Sara unpacked her toilet bag, cleaned teeth and face in the luxuriously appointed bathroom, then undressed, located the light switch on the bedside lamp and was asleep the moment her head touched the expensive, incredibly soft pillow.

Sara woke slowly to the distant warble of birds, and something else. Half dreaming, she listened behind closed lids and heard it again, a scuffle and a breathy giggle. She opened her eyes to see two young girls peering at her, one from behind the lens of a camera.

‘Hello.' She smiled at them and sat up, stretching. ‘I'll bet you're Mandy.' She addressed the chubbier of the two who wielded the Polaroid camera. ‘So
you
must be Sophie.'

The little one giggled again. ‘Hello. You're Chrissy. Mandy took your picture. You want to see? It'll be ready soon.'

The Polaroid shot rapidly darkened and they crowded in to show her the result. Both girls had their mother's colouring, though Mandy's hair was in bangs across her forehead while Sophie's was held back into a side parting by a plastic slide. Both wore school uniforms. Mandy tilted the camera and pointed to Sara's curls, which showed vividly red against the white pillowcase. ‘Is your hair really red or did you dye it?'

‘It's really red.' She smiled at their enquiring faces. ‘I got teased to death about it at school. Is it late?'

‘It's not breakfast time yet,' Sophie said. ‘Mum told us not to wake you but we didn't, did we?'

‘No,' she assured them. ‘I'm going to have a shower. You can wait if you like. I won't be long. Then you could show me where everything is. But it doesn't matter if you're busy.'

Visibly delighted, the girls perched on the bed, talking nonstop through the bathroom door while Sara showered and dressed. She missed most of the chatter about school and friends and the beach and emerged in time to hear the question Mandy aimed at her. ‘Where did Daddy find you, Chrissy? He flew off to get you, Mum said. He's been to China, you know. Did you come from there?'

‘Not from China. From a place way out in the desert where it doesn't rain. I was teaching some children there.'

Sophie's mouth dropped open. ‘Are you a teacher?'

‘Not really.' Sara pulled a brush through her curls, hung some clothes in the cleverly concealed wardrobe that Sophie opened for her, then made the bed. ‘Shall we go and look for breakfast? You don't want to be late for school.' Sophie took her hand and she smiled down at her. ‘You remind me a bit of the little girl I taught. Do you like school?'

‘It's nearly finished,' Mandy cut in, anxious not to be overlooked. ‘I'm glad, because then we can go to the beach every day! Come on, Chrissy. It's this way.'

Frances was in the kitchen slicing fruit. It was a large open-plan room, airy and cool, with black granite counters, a central island and yellow-topped stools at a breakfast bar. ‘Good morning, Christine. I expected you'd need more of a lie-in.' Frances said. She wore white pedal pushers and a tangerine top. ‘Come on, girls, sit up and eat. What would you like, Christine? There's fruit, cereal, toast, juice —'

‘Juice please and some toast. Is Dad up?' The title sounded awkward in Sara's ears, but Mandy, mouth full of mango, was shaking her head as Frances looked up, surprised.

‘Heavens, yes! He's gone. He always starts early and particularly now. He said to apologise to you but he had to go in today. He's been away overseas, you see, so there's a backlog of stuff for him to catch up on. I tell him to delegate but he's the hands-on sort. He'll be home about six.'

‘Oh.' Disappointed, Sara helped herself to tea. ‘I didn't realise. Of course . . . And Justin, where's he?'

‘Staying over with his study group. He's got his last exams this week. He'll be back tonight though so you can meet him then.'

‘How does he feel about my turning up?' Sara asked carefully. ‘He's a bit older than the girls. Had he known before about us, about Dad's other family, I mean?'

Frances smiled wryly. ‘He's a teenage boy. Who knows what he thinks or feels? Say anything you like to him at present and he'll probably answer,
Whatever.
So-o infuriating! But my friends with sons of a similar age assure me that it's normal, if there is such a thing as a normal teenager.' She drained a glass of juice and glanced at the clock. ‘Now, come on, girls. Teeth, bags, then into the car. Would you like to come for the run, Christine? I can drive you round a bit after, show you where things are. Another day we can go to the beach or into the city. Have you visited Sydney before?'

‘No. I've never been on the east coast. And I'd love to come, thank you. I'll just pop up and get my bag.'

In the car the girls fought over who would sit beside Sara until Frances settled it by putting them both in the back seat and giving Sara the front. The school was a private one, a large sandstone edifice set in green playing fields behind a stone wall.