Simmering Season Page 15

  ‘Pushy, my arse,’ her grandfather was saying, his words rolling out in one long, low growl. ‘The lad knows what he wants. It might please you to know he likes the idea of settling down: an engagement, marriage, babies. Oh, and unlike you Amber, he’s smart enough to know it happens in that order. Luke will be good for my granddaughter. He’s a damn good kid. None of this growing up and getting everything. Like me, he’s had to work hard to get where he is and he has ambitions. I’m mentoring him myself.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ her mother mumbled into her Perrier water.

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, daughter dear. You weren’t so against my guiding you in a certain direction once. I think young Luke will keep Fiona in line. She’ll need that, assuming she’s her mother’s daughter.’

  ‘He’s not young Luke and he’s not a kid. He’s thirty! Don’t you have a problem pushing your granddaughter onto someone almost ten years older?’ Amber’s face said she heard the irony of that. There was twenty years difference between her and Phillip. ‘And before you shoot me down, it’s not just his age. Luke seems very … intense.’

  ‘You mean determined to make something of himself? You bet he is. I even see a little of me in him.’

  Phillip Blair moved into Fiona’s frame and with a nod from his wife—almost an approval to speak—he wrapped an arm around Amber’s waist. It was a psychological move perhaps, to show strength in unity.

  ‘I’m agreeing with Amber, Jack,’ Phillip announced. ‘Luke seems to be moving awfully quickly. Fiona is—’

  ‘Fiona is not your concern, Phillip. This is between me and my daughter. You don’t get a say.’

  ‘Stop that, Dad.’ Amber’s body seemed to go rigid, until Phillip’s gentle tug drew her closer. One arm squeezed reassuringly, it also possibly pinned his wife against him, anticipating her attack.

  Whatever the strategy, it worked. Amber’s voice softened, the strained whisper making it hard for Fiona to hear without turning one ear closer to the study door.

  ‘Do not speak to Phillip like that, Dad. Of course this involves him. Both of us want Fiona to be able to make her own choices, and in her own time. She needs to know herself before she can do any of that and I won’t have you manipulate her life like you did mine. I am her mother and Phillip is her father.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Jack spat.

  The burst of profanity made Fiona jump and draw breath, clasping a silencing hand to her mouth. Phillip was whispering, calmly disarming his wife of the Perrier bottle she now gripped, prising away her grasp finger by finger. The old Amber would never have argued. By this stage she would have retreated to her room, popped a pill—or a cork—and wiped herself out. The new Amber, the one who’d had some great epiphany in Calingarry Crossing, now stood her ground, despite an indomitable Jack Bailey rearing up like a snake just before it strikes.

  ‘You expect me to butt out?’ he hissed into his daughter’s face. ‘And just where do you think my butting out would’ve left you all those years ago?’

  Amber retreated, her shoulders dropping as if giving in to the weight of Phillip’s arm around them. For a while no one said anything, the room thick with angry, heaving breaths and unsaid words.

  When Amber did speak, her voice was soft, submissive. ‘Please, Dad, can we not dredge up the past? That’s not what’s important here. We’re talking about Fiona. Her future.’

  ‘Fiona’s future is exactly why I’ve invested so much—’

  ‘Invested?’ Phillip interjected. This time it looked like Amber was soothing him, a hand on his arm. ‘I’ve seen the way you play the market, Jack. One sign of things not going your way and you drop shares like a hot potato. My daughter is not a commodity to be invested in.’

  ‘Your daughter! Stop with the bullshit, Phillip.’ Jack Bailey smashed a fist on the desk so hard the decorative vase wobbled and a pen spilled from its holder. ‘And Amber, don’t you dare tell me what’s important and what’s not. You think you’d be better off today if I hadn’t taken control and made the hard decisions? What would life be like back in Calingarry Crossing with you shacked up with whichever deadbeat fathered the kid?’

  ‘Phillip is Fiona’s father.’

  ‘We all know that’s not the truth and why on earth you haven’t told the girl that by now—’

  ‘When and what I tell my daughter is my business.’

  Fiona was struggling to hear anything except her heartbeat banging in her ears. She wasn’t breathing. No air, no oxygen to the brain and no idea what had just transpired.

  ‘Oh, well, excuse me, Amber,’ Jack mocked. ‘This is what a mother looks like then, is it?’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Phillip’s commanding voice kick-started Fiona’s breathing with a sharp intake of air, silenced by her open palm clasping her mouth as she waited, half-expecting Phillip to follow up with a punch. ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Jack.’ Despite a body swollen with anger, the generous, gentle man Fiona had known all her life backed away. ‘Let’s all take five, shall we?’ Phillip said in a quiet, conciliatory tone. ‘Everyone take a deep breath and remember what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about what’s best for Fiona. Jack, Amber and I are simply expressing our concerns. We want Fiona to have some time to decide what she wants and, well, let’s face it, you can be very convincing.’

  Phillip Blair, perennial peacemaker. A nip here, a tuck there, and voilà! Blemishes all gone—from the surface anyway. Phillip had played up to his father-in-law’s arrogance and it had worked.

  ‘Okay, okay, fine,’ Jack said from behind surrendering hands. Her grandfather had a number of gestures and Fiona had learned them all over the years by close observation. This one—raised palms usually accompanied by a small shrug—said, I don’t agree, but I’ll give in for now. ‘I wonder, Phillip, if I might have a quick word with my daughter.’

  Fiona experienced a moment of alarm that she’d be caught out. Then, with a reassuring nod from Amber, Phillip exited the study via the deck, closing the glass door on the chilly south-easterly blowing in off Sydney Harbour. Fiona remained tucked out of sight in the hallway, watching and listening.

  ‘At least you can agree with me, Amber. I knew what was best for you back then. As I see it that gives me a good track record to know what’s best for Fiona. We both know she’s been spoilt rotten. She’s also strong-willed. She’ll need someone to support her financially and keep her in check. Someone she can support in return. That’s what good wives do.’

  Amber groaned as if she’d heard the same lecture too many times. ‘Honestly, Dad, what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means good wives most certainly don’t go running off after twenty years of marriage without explanation and leave their high-profile husband to lose face. I’m surprised Phillip stuck by you. The man has no balls, if you ask me.’

  ‘Do not talk about Phillip that way,’ she snapped. ‘By all means criticise me. What’s new? But Phillip has done nothing wrong.’

  ‘What in God’s name was so important that you had to go back to Calingarry Crossing? Was it a sudden attack of conscience? Did you go back and see him? Hmm? Who was it anyway? Who was the lucky lad that knocked up my daughter? Will Travelli was always my bet.’

  ‘Stop. I’m not going to let you drag all that up again.’

  Amber was doing her best to stay calm, yet looking strangely fragile, brittle almost, like kindling taunted by a struck match held by Jack Bailey.

  ‘At least agree your father knew what you needed. We both know it wasn’t some small-town boy and a dead-end corner of the country so you could turn into a pathetic drunk like your mother. I knew you and I knew what you wanted back then. Not even Will Travelli was good enough. You had to have it all. I don’t recall you complaining about my taking you away to Sydney and getting it all for you. You were just as keen as I was to say goodbye to that town and everybody in it.’

  ‘What you stirred up about Will was wrong and unforgivable.
I’m glad I got to go back and make things right. I want a chance for my daughter to make her own decisions too. She at least needs the opportunity. I will make that happen if it’s the last thing I do.’ Amber looked ready to ignite. ‘You’ve got a hide talking about running away and leaving people. What you did to Mum, all those things you said to make me think she didn’t care and didn’t want me—’

  ‘What are you dragging all this up for again? Your mother was never sober enough to know you were even there. Remember how she was?’

  ‘And who bought her the booze? Even when she said no more, you bought it and you put it where she’d be tempted.’

  ‘The strong are not that easily tempted.’

  ‘She was sad and lonely and bullied into being what you expected, and when she didn’t meet your standards you let her feel so inferior, so useless.’

  ‘Is that what she told you?’ Spit sprayed out of Jack’s mouth, his words venomous. ‘Your mother was irresponsible and careless and you’d be exactly the same if I hadn’t married you off so damn well. Like mother like fucking daughter, I say. Well, history is not repeating itself with my granddaughter.’

  Amber’s gasp snapped her neck back, her upper body stiffening, squaring up to Jack.

  ‘Get out!’ She braced herself on the desk with one hand. The other hand waved, pointing him to the front door. ‘Get out of my house—now. I don’t want you anywhere near me or—’ Her mother’s eyes shot open, a lifeless, grey mask falling over Amber’s face as she spotted Fiona in the doorway. ‘Fiona? Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I …’

  They were her mother’s last words before she clasped her head with both hands and folded to the floor.

  ‘You okay, Fi?’ Noah was staring, his fingers frozen on the guitar frets mid-chord.

  Fiona groaned. ‘I’d be better without this freakin’ heat wave. Even my eyes are perspiring.’ With the heels of both hands she blotted the tears from her cheeks before engaging fake Fiona again. ‘So, are we going to finish this job?’

  She started collecting empty packages and snatching bits of broken balloon, cursing Cory in the process.

  ‘Fi?’ Noah was staring at her. ‘I was just wondering about something. Something you said before about not giving a shit.’

  ‘Like?’ She stopped what she was doing to plant both hands on her hips, the plastic bag dangling by her side swinging in the warm breeze.

  ‘Well …’ Noah strummed a chord. ‘Like …’ strum ‘… I think …’ strum ‘… you’re hoping the reunion will help you find out who your father is.’ Strum, strum, strum.

  ‘Wanna know what I reckon? Here.’ She scrunched the bag into a ball and launched it at an unsuspecting Noah. ‘I reckon you should stop thinking, quit with the guitar and the guesswork and get back to freakin’ work.’

  ‘I’m thinking it’s pretty good guesswork.’

  ‘So what if I am?’ Fiona said, a little more defensively than she’d intended. ‘Tell me you wouldn’t be just as curious to know who your real father was if you found out it wasn’t the person you’ve known all your life.’

  ‘You haven’t seen me and my dad together. I look just like him.’ Noah tilted his head and looked at her. ‘At least let me in on the plan. I gather you’ve got one. Or are you going to just stalk every bloke ever pictured with your mother. Maybe you think there’s going to be some dude arrive with a nametag on that says: “Fifi’s father”.’

  ‘Maybe, smart-arse, I’ll know straight away ’cause he’ll look just like me.’

  ‘Poor bugger.’ Noah smiled. ‘Besides, I thought you looked like your mother.’

  ‘I do. I did,’ she corrected. ‘Except I have blue eyes. Her eyes weren’t blue.’

  ‘Gee, that should narrow your search down. Have you thought to just ask your grandmother?’

  ‘From the way my grandfather used to talk about her, Cheryl had a fairly foggy view of the world back then. And by foggy I mean off her face. She gave me some photos, though. That’s something.’ Fiona had tried to broach the subject with her grandmother a couple of times now, although not directly. If the old lady knew, she wasn’t about to say, redirecting her back to Phillip. But Fiona couldn’t talk to him about this. He didn’t even know she was looking for her biological father. She wouldn’t want to hurt him. She loved Phillip. He’d been the one stable thing in her life. ‘You know the worst thing about all this, cowboy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I finally understand why I struggled to fit in with Molly’s crowd and I told her so. I had to tell Moll. Her and Luke are the only real things in my life right now. Molly’s been my best friend since pre-school, and Luke’s been so supportive. Mum and Phillip didn’t like him, but they were wrong about him. It was his idea to find my father. He looks out for me.’

  ‘So are you doing this find my father thing for him or for you?’

  Fiona contemplated the question, plonking back down in the chair. What was she doing hanging around with a kid like Noah, letting him interrogate her motives and make her second-guess her choices?

  He was right though. What made Fiona think she could rock up to a stranger—a face in a photograph—and ask what he knew about her mother twenty-two years ago? And what would she do if she found the guy? Would she hug him? Probably not. Fiona didn’t come from a family of huggers. If the thought of coming face to face did nothing but make her feel sick in the stomach, was that not telling her that she maybe didn’t want to do this? What would she say? Fiona was an expert at talking about herself, not so at ease with deep and meaningful conversations.

  Noah seemed to be an exception. Talking to him seemed easy because he listened—really listened. Not only that, Noah told her straight out what he thought, as if it didn’t matter if the truth upset things between them. None of her Sydney friends would dare be so blunt, or give her a hard time. Noah was a good listener, a nice kid, and he was growing on her. He had a maturity about him that she didn’t see in the skateboarding, beach-loving seventeen-year-olds back in Bondi.

  ‘You’re really pushy, Noah. Anyone ever tell you that?’ She leaned over, giving him a solid nudge with her shoulder.

  ‘My mum would call that changing the subject. I know ’cause she’s pretty good at it herself whenever I ask her about Dad. So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So which one is it? You doing this thing for you, or for this Luke guy?’

  Noah clearly wasn’t giving up. ‘I’m doing it because I want to know and because I’m angry. Angry about being lied to all my life. Okay? Satisfied?’

  ‘Angry enough to want to hurt people who love you and maybe ruin your mum’s party that’s taken months to plan?’ he persisted. ‘I guess I can understand if you’re doing this thing because you want to, but if you’re doing it because this Luke guy thinks it’s a good idea …’

  ‘You know, for a kid, you’re pretty smart—and cute. How come some girl hasn’t got her hooks into you?’

  ‘You wanna change the subject again? I’ve got an idea,’ Noah said. ‘How about you forget crashing the reunion? I can help you finish the photo display this afternoon—unless you’re planning something I don’t know about, in which case you can count me out. Mum’s already about to blow a fuse. You can gate crash the party and leave town. I can’t.’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I want to any more.’

  ‘Then forget it. You don’t want a showdown in the middle of a party. Let’s finish the display and maybe we can do something together tomorrow night.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I dunno. We’ll have the pub to ourselves. We could play the jukebox really loud.’

  ‘Shame you don’t have a karaoke machine. Molly bought one for a party one night at her place. It was totally brill. You should’ve seen poor Molly though. The girl has everything, except a voice.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, I can sing. I love it.’

  ‘You mean like Britney-oops-I-can’t-hold-a-note sing, or you mean really sing
, ’cause I’ve been working on a song.’ He played a few chords. ‘No lyrics yet, but …’

  ‘I’m good with lyrics.’

  ‘Cool. We can do a collaboration. Music and lyrics. Gotta be more fun than a room full of old farts. Come on,’ Noah nudged. ‘Whatdaya say?’

  ‘I say, Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore, eat your hearts out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, forget it.’

  The best thing one can do when it’s raining

  is to let it rain.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  20

  Maggie

  ‘My, my, aren’t we in a mood.’ Ethne had come rushing into the kitchen at the sound of something crashing on the floor to find Maggie on all fours, cursing over the contents of the cutlery tray—about 155 knives, forks and spoons—strewn across the kitchen floor.

  ‘I’ll have to put these through the dishwasher again now.’

  ‘Why don’t you leave that to me?’ Ethne said as she righted the toppled cutlery basket.

  ‘Because thanks to me and my inability to say no you’ve got enough to worry about today.’

  ‘You mean our little shindig tonight?’ Ethne trilled.

  ‘I’m so angry at myself. I can’t believe I let that girl and her snooty remarks get to me. “Of course, if you don’t think you can manage a cocktail party …” Argh! You should’ve seen me puffing up. Anyone would think I single-handedly had to defend small pubs everywhere from snotty-nosed assumptions that country people aren’t sophisticated enough to do cocktail snacks. I’ll give her bloody sophisticated. I’ll stick sophisticated right up her …’ Maggie’s handful of forks clanged onto the metal bench.

  ‘Awright, love, relax.’ Ethne was at the hot water urn filling a teapot and Maggie knew to expect one of her calming brews.