Other Side of the Season Read online

  ‘So, the land on the other side of the fence Pearl warned me would have snakes . . . That was a banana farm as well?’

  ‘Guess I should get someone to slash the yards over there.’ David again looked vague. ‘I haven’t been near that place in years.’

  Years? Sid took a punt. She’d seen the expression that had flashed over his face, the same sad mien she had noticed last night. ‘The girl you loved lived there, didn’t she?’

  David nodded. ‘Along with her brother–the one-punch wonder.’

  ‘Her brother hit you?’

  Hadn’t the two boys been fighting over a girl?

  ‘Step-brother, I guess you could say. They were both adopted, not related. Poor Albie was more labourer than son to the Marhkts. If they’d been better businesspeople they might’ve had a property worth something to hand down to him, but Ulf could never really make a go of it, and in the end he sold to my father. I never understood why Dad offered to pay so much–the Marhkt land was never very productive. They sold after Albie took off, totally unimpressed at having to run the plantation on their own. But truth be told they had probably wanted out anyway.’

  ‘So you own the entire hill?’

  ‘You make that sound awfully grand, but yes. My father was something of an entrepreneur, and when a cyclone wiped out the Queensland banana industry, New South Wales bananas were suddenly in demand and the prices skyrocketed. Our family got lucky–with the two properties combined we were sitting on a goldmine.’

  ‘Lucky is right!’

  ‘Not how Albie saw it when he came home. He’d heard about the impact of the cyclone and thought he’d come back and make amends with Ulf and Hilda and help them cash in on the banana boom.’

  ‘But they’d gone?’

  ‘Yep. Even I felt sorry for the guy. I didn’t know a lot about his life before he came to live here except that he was abandoned twice by the people who were supposed to care for him the most–the Marhkts and his birth mother, who’d apparently been single at the time and didn’t have the resources or support to care for a baby on her own.’

  Sid sat back, suddenly suspicious. ‘Okay, I get it. You’re telling me about this Albie and his mother so I realise how hard life will be as a single parent.’

  David looked a little shocked at the accusation. ‘Not at all. Like I said, I don’t meddle or try to mend people. My story bears no relationship whatsoever. Your choices are yours alone. And the more we talk, the more I get to know what kind of woman you are. You’ll be a good mother, Sidney. You’ll know the right decisions for you and your baby. Albie’s story was different, one of those hard-luck ones, and it messed him up pretty bad. He had a hard childhood and he’s no doubt had a tough life. I hardly recognised the guy when I saw him not so long ago. He’d always been tall–never beefy–but he’d lost weight, grown from a pimply teenager into a gangly, gaunt grown-up. Too wiry to even throw a proper punch these days.’

  ‘He punched you? Again?’

  David laughed for the first time in a while. ‘Reckon he thought about it at the time.’

  He sipped his coffee and seemed to drift further into that memory until a clanging and banging noise outside interrupted and sent Pablo into a barking frenzy.

  ‘Uh-oh, sounds like the predicted southerly is about to hit early.’ David stood and leaned into his crutches. ‘I’ll need to batten a few hatches.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘You can check the gallery shutters are closed tight. I’ll meet you back here, as long as the wind doesn’t blow me away.’

  36

  The Greenhill Banana Plantation, three years earlier

  ‘Well, well, you never know what the summer wind’s going to blow in these days,’ David said as he stepped onto the veranda of the main house.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ the man replied.

  While the visitor’s face remained hidden, lost in the shadow of a hand shielding the afternoon sun from his eyes, there’d been no mistaking the whiny voice. Although the man seemed much thinner, David couldn’t miss the same lumbering gait and rounded shoulders, like his head was too heavy for them.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive me for cutting your visit short,’ David said before Albie had even reached the bottom of the ramp. ‘I’ve got a birthday cake waiting for me, fifty candles heavy, and you’re not on the guest list.’

  ‘I’m looking for your dad,’ Albie said.

  David stopped, turned around, steadied himself on his crutches–desperate to look strong in front of the man he wanted to hate. ‘You looking to have your block knocked off? Dad’s not been a fan of yours since you punched me and left me for dead. I remembered that much when I eventually woke up a bloody cripple.’

  ‘It was only a punch. You weren’t supposed to fall.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I did and you know what they say? It’s not the fall but the stop at the end that kills you. I got lucky. It’s taken a long time, but I’m walking when they told me I never would, and I’m painting. Life could be worse.’

  ‘I’m sorry. What happened . . . the argument . . . It wasn’t about you. Tilly made me so angry.’

  ‘You’re sorry? Yeah, well, me too, but while Mum and I have moved on, Dad’s not quite so forgiving, so I’d stay clear of my old man. He’s thirty-odd years angrier these days.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen your brother and Tilly?’

  David shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen either of them since you put me in hospital. They weren’t here when I got back. You’d know that.’

  ‘Yeah, but I wondered if you knew where they were.’

  ‘Albie, I think you need to get back in that car of yours and piss off. Whatever it is you’re after by coming here, I can’t help you.’

  ‘You could forgive me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I figured if you could forgive your brother you might forgive me.’

  ‘Forgive Matthew? For what? He didn’t punch me and leave me for dead. He did nothing but get the hell off this mountain and make a life for himself. I don’t blame him for that.’

  ‘Yeah, but . . .’ Albie’s forehead creased into a thousand questions.

  ‘What?’ David pushed. ‘Why so curious about Matthew and Tilly?’ Without waiting for Albie to answer, David flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Bugger off, mate, there’s nothing here for you.’

  ‘Actually there is–or was before your greedy father got his hands on my family property. I heard.’

  ‘Not sure what you heard exactly, mate. The sale was legit. Dad made the right offer at the right time. No one twisted Ulf’s arm.’

  ‘So where are they now? Where are Ulf and Hilda? The place is boarded up and a bloody mess.’

  David shrugged. ‘It’s been a long time. I have no idea. Hilda might’ve told Mum where they were headed. All I know is the money they got from the sale set them up in a nice little estate.’

  His mother’s small voice came from inside the house. ‘Albie Marhkt?’ Rose appeared in the doorway beside her son. ‘What on earth brings you here?’

  Albie straightened up. ‘Hello. I’ve come home. I need information about my parents’ whereabouts.’

  ‘I can’t help you.’

  ‘David said you knew.’

  Rose glanced at her son. ‘No, Albie, I can’t help you. Hilda did leave a forwarding address for mail, that’s true–a post office box. But that was a long time ago and I’ve had nothing to forward and no cause to even keep the information.’

  ‘So you don’t know anything? The name of the town?’

  ‘Oh, Albie, it was a small suburb on the Sunshine Coast. A new estate in the hills somewhere. I’m an old woman who forgets.’

  ‘Yeah,’ David interrupted. ‘Like we want to forget you, Albie.’

  ‘David!’ Rose scolded as though he and Albie were still bickering kids. ‘I’m so sorry, Albie. When Hilda gave me the address, she told me that she had no reason to think you would be in touch. Not for a moment did I think you’d come asking af
ter so many years.’

  ‘That’s not true. You do know and you’re not telling me.’

  ‘No, Albie. I am truly sorry,’ Rose said with genuine remorse.

  ‘We can’t help you and you’re not welcome here, mate,’ David said.

  ‘Is that so?’ Albie sucked in a mouthful of air and tried straightening out those shoulders. His face, now visible to David, had turned beetroot colour, his normally poppy eyes narrow and accusing. ‘You lot are thieves and liars. You deserve every bad thing that ever happened to you.’ He spat the words like they were sour crumbs. ‘And that includes your girlfriend running off with your brother.’

  ‘Albie!’ Rose cried out, all empathy gone from her voice. ‘You horrid creature. I’m not sure what you came here for. If you’re looking for your parents or looking for forgiveness, you are out of luck. You were a horrible little boy who made up stories and I see nothing’s changed.’

  David put an arm around his mother’s shoulders, leaned down and kissed the top of her head. ‘Leave this to me, Mum.’ He smiled at her. ‘Best go check on that birthday cake, eh? Make sure Pearl doesn’t eat it all. I’ll be right in.’ Rose disappeared inside the house and David turned his attention back to Albie.

  ‘You know, mate, the only person running off back then was you when you left me on that hillside. And maybe I could’ve forgiven you for what you did to me, if you’d owned up, or at least checked I was okay, but don’t push your luck by spreading stories about Tilly and Matthew. I knew you were always trying to come on to Tilly. Even when she said no, you still tried. It wasn’t right. You were like her brother. Matthew and I treated you like a brother, too. But all these years later you’re still a bloody no-hoper weirdo. So bugger off, Albie. I’m not interested in your troubles or bullshit stories. I think I know my own brother.’

  David went to close the door, but paused. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, I’m glad Dad has the old property. He’s at the pub right now celebrating. Council has just approved his plans to carve that place of yours up and sell off residential blocks. He’ll make a killing. That’s what sticking around and doing the hard work gets you, Albie. Something you wouldn’t know anything about because you were always too busy whingeing and telling lies.’

  ‘I never–’

  ‘I’m not warning you again, Albie,’ David said, before slamming the door shut.

  37

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  ‘Good grief! You don’t get much warning up here,’ Sid shouted as the wind almost blew her along the path to the cottage, where David waited.

  ‘All battened down over there?’ he called back.

  ‘Only one casualty.’ Sid ducked through the doorway and under his arm, never more glad to see a glowing fireplace. ‘Henry the hanging possum hit the deck, I’m afraid. Snapped his ringtail clear off.’ Sid shuddered with cold as she re-tied the ponytail to gather the strands whipped loose by the wind. ‘When Pearl warned me about lightning strikes, she didn’t mention winds. When she blows up here, she really blows.’

  ‘I’ve topped up the pot with hot water.’

  ‘I’m definitely all tea’d out.’ Sid stopped by the fire to warm herself. ‘But I was keen to pick up where you left off on the story you were telling me, about that Albie fellow. Only if you want to, of course,’ she added.

  ‘I did feel sad for Albie when he fronted here a few years back. His beef wasn’t with me,’ David said, returning to the armchair and securing his sticks. ‘He was angry at my father.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Albie assumed that by buying the property next door we’d somehow taken advantage of the Marhkts, in the process stripping him of his inheritance. My own anger had stopped me from seeing how desperately he’d needed someone to care. It makes me sad when I think about how I ended things between us that day. If only I hadn’t slammed the door in his face.’

  ‘Why if only?’

  David breathed deeply. ‘He tried to kill himself, and my father along with him.’

  Sid’s hand shot up to her open mouth. ‘And this Albie died?’

  ‘No, Albie and Dad were both okay. But some locals died that night and there were two versions of the event going around town. I believed my father’s side of the story. Unfortunately, most people took on the role of both judge and jury, and with Albie clearing off, Dad was left to shoulder the blame for what happened. Mum probably suffered more than anyone, desperate to clear his name.’

  ‘Did she manage to?’

  ‘No. He died in prison for something that wasn’t his fault, unloved by the townspeople he’d done so much for.’

  ‘If it’s important to you, why don’t you carry on the fight?’

  ‘All I would be doing is stirring up heartache for those who lost loved ones in the accident, and with Mum gone I had to ask myself: Who was I clearing his name for? With no one left but me, Greenhill and everything associated with us will cease to exist when I’m gone. So, what does it matter who did what?’ As Sid waited, hoping David would provide more details about the incident that had turned a town against his father, he ended the conversation. ‘Poor Rose. My mother treasured her memories, but not that one.’

  Rose! The letter writer was his mother. She was writing the letters to her husband, and maybe not so long ago. The writing pad and the inscription! Had the writer of the inscription signed his name? Sid was too hung-over from lack of sleep to think clearly. That, combined with her memory of the conversation last night, and something about David’s story this morning, was stirring an odd sensation in her belly. The persistent headache and an exaggerated pain in her back–no doubt from sleeping in a chair–also required some intervention. She was still cold through to the bone from that wind, in need of a shower, and there was the small matter of her mother who was usually out of bed by sunrise each day. Sid was surprised her phone wasn’t ringing.

  Right on cue, her mobile beeped. Speak of the devil, she said to herself before glancing at David.

  ‘Might be urgent,’ he said, as if sensing her reluctance to respond.

  He could be right. What if it was about Jake? Sid cupped the phone at her ear and wandered to the far side of the room to retrieve the voice message.

  ‘It’s ten o’clock,’ her mother’s voice announced. ‘Where on earth are you, Sidney? They’re discharging your brother and I’ve given up waiting. I was relying on you, Sid. You’ll have to start being more responsible. You’ll be a mother soon enough.’

  Sid groaned on the inside and deleted the message, then turned back to David. ‘Jake’s fine. Thanks for the lovely fire, but I have to go.’

  ‘Before you do,’ David said as Sid was collecting her bag, ‘when you arrived earlier . . .’

  ‘Last night!’ Sid yawned.

  ‘Yes, last night,’ David corrected. ‘You said you were going to apologise.’

  ‘I did?’ Sid didn’t want to go there now. She didn’t want to spoil what had been an enjoyable and interesting evening apologising for Natalie’s rudeness. Besides, her baby brain was already at bursting point. She smiled at David from the doorway. ‘I have no idea why. I have to go.’

  ‘Thanks for last night. You’re a good nurse and a good listener.’ He smiled and waved the injured hand.

  Sid smiled and waved back.

  Shame I’m not a good daughter.

  As she pulled herself up into the driver’s seat and let the Jeep’s engine warm up, she thought about her mum. Maybe she needed to cut Natalie some slack. Naturally she was worried about Jake. Her mother had also just been part of a police investigation. Of course she’d find her daughter’s over-zealous questioning hard to handle. Her mum had been the one to find the poor man in the bathroom, while Sid had only checked the weird guy in, after he turned up that day without a reservation.

  38

  The Blue Mountains, 2015

  The man’s forced foreign accent was a strange one, like he was trying too hard to be something he clearly wasn’t, but Brushstrokes in the Bush
seemed to attract wacky artistic types, so Sid hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. He was well groomed and dressed to impress, with none of the usual traces of paint she was used to seeing on guests: under their nails, in their cuticles, or dotted over spectacle frames and watch faces. Sid recalled one guest who had checked in looking like a flock of rainbow birds had splattered him with colourful poop. This man was weird, but in a different way.

  ‘My name . . . It is Alessandro . . . Alessandro Albertini. I was born in Malta. It is good to meet you. Molto bene!’

  ‘Good to meet you too,’ Sid smiled, snatching her hand back from the sticky, over-enthusiastic handshake. ‘You have a reservation?’

  The man waved a document at Sidney. It looked like a birth certificate–a really old one she couldn’t read. She smiled and slid the piece of paper back across the check-in counter.

  ‘Ahh, we only need your credit card,’ she explained.

  ‘I have cash.’

  ‘Okay, we take cash as well.’ She ducked her head under the counter to retrieve the cash box. ‘Then I can show you to your room.’

  When her mother arrived home that afternoon, Sidney mentioned the man she’d checked into the loft, then thought no more about him.

  The next morning, over breakfast, Natalie seemed unusually preoccupied with something in the day’s newspaper. Sid had nicknamed the cling-wrapped weapon The Daily Missile, because it was delivered with a thud to the small front porch directly under her bedroom window at exactly six am each morning by a paper boy with an obvious sleeping disorder.

  ‘You look a bit like Dad sitting there,’ Sid told her mother.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That he always had his nose stuck in a newspaper, tsking and sighing about every little thing. Whatever you’re reading there . . .’ Sid worked her way to the opposite side of the breakfast counter and caught a glimpse of the article’s heading–Royal Commission Witness Breaks Down. Moments later her mother slapped the pages closed. ‘Okay, well . . .’ Sid regrouped. ‘The guy in the loft apartment hasn’t checked out yet.’