A Place to Remember Read online

  ‘Loads. My mother was keen for me to get the travel bug out of my system early. Less keen about me marrying six weeks after meeting a woman in London.’

  ‘Married?’ Great, Nina told herself. Love at first sight and married after six weeks? She and Conrad had notched up eighteen months before she had decided to call it off, emailing him last night to tell him she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for marriage. In typical Conrad fashion he’d suggested she hang on to the ring until they could talk when he was back in town, two weeks from now. Nina patted down her pockets, remembering she’d buried it deep in her other jeans en route to the yards yesterday.

  ‘My marriage was brief,’ Blair was saying. ‘Veronica was living in London when we met. We travelled together, looking for the best place in the world to put down roots. We found our way back here and stayed. I figured it’s true what they say, that the best is quite often right under our noses. We just don’t see it for all the clutter and confusion.’

  ‘Like we don’t see a night sky until we stop to look up?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Being in Candlebark Creek is what I wanted, so we stayed. Well, I stayed. Veronica lasted long enough to rack up a debt the size of a small planet. Now I have a mortgage on the place while she’s living in the light-pollution capital of Australia with even shinier Smeg appliances, a new husband and my son.’

  Nina sensed a change, the joker’s smile less genuine.

  ‘In the time we were together, Veronica made a huge difference to the accommodation side and I’m grateful for that. Some things definitely benefit from a woman’s touch. It just would’ve been smarter to spread the renovations over a few years, rather than go into debt.’

  ‘You have a son?’

  ‘Yes, I see Tyson regularly enough, and I’ve no doubt he’ll come back here in time. He has country-loving genes, so here’s hoping he makes his grandma happy. Tyson is the end of the line, unless I hook up and have more kids, and the pressure from Mum is, well…’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me about parental pressure.’

  This evening was turning out a serendipitous encounter on so many levels, the enormity of the situation even greater as Blair ushered Nina inside what were once her mother’s quarters.

  ‘Here we go. Home, sweet home. Let me show you a few things: the ceiling fan has a remote, no air-conditioning until the renovations. The gas hot water can be tricky and there’s air in the pipes so they rattle. Oh, and these glass louvres can be stiff.’ Blair grunted as the panels shifted, sending in a rush of evening air.

  Nina tried to concentrate on the room tour, making mental notes about rainwater tanks feeding the kitchen while the bathroom was plumbed to bore water.

  ‘Still fine for drinking,’ Blair was saying over the beeping of his mobile. He glanced at the screen and dropped the phone back into his shirt’s breast pocket, then opened the fridge door. ‘I asked Lily to drop a breakfast basket over.’

  ‘How lovely. Thank you again for allowing me to stay. Being here is so unbelievably amazing.’ Nina did a small pirouette and sighed. ‘But, gosh, I’m suddenly beat. Exhaustion just hit me.’

  ‘Must be time for bed,’ he said. ‘If I can help, let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I can manage to fall into bed without help.’

  ‘No, Nina, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Argh!’ Nina’s hand batted away her embarrassment. ‘That sounded weird. I didn’t mean anything either.’

  They stared at each other, then broke into laughter, only stopping when Blair said, ‘Now we have awkward moment number two out of the way, we can move on.’

  ‘You’re counting our moments, Blair?’

  ‘I’m certainly enjoying them.’ He stopped at the door to look back. ‘Let’s do it again tomorrow with tea.’

  ‘Without the prairie oysters, please.’ Nina smiled. ‘Good night and thanks again.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Sleep well.’

  After Blair’s figure had dissolved into the blackness, Nina went for her toothbrush in the overnight bag, and when she saw yesterday’s dusty clothes in the plastic shopping bag she patted herself on the back for deciding to pack generously, even though she hadn’t planned on an extended stay. Just long enough to satisfy her curiosity by meeting the man who’d charmed her mother.

  She checked the mobile phone she’d neglected to turn on after service and found several missed calls. Too late to reply to her mother, Nina tapped out a quick reply to Miriam:

  OMG! Intense, interesting, staggeringly irritating, and that’s just the man’s son! If his father is anything like Blair, no wonder Mum fell in love. ☺

  *

  ‘Are you freakin’ kidding me?’ Miriam’s voice shrieked through the phone’s tinny speaker. ‘You’re falling for a cowboy?’

  ‘Of course not! I wanted to get your attention. Damn, hang on a sec.’ Remembering Conrad’s ring, Nina turned out the pockets of her dirty jeans and, breathing a sigh of relief, tucked it inside the small zipped compartment of her make-up bag, which lay open on the bed.

  ‘Neens, your late-night text has the goldfish wondering what the hell’s going on. Apart from that, I wasn’t doing anything important. Oh, bugger, hang on a sec.’ Loud noises followed, almost exaggerated. ‘Whoa, down, boy!’ Miriam said. ‘Down, you intense, interesting, staggeringly irritating hunk of a man. Ooh, those chaps of yours are chafing all the right bits and, no, I do not care if you’re hung like a stallion. Priorities, pony-guy, I’m talking to my girlfriend. Sorry, Nina, you were saying?’

  ‘Hilarious, Miriam. I’m sorry it’s so late.’

  ‘Who cares about the time? What have you found out?’

  ‘For one, did you know when you castrate a bull that the testicle, quite a delicacy in some countries, is called a prairie oyster?’ Nina kept the phone at a distance in anticipation of Miriam’s response. She wasn’t disappointed. ‘I’ll tell you all about it sometime.’

  ‘Good, because I know a bloke you can demonstrate on.’

  ‘What’s Kev done?’ As if Nina couldn’t guess.

  ‘Creep,’ was all Miriam said. In time Nina would hear everything, but for now her friend’s bravado spoke more of her sadness than any details might. ‘No more men for me, not that I’m turning into a lesbian, in case you were about to ask.’ Nina wasn’t. ‘What I mean is, Neens, I’ll be living my life vicariously through you from now on, so feed my fantasies with your sexy-cowboy story.’

  ‘I did not use the words sexy cowboy. I’ll call you at work tomorrow.’

  ‘Aw, come on, at least give me something to go back to sleep on. He is hot, isn’t he?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Nina’s giggle was restrained, probably because she felt guilty at sounding as happy as she felt right now. ‘Picture this… David Beckham, ten years ago, only all-Australian, as in burly – in a good way – and quintessentially brooding.’

  ‘Hooley-dooley, seriously? Dave Becks, Golden Balls? I’m hanging up now while I can see that image. I’ll let you know what we get up to tomorrow.’

  ‘Have fun, Miriam.’ Nina smiled and pressed end call, needing some shut-eye herself and thinking a chamomile tea might douse the last of the buzz. She’d spotted a variety of Pickwick infusions as Blair had shown her around the room.

  Perfect.

  The euphoria of today, of being in the same place where Ava had lived and loved was fusing with the knowledge that Nina was further from home and from her mum than she wanted to be. That thought, combined with the lie to cover her absence and the added exhilaration of the last few hours, sent her emotions into a kind of free-fall. She told herself Ava would be blissfully distracted with the grandkids, playing happy families with Tony and Mariska. Two more days, Nina, and you’ll be back to boring. Worse still, you’ll be back to single.

  The kettle whistled.

  Chapter 41

  Night Lights

  The faintest of voices woke John, and when he got up he saw lights on in the old cottage by the cre
ek. Despite the lateness of the hour, he tapped out a precautionary text message to his son. Cottage occupied?

  When no reply followed, John tried calling him. The phone was off.

  ‘Blasted backpackers most likely,’ he muttered.

  From Ivy-May’s elevation on a pitch-black evening John could easily see the lights, but anyone looking up the hill from the creek through the thicket of shrubs and tall trees would barely make out the homestead’s silhouette. For this reason, young people in their dilapidated vans sometimes camped overnight on the old boundary road, thinking no one was around. Some made use of the ramshackle milk shed on the verge and John never begrudged them that. Others had the gall to sneak onto the property and plug into the electricity box at the side of the cottage to charge their electronic devices. A lad had once made it inside. That was definitely not on.

  He cursed under his breath while working his arms through the sleeves of his bathrobe and padded to the back veranda, where he slipped his feet into old boots, but without socks his boots quickly caused blisters. Had he scheduled more outdoor hours into his days, tonight’s downhill stroll to the cottage might also have been less strenuous. As a younger man, this walk had affected John only with anticipation because he’d known she was waiting for him there.

  She? John stopped in his tracks. Strange thought. Why she? There’s never been a woman living in the cottage. Quentin had been the last employee to use it – there was no forgetting the always-out-of-his-mind cook who’d almost burned the cottage down when he’d left the oven on overnight. There had been no female cooks at Ivy-May. What a bizarre recollection.

  John stopped short of the three sandstone steps leading to the porch, fearing his movement or the evening breeze buffeting his bathrobe might set off the sensor light. The louvres were open, and whoever was inside hadn’t thought to close the curtains. But why would they? Curtains were never drawn at Ivy-May unless there were intimate moments and romantic rendezvous that needed to stay hidden.

  Romantic rendezvous! John, mate, what’s got into you? He squeezed his eyes closed and gave his head a small shake, then fixed his gaze on the slender silhouette pacing about the room. A woman? She was in the kitchen at the sink. The hum of the water pump at the side of the cottage and the thud of air-filled pipes told him as much. John knew every corner, every quirk, every sound of that cottage. During the early years of his marriage when he’d needed space or solitude, or when Katie was in one of her moods, John would find himself drawn to the small building at the bottom of the hill, despite hundreds of Ivy-May acres in which he could hide. To appease his wife, he’d had to stop coming here, even boarding the place up after his ageing mother had flown into a rage and ranted about him having an affair and hiding a woman there. As if!

  From his vantage-point tonight, John could make out only one person and when she stopped at the window to raise a mug to her mouth, she seemed to peer through the louvres. John stepped back, wanting to shrink into the dark to avoid detection. At the same time he felt the lure of something inexplicable; the pull of a mysterious stranger.

  Who is she and why is she in the cottage?

  A honking sound on his phone was an explosion in the stillness. The noise caused the stranger to step away and close the curtains. The message was a reply from Blair:

  Yes, cottage occupied. Will bring m/tea + special guest over 2morrow.

  Chapter 42

  Families

  Not ten minutes ago, Blair had collected Nina from the cottage and walked her up the hill to the back veranda of the main house. He’d let himself in through one of the three bi-fold doors and pointed to a massive timber table at the centre of a pretty, sun-filled room.

  ‘Take a seat, Nina. Coffee or tea?’

  ‘Either is fine,’ she said, her mind too occupied for the simplest decisions. For the same reason she didn’t offer to help Blair, instead slipping into the carving chair at the far end.

  ‘Here comes Dad now.’

  Nina had no idea why Blair didn’t notice her next shaky breath. She’d held it for as long as she could, then exhaled slowly as the man her mother had loved blustered into the room.

  The man Mum still loves, Nina reminded herself.

  ‘G’day, son.’

  ‘Morning, Dad, wondered where you were.’

  ‘Walking. Trying to keep the old bod in shape to keep up with my strapping heir apparent.’ He slapped his son’s back, opened the refrigerator and stuck his head inside. He emerged with an apple in his mouth. The crunch reached Nina’s ears where she sat, relishing the warmth of the morning sun on her back. Perhaps its glare through the wall of windows had prevented John from noticing her, or the large vase holding a dozen bird-of-paradise flowers with enormous orange crowns.

  ‘Did you get my text message last night about morning tea, Dad?’

  ‘Yes. Where is this guest?’ John turned around, a hand shielding his eyes, his gaze locking on Nina’s face. ‘Ah, there you are, and in my favourite morning chair. No, no, stay put,’ he added when Nina made to stand.

  ‘Dad, this is Nina. She wanted to meet you and, no, she’s not after an interview or anything.’

  ‘Hello.’ Nina’s nerves pinged like plucked elastic. She looked everywhere but directly at John, fearing he’d see her secret. When she did find the courage to look him in the eye, his brow was creased, and his smile frozen. ‘Blair’s right, Mr Tate. I’m not here for a story.’

  With his head at a curious tilt, John Tate stepped sideways around the far end of the table, perhaps to put his back to the window. ‘A buyer? A budding artist? Ah, I know,’ he quipped, ‘an interior stylist. Prints of my works are popping up in display homes around Yeppoon, so I’m told. A designer with impeccable taste, I’d suggest.’

  He was as charming as she’d imagined he must be. ‘My purpose is of a more personal nature.’

  ‘Oh?’ Blair and his father spoke in unison. They looked at each other, then back at Nina.

  ‘What I mean, Mr Tate, is…’

  ‘If it’s personal you’d best call me John.’ While a youthful spark emerged from among the lines gracing an otherwise unreadable face, the timbre in his voice, the way he considered each word, let Nina know the man remained wary.

  ‘Nina’s mum spent time here at Ivy-May back in the eighties,’ Blair said, busying himself in the kitchen. ‘I’m making coffee, Dad. Want one?’

  ‘I’ll settle for fruit.’ John raised the apple. ‘You know what they say about an apple a day.’

  ‘Keeps anyone away if thrown hard enough!’ Nina laughed, but with John still staring at her she felt about as welcome as a worm poking its head out through the green Granny Smith skin. A worm could at least shrink back into the hole and disappear. For the second time in two days Nina wished she could.

  Blair came to her rescue. ‘Never met anyone else who knew that line, have you, Dad?’

  ‘One of Mum’s favourites, actually,’ Nina dared. ‘She had an arsenal of corny cooking jokes and when we were kids she shared them with a little too much enthusiasm when customers came into our bakery.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Blair’s phone was beeping a message. ‘It’s Mum. She’s driving up to the house now and she’s going on about something to do with photos, Dad.’

  John grunted. ‘Hasn’t she got that conference?’

  ‘Yeah, but I told her about Nina and suggested she call by on her way.’

  Nina stiffened. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried.’ Blair grinned. ‘It was a quick text message, not a dissertation. I didn’t include detail. And don’t let the fact she’s the local mayor worry you. That text is probably lost among the dozens she racks up daily. Mum’s a human dynamo, hey, Dad?’

  John grunted again, but hadn’t yet sat down, his focus shifting from Nina to the apple stalk he’d twisted off and now rolled between his thumb and middle finger. ‘Hmm, yes,’ he said, ‘one of many nicknames.’

  ‘Dad calls her K-K-K-Katie because it sounds like a
motor starting up. Once she gets going, or has a bee in her bonnet about something, there’s no stopping her. And here she is.’

  The squeak of an opening door echoed through the old house with its nine-foot ceilings, fancy cornices and picture rails.

  ‘We’re out back, Mum.’ Blair’s voice bounced off the wooden floor and walls. He shifted to one side of the sink so his father could wash his hands.

  ‘Good morning, darling.’ She sailed down the two steps into the sunroom just as a cloud covered the sun, the warmth on Nina’s back replaced by a chill. The entrance reminded Nina of a fly that whizzes in an open door and buzzes each nook and cranny within seconds, eager to take everything in before deciding to settle. ‘Kettle on, I hope?’ She kissed her son’s cheek. ‘I bought muffins from town, but I can’t dilly dally today.’

  ‘Mum, why do you buy muffins when you know I have—’

  ‘Supporting local business is something we all need to do more, and besides that I’m peckish.’ As Katie tipped the contents of a bag onto the kitchen’s bench Nina prepared a smile, but the woman was yet to notice her sitting at the table on the far side of the room. ‘No time for breakfast – the airline texted a change to my flight time. Wish I didn’t have to go at all. Local government conferences are a waste of good money if you ask me. Hello, John.’ A perfunctory peck on her ex-husband’s cheek looked like a bug ricocheting off a closed window. John swatted her away. ‘Speaking of wasted money, I thought you had these kitchen tiles re-grouted recently.’

  ‘Stop inspecting the place, woman, there’s nothing wrong with the tiles. For eight years you’ve been coming here and telling me something needs fixing. You have a new husband to boss around. Did he get the parcel I sent?’

  ‘The industrial ear-plugs?’ Katie smiled, while fussing with John’s shirt collar. ‘Yes, thank you, that wasn’t very funny.’