Other Side of the Season Page 28

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘Then the government announced a royal commission into institutional child sexual abuse and I decided it was time to remember. I want to testify, Tilly. That’s why I had to see you.’

  ‘Why me? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m going to have to tell people all those things and I’m scared. If I thought you were there, Tilly, it would be like old times. I could always talk to you about all that stuff. You used to say we were forever family. I need you to help me.’

  ‘I’m not sure how, Albie.’

  ‘Help me remember. Come with me. Be there in the room when I tell my side of the story.’

  When Natalie met Albie that day in the café, they’d said so many things–not all good. When they’d said goodbye, she didn’t know then it would be for the last time. Like she didn’t know if her trip up to Greenhill this morning would be the last one. That would depend on David.

  47

  Watercolour Cove, 2015

  ‘You came back,’ David called out as Natalie approached the door to the cottage. ‘I wasn’t sure you would. Come on in. It’s cold today. I have the fire going.’

  ‘We have more to talk about,’ Natalie said. ‘And I wanted to thank you for yesterday. How you dealt with Sidney, I mean.’

  ‘You were right. Before anyone else knows anything, the two of us need time to work through things.’

  Natalie sighed–relief, most likely–before easing herself into the huge velveteen armchair, the scent of an artist’s studio soothing her frayed nerves.

  David sat opposite in a matching chair. ‘I lay awake last night thinking about so much. I’m curious. What did Sidney hope to achieve by trying to see Ted?’

  ‘Sid’s inquisitive–always has been. And now that she’s pregnant and–’ Natalie faltered. ‘Well, family is more important than ever. Discovering a grandfather has given her something to focus on other than her situation. She has a beautiful nature and a strong sense of family, which is why when the man she’d been living with for seven years thought abortion was the best way forward, it broke her heart.’

  David nodded. ‘She also told me that.’

  ‘Did she tell you we’ve been arguing ever since she moved back in with me?’

  ‘She did suggest going back home hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘In Sid-speak that would mean I haven’t been easy on her. She’s convinced being a single mother is the best thing for her child, and to that end has put herself firmly on the shelf, even though there’s a lovely man who lives a few doors up and is quite keen. They chat each morning when Sid goes for her run. He asks about the baby and how Sid’s feeling. He’s sweet. He’s single. She could do a lot worse.’

  ‘But if there’s no love . . .’

  ‘She loved Damien and look where that got her.’

  David didn’t respond, his silence a warning for Natalie to ease back. She was speaking too freely, like they were contrary teenagers again, and full of opinions. The two of them couldn’t be any more different now from back in those days–Tilly was a mother and David a father wanting to know his daughter. Naturally enough, his protective instincts would start to show.

  ‘She craves independence,’ he said. ‘I can relate to that.’

  ‘And she’s single-minded.’ Natalie smiled. ‘Which is why, when I asked her to not make contact with her grandfather, of course she did the opposite.’

  ‘She’s starting to sound a lot like her mother,’ David winked.

  ‘Speaking of Ted . . .’ Natalie switched back to the more comfortable topic. ‘What brought such a tough man down? How did he die?’

  ‘It was a stroke. No warning, no signs at all. At the time of the crash, he’d been strong and still wielding the whip with seasonal workers. You know how he was. Mum wrote letters just about every day, planning their retirement. He’d already served half his sentence. But from accident to sentencing all took time and a toll. His lawyer was hopeful they’d clear his name. They’d lodged an appeal. Instead, Dad died broken-hearted and disrespected by the town he loved. Ted didn’t deserve that. He was the one behind the name change and getting Watercolour Cove on the cultural trail.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘For me. Dad saw my wheelchair as an impediment. To him it was something that would stop me from doing the things I loved. He couldn’t see past my disabilities to understand my chair liberated me. It was the one thing I could rely on to always be there for me, as long as I needed it. You might have seen a couple of old wheelchairs about the place, enjoying a happy retirement.’ David smiled. ‘I was always going to walk again, but getting up on two feet took a lot of time and hard work. In the meantime, Mum was trying to get me back into my art.’

  ‘You stopped painting?’

  ‘I went through different phases for the first few years, most of them morose. Dad wanted to do something for me. He’d say things like, “If you can’t get to the art scene, son, I’ll bring the arts to you.” In a way he and Mum did by reinventing Greenhill into a gallery and accommodation place. He was pushing for further rezoning when the crash happened.’

  ‘Rezoning what?’

  ‘The plantation. He’d already started slowly whittling the property down and selling it off. He was planning to get into property development. It was either that or diversify into blueberries, but there’s already a biggest and best blueberry farm in those hills behind us. Dad’s never liked to be second best. There’s a lot of Greenhill land with some impressive views. He saw residential development as a way of making money off the unused portion, while getting better infrastructure and facilities for the town. And the town was ready–people agreed we’d been ignored by council for long enough. Dad started with the beach shacks in the dune area, listing them as heritage buildings so no one could knock them down. By then, Merv was in jail.’

  ‘They finally found the evidence to put him away?’ Natalie had to smile, imagining Merv giving a judge the finger at sentencing.

  ‘Yes. Unlike Dad, Merv was guilty as hell.’

  ‘Can’t believe he got away with it for so long.’

  ‘He not only grew the stuff, he had set up a drug lab in the beach shack. How the place never burned down with everything he had going on in there I don’t know.’

  ‘How did they catch him out?’

  ‘Someone reported that kids were sneaking around the shacks. Of course, the little thieves had nicked off long before the cops from Coffs attended. When the boys in blue checked Merv’s premises for signs of break and enter, they got the surprise of their lives. When Merv moseyed home that night, the drug squad was waiting. The bloke needed money to pay for his defence, so he sold to Dad. Pearl is renting the shack until I decide what to do with the place. Unfortunately, the whole drug incident alerted Crown Lands, who wanted to come in and take over the beach shacks and basically throw everyone out–the only road in is over government property. Ted successfully negotiated with them to allow each owner to buy the access road.’

  ‘Ted did do a lot of good things in the town.’

  ‘Yes, until the car accident when the town turned on him–on us. There were angry letters, hurtful looks and snide remarks when Mum would go into town. Then there was the gossip that went on behind our backs. That’s when the breakwall became a hate wall. Locals wrote awful things about him on those rocks. Mum was so devastated she rarely left the mountain.’

  ‘But Ted wasn’t to blame.’ The conviction in her voice did not go unnoticed and David looked at her, clearly surprised. Of course he would be. He’d never suspect that she would know something he didn’t about his father, or that she might, might, be able to clear Ted’s name and put to rest any rumours once and for all. But it was too soon to tell David anything. She hadn’t heard back from Tasha and Marcus on that score yet.

  God bless Tasha for immediately recognising the gravity of the situation when Natalie telephoned her last night for legal advice. Tasha knew about Albie. The first thing
Nat had done when she lobbed on her old friend’s Melbourne doorstep after the incident at Brushstrokes was to ask Tasha’s lawyer husband, Marcus, if admissions of guilt in suicide notes were legal grounds to amend another person’s criminal record. And, secondly, what sort of trouble might Natalie find herself in for having withheld such evidence from the police investigation? Natalie had convinced herself in the days following the incident that she’d done nothing wrong by secreting the second letter away. It was, after all, addressed to her, but . . .

  How stupid. How terribly, terribly stupid.

  ‘Tilly?’ David was staring at her through eyes of brown ochre speckled with gold, just like Sid’s. ‘What’s wrong? Why do I get the feeling you know more about this?’

  ‘Ted was trying to track Matthew down recently,’ she said. ‘I received a letter from a solicitor he’d hired–the letter Sid found that started all this.’

  ‘How recently?’

  ‘I suppose about a month ago. It was written on behalf of your father and offering Matthew some property if he came back to Greenhill.’

  ‘Why the change of heart after all this time? Not that I mind what Dad did with everything he worked so hard for,’ David added. ‘His estate left plenty of property to go around. Do you have the letter?’

  Natalie shook her head. ‘I threw the thing away. You have to understand,’ she added, ‘Matthew has been gone a long time. When Sid found the blasted thing in the bin, she started asking questions, naturally, then she got a bee in her bonnet about finding her grandfather.’

  ‘Of course she did,’ David said affectionately. ‘And you chose not to tell her anything?’

  ‘What happened was all so long ago and the truth would only have affected her memories of Matthew. Instead, we fought. I reminded her that Matthew had cut all ties with his parents for a reason.’

  ‘And that’s how she ended up here.’

  ‘I think the name Watercolour Cove might’ve been mentioned in the letter, but that place name meant nothing. I admit I was so shocked and so quick to discard the thing that any detail was lost on me. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so careless disposing of it, we might not be here now.’ She half expected David to ask, How do you feel about that? Unsure of her answer, she was glad he didn’t, adding instead, ‘I’m sorry about Rose. Your mum was so sweet.’

  ‘And profoundly unhappy by the end. My accident changed everything. Matthew left and she was never the same again, though she always had her brave face on. Rose only ever wanted to be a good and loving mother, wife, and eventually grandmother. In the end, especially with Dad gone, she was miserable.’

  ‘Matthew not only left his home and family, he left with me. She knew that. Your parents already hated me. They never wanted you and me to be together.’

  ‘No, Tilly, they didn’t hate you. That’s what Matthew told you.’

  ‘But they had such plans for you, David. Rose had such expectations.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s why they wanted us to slow down. Only as kids we’re reckless and selfish and convinced our parents have no clue about love and can’t possibly understand. Now I’m older, I can see that they were wise enough to know what might happen if they didn’t slow us down.’ David cocked his head to get her attention and grinned. ‘Don’t you reckon Sidney might have proved them right?’

  Natalie didn’t feel like smiling. ‘They wanted better than me for you and I knew you’d respect their opinion and try to find a way to make everyone happy. You would’ve stayed, while I was so desperate to leave this place.’

  ‘They wanted better for us,’ David said, serious again. ‘That’s why Dad was so insistent I finish my education and get tertiary qualifications so, as a fall-back, I could at least come home and teach art. He was always big on building opportunities in town so young people would stay. I can hear him now: “Small towns have big hearts and at every heart is the people putting in the effort, son. Lose the population to the big city and a town loses hope of a future. Country schools will always be crying out for good teachers!”’

  ‘Oh, you sound so like him, David. I’m sorry he’s gone.’ It was true. Natalie was sorry, for David and for Rose. Ted had been a good father. He’d worked hard all his life. At a moment of anguish for the son he thought was dying, Ted had dared tell Tilly no and ignore her plea to see David. Maybe Ted regretted that decision. Who knows? Had it been a mistake, forced by grief? Probably. Natalie had made plenty of bad choices, thinking they’d been right at the time. ‘Your father was a good man and a great advocate for the town.’

  ‘Being blamed for the crash that killed two local children was the cruellest of ironies.’

  ‘And the Marhkts?’ Natalie asked. ‘What happened after Albie left home?’

  ‘They struggled.’

  ‘When did he leave?’

  David shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I was still in rehab. The Marhkts stuck it out for a while. Dad was always giving Ulf help and business tips. I remember Ted saying Ulf would give the banana game away before long. “Once a man loses his passion, failure is only a matter of time,” he’d say. Another reason why Dad was so insistent I keep painting.’

  ‘And what about Albie?’

  ‘Albie fronted up here a few years back and he tried contacting Dad in prison one time, I believe.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A bit before Mum died. One of Dad’s last letters to her mentioned Albie, but not what he’d wanted. Forgiveness, I suspect.’

  ‘Forgiveness from your father? For what?’ Natalie understood what David meant, but she couldn’t let him know that she knew–not yet.

  ‘For leaving Dad to take the rap. Dad wasn’t alone in the car and the crash wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘You’ve always known this?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘First thing Dad told the police. His version of the story never changed throughout the trial. Dad might’ve been driving, but it was Albie who had tried to kill them both by grabbing the wheel and steering Dad’s car into the path of an oncoming bus.’

  ‘But they found Ted guilty.’

  ‘No proof to suggest things happened any differently. No one saw them get into the car together that night, and the driver and other kids on the bus were too traumatised to notice Albie run from the scene. The town wanted blood, and then there was a story in the local paper that said Dad had been drinking at the club beforehand.’

  ‘Your dad hardly ever drank. Wasn’t his favourite saying: Bananas are good for a hangover, but bananas are better without the hangover in the first place?’

  ‘Yep! Old Ted had his one-a-week ritual at the Fisho’s Club and that was all. That night, after his altercation with Mum and me, Albie, all fired up, was waiting for Dad in the car park. Dad gave him some fatherly advice and a clip over the ear and told him it was time to stop whining–or words to that effect. Dad was so over arguments about inheritances, but he bought a slab of beer as a peace offering and Albie put a few away in the car park while he and Dad talked. Then Albie asked for a ride to the motel on the highway. Before Mum died, Albie wrote her a letter that said he was sorry he ran off like he did.’

  ‘Couldn’t she have used that letter to prove your dad’s version of events?’

  David shook his head. ‘What Albie wrote was vague and hardly a confession. Worth nothing on its own. Mum did write back and told Albie she’d forgive him if he told the real story about that night. Albie never wrote another letter again.’

  Natalie sighed, long and loud. ‘Yes, David, he did.’

  ‘What do you mean? Are you still in touch? Do you know what happened to him? If the bloke ever dares cross my path again–’

  ‘Albie’s dead, David. He killed himself.’

  ‘Shit!’ David’s anger gave way to surprise. ‘Poor bastard. So you did keep in touch?’

  ‘No, no, of course I didn’t. He tracked me down much later. I didn’t see him for years. Then one day he phoned me at the gallery. I’d not long opened up.’

  ‘It was yours. You f
inally had your own gallery.’ The lilt in his voice said he’d expected as much.

  Natalie moved on. ‘He didn’t say why he was phoning, insisting instead that we meet in person. I told him we could, just one time. But once wasn’t enough. Never was with Albie. When he phoned again, only a couple of years ago, I agreed to meet him for the last time. That’s when he told me he was planning on telling the royal commission about his early years and the abuse. He wanted me to help and go with him the day he testified.’

  ‘And you did?’

  ‘At first I told him to never look back. All that stuff was in the past. I told him I couldn’t help. But then . . .’ Natalie shook her head. ‘I saw his name listed in a newspaper article around the time of his testimony. He was in Sydney. It was the end of last month.’

  ‘And you went along to the public hearing?’ David must have seen surprise in her expression. ‘Albie was like a brother. You had to support him.’

  ‘Yes, but it was too little too late. I didn’t tell Albie and I don’t think he knew I was there. I sat at the back of the room and when he got up to testify I was well hidden by others. I’m a bit ashamed I didn’t let him know. It was so awful for him. I had some idea about what had happened. I thought I could imagine the rest. But the details were . . .’ Natalie squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Such insidious, evil acts against a child are heartbreaking. Albie broke down and the papers wrote about him the next day.’

  ‘I never even knew that about Albie when we were growing up. You never said. I wouldn’t have given him such a hard time.’

  ‘We kept each other’s secrets, David,’ Natalie said. ‘I can tell you he was a scared and gentle boy who’d been rejected his whole life. He thought if he told people what had happened, he’d be rejected all over again. A vicious circle, really. So he learned how to protect himself. When he snapped that night–’