A Place to Remember Page 9

  Now John understood love and the ache of loss. He knew the love of a woman and he loved Ava. He didn’t want to say goodbye. But his parents had been right about Ava wanting to travel and that he hadn’t been fair on Katie.

  Time to come clean and man up, John mate, and do what’s right by everyone.

  The little brown ring box was clenched in his hand. Flipping it open was like lifting the lid on a hundred and fifty years of his family’s toil. He stared at the ring with its wreath of diamonds irregularly set, like sparkling stars orbiting a pearl moon at the centre. Overwhelmed that it had adorned the fingers of women who had loved their husbands and given their lives to working this land alongside them, John stood up. He scanned paddocks crying out for rain and crushed brittle blades of grass between calloused hands while the weight of his legacy leached into his veins. John Tate was a proud fifth-generation farmer. It was all he’d ever wanted to be. Even knowing that a landscape like this would throw up unknown challenges in the years to come, he was ready and willing to meet every one. Now he needed to bring his legacy and his future together.

  ‘You know what you want, John,’ he said, feeling the ghosts of his ancestors all around him. ‘And you know what you need to do.’

  To regain everyone’s respect he’d have to pull out the big guns and apologise. He had to ‘grow up’, as his mother would say and, as Katie would say, ‘stop making an arse of yourself and make a decision.’ It would be the right one, best for everyone. But he had to do it his way and that meant getting away from family pressures and any inducements that might change his mind.

  He looked skyward, as if waiting for a sign, then scoffed. ‘What are you doing, John mate?’ He didn’t need some supernatural power to prove he was making the right decision. What he needed for the task ahead was the fanciest hotel he could afford.

  Afterwards, they’d come home and he’d buckle down to make Ivy-May the productive property that would make his parents and those ancestors proud.

  Chapter 17

  Love and Other Bruises

  Ava had spent the afternoon taking out her frustrations in the kitchen. She’d whipped up every conceivable cake and cookie, and baked roasts to slice and freeze. When she stopped cooking, she untangled the utensils drawer, a task that took her through to dinner time. When John had failed to show, Ava started to worry. Marjorie seemed less concerned, delivering a generous serving of cold shoulder to accompany roasted beef with salad, and with Colin no longer an ally, neither objected when Ava chose to eat in the kitchen.

  ‘Who does she think she is?’ Ava heard Marjorie grumble to her husband. ‘Her type does not belong here, Colin. Your ancestors were as good as Candlebark Creek royalty.’

  They finished their meal and left the empty dishes on the table to march themselves to the kitchen sink. What better way to drive home the message that Ava was nothing more than hired help?

  Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, she was glad to grab her torch and head down the sloping path to the sanctuary of her little cottage.

  After closing the door, her next action was to turn on the porch light. That was how habit-forming John Tate had become. Would he show, when she’d turned him away every night since the party? she wondered, while drawing the curtains and putting on the kettle for tea. She was desperate to know what this afternoon with his parents had been about. By midnight, when he hadn’t shown, Ava fell on her bed to force sleep.

  Eventually she heard footsteps outside. Not bothering to cover herself with a robe, she flung the door wide open, expecting to see his usual come-to-bed eyes. Instead they were red-rimmed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Ava reached out a hand. ‘You’ve had me worried.’

  John didn’t move, his arms limp and unresponsive by his side. ‘Do you really love me, Ava? Do you see me in your life?’

  Holding her breath did little to quell the thump inside Ava’s chest.

  ‘You need to say something, Ava. A yes preferably.’ There was a tiny spark of Fun John in the twitch of his lips. ‘I need to know. I need to know now.’

  ‘Why tonight, John? What’s the urgency? Is this to do with something your parents said?’

  ‘Answer my question first, Ava. Do you really love me or am I an amusement, like Mum said?’

  ‘Your mother told you that?’

  He nodded. ‘Nothing she said or that she says in the future will matter if you agree we have a future together. Unless you’re determined to leave me.’

  ‘A future? Oh, John, John.’ Ava backed away from the door, as though needing to distance herself. ‘I’m so sorry, it was wrong of me to let things between us get out of control. This wasn’t supposed to happen and I… I need a minute, I… ’

  Ava knew that her answer would have serious consequences. Could she afford to be honest? Did she dare be so selfish and stay, knowing she could drive a wedge between a son and his parents? If she said ‘no’, could she say it convincingly enough to the man standing at her door, asking to be loved and wanting to love her deeply in return?

  ‘Ava, I’m not going until I have an answer from you one way or the other.’

  *

  John wasn’t sure how he managed to wait. He’d lingered tight-lipped on that porch for an eternity, hoping Ava would throw herself into his arms and declare her love. She had to say yes. She had to. If not, John didn’t know how he’d go back to his life. How could he see this cottage every day and not picture Ava, not feel the breathlessness and anticipation each night because he knew she was waiting there for him? Without Ava, he saw no future, no way he’d ever be happy. Sacrificing this cottage, razing it to the ground in a symbolic cleansing ritual to rid himself of all recollections, would be the only way to stop Ava Marchette’s memory haunting him for the rest of his days.

  Yes, he knew what she was going to say: his mother had brought up their age difference when they’d argued earlier. The answer was also in Ava’s expression, and in her eyes.

  ‘John, you have to understand that my parents were just like us. My mother was older than Marco and she—’

  ‘Stop, Ava, you’re not your mother. You’ll never be the woman you’ve described.’

  ‘But you are younger than me, John.’

  He steeled himself for a final, desperate attempt. ‘Okay, fine if you insist on comparing yourself to your mother, consider this. You told me she’d felt trapped in her marriage and tied to a life with a baby she never wanted. Have I recalled that correctly?’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Am I trapping you to a life in the country, one you never wanted? Is that the problem, Ava? Are your father’s wishes so important that you’d walk away from love, from me?’ John didn’t bother controlling his anger. ‘Answer me! What are we doing here? Am I making a fool of myself?’

  ‘No, John!’

  ‘Are you telling me to go away, Ava?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘But you’re ending us, right?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Do you want me to love you, Ava? Do you? Tell me!’

  By now she was crying, her back pressed against the wall, her face buried in both hands.

  Until tonight, John had never questioned his maturity. Now he craved the adult self-control to sit down, hold her and talk calmly. He was so desperate to feel her close to him, comfort her and tell her everything would be all right if they stuck together. Instead, he paced around the small room, swearing under his breath, unable to look at her. ‘I’ve made a total dick of myself.’

  ‘No, John.’

  ‘Then be honest.’ He stopped in front of her. ‘You told me you love me. Was that a lie?’

  ‘No.’

  *

  Poor John. He was crying now, and Ava gave in to her own tears, tired of trying to be strong and constantly shoring up the walls around her heart. Her parents’ relationship had taught her to tread so carefully around love that she’d managed to block good things waiting to flow towards her, like John.

  ‘So you do love me.’ Jo
hn’s anger was mellowing, his voice softer, that sensibility – the quality that separated him from others his age – was controlling his emotions. ‘But do you see me in your life always? Yes or no, Ava? Tell me yes. Say you want to share my life here at Ivy-May.’

  ‘Please, John. You have to understand. For over ten years I’ve relied on no one and all my life I’ve found safety and familiarity within myself, and within what I know – and I don’t know what to do with love. Believe me when I say there’s never been anyone in my life like you.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to admit it, Ava. Let me hear the words. Stop thinking so hard and go with your gut. If you love me, tell me.’

  ‘What if I’m wrong for you, John?’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘What if I hurt you?’

  ‘I won’t let you, Ava.’

  ‘What if I’m scared?’

  ‘I’ve got you, I love you, and I know you want to love me.’

  ‘I do, I do.’ They fell into each other and collapsed onto the floor.

  *

  Ava wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, afraid to let each other go, to come back into a world that would test them in every way.

  ‘I do love you, John.’

  ‘Well, well, Ava Marchette.’ He pushed back, a finger tipping Ava’s chin up to his face. ‘You took your time.’ He squinted at his watch. ‘And you’ve made us late. Come on, we have to go.’

  ‘Late for what? The sun’s not even up. Where are we going?’

  ‘Ssh.’ He pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Enough questions for one night. Trust me. Allow me this one surprise. Then I can promise you that safety and familiarity with me, always.’

  ‘All right, John. Whatever this is, I’ll go with you, but when we get back we need to talk about all this. Promise me?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  Chapter 18

  Cookie Cutters

  They’d driven for hours, mostly in the dark, when John decided to pull over north of Noosa on a hill where they cuddled as dawn stretched over the horizon. It was a scene only rivalled by the view from her cottage. Noosa had to be the second best place on earth, Ava decided. Only a couple of hours and they’d be driving into Brisbane.

  Sunday in the city seemed sleepier than Ava recalled, the streets less busy. They checked into a small hotel, snapping up the last standard double room, but unable to check-in until later. John settled Ava on a sofa in the lobby, telling her he needed to stretch his legs after the long drive. He’d be ten minutes, max.

  By the time he returned, the rumble in Ava’s stomach suggested lunchtime was close and she was itching to take a shower and wash away the thought of Marjorie Tate’s reaction when she worked out that her son had taken the good car to run away with the cook.

  ‘No trouble,’ the uniformed man behind the concierge desk was telling John. He’d offered to deliver the two small sports bags to their room and was now pointing them towards the strip of cheap cafés a few blocks away. ‘Or you’ll pass the Rainbow Room where they serve high tea from three p.m. each day.’

  ‘Perfect,’ John said, grabbing Ava’s hand.

  The walk, or maybe the idea of food, seemed to have put a spring in his step and wiped away all thoughts of home. There would be enough angst when they returned to Ivy-May. For now, Ava was determined to laugh every time John stopped to kiss her – like he was doing now, in the middle of the street. He stopped to kiss her often: among a dozen other pedestrians as they crossed the street, at the counter where they ordered takeaway coffees, and outside a shop door.

  Ava peeled herself out of his embrace and noticed a kitchen and home décor shop teeming with gadgets and time-saving gizmos for the home cook.

  ‘It’s a sign,’ John said, as his hand and hers grabbed the same cookie cutter buried amid a zoo of animal shapes in the store’s specials bin.

  ‘And it’s mine.’ Ava yanked to make her point. ‘I saw it first.’

  ‘Did not.’ John tugged back.

  ‘Did too.’ Ava laughed. ‘What are we? Ten-year-olds?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s carry it to the cashier together. It’ll be our very first jointly owned—’

  ‘Cookie cutter?’ Ava smiled all the way to the man, who’d been eyeing them from behind the cluttered counter.

  ‘Hmm, never seen this type before.’ The man inspected the item for a price sticker. ‘No packaging, no price tag, nothing.’

  ‘But you will sell it to us, won’t you?’ Ava pleaded. When she noticed John’s smile fall away she insisted, ‘You must. It’s a sign.’

  John slapped a hand on the counter. ‘She’s right and we’ll pay you double its value, mate.’

  ‘John,’ Ava whispered, ‘it’s not that important.’

  The man looked up from the pages of a price catalogue. ‘Double, eh?’

  ‘This is a sign, Ava, and you’ll understand its importance soon enough.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Go ahead, mate.’ John sounded cocksure as he pulled the wallet from his back trouser pocket, flipping it open. ‘Name your price.’

  The attendant, a man in his sixties with a bushy grey beard, slammed the catalogue closed. ‘Nope, can’t find nothing like it anywhere. No price tag most likely means it was a sample from the sales rep.’

  ‘A sample?’

  ‘A one-off,’ the storekeeper clarified.

  ‘What’s that mean for the cookie cutter?’ Despair laced Ava’s words, as though the fate of the gadget was akin to that of a puppy on Death Row.

  The man pulled a paper bag free from the pile on the counter and popped the object inside. Then he knocked John’s hand away. ‘Double nothing is nothing.’

  ‘Really? Thank you so much.’

  The shopkeeper winked at Ava and pushed the paper bag across the counter. ‘Enjoy your sign, love.’

  ‘I told you,’ John murmured on the way out. ‘It’s Fate. This cookie cutter is a sign.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a sign.’

  *

  ‘My shout,’ Ava said, as they contemplated the fancy A-frame advertising high tea in the gazebo from three o’clock. When John looked ready to object, she added, ‘I have money. I’ve been saving up, remember?’

  ‘If you insist.’ John shrugged. ‘Shall we take tea, Miss Marchette?’ He offered his crooked elbow.

  ‘Let’s, Mr Tate.’

  The glassed-in gazebo was an annexe to the expensive-looking boutique-style hotel Ava had walked past plenty of times, never venturing inside. Bedecked with crystal – overhead in the elaborate chandeliers, in ornaments adorning vintage wooden sideboards, and the vases brimming with greenery – Ava thought that if her heart stopped right there she’d die happy.

  ‘Look, John,’ she whispered so the waiter showing them to a table wouldn’t hear. ‘The chinaware is Royal Albert.’

  He laughed, which made Ava fall even more in love with him. There were so many things she could show a country lad. The notion of growing and learning together, of enriching each other’s life and sharing those experiences with their children—

  ‘What are you thinking?’ John asked.

  ‘Thinking?’ Heat prickled her neck and cheeks.

  ‘Your expression just before was all… gooey.’

  Saved by the tower of cakes delivered to their table at that moment, Ava bit back the urge to squeal like a six year old in a lolly shop. ‘Speaking of gooey, John, they have your favourite mini éclairs.’

  ‘But not yours, Ava.’

  ‘I’d never expect panna cotta at high tea, so stop fussing. We should be enjoying what we have.’

  ‘There’s always dessert tonight.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to stay in, Mr Tate? We could order room service and let it go cold.’

  ‘As tempting as that sounds, Miss Marchette, I want this time away to be as memorable as possible.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can cope with too many more surprises, John, and we can’t fit in a
ll this food and dinner on the same day.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For one, I’d end up as big as a house, and I’d have to find time for a jog before dinner.’

  ‘You’re on your own there. I get plenty of exercise back home. Besides, I wouldn’t care if you were the size of two houses. Next objection?’

  ‘How about the cost? There are better things you can spend your money on, like the new cattle crush you’ve bookmarked in the Trading Post magazine. Dinner anywhere in this city will be expensive.’ His hand went to her mouth, all four fingers sealing her lips shut.

  ‘Not another word. The table’s already booked. End of discussion. Let’s tuck in and we can get back to the hotel and get ready.’

  *

  The whirlwind trip to Brisbane and an afternoon of sugar had put them both on such a high that a serving of cold hard reality was inevitable. The first wave hit Ava the moment she collapsed into the armchair by the big picture window in their room. As beautiful as the Brisbane River was, the view didn’t hold a candle to the creek outside the cook’s cottage. It wouldn’t be too long and she’d be celebrating her first anniversary in Candlebark Creek, knowing it would take many years before she could claim local status. That’s if she hadn’t been permanently branded by townsfolk as the hired help who had seduced a beloved son and broken hearts.

  ‘How about I pop a bottle of champers?’ John asked.

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t either. I’ll want a clear head tonight to remember every second of our evening. Speaking of which, we’d better get cracking.’

  John stripped down to his underpants, throwing his jeans and jacket in a heap on the floor. Ava smiled and shook her head. She was staring at the clothing, determined not to pick it up, when she noticed a folded sheet of paper sticking out of his jeans pocket and ‘Katie’ written in his distinctive scrawl. She couldn’t resist, snatching the letter and waving it in the air at John.