The Bay (39 page)

Matty gave her father a hug, feeling pleased she had him all to herself, then drew back. ‘Does Mum know you're here?' When he grinned and shook his head, Matty said firmly, ‘We'd better tell her. I'll phone her later. Want a cup of tea or coffee?'

While the jug boiled Matty whipped into her room to change into jeans and a T-shirt, then bustled back to the kitchen to fuss over mugs and a plate of biscuits. ‘Anzac biscuits, Dad. I'm cooking them these days, not Mum.'

‘Is there no end to surprises?' he said. ‘My daughter boasting about cooking!'

‘Well, you can tell me about your surprise, then.'

‘Okay, you can always get secrets out of me,' he laughed. ‘I've been commissioned – and that's important 'cause it means I've been asked and given money – to write a book!'

‘Wow! What kind of book?'

‘They want me to turn a dusty musty academic subject into something lusty and riveting.'

‘About India? About all the princes and mad monks and pilgrims, and sadhus and wars that you tell me about?' said Matty excitedly. She'd loved the stories her father had told her, taken from the depictions in early Buddhist cave paintings he'd been studying for so many years.

‘Got it in one! What a smart cookie.'

‘How long is that going to take? Can you do it here? We have a computer now, but you'll have to share it with both of us.'

‘Your mum uses a computer?'

‘Yes, she learned so she could get a job.'

‘I am impressed. But I have a little laptop I've been using to put in all the research. So we can be a two computer family. And to answer the question I know you're busting to ask, this book is going to take at least eighteen months to two years. So I'm kind of home for a long time.'

‘No more trips to India?'

‘Not for a while and certainly not for any length of time. What do you say to that?'

‘I think it's wonderful,' breathed Matty with tears springing to her eyes.

‘And how do you think your mum is going to feel about it?'

‘I don't know, Dad,' she answered candidly. ‘That's something you and Mum have to work out.'

‘Let's ring her and tell her we're going out. Maybe she can join us for dessert. Might be easier if we're all out somewhere together. She might be a bit mad at me for just dropping back into your life with no warning.'

‘She's changing, Dad, she's different. But it's a good change, I think.'

Ashok stood up and rubbed the top of Matty's head. ‘We're all changing, Matts. We all grow up, eventually.'

Kimberley had been glad she had a reason to stay on at the office and let Matty enjoy time with her father. Also, she needed time to adjust to Ashok's return home. His phone call had caught her by surprise. Normally she would be cranky at his thoughtlessness in just wandering in the front door, but now she had so much occupying her mind that it was just another issue to deal with. She wasn't sure how she felt. But when she glanced at her watch and decided they'd be on to dessert, she took pains to make herself look good before she left the council and drove to Matty's favourite Indian restaurant.

They hugged and all talked at once. To passers-by they would have looked like an ordinary happy family enjoying an evening out. Kimberley knew she was talking too much, too quickly; eager to impress Ashok with her job, her responsibilities, her new status. Matty was smiling proudly at her, glancing at her father who sat quietly, his head tilted, a half smile on his face, listening intently.

When Ashok emerged from saying goodnight to Matty, Kimberley was sitting on the sofa, her feet up on the coffee table, reading a council report.

He sat beside her. ‘Work? It seems to make a lot of demands on your time.'

‘Matty and I manage. Like I said at dinner, I'm in the middle of a humdinger. There's a gathering in the community hall to talk about the ramifications.' She glanced at him. ‘Would you come? Or are you going to be working on your book, your head back there in India?' She needled him gently. It was an old story – she had often accused him of wandering around the house with his head in the clouds, not knowing what day it was, tripping over anything left on the floor.

‘The book is definite, Kim. Money in the bank. I just have to deliver the goods. It's crystallised where I've been heading. It will be a heavy trip, but I think I can do it.'

‘So what you said about being around to do it . . . does that mean really
being
here? Or going off into the hills some place to write, going back to India, to see the publishers in London –'

‘I thought I'd set up base camp in the old den. Sort out all those boxes of papers and books and stuff I've dumped in there over the years. Unless you want to move, find somewhere bigger? We could use some of my advance. Just rent for the time being. Maybe if the book works we could buy a small place.'

She stared at him. ‘Buy a place? Have a mortgage like real people? The great wanderer put down roots?'

He took her hand. ‘Kim, there comes a time when we find our way home, know where we want to be, and who we want to be with. You know I've been restless, searching for I didn't know what. Which wasn't to say I didn't love you and Matty. But until I could love myself, be at peace with myself, I wasn't going to be any good to you both.'

‘So have you found whatever you thought you were looking for, Ash?' Her voice was tired, almost resigned. They'd danced around this question time and again.

‘Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is – I need, I want, to be with you and Matty. I want to be part of your lives again, to be involved in the trivial, the day to day. I want to cook dinner when you work late like tonight, I want us to run the house together, I want to be involved in Matty's school, her friends. Listen to your adventures at the council. Read you what I've written occasionally.'

‘All the things you've never done,' said Kimberley.

‘You know the saying, a journey begins with a single step.' He stood up and pulled her from the sofa and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Walk with me, Kim. I'm ready to follow you.' He kissed the top of her head.

She could smell his familiar scent of sandalwood oil, feel the softness and strength of his lean frame. She felt her body relax and melt into his. ‘Let's just walk beside each other.'

Arms around each other they walked slowly down the hall to the main bedroom.

I
T HAS BEEN TWO YEARS SINCE
I
HAVE HAD THE HEART TO
lift my pen and address my dear journal. So many memories are recorded here and how it breaks my heart to recall them. I am alone, I have longed for merciful death to take me as it has taken my beloved Lars and our two young ones. Why did I always feel in my heart that the sea would claim those I love most?

‘Oh my God.' Eddie had started reading Hannah's journal aloud to Tina as they did each week when they sat with a coffee in the lighthouse office. But the dramatic opening on this page had caught them by surprise.

‘What happened?' Tina leaned forward, and Eddie slowly continued to read.

It was a storm in the Bay of Biscay that took them. I know little other than the formal short letter of advice and regret from the shipping line. There were some telegraphed stories in the Sydney papers that I eventually saw, but no mention of my loved ones. The shock was so great I lost my little baby girl by miscarriage and my own health has been weak. More, it was my mind that troubled me most. The nightmares still haunt me. My dear mother came to be with me but Father is frail and she returned to Sydney. She confessed she found this house too sad, too lonely.

‘Oh, that poor woman,' whispered Tina. ‘She lost everything. I can't imagine how I would cope.'

Eddie reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘No wonder there is two years between this and the last entry.' He picked up the diary and resumed reading.

While our township grows, I keep to myself and have, I am afraid, something of a reputation as a strange lady recluse. I spend each morning and evening on the walk atop the roof as I promised Lars I would wait and watch for their safe return. Often I believe I see the old
Lady Richmond
sailing towards me and hear the cries of my sons. I wait for the day I too will be taken from this house to be with them. I pray my soul will be set free of this place. I have only death to look forward to. How happy we were here, now I know not nor care what will happen to me. I am ashamed for feeling thus, other wives have faced tragedy, but my heart aches that I agreed to Lars taking the boys so far away to a family that never cared about us. How can the God I believed in so devoutly abandon me like this? I have not returned to the parish church. Perhaps I must do so to ease the anger and pain that consumes my days
.

Eddie finished softly reading Hannah's heartbroken words. Silently they both stared at the page of distinctive spidery writing.

‘Do you suppose she saw out her days here, alone?' asked Tina. ‘I'll have to ask Sid if he can tell us anything about her. I feel I know Hannah now.'

‘I can just imagine her, pacing around that widow's walk,' said Eddie finally. ‘What an incredible tragedy.'

‘Life can change in an instant. Makes you realise how you have to grab at happiness when you can,' Tina said as she rose and went to him, and without another word they kissed.

They'd kissed before, but this time they realised the emotion they felt had a special edge. The great love Hannah had known, her too brief a time of happiness, her pain and tears affected them deeply. Without either saying the words, they knew that this time they had to plunge ahead and take their own chance at happiness.

Tina straightened up and wiped her eyes.

Eddie closed Hannah's journal, drew a breath and looked at Tina. ‘Well, are we going to give it a go as real partners? I'm willing.'

‘One way to find out. Let's just take it day by day,' she replied. ‘No pressure, no commitments, what will be will be, as someone once said.'

Eddie leapt to his feet and hugged her, his heart light, a sense of freedom and joy overcoming him. ‘Tina, I feel wonderful. You're wonderful. Life is wonderful!' He picked up Hannah's journal and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Hannah.'

‘You're crazy. Gorgeous but crazy.' Tina laughed. ‘Let's go for a walk around the headland. Then I have to hose the goat droppings off the steps.'

‘You're so romantic,' Eddie said and followed her outside where the whole world looked sunnier and brighter than it had for a long time.

Buck Hagen and Stolle were having a beer in the Pier Hotel, the ‘old' pub that had been done up in the centre of town. They sat in the back room talking quietly.

‘You going to run with this story in a big way next week?' asked Buck.

‘Yeah. Have to run something on page one, I imagine, even though we don't know too much. But I'll be dropping a pebble in the pond to cause a few ripples before the tidal wave. For that we need more info, like who is really behind this whole deal.'

‘This might help.' Buck slid an envelope across the table.

‘Fell off the back of a truck, did it?' Stolle grinned.

‘Copy of the rezoning application. Doesn't give you much that's new except the name of a solicitor in Sydney who is representing the owner of the land, one Beacon Land Holdings.'

‘Thanks, mate. The solicitor is probably a front for a network of companies, even offshore interests, to mask the identity of the real owners.'

‘You might start looking closely at the connections and relationships of some of the players.' Buck sipped his beer. ‘Bloody nice drop,' he said appreciatively.

‘Always tastes better when the adrenalin is flowing a little faster, right? Now what sort of links have you come up with?'

Buck ticked them off on the fingers of one hand. ‘Seen together several times in recent months at the local golf club . . . Sam the Man, one-time councillor, developer, sometime scoundrel and small-time entrepreneur; his stooge in council, Not-so Bright; and Andrew Jamieson, well-known socialite architect and concept designer who has worked on mega resort developments in South-East Asia, mainly in Thailand.'

Stolle acknowledged this with a nod over his beer.

‘At the latest golf outing, not here but in less public Brigalow, Sam and Jamieson had the company of General Chidchai for a pleasant eighteen holes. Now a little search on the internet last night revealed that the General has an interesting background. Spent a lot of time with units on the Burma-Thai border back in the dubious days before the government ordered the army to get really serious about cracking down on the drug trade from across the border.'

‘Struth, you're moving the game into the big league, Buck. Surely The Bay doesn't rate that sort of attention,' Stolle exclaimed, clearly sceptical.

‘We live in a fast-changing world, mate, and there's a lot of big money drifting around these days looking for something that is an earner and a cleanser.'

‘Nah. That's stretching it, linking the deal to laundering drug money.'

‘Perhaps. But it might be worthwhile keeping in mind. Anyway, I'll bet a quid the General is in on the deal.'

‘I'll pass on the bet, thanks, Buck. Who else?'

‘Every good plot has a woman, preferably lovely, available and a player. Enter the luscious Ms Letitia Sweet-man . . . currently playing with none other than Andrew Jamieson. She made up the numbers for the Brigalow game. She also acts for Sam when required, on legal matters only, that is,' said Buck.

‘Yeah, well, Letitia does have style and brains,' said Stolle. ‘And Sam's missus wouldn't tolerate any sexual indiscretions by him in this town. She'd murder him if he did. You sure about Letitia and Andrew?'

Buck nodded and his expression left no doubt in Stolle's mind. Buck had one of the best networks in the area when it came to knowing what was going on, who was getting on, and who was about to.

‘No point in trying to get info from Letitia, and I don't expect you'll get too much joy from the Sydney solicitor, but give him a ring,' said Buck, taking out his pocket diary and making a couple of brief notes. ‘I'll chat up a media mate or two in Sydney and see what I can find out. Given our town's past and present profile for off-beat stories, they'll be interested to get a break on this one. When is the inevitable public meeting?'

‘Nola's little group of revolutionaries, which includes my Lynn, will no doubt be setting that up. Probably the middle of next week at the Community Centre. They'll want you to speak.'

Buck made another note. ‘It's good to see the community waking up again. They get complacent, newcomers get comfortable. Town needs a kick in the butt every so often. Watchdogs go to sleep in the sun. It's not like the big smoke, you know. We still have time to take evasive action.'

‘Yeah, as soon as things get good, the sharks circle. They come here and see dollars and development opportunities when the rest of us see lifestyle, a slower pace, fulfilment,' sighed Stolle, thinking back on the many words he'd written along those lines.

‘We've won wars here because so many of us are misfits,' said Buck. ‘We've reinvented ourselves. But you can't relax. There're always going to be the sharks, lazy and greedy councils, general apathy. We need a total upgrading of environ mental concerns, the whole local government scene needs overhauling, if you ask me.'

‘Steady on, Buck. You can't do it all, and you can't do it alone,' said Stolle, seeing Buck becoming morose. ‘We're a community and that's what we're fighting for. And we have to do it together.'

There wasn't much time to organise the Sundowner Mob, as they now called themselves, for a meeting at Nola's on Saturday afternoon, but everyone responded to Kimberley's phone call. ‘Big news‚' was all she had to say to get an instant acceptance.

It was another perfect sunset, and Nola ensured that the hospitality was just as good: dainty hors d'oeuvres made and served by her ‘home assistant', drinks in fine crystal.

Holly got a special welcome from the others, Nola particularly enthusing over her suntan and relaxed demeanour. ‘It obviously did you the world of good, darling. Such a sparkle in the eyes.'

Holly produced a set of postcards, all with the same photo of a mother whale and her calf throwing themselves joyfully out of the sea. ‘I wrote, but never got around to posting them. It's a photo Trish Franklin took of Nala and her calf.'

Mac turned the card over and read the brief message and smiled at Holly. ‘Happy writing,' she said, ‘very distinctive and very you.'

It was a remark that momentarily puzzled Holly, but she was soon distracted because everyone was taking a keen interest in the photographs and asking questions.

‘What an experience it must have been,' said Bonnie enviously. It was her first time at a Sundowners gathering and she had been surprised to be included, but Nola had insisted. With her volunteer work at the Dolphin Centre and the Creative Community, Bonnie now felt she had a role in The Bay. Nola had telephoned to invite her and said she was impressed with what she'd heard from Amber about her generosity to Amber's mother.

‘It's only time. And I like pottering around in her garden,' she said, but was grateful to Nola for subtly acknowledging her changing lifestyle.

‘Giving people time is a precious gift, Bonnie. We look forward to your contribution to our group.'