The Ripple Effect (18 page)

She sent Viv out for an early lunch. Tracey handled the trickle of customers while Joelle sat behind the counter staring at the order book. She was supposed to be adding up costs for the wedding anniversary but the figures made no sense. The first total was so ludicrously low as to be ridiculous until she realised she’d omitted almost all the labour costs and half the flowers from the accounting. When, after three more attempts she arrived at a figure in excess of fifteen thousand dollars, she gave up.

She rang Mel in the afternoon, ostensibly to make sure she was settling in but really to see if by some chance Shay had called to leave a message. He hadn’t or Mel would have told her instantly. Instead the first thing Mel said in a waspish voice was, “You don’t need to check up on me.”

“I’m not,” protested Joelle.

“Why are you calling then?”

“To tell you when I’ll be home,” she improvised.

“You don’t need to do that. Anyway it doesn’t mean much does it?”

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Mel. I should have called. I’ll definitely be home tonight. Aren’t you doing dinner? I’m being considerate.”

Mel gave a vast and exaggerated sigh. “When will you be home?”

“Around six thirty.”

“Fine.”

“See you.” She’d call him tonight. From her room, to have some privacy. He said call any time. He’d want to speak to her too. So considerate and caring. A wonderful man. Her brother. Strange, so very strange to be able to put those two words together—my brother. They conjured up an image of him smiling at her with those deep brown eyes, the way his arms had wrapped around her, so comforting when she needed comfort the most …

“By the way,” Mel said. “Shay emailed. He wants us to help in a mail out to all the Graysons. He’s sent the letter for you to have a look at.”

“Mail out?” They’d talked about it. He’d told her that’s how he was planning to spend the day but they’d gone out after breakfast and forgotten all about letters and addresses. They’d been so completely absorbed in each other, riding the ferry to Manly, eating lunch in a café on the seafront, walking along the beach. Talking, talking, talking. Laughing, confiding, learning. Riding the ferry back to Circular Quay, eating dinner in one of the restaurants facing the water. Aware only of each other.

“Didn’t I tell you? We thought the best way to find your relatives would be to contact all the Graysons in the Toowoomba phone book. Now he thinks we should do Sydney and Brisbane as well. I reckon we should do the whole of NSW and Queensland after that,” she said enthusiastically.

“I know, Shay told me yesterday.”

Mel was taking over. As usual. Barnstorming in without a thought for the feelings of her sister or anyone else. Monopolising Shay.

“He told me on Saturday night when he dropped me at your car. Didn’t I tell you? Pregnancy messes with your brain something shocking.”

“Mel…I…I don’t want…” Two women came in chattering loudly. Joelle whispered fiercely, “Just let me read my emails first, Mel, will you please?”

“Sor-ree!” exclaimed Mel emphasising the last syllable with all her insulted fury.

“I’ll see you later.” Joelle hung up and faced the customers with a bright smile that almost hurt to keep in place.

After Joelle drove away in her bright yellow Beetle on Sunday evening, Shay wandered back across the road in a daze of tired delight. What a wonderful day they’d had. The best he could ever remember. His sister was perfect, more than happy to spend the day riding the ferry to Manly, strolling about aimlessly, sitting on the seafront watching the beach volleyball. Talking. Endlessly talking.

He’d wanted her to stay overnight, worried that she’d be driving home at night in the late weekend traffic, tired from a long and exciting day, but she’d insisted. They stood beside her car arguing enjoyably, revelling in the luxury of closeness after their self-absorbed day.

“Most of the traffic is coming in to Sydney,” she said, laughing at his concern. “I have to be at work in the morning. I’ll be home by ten easily.”

“Okay,” he said. “But phone me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“Gosh you’re worse than my par…” she began but stopped short, staring at the ground.

“They are your parents, Joelle,” he said gently. “They’re the ones who brought you up. They love you. That’s what being a parent is all about. Being there all the time. Birth is irrelevant sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything. Shay lifted her chin with his forefinger so she was forced to raise her eyes and look at him.

“Right?” he murmured. Her eyes were hypnotic. So blue and luminous with a light sheen of moisture. He wanted to grab her and hold her tight against his body but steeled himself not to because she would be shocked and he wouldn’t be able to explain what he was feeling. She parted her lips, ran her tongue lightly over the lower one and caught it between her teeth.

Shay stepped back quickly. “You should hit the road,” he said gruffly.

Joelle closed the distance between them and quickly kissed his cheek. Before he could react, her arms had surrounded his body in a hug and then immediately released him. She opened he car door and the next moment was looking up at him through the open window. “Good night, Shay. Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

“Call me,” he said as the engine roared with the distinctive VW chatter.

“You too,” she replied.

And she was gone.

Shay unlocked the green front door. For the first time his home felt empty. Living alone had never bothered him before; his life had been too full of study at first, then work, and always friends. He’d lived alone by choice after leaving Birrigai, wanting to concentrate on his studies and knowing how easily distracted he could become in a share situation.

Of course, he’d only been able to afford the rent in the Glebe house since starting work and he’d only moved in just before Christmas. However, never had the emptiness of single living hit him so hard as now after a day filled with Joelle. The joy of Joelle.

He went to the bathroom and doused his face with warm soapy water. A day by the ocean left a film of salt stickiness. He brushed his teeth, used the toilet then went upstairs to find a warm sweatshirt. The evening had grown chilly despite the warmth of the day. Downstairs again heading for the kitchen, the small flashing red light caught his eye.

His answering machine had two messages.

“Shay, it’s Lisa. How dare you not tell me about finding Joelle? Call me immediately.” A pause. “I mean that, Shay. Immediately.”

Shay smiled. Bossy big sister hadn’t changed a bit. Hated to be left in the dark about anything, especially family doings. Amy would have called her as soon as Stan relayed the information.

He had been remiss, though, in not telling his siblings the news. Lisa in particular. Growing up she’d been fascinated by the idea of the missing baby sister and appalled by the idea Emily must have given birth to Shay at her own age—fifteen when Shay entered their lives. Kind-hearted, generous Lisa had been as motherly and comforting as Amy. Forty-four now, married to Malcolm, mother of two, living on a sheep and cattle property way out west, their paths didn’t cross much. He’d call her tonight.

The second message was from his brother Ben, skilled mechanic and owner of a thriving auto repair business in Tamworth.

“Mate, Dad said you found your sister. Give us a call. Pammy wants the details.”

Shay grinned again. Typical of Ben. Succinct, casual but caring. And Pammy would be beside herself not knowing what was happening. No doubt she and Lisa had gone into a telephone huddle to chew over the news. Family. He’d give Ev a call too. Heaven only knew where he was. The Navy had total control of his brother.

Shay went to the kitchen for a beer before settling down with the phone for a heart to heart with Lisa.

Natalie cried most of the afternoon and night after Joelle had stormed from the house. William was at his wits’ end by the time he managed to convince her to go to bed. He wondered if he should ring Doctor Davis—not that he did house calls—for advice. But then he’d have to explain the situation and the whole sorry mess they’d got themselves into.

Davis knew Joelle wasn’t theirs. He had to know being the family doctor but he’d never ventured an opinion on their decision, just respected the request to keep her origins secret.

William sat on the edge of the bed holding Natalie’s limp hand in his. Her face was white and her red-rimmed eyes stared at him as though from a corpse. Every now and again a convulsive sob would wrack her body.

“I can’t sleep,” she croaked in a voice hoarse from weeping. Her head flopped sideways on the pillow and she moaned softly.

“You will, darling. You’re exhausted,” said William softly. “Close your eyes.”

Neither of them were pill poppers by inclination. They’d never needed tranquilisers or sleeping pills. Natalie rarely even took a headache pill. Now would be a perfect opportunity to start.

William squeezed her fingers, gaining a feeble response. He leaned forward and kissed her damp cheek.

“What if she never wants to see us again?” she whispered.

“She will. Brookes told me to let her calm down first. He was positive she’d contact us when she was ready. I think he’s right.”

Natalie didn’t reply. She blamed the poor young man, he knew. But she had to face the fact that they’d created the situation themselves. He was as much a victim as everyone else and as much to blame. The only truly innocent one was Joelle.

“I should phone Bridget and Melanie,” William said.

“No…no don’t.” Natalie eyes flicked open and she caught at his hand as he stood up. “Melanie hates us too,” she said.

William shook his head slowly and sighed. Natalie sank back and covered her face with one arm.

“I must,” he said and left the bedroom.

He sat on the living room couch with the phone in his hand. He had apologies to make everywhere he turned. And he’d blindly imagined with his experience in teaching and as a father, he had a rapport with his girls. He didn’t have a clue.

William steeled himself and dialled Mel’s mobile. The number was answered by a far politer voice than Melanie’s. A mechanical one, informing him the number was no longer in service. Typical. Hadn’t paid her phone bill. Her share house didn’t have a telephone as far as he knew. He’d have to call round tomorrow. It would be the first time he’d visited her at home, which in itself was a shameful admission.

Eight forty-five pm in Sunshine Point equalled early morning in England. Bridget would be home in bed. Thinking about getting up.

William closed his eyes conjuring an image of his eldest daughter by blood—light brown hair, always cut short because she hated fiddling and fussing with it, angular face, determined expression. A schoolteacher like himself. He’d been so proud when she decided on the same career path. Disappointed too when she decided to gain experience of the world and leave for England. He couldn’t offer advice from half a world away, couldn’t share the trials and tribulations of a classroom. But he’d kept the disappointment to himself and kissed her goodbye, wishing her success.

“Bridge?” he said when a sleepy voice grunted hello. “It’s Dad.”

“Morning, Dad.” He heard her yawn.

“Not too early?”

“Yes. Six o’clock on Saturday morning is definitely too bloody early,” she retorted. “It’s pitch dark and pouring with rain.”

“Serves you right for living in London,” he said.

“How are you?” she asked. “Mum’s birthday party go well?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I need to tell you something, Bridget.”

“What? You’re not sick again? The cancer hasn’t…”

He cut her off quickly. “No, no, it’s not that, it’s different, it’s about Joelle.”

“Is she all right?” Alarmed and wide-awake now. He pictured her brow furrowed, her blue eyes clouded with concern.

“She’s fine and so’s Mel although…” He paused. Did she know about the baby? So much, all difficult.

“What?” she prompted. “Spit it out, Dad.”

“Bridget, before you were born your mother and I thought we couldn’t have children. There was some sort of fertility problem.”

“Hah, some problem—three kids,” she interrupted with a laugh.

“Two,” corrected William. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. When we thought we wouldn’t be parents naturally—we decided to adopt. Joelle is adopted. You and Mel aren’t.”

“Jo?”

“Yes and we made the mistake of not telling her. Now her real brother has appeared. He’s known about being adopted all his life and wanted to find her. Last week he did. Today she found out.”

“Dad, that’s…what a shock for Jo. How is she?”

“Upset, bitter, very angry with us.”

“I can imagine.”

“And there’s something else,” he said rushing on before she could gather her thoughts to ask the inevitable—why didn’t you tell us? “I don’t know whether Mel has spoken to you recently but she’s pregnant. She won’t tell the father and we don’t know who he is. Your mother is, well, to put it mildly, hysterical. I’m afraid we didn’t handle it very well—any of it—and now Mel is furious with us as well.”

Silence followed his torrent of confessions. Then Bridget said, “My god, Dad. Sounds like I’d better come home and sort you lot out.”

“You don’t need to do that, sweetheart,” William said through a rush of love for his resilient, wonderful daughter, which nearly choked him. “We’ll manage. It’s too expensive for you to come home and there’s really no need.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ll cope. It’s just such…a…big shock for us all.”

William finished the call fifteen minutes later with a lighter heart. No condemnation, no recriminations, no hysteria. Bridget was the quiet, rational achiever. A rock in a roiling sea of disasters. How he wished she were here.

Good to be finally rid of the lie. It had festered silently all these years, undermining everything he and Natalie had built on it as a base. Perhaps now, they could gather the tattered shreds of the family together and all go forward on a sounder footing.

Joelle arrived home dutifully at six thirty as she had promised. The soles of her feet ached, she needed a cold drink, food and a quiet night at home. No Mel histrionics, please. She couldn’t cope. Yawning, she opened the door and called, “I’m home.”