The Road Back (43 page)

‘What's wonderful?' asked Megan as she came into the kitchen.

‘Bunny and David are thinking of starting their own farm.'

‘What! And leave Neverend?' Megan looked stricken. ‘Are you going to sell this house?'

‘Of course not, sweetie,' soothed Susan. ‘David is just looking for some land for an agricultural development.'

‘Well, don't you do anything while I'm away, will you,' insisted Megan. Then she added, ‘If you have a farm, can I ride there? Maybe keep Squire there?'

‘Megs, Squire belongs to Mollie,' Chris reminded her gently.

Seeing Megan's worried expression, Susan said, ‘Oh, who knows what plans David has. He once mentioned alpacas. But I promise that we won't do a thing without first talking to you. You just have fun with your mum.'

‘Okay. What about you, Dad, what are you doing?'

‘I'm hanging around, sweetie. I'll be looking after Biddi and Bunny's garden while Bunny and David swan around the countryside looking at acreage. When Georgia comes up, I'll show her the sights. We didn't get the chance to do much last time she was here.'

‘I'll miss all the fun.'

‘Don't be silly. David and Georgia will be here again,' said Susan briskly. ‘You're the one going on the exciting trip. Be sure to send us photos!'

Megan simply rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I will. Ruby and Jazzy and Toby want updates every day.'

*

Chris felt his spirits lift and a smile break out as he saw Georgia exit the plane. He hugged her warmly as he took her bag.

‘Was Megan okay? Thanks so much for meeting her and getting her onto the Perth flight.'

‘No problem, and she was absolutely fine. She had a nice fat book and said it would keep her occupied for hours. And she had her music, of course.'

‘I hope she has fun. I know she misses Jill, even though they're in regular contact. Okay, let's hit the road. I thought you might like to explore Neverend a bit more before we go back to Jean's place. I know my town is only forty-five minutes away from this airport, but believe me, it's a world away.'

‘Fine. The metropolis and environs of Neverend it is.'

‘By the way, we have the place to ourselves. Mum and David are off seeking land.'

Georgia shook her head after Chris explained Susan and David's new idea. ‘What a pair. Mac won't venture further than his favourite restaurant, pub and the old press club hangout with his mates.'

Chris chuckled. ‘You must bring him up sometime. Expand his horizons. He and Mum would enjoy each other's company and I think he'd get on with David, too.'

‘You're comfortable about your mother's relationship with David now?' asked Georgia.

‘I am. Of course, that has a lot to do from you, and Megan, for that matter,' Chris replied.

‘I'm glad we helped you see things from a broader perspective.'

‘True, but it's also because I don't feel so . . . isolated any more. I feel positive, hopeful, joyful, thanks to you,' admitted Chris. ‘Even if I don't have much of a job happening at the moment,' he added ruefully.

‘So what did Thomas Anderson have to say?' asked Georgia.

She listened as Chris told her about their conversation, and laughed when he finished up with, ‘He also hinted that he didn't need a biographer.'

‘Pity about that. That would have been some coup.'

Chris concentrated on the road for a moment before sighing. ‘Yes. I know. Maybe I'm over the idea of doing biography. Everyone has something they want to keep secret. I'm beginning to think it's a rare person who is willing to expose every facet of themselves, their life, warts and all. People want to present to the world the image of themselves they like best, and not the person that others actually see.'

‘But Mark, Evan and David aren't like that.'

‘No, you're right, they're not, probably because they have nothing to hide. Honestly, Alan Carmichael has made me look at things in a very pessimistic light. I thought journalism was tough, but this book business has me stumped.'

Georgia sighed. ‘Chris, I'm afraid that it's just got a whole lot harder. I spoke to your publisher this morning. I explained that for reasons that I could not divulge you would no longer be including Alan Carmichael in your book. At all.'

‘And what did the publisher say?' asked Chris, a lump of lead settling in his stomach.

‘Basically, that without the big name of Carmichael there could be no book. I argued that the other three Australians were worthy subjects to write about. Unfortunately, he was adamant. You agreed in your contract that the book would feature Carmichael, but now you can't deliver what you agreed to. Chris, I am so sorry that your book has come to this. I really, really tried to talk them into honouring your contract, but they just wouldn't agree to it.'

Chris pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat silently for a few moments. If he was truthful with himself, he was not surprised. Carmichael was a very big presence in Australia and to be unable to write about him after promising to do so . . . well, he could see the publisher's point of view. But it was a hard blow.

‘So that's that, then. Just as well I didn't get that advance. I might have spent it. I guess a new computer will have to wait. Carmichael has certainly stuffed up our lives, first my mother's and now mine. I just wish there was some way I could expose all the evil he's done, but I can't. I don't want to put my family's lives at risk ever again. I feel so angry. I don't think that I'll ever get back on track and I'll be driving a courier van for the rest of my life, all because of that man,' said Chris angrily.

‘Look, I know this is really hard to take, but I'm sure we'll be able to come up with another idea. What is it that you really want to do, Chris?' Georgia asked calmly.

‘I just love to write. Writing is all I've ever wanted to do, even when I was very young.' He swallowed. The rage and unfairness he felt seemed to roll over him in waves. ‘So should I start my own town newspaper?' he snapped angrily. ‘Reveal the underbelly of beautiful Neverend? The secret of Mrs Hampton's scone recipe? Who's borrowing whose bull in the dead of night? The incestuousness of a small community where everyone knows everything about everyone? Maybe do an exposé on our troubled youth, hampered by lack of jobs and exposed to a drug culture?' He drew a breath and then started to speak more calmly. ‘But you know, Georgia, I find joy in this small town. Neverend has evolved into a beautiful yet hip and artistic place with great local food and eateries, music and even fabulous coffee. And I've seen buskers a lot worse than the ones who perform in our main street. This town's community spirit embodies the philosophy of accepting new arrivals and alternative lifestyles. It's a place where a bearded bloke wearing combat boots and a yellow taffeta cocktail dress can sell his homemade muesli and no one thinks it an odd thing for a veteran of the Iraq War to do. What the town
doesn't accept is new money trying to change the old ways, or slick tourism pushing out the locals. Rather, it
embraces who we are and what we have with vigour and passion. Is that enough to fill the daily newspaper?'

‘Whoa! You don't seriously want to start up a newspaper, do you?' said Georgia incredulously.

‘No, of course not. I'm sorry, Georgia. I was just letting off steam,' said Chris. But even as he made the excuse, he realised he was telling Georgia not about himself, but about his affection for his town, Neverend. For years it had been the home that he had dismissively taken for granted. Now he knew that it was a special place, and he was lucky to be part of its makeup. He was grateful for that, especially in light of Georgia's dismal news.

‘I know how frustrated you must be.' Georgia touched his arm.

‘I think that frustration hardly covers what I'm feeling at present.'

She was silent a moment and then asked, ‘You've never told me about your assignments when you were working as a foreign correspondent. What were some of the tough ones? I know you loved the States, and if you were working as a foreign correspondent today would you have liked working in Asia?'

Chris started up the car again, very glad for this change of subject.

‘I loved everywhere I was posted,' he said, enthusiasm creeping into his voice. ‘I loved the challenge of a new place with different attitudes and customs. An unknown country, people who think differently from us. And you know, I always seemed to luck out with stories. Things just fell in my path. Your father used to say that maybe I was simply open to new things, prepared to follow a hunch and trust my instincts. Once, in the middle of Mexico's badlands, I happened to meet, through a series of accidents, the head of a drugs cartel who also happened to be the richest man in Mexico. He invited me to drink tequila with him. Once I was in a supermarket in the deep south of America and I saw a man buy enough food and personal items for a whole school. So I followed him home to find he had thirty kids and five wives. Ah, Georgia, I have a zillion stories that I can bore you with,' said Chris with a wry smile.

‘I don't think they sound very boring at all. So you don't miss that life?' she asked.

‘Sometimes,' he admitted frankly. ‘But now only in short bursts. If I'm honest with myself, in between the excitement there was a heck of a lot of tedium.'

‘I'd like to hear more.'

‘Ah, some other time. Ask my mother. I sent her long emails, and I think she used to print them out and keep them. Shall we stop in town for a swish lunch or are you ready for a sandwich on the verandah?'

‘Do you have to ask?'

‘Sangers it is. With fresh bread baked this morning, Mum's corned beef and homemade tomato relish, all washed down with a crisp Pinot Gris. You live high on the hog when you come to Neverend,' said Chris with a laugh, feeling a little more cheerful.

*

Chris and Georgia didn't leave the house for the rest of the day. Chris still felt very depressed when he thought about the book and Georgia did her best to cheer him up. They made meals and cuddled in front of the fire with the cat between them. It was a novelty sharing a bed and waking up together in the morning and then showering together; it was a tantalising glimpse of how good their relationship might be. But Chris didn't want to allow himself to think past the moment. Especially now.

Over breakfast, Georgia raised another thorny issue as she helped herself to some of Susan's marmalade to go with her toast.

‘Chris, I'm not sure that this is going to work.'

‘I don't understand, Georgia. I thought we were getting along really well. Do you want to go home?'

‘No, Chris, you've missed my meaning. We're getting along too well, and for the record, I have to tell you that I don't make a habit of sleeping with my clients. But I'm your agent and I think that our private and professional relationship is becoming a little confused. Moreover, I'm also the agent who has badly let you down. I seriously think that you should look for someone else to represent your interests, someone who is more detached.'

‘So what you are saying is that we aren't mature enough to be able to separate our private lives from our professional ones? Do you really think that you would not be able to give an honest appraisal of my work because I could take offence and ruin our relationship? Well, that's nonsense. I can accept brutal honesty if I know that it is sincerely meant. I can also accept bad news when I know that you did your best for me. I think that we can still work together, but if it turns out that you're right, and our relationship begins to suffer, then I will look for another agent. Of course, they won't be half as good as you.' Chris smiled at Georgia and then gave her a kiss. ‘Is that a deal?'

‘If you say so, Chris.' Georgia took a sip of her coffee. ‘Don't you think you'd better get me up to Jean's place before half the day has gone?'

‘Hmm. You're right. Time to hit the road.'

Georgia stood up. ‘Chris, your life is what you make it. This setback is just that, a setback, nothing more, right? Think about what you want, what's important to you, and where you want to be not just next month or next year, but in five or ten years' time.' She headed out of the room and he heard her call out cheekily from the hallway, ‘I know where I'd like to be.'

As they both headed off to get dressed, Chris's phone rang.

‘Hi, Dad!'

‘How's my favourite girl? What's happening, are you having fun? You're up very early.'

‘Yeah, I am. We're all going over to Rottnest Island today, so we have to get an early start. It's too cold to swim, but it sounds fun.'

‘How're you getting on with the boys?'

‘They're okay. They kinda like me, I think. They're older now, you know.'

Chris smiled to himself, wondering how much two ten-year-olds could have matured in little more than six months. ‘That's great. I'm having fun too, Georgia is here and I'm taking her out to Jean Hay's place today to take photos, then we might do a bit of a twirl around the district. Watch out for those quokkas on Rottnest, they can be scary.'

Megan giggled. ‘Don't be silly, Dad. I've seen pictures of them and they are really cute.'

‘Glad you are having a good time. I miss you.'

‘Miss you, too, Dad. See ya.'

*

For the next two mornings, Chris and Georgia rose well before dawn, rugged themselves up and then Chris drove Georgia out to Jean Hay's place, Applebrook.

‘I need to be able to photograph this place in different lights, so I need an early start. Thank you for bringing me out here at this ungodly hour.'

‘Not a problem, although I have to say that I like picking you up and bringing you back home a lot more than dropping you off.'

‘I like that bit, too,' said Georgia.