Authors: Maris Morton
‘Ah,’ Tallis said, ‘but neither does a painting of a tree fool us for a moment that it’s actually a tree. We recognise it as a tree, though. It reminds us of a tree, we accept it as a version of a tree, an avatar, perhaps.’ He’d glanced around at them all, one by one.
‘Then we come to the Theme and Variations, which starts out slow and calm, with the violin buzzing like a dragonfly flitting over the water. Then it gets faster, like birds bathing, splashing, fluttering out to shake their feathers, perch on a leafy branch to preen, then a heavy, emphatic, wakening call — and the viola: you, Clio, slow as you like, then you again with the piano and violin, and then the finale, Allegro giusto, contrasting passages that are quite boisterous with those that are calmer.’
‘With that funny little phrase that sounds like distant church bells.’
‘I think it’s more like a children’s game.’
‘It’s repetitive, though,’ Richard objected. ‘The whole thing’s so damned repetitive!’
Tallis ignored him. ‘So here we are, children, sharing the intimate experience of a man, not much older than you are, who went walking with a friend through the picturesque Austrian countryside in the summer of 1819.’
Clio could remember feeling optimistic about playing the piece. For one thing, without the usual second violin, the viola got to play a more prominent part, and the whole tone of the piece was mellow, very much to her taste. Margot had fitted in well, with a sunny temperament impossible to dislike, ready to put her whole heart into playing this music so that, for however long it took, she would be part of the group.
It was strange how hearing the music brought the memories back so vividly. Tallis always said that music was like food:
we
can’t do without it. It’s something that’s eternal, true, and totally
honest.
And I’ve been trying to do without it for far too long, was Clio’s thought. Starving myself. And now I’m paying the price.
T
HE LAST DAY OF SHEARING
was like the others. At dinner, Cookie beckoned her over. ‘See here, Cookie Two.’ He was grinning. ‘We all think you’re a reasonable sort of a bloke, so are you coming to the cut-out?’
‘The cut-out?’
Cookie shook his head at her ignorance. ‘A few beers when it’s all done. Traditional. Only the best cooks get invited.’
The prospect of drinking beer with these men didn’t enchant her, but she was pleased to have been invited nonetheless, taking it as a sign her cooking had passed the test. Garth was giving her the nod so she accepted.
‘Good!’ said Cookie One. ‘Garth can come and get you when we’re ready.’
Paul and Martin had flown in while the men were eating and were now changing into their farm clothes. Mary wasted no time clearing up after the meal, mildly annoyed that she’d have to serve Paul and Martin in a separate sitting. By the time Garth arrived to collect her she had only their dishes left to wash, and dropped them into the sink to soak.
‘You did the right thing, accepting,’ Garth said. ‘Would’ve hurt their feelings if you’d said no.’
‘I won’t stay long.’
‘Probably best.’
As they walked up to the shed later, Cec came hurrying past, carrying a clipboard and looking preoccupied.
‘Hi, Cec,’ Mary greeted him. ‘You find any fossils?’
‘A couple! Come and have a look later on,’ he called as he went past.
‘What’s he doing that looks so important?’ Mary asked.
‘He’s taking the tallies in so Paul can sign the cheques.’
‘Oh.’ Simple when you know. She remembered Young Dave and his hand. ‘Did Young Dave manage all right today?’
‘Yeah. He only shears part-time, like a lot of these blokes, so he’ll get over it.’
The pens outside the shearing shed were filled with snow-white wethers, milling around and bleating anxiously. Angus was in the process of getting them out of the unaccustomed bright sunshine and back into their shed.
‘Here she is!’ The men were sitting around in exactly the same places they’d sat for smoko during the week, but this time they were dragging on stubbies of beer, using the empties as ashtrays. Martin wasn’t there, and Paul was down in the office.
‘Give the lady a beer!’ someone called. ‘Come on, lunkhead, give the lady a chair!’ Mary had no choice but to sit on the vacated chair and accept the stubby, beaded with condensation. ‘You need a glass?’ Mary shook her head and tilted the bottle to her lips. ‘That’s the way.’
They sat around making lame jokes, all of them relatively clean in deference to the lady in their midst; they were tired, so it wasn’t sparkling company. Angus came in and grabbed a beer out of the esky, gurgling half of it down instantly, making up for lost time. His gaze fell on Mary, and he gave her a grin, saying something she couldn’t hear. Mary smiled at him and nodded, concentrating on what was going on nearer to where she was sitting: a post-mortem of the shearing, and a guessing game about how much the best fleeces would fetch when they were sold. She sensed that Angus was still watching her. When she’d finished the stubby, she made her excuses, knowing that the party would liven up once she’d gone.
It was good to be outside. Good that shearing was over. Sad about Jamie, but it wasn’t as if she’d known him. Saddest of all for Gayleen, but Gloria would be relieved.
The day was coming to an end, the shadows stretching across the vivid green of crop and pasture. The willy-wagtails were flirting their tails and chirping: they might have a nest in the peppercorn trees. The oak tree was almost fully in leaf now, casting a wide pool of dappled shade and giving quite a different look to the back of the stone house.
Cec came out of the main house, carrying a sheaf of papers — the shearers wouldn’t be leaving until they’d got their cheques. She wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that they were cash cheques, and the black economy was alive and well.
In the homestead garden, more spears of asparagus were breaking through the thick mulch. Further on was the violet patch. The fairy scent was coming in waves, sweet and refreshing. She picked a couple of dozen, nipping them off low to keep the stems long, and selected a few leaves to encircle the posy. Clio would be pleased.
It was getting dark when she went out to the verandah for firewood and found Cec coming up the steps.
‘Mary! Come and see what I found!’
She dropped the pieces of wood and followed him down the steps, skipping over the bottom one. She was still feeling the end-of-shearing euphoria; it must be the beer.
‘Janet’s not home yet,’ he said as he held the back door open for her and reached over her shoulder to click on the light. He sat at the kitchen table, shining a torch on a piece of rock, turning the fragment about. ‘See this? I’ve never seen one of these but I think it’s a different kind of araucaria. This area was all tropical once, in the Eocene. Covered with forest and swamps.’ Cec was almost crooning at the sliver of rock. ‘Can you make out the little fruiting body? Like a tiny cone?’ He pointed gently with a grimy thumb.
‘How long ago was this Eocene?’
‘Millions of years — 45 to 38 million, to be as precise as we can be. The whole of the Bremer Basin was under the sea then. Those odd mountains sticking up’ — she remembered the misty blue hummocks that had reminded her of a herd of brontosaurus when she’d flown in with Martin all those weeks ago — ‘they used to be islands, part of the same system as the Recherche Archipelago, further east.’ He gestured with both hands, still holding the piece of rock.
‘What about the Stirlings? Are they part of it, too?’
‘I think so,’ he said.
Mary smiled at him, loving his enthusiasm and knowledge. Under the overhead light, the tight crimp of his hair glistened, not a hair out of place.
Janet bustled in through the back door. ‘I thought I heard voices. Oh, it’s you, Mary.’ There was a definite chill in her voice, and she passed through the room to put down her bag and keys in the hall before coming to stand in the doorway. ‘I see you’re taking up palaeogeology.’ Her tone this time was condescending, but Mary wasn’t in the mood to worry about Janet’s state of mind.
‘Am I sitting in your chair, Janet?’
‘No, no; stay there.’ Janet rustled behind her, bumping the back of the chair.
‘Had a good day, dear?’ Cec asked, the dutiful husband.
‘I’ve had better.’ She was busy filling and plugging in the kettle, making more of a clatter about it than seemed reasonable. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mary?’
Cec was contrite. ‘No, Mother, let me.’
‘Too late! I’ve already done it!’
Cec gathered up the pieces of rock and wrapped them in tissue paper. Janet advanced with a cleaning cloth and swiped away the grit and dust they’d left on the table, leaving a grimy smear.
‘Did you finish shearing?’
Cec was absorbed in his fossils so Mary answered for him. ‘Yes, we did.’
‘Oh!’ Janet said, as if this explained everything. ‘Then you’ll have been drinking.’
N
EXT TIME
she saw Garth, Mary asked after Gayleen.
‘She’s taking it hard,’ he said.
‘Anything I can do?’
‘Give her time. She’ll get over it. ’
‘I was thinking of asking her to go to Beelyup Pool again. The flowers might be out by now.’
‘Not a bad idea. I’ll see what she says.’
Gayleen must have liked the idea because as soon as she arrived home from school on Tuesday, she came knocking at the back door. ‘Can we go tomorrow?’ she said.
‘Is there time after school? Don’t you have a heap of homework?’
Gayleen shook her curls emphatically. ‘I can do that after tea. It doesn’t get dark for ages now. Can we, Mary?’
Mary smiled at the girl. Gayleen’s eagerness to spend time with her was flattering. ‘Okay, Gayleen, you’re on! But you’d better get yourself over here soon as you get off the bus.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And with a smile and a wave she was gone, leaping across the ground like a young gazelle.
T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
was overcast, and Mary worried that it might rain and put a stop to the excursion. But by the time she was cycling over the bumpy ground behind Gayleen, the cloud had broken up into layers, letting the sun shine through.
They left their bikes leaning against a couple of casuarinas and walked through the bush to the pool itself, still and silent, the light shimmering on its surface. Mary looked for the egret, but there was no sign of it. The ducks were somewhere nearby, though; she could hear their quacking. Could they be nesting? Did wild ducks nest on the ground or in trees? Then, from the shadows of the trees, the pair of birds came swimming, their wakes pleating the mirror surface so that the light flickered and danced off it. And behind the adult ducks was a flotilla of tiny ducklings, so well camouflaged in their speckled down that it was impossible to count them. Mary held her breath while the little family paddled past, then let it out in a laugh of sheer pleasure.
Gayleen led the way through the wispy grass and fallen leaves to the site of the original house and its abandoned bed of flowers. They were in bloom; white narcissus, most of them, their scent hanging like a cloud, with here and there the bluish spears of iris, not yet showing colour. Gayleen folded herself to sit, apparently quite comfortably, on the ground. Mary did the same, not quite so gracefully. The ground here was carpeted with a thick layer of sheoak needles, which were surprisingly pleasant to sit on. She couldn’t see any ants or spiders.
‘Well, Gayleen,’ she said, wondering what was on the girl’s mind, ‘the flowers are out.’
‘Mum and Dad don’t understand,’ Gayleen said. Mary’s heart sank. ‘I really loved Jamie.’ This was stated with such certainty that Mary’s reaction was to wonder whether even Gayleen herself was totally convinced of it.
‘Yes, I’m sure you did. Did you ever find him, that day when you were looking for him?’
Gayleen was shaking her head, the curls falling over her face. ‘He must’ve gone to see his sister, I don’t know why. He didn’t like her that much.’
‘Did he say anything about going there?’
‘Mm. I told him I thought it wasn’t a good idea. But he wouldn’t listen.’
‘When was the last time you saw him, Gayleen?’
‘He came to see me on Thursday, straight after Mr Melrose told him off. He was really, really upset. I met him here.’ Gayleen looked down at her hands, twisting a strand of grass. ‘It was where we used to come …’
‘Yes?’
‘To be by ourselves.’
Had Gloria known about these meetings? ‘Did you come often?’
‘Don’t you dare tell anyone! Jamie really loved me! We were going to get married.’ A tear swelled on her lower eyelid and tumbled down her rose-petal cheek. She swiped a hand at it, leaving a smear, and sniffed. ‘I was the only girl in my class … who hadn’t … done it… you know … with a boy! I was the only one!’
Mary made an effort not to smile. ‘I suppose you felt left out. But sex is a pretty important business. You really are too young to understand all the implications.’ She could see that this wasn’t what Gayleen wanted to hear. ‘I know, I know, that’s what all the adults say, and they all say it because it’s true.’ She reached out to touch Gayleen’s hand, lying curled in her lap. ‘I just hope that when you … did it, you took adequate precautions. Safe sex. You’ve been taught about safe sex, I assume?’
Gayleen was looking at her as if she’d been betrayed. ‘I know about all that.’ She was dismissive, as if safe sex had nothing to do with her.
‘Yes, but did you use any contraception, Gayleen? When you had sex with Jamie? Did you?’
‘No. I don’t know. Jamie said it would be all right.’
‘That means you didn’t. And I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I? You could be pregnant. You could’ve caught a very unpleasant disease. Did you think of that?’
Gayleen turned to look at her with haunted eyes. ‘Don’t say that.’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Mary took a deep breath and tightened her hold on Gayleen’s hand. ‘How many times, do you think?’
Gayleen looked up at her through her tears. ‘Only a few — three, I think.’