Christmas at Coorah Creek (Choc Lit) (12 page)

He heard the pain underneath the words. She was homesick. He understood that. He would do everything he could to drive that away. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close and as he did he realised something strange. If she was his oldest friend – her second oldest friend – the second person she had met in The Creek – was his father. Maybe there was a lesson there … but he had no idea what it was.

Chapter Seventeen

The rain on the roof sounded as if all the dwarves from Middle Earth were up there pounding away with their hammers, and had brought their friends from Snow White along for the ride. The ceaseless pounding on the corrugated iron roof was deafening. Katie put her hands over her ears. After a couple of weeks of rising temperatures and brilliant blue skies, the wet season had arrived with a vengeance.

She turned over and covered her head with her pillow.

What sort of a country only had two seasons? Back in England, the changing of the seasons was accompanied by soft changes in light, by leaf kicking and pristine white snow. There were brilliant summer days, punctuated by bird song, and cold wet winter nights to spend huddled in front of a roaring fire. You knew where you where weather-wise in England.

But not here. Oh no!

There were no leaves to kick – because those scrubby gum trees never lost their leaves. There was no winter … only a wet season and a dry season – differentiated, thusly by one wit at the pub: during the dry season it’s hot all the time and doesn’t rain and in the wet season it’s hot all the time and rains almost every day. Call that seasons? She certainly didn’t.

She sat up in bed and glared at the ceiling – as if by doing so she could stop the rain. The drumming continued.

Katie slid out of bed and padded barefoot into the living room. She walked over to the window and stared out at the rain. There wasn’t much to see. Without street lights or a light from another building, it was too dark. Sighing, she made her way to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. Tea would help. It always did.

As she waited for the water to boil, she glanced at the clock. It was just after 11 o’clock. Almost Christmas day. And she felt about as Christmassy as a cold cheese and tomato sandwich.

She poured the tea and walked back into her lounge room. The steam rising from her cup served to highlight the temperature as she went to switch on the overhead fan. Christmas shouldn’t be in mid-summer. It just didn’t feel right to have Christmas with not even the faintest hope of a snowball.

She blew across the top of her cup to cool the liquid, and took a small sip. Her mum always said a good cup of tea made every situation better. She was probably right … she was about most things. Oh, but Katie missed her family. Especially now. If she was back in England, she would be at her parents’ house, with her brother and sister. They’d be drinking tea too – but doing it together. And talking.

A fierce crack of lightning caused her to jump. Damn this storm. Not only was it keeping her awake, her somewhat fragile internet connection had given up the ghost. She’d only managed about two minutes of Skype conversation with her family earlier this evening, before the connection dropped out. God only knew when it would come back.

She sipped her tea again and admitted that really, she was just in a bad mood. Totally homesick. And lonely.

It wasn’t just that her family weren’t here. She was missing the whole Christmas experience. She hadn’t even wrapped a present. Sure, she’d sent some small souvenirs home to her family – but that wasn’t the same as piling brightly wrapped gifts, covered in ribbons and bows under a tree. She didn’t have anyone to wrap a present for.

Except Scott.

She so wanted to give Scott a gift. Somehow, in all the strangeness of this new life, he was the one thing that felt familiar and comforting. That felt like home. She’d taken some time off work and scoured every shop in Coorah Creek for a present. There were not many shops, and nothing that that she wanted to give to Scott. Sure, she could buy him a bottle of wine, or a new hat. But she wanted something a bit more personal than that. Something that would let him know she would miss him when he was gone back to the city for his new job. She wanted a gift that would tell him how wonderful it was to have him in a place that was so strange there were times she wasn’t even sure she spoke the same language. Language! That was it.

She leaped to her feet. At her going away party, her friends had given her gifts. The usual joke gifts that suited such occasions. She found what she was looking for in a drawer in her bedroom. It was a book – The English-Australian Dictionary. She flicked through the pages as she carried it back to the couch. There were the usual entries – Sheila as Australian for girl. Bonza meaning good – although she’d not heard any Australian actually say that. There were some interesting words too. She didn’t know that a wild horse was called a brumby in Australia. And that the peppers she ate in the UK were called capsicums in the southern hemisphere.

She found a pen and notebook and started scribbling down words… ridgy-didge (genuine), cobber (friend) Pommy (English person)… there was a lot of material. She chewed the end of the pen and tried a few phrases on the notebook. She was getting there. At last she had it figured out. She turned to the front page of the phrase book and began to write. The last word caused her to pause. She flicked through the book one more time, but some words are the same in every language.

When she was done, she pulled out a map of Queensland she had bought on her first day in the country. Coorah Creek was circled in black felt pen. That would make great wrapping paper.

At last the gift was ready. It wasn’t anything like any Christmas gift she had wrapped before. There were no ribbons and bows. No red and green and gold fancy paper. It wasn’t the most expensive she’d ever given either. But this gift was as personal to her as a gift could be.

She sat back and yawned. The blinking clock on her TV showed that it was ten minutes past midnight. Christmas Day! Not only that, the room was silent. She hadn’t noticed that the rain had stopped. A good thing too, she thought, or else Santa and his reindeer would get wet. Or did kangaroos pull Santa’s sleigh in this part of the world.

Smiling, she made her way back to bed. Her last thought as she fell asleep was that maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad “Chrissy” after all.

Chapter Eighteen

Christmas morning dawned bright and sunny at Coorah Creek. The trees still shone with the last drops of the overnight rain and the air had that crisp clean taste that only comes after a thunderstorm. The kookaburras fluffed their feathers and chortled as the sun rose. A lone kangaroo hopped across the road on the outskirts of town, and disappeared in the direction of the national park to the north. The huge machinery of the mine was silent on this one day of the year when no work was done.

In her bedroom, Katie slept on, her curtains shut to preserve the cool darkness for as long as possible. The map-wrapped package lay on the coffee table, next to the mug she had failed to wash the night before.

In their nearby house, Adam and Jess were still in bed, but not asleep. Their Christmas had started early with an exchange of gifts and a champagne breakfast in bed.

As always, Ed Collins was out of bed with the sun. His first task this Christmas morning, as it was every day, was to pat the dog, and let her out. Candy wagged her tail as she began her slow and careful descent of the stairs from the back door to the garden. Watching her struggle, Ed felt sadness steal over him. She was so very old. According to the vet, she wasn’t in any pain, but Ed knew he wouldn’t have her company for much longer. He looked across the road to the pub, where his son was sleeping. He wouldn’t have Scott for very much longer either.

Inside the pub, Trish and Syd were also up and about. As the prime movers behind the Waifs and Orphans party, there was a lot for them to do. Trish and Syd didn’t exchange Christmas gifts any more. Their Christmas was all about other people. Deep down, Trish knew this was their way of dealing with the fact that they had never been blessed with children. But she had long since come to terms with that. As long as there were people in the world she could help, she was content.

And speaking of helping … She heard movement in the room just above her kitchen. If Scott and his father didn’t sort themselves out soon, she’d do more than give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. In fact, she could probably start today. But, to be fair, she would cook the boy a good breakfast first. He deserved that much.

The smell of cooking greeted Scott as he came down the stairs. And not just the normal breakfast smells of coffee and bacon. He walked into the kitchen to find Trish hard at work.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He risked giving her a quick peck on the cheek and was rewarded with a smile. She wasn’t such a bad sort, he thought as he helped himself to coffee.

‘Tuck into this,’ Trish said as she slid a plate onto the table. ‘There’s a lot of work to do to get ready for the Waifs and Orphans.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘Are you planning to go over the road this morning?’

‘I’ll see my father at the party.’ Scott kept his voice casual. He had thought about going to visit his father … but had decided against it. He had no gift to give him. He had no idea what he could even say. They had barely acknowledged Christmas when Scott was a boy … it would seem strange to make a fuss now.

Trish said nothing, but the way she did it spoke volumes.

By the time Scott had finished his breakfast, Trish was starting to pack food and ice into several huge coolers.

‘If you’re ready,’ Trish said in a voice that brooked no denial, ‘I need you to take a load of chairs to the hall. After that, there’s ice in the freezer in the bar. And all this food is just about ready to go too. You’d better use our ute. You can take bigger loads in that.’

‘I’m on it.’

He wasn’t the only one. By the time he had driven to the hall, the back of the ute piled high with chairs and stools, there were already several cars there. He grabbed the first load and walked up the stairs. He took one step inside the hall and stopped, feeling his mouth drop open.

The scene in front of him was all the Christmas dreams he’d ever had a child. It was his first memories of Christmas, when his mother was still with him and the house was filled with colour and life and love. It was everything he had lost when she left. Everything his father had never allowed in those long dark years.

The hall was dripping with decorations. Although Scott had helped with some of the work, this was the first time he’s seen them in their full glory.

Someone had installed a tree at one end of the hall and it glittered with colour and light. Lights had also been strung along the timber beams above his head, adding an extra layer of sparkle to the already dazzling room. The tables he had helped to arrange were now covered with cloth – the wide range of size and colour and pattern was testament to the fact that they had come from many different homes. So too had the assortment of plates and glasses stacked ready for the start of the party. On some of the tables, there were vases of flowers; a rare sight in this dry and dusty place. There still weren’t many chairs, but he was about to change that.

‘Hey, the chairs are here,’ a voice called from the back of the room. Several men came forward to help unload the back of his vehicle, wishing him a merry Christmas as they did. The back of the ute was empty in no time at all, and Scott returned to the pub for the next load. Once again many hands helped make light of the unloading. The crowd was growing now. Families walked through the door, calling greetings to their neighbours. Kids were showing off their presents to anyone who might listen. It seemed every family brought something to add to the party. A home baked cake. A bowl of potato salad or a ham. Beer and soft drink was pushed into the ice in the bathtubs along one wall. Then someone turned on the music. As the first Christmas carol filled the air, Scott glanced at the doorway to see his father walk in.

Ed looked like a different person. His greasy overalls had been exchanged for blue jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt. It wasn’t just that he looked clean – he looked less worn down by care. Younger too. He crossed the room to where Scott was standing. For a few moments, the two of them just stood there, both not sure what to say or do.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’

This was what he had come back to Coorah Creek to do. Scott held out his hand. The last time he and his father had touched, their hands had been fists.

All around them, people were hugging and laughing and exchanging gifts.

Ed reached out and took Scott’s hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Son.’

Chapter Nineteen

Katie was running late for the party. Her morning had been thrown out by the arrival of a couple of patients at the hospital. She’d helped Adam set the broken arm of a child who had become too adventurous on the swing set he’d been given for Christmas. And she’d dressed a burn on a woman’s hand which was good argument against too much champagne at breakfast before lighting the barbecue for Christmas lunch. She would Skype her family back in England when the time differences allowed, so she had set off to the Waifs and Orphans party – where she had already arranged to meet Scott.

The hall was humming when she arrived. Music was wafting through the open doors and windows, as was the sound of talk and laughter. When she entered the hall, Katie stopped and looked around her. The old wooden hall had been changed into a wonderland. It was Christmas in all its glory … but so different as to be almost unrecognisable.

The tree that glowed so brightly at the end of the hall was like no other Christmas tree she had ever seen. No tall stately pine, this tree was as broad as it was high. A profusion of branches spread from multiple trunks, the long broad dark green leaves dropping towards the floor. The tree sported as much tinsel and as many lights as anyone could hope for – but the snow in its branches was just cotton wool.