The Silent Country (5 page)

Veronica noticed the extra car parked at the curb and sighed. So there was another dinner guest. She knocked at the door rather than ring the chimes and wake the children but the door was pulled open by four-year-old Sarah jumping up and down.

‘Auntie Vee, Auntie Vee.’ Sarah rushed at her.

‘Hey, I thought you two were supposed to be in bed. You haven’t even got your nightie on. What have you been up to?’

Sue came to the door and gave Veronica a quick kiss. ‘The girls are being very naughty. Wouldn’t eat their dinner, wouldn’t get out of the bath, wouldn’t go to bed until they saw you.’

‘Maybe they need a story. Is Sophie asleep?’

‘Of course not. She’s in there flirting with Ben. Come and meet him. I don’t know where the time has gone. I haven’t had time to do anything . . .’

‘I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,’ said Veronica.

‘Believe me, I didn’t.’ Sue tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and headed to the living room.

Philip and his friend were sitting on the lounge, two-year-old Sophie jumping up and down on the cushions between them. The TV was blaring, but no-one was watching. Bottles of beer were on the coffee table and the dog was eyeing the bowl of peanuts beside them. Philip waved to Veronica.

‘Hey, here at last. Come and meet Ben. Say, you look great, where’ve you been? Cocktails with some celebrity? She works in TV,’ he said to Ben.

‘Kind of a work function.’ She held out her hand towards Ben who struggled to his feet as Sophie clung to him. ‘I’m Veronica. Sue’s sister.’

‘Hi. Yes, I’ve heard all about you.’

‘Sorry, Philip, did I get the time confused? I thought Sue said to come late-ish.’

‘That was the plan. These monkeys were supposed to be in bed. Do you want a drink, Veronica?’

‘I’ll wait till dinner, thanks. How about I read these two a story? C’mon, Sophie, you haven’t given me a hug yet.’ She peeled the younger girl off Ben who looked relieved. ‘I’ll see you shortly.’

‘I get to choose,’ squealed Sarah, dashing ahead to the bedroom as Sophie started wailing, ‘Me choose . . .’

Veronica went past the kitchen. ‘Sue, I’ll see if I can quieten them down then I’ll help you with the food, okay?’

‘Thanks. When they’re settled, go and talk to the boys. Nothing to do in here, I got Indian take-away.’

‘Sounds good.’ Veronica couldn’t help noticing the smart kitchen with all its modern appliances looked as though a small army had invaded, leaving dishes and glasses and open cartons everywhere. For someone who was meticulous, a detail person and thorough in her work, Sue was unbelievably messy at home, thought Veronica. But then so was their mother, Joan, who ran an employment agency but always paid people to keep the family home tidy especially as their father, Roger, travelled a lot as a marketing executive.

As Veronica settled the girls into their adjoining beds, smoothed the covers and pulled a chair between the two beds to read them a story, it occurred to her that although her parents had never spent a lot of time with them, she and Sue never felt neglected. There were babysitters and lots of visits from their two grandmothers. Unfortunately for Sue, their mother still worked, so there were fewer visits for her daughters to enjoy.

Sue stuck her head in the door. ‘You all right, girls? Now be good and quiet for Auntie Vee. Dinner won’t be long.’

‘We’ve had dinner. It was yukky,’ said Sarah.

‘Well, we won’t get that dish again from the Yummy Tummy Shop,’ said Sue. ‘Poor Auntie Vee and Mummy and Daddy and his friend, we haven’t had our dinner.’

Veronica glanced at her watch. It was quarter to ten. She was feeling past food. ‘Sue, do you remember when our grannies used to visit, look after us? They always cooked us stuff, read stories, sewed things, didn’t they?’

‘God, yes. Mum loved it. When she and Dad came back the cupboards were tidy, all the ironing done, freezer full of home-baked goodies, though I think we might have worn the old dears out.’ She smiled at her two daughters. ‘A bit like you two. Okay, ten minutes and then lights out.’

The little girls argued with Veronica when she finished the story, but she was firm and walked out of their bedroom, shutting the door behind her, ignoring their complaints.

‘Phil, I’m ready for that drink now.’ Veronica moved toys off a lounge chair and sat down.

‘I’ll get it. What would you like?’ Ben jumped to his feet as Phil went to find plates and cutlery.

Sue carried the take-away containers to the table. ‘I’m not fussing with platters, we’ll just help ourselves.’

‘Saves washing up,’ said Phil. He grinned at Ben. ‘I told you this was casual, just family.’

‘How about I light a candle?’ Veronica took a small candelabra from a sideboard and put it on the table in a gesture to dress up the meal.

Ben was pleasant looking, with a good job. He was earnest and asked questions about her work and tried to appear interested in her brief answers. Veronica knew he was trying to make a good impression and she tried to be interested in his work but she felt they had little in common and there was simply no chemistry.

Driving home later, Veronica chided herself for not making more of an effort. Many of her contemporaries would have had at least one date with him to test the waters. What was wrong with her, she wondered. The damage from her relationship with Eddie must have had affected her more than she suspected and she felt the hurt and resentment towards him resurface. Or was it something else? Veronica understood very well the pace at which Sue and Philip lived, their drive to provide for their family, but it didn’t feel right. She was always glad to see them, but she always came away feeling exhausted. She didn’t think that she could live in such chaos. Veronica knew that she didn’t want her life to be as complicated as theirs.

The following Monday morning Veronica sat across from Andy as they shared their morning coffee prior to the production meeting.

‘So how was your sister’s dinner?’

‘Fine. There was a fellow there who works with my brother-in-law. Don’t get nervous, Andy, he wasn’t my type. And by the time I’d read a story to the girls and we finally ate dinner it was past my bedtime.’

‘What is your type of man, Veronica?’

‘You know, Andy, I really don’t know and I don’t think that Sue and Philip’s domestic scene helps either.’

‘I loved raising my kids and all that went with it.’

‘Yeah, but was it you or your wife who did the hard stuff? Did she work?’

Andy smiled. ‘I concede your point. No, she stayed home. I worked long hours and by the time the kids left home and I decided that we should do things together, it was too late because she got ill.’

‘I’m sorry, but you had a wonderful marriage and
you’ve got great kids, even if they are all over the place. You’ve had fun times visiting them,’ said Veronica who knew how much Andy missed his late wife. ‘Anyway, how was the reunion dinner? I enjoyed seeing those old TV clips.’

‘It was great. I like all the industry gossip, the re-telling of the old stories.’

‘I doubt I’ll be going to reunions of
Our Country
and reminiscing about our days here,’ said Veronica. ‘Though I have a ton of stories about Andy Fitzgerald.’

‘I doubt anyone would be interested. No, the early TV days were very, very different. But funny you should mention it. I met a rather interesting old chap at my table. Colin Peterson, he’d be around eighty. He told me he went on some crazy expedition to the Northern Territory to make a documentary in the 1950s.’

‘What about?’

‘I don’t know, he was a bit vague,’ said Andy thoughtfully. ‘Anyway, he didn’t have a chance to go into details because of the noise of the music.’

‘Maybe the poor old bugger doesn’t remember much.’

‘He wasn’t an old bugger. He was very spry. Actually, I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to talk to him more about this film expedition. My antennae sensed a story of some sort.’

Veronica shook her head. ‘You and your story antennae. What kind of story?’

‘Heading to the outback to film then was quite an undertaking. I can’t recall seeing much footage taken in remote areas in those days. Newsreel grabs from a big croc attack, some first contact with a lost Aboriginal tribe. Not much else.’

‘So what are you going to do about this fellow?’

‘Not me. You. Your assignment, should you wish to accept it . . .’ he mimicked an American accent. ‘I thought
you might hunt down Colin Peterson, chat him up, just see what you can find out. Charm him. You’re good at that.’

Veronica sighed. ‘Doesn’t sound like much of a story to me.’

Andy put his fingers up on his head and waggled them.

‘Yeah, right. Well, thanks for the great lead, boss.’ She smiled. ‘This time I think your antennae are a bit whacked, but I’ll humour you and go and see this Colin Peterson. But I have my doubts . . .’

T
O COLIN, THE VOICE
on the phone was soft, pleasant, friendly.

‘Yes, this is Colin Peterson,’ he answered. ‘Who’s calling please?’

Veronica introduced herself and launched into a happy, chatty, conversation. She’d found that the warm and casual approach worked best initially, as people were sometimes suspicious when getting a call from a producer at a TV network. ‘I gather you met my boss Andy Fitzgerald on Saturday night. At the Pioneers’ Reunion.’

‘Ah, yes, from
Our Country
. Excellent show.’

‘Glad you think so. We’re very proud of the program. I was at the reunion dinner briefly. Saw the old film and TV clips. I’m sorry we didn’t meet. Andy says you made
an intriguing trip to the outback. Was that for a documentary, or just a home movie . . .?’

‘My goodness, I just mentioned it in passing. I felt a bit of an imposter in such illustrious company, but I very briefly harboured a dream to get into the film industry.’

‘As an actor?’ Veronica knew this wasn’t the case, but it made the old man chuckle.

‘Goodness me, no. I had other dreams. Short lived. I spent most of my working life in the banking industry.’

‘Mr Peterson, I was wondering if you’d be willing to share some of your story. I’d love to know about it. We’re thinking of doing a program on the Aussie film and TV industry. It seems not many people ventured outback with a camera in the 1950s.’

There was a pause. ‘I don’t know if I’d have anything important to contribute.’

‘But it must have been a bit of an adventure. I bet the roads were pretty rough and there wouldn’t have been a lot of civilisation, would there? Who was in the party besides you?’

‘Miss Anderson,’ he said. ‘It was such a long time ago, I’m not sure that you’d find it interesting.’

Veronica didn’t like being rejected and she thought that she could overcome his reticence. Most people loved to prattle on about some small or large event in their lives, whether for a TV show or not. ‘Could I meet you for a coffee, please, Mr Peterson? You just don’t know what you might remember that could give me a clue, a lead for my story.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure.’ He sounded embarrassed.

But she heard the wavering in his voice and suspected that he might be persuaded to share his reminiscences. ‘I’d love to meet you,’ she said soothingly. ‘You must have your own memories of TV starting in Australia, Australian movies . . .’

‘I met Chips Rafferty once . . .’

Veronica pounced. ‘There you go. I’d love to have a general chat about Aussie films and television, especially in the fifties. Where would you like to meet? You name the place. I love getting out of the office,’ she said breezily.

‘Would Kings Cross be out of your way?’

Veronica was surprised at his choice of the one-time bohemian, sleazy, dangerous, arty hangout that was now a slick and desirable residential and tourist area. ‘Fabulous. The colourful Cross. Does it have any association, any memories for you?’

‘Ah, well it was popular with actors . . . that’s where I met lots of artists and, as you say, other colourful characters.’ He sounded more enthusiastic and Veronica was sure he would begin to talk about himself when they met.

He had chosen a coffee shop in Macleay Street opposite a smart Italian restaurant. Veronica hadn’t been to the Cross for some time so she took the train and enjoyed the walk from Darlinghurst Road. Although the area had changed under the ‘Clean up the Cross’ campaign and new boutique hotels and smart apartments had blossomed, it still had a rakish air. It felt safe in the sunshine even though strip-club touts chivvied her, but there was a sense that come the neon evening, the Cross’s true lascivious, illegal and dangerous self would re-emerge as it always had.