Time Will Tell (17 page)

But things would be different now. They hadn't called at the time to say they were sorry the marriage had ended, or offered any assistance. Then again, why should they have? They were probably busy with John. But at least it would have showed that they cared.

She'd felt part of their small family, and while she knew she'd left it when she'd left John, she thought they'd at least have spoken to her parents. She wondered whether Enid had phoned them.

Emily frowned. How would they feel about her turning up out of the blue? Well, it wasn't exactly out of the blue – whilst she'd been reluctant to acknowledge it, it was pretty much mandatory that she acknowledge John's death. That much was obvious.

Emily sighed. She really didn't know what the best thing to do was. Phoning would certainly be easier on everyone. It probably wouldn't cut the mustard in her mother's etiquette stakes, but that was too bad.

Emily's finger shook and her heart raced as she dialled the Strattens' number and waited for someone to answer.

‘Hello, Thora speaking.' Emily noted how tired she sounded; not her normal carefully clipped accent.

‘Um, hello Thora, it's Emily.' There was a pause and Emily wondered if she needed to add, ‘your soon-to-be-ex-daughter-in-law'.

‘Emily, hello. Nice of you to call back.'

Emily recognised the tone at once as a rebuke.
Nice of
me
to call back?
Had she missed a message? No, she didn't think so.

‘Thora, I'm so sorry about John. It must have been a terrible shock for you.' Emily hated the banality of her words, but what else could she say?

‘No different for you I imagine, Emily.'

Emily frowned.
What a strange response.
Oh, well, the poor woman was grieving, and could hardly be expected to be her usual self.

She offered a quiet, non-committal, ‘Mmm.'

‘I must say I am relieved he wasn't another casualty of drink driving, as I'm sure you are – though I wouldn't have been surprised.'

‘Uh, yes.' Emily shook her head and tried to understand the strange direction the conversation was taking.

‘I suppose you want to talk about funeral arrangements. Well, you're not to worry about a thing; Gerald and I will organise everything. It looks like next Tuesday will probably be the date.'

‘But…'
Why the bloody hell does everyone think I should have anything to do with the funeral?

‘No, we insist; you've got enough on your plate, sorting out John's affairs and coming to terms with it all.'

But I don't understand. Why should I have to sort out his affairs? It's got nothing to do with me.

‘Actually, there is one thing. We'll need his outfit for the funeral. It'll be easiest if you leave it at the post office for Gerald to collect – by lunchtime Friday at the latest.'

Emily opened her mouth and closed it again.
I have to do what?

‘Now,' Thora continued, changing the subject, ‘Gerald will come down once a week – more often when it's hot – to check on the sheep and clean out the troughs for you. We'll talk about the crops later. If there's anything else you need help with in the meantime, you only have to ask.'

Emily's head was beginning to swim.
God, surely they don't expect me to take over the farm. It's their land, isn't it?

She knew from Des that John had been bought out of his share of the family company, but everything was still owned by the company, wasn't it? The land alone would be worth in the order of a million, not the three hundred grand he'd reportedly been paid.

Emily couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something wasn't quite right about all this, but she didn't want to look like an idiot by probing further. And if she didn't ask, she wouldn't have any more put on her plate to deal with. Ignorance wasn't exactly bliss, but in this case it was helpful. If the Strattens expected any more of her, they'd have to spell it out.

‘I know you have Enid, but if you need some company, you only have to ask. I understand widows usually find nights the hardest to deal with. You're still family, you know.'

Need company? Still family?

And then slowly a new realisation dawned for Emily. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Bloody hell. Do they think we were still together? No, surely not. Do I say something? I can't; not now, not like this. How could they not know? How could he not have told them?

She shook her head slowly at the irony that John could still cause her such discomfort – even from the steel confines of the mortuary.
Bastard.

‘Are you still there, Emily?'

‘Yes, sorry, I'm here. Just a lot on my mind. Thanks for the offer; I'll keep it in mind.'

‘It's a lot to take in, a lot to organise, but we know you're a capable young woman – you'll be fine. As will we.'

Emily heard what sounded like a stifled sniffle and then Thora clearing her throat.

‘I'd better go; I have to call the undertaker,' Thora added hurriedly.

‘Well, please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.'
What else am I supposed to say?

‘I will; thank you. Bye for now.'

‘Bye Thora.'

Emily put down the phone and stared at it for a few moments while commending herself on her decision to phone rather than drive out to see them.

She picked it up again and dialled Barbara.

‘Em, hi. How's things?'

‘Sorry to bother you, Barb, but I need to talk to someone.'

‘What's happened?'

‘Well, I've just been speaking to Thora Stratten, John's mother, and you'll never guess what…'

‘What?'

‘She seemed to have no idea we'd split up.'

‘No! You're kidding?'

‘I wish I was.'

‘But people have been talking about it for weeks.'

‘I know.'

‘Has she been away?'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘So what did you say? Did you enlighten her?'

‘Nothing really. And no, I couldn't bring myself to – she has enough to deal with right now.'

‘You're going to have to tell her sometime.'

‘I couldn't do it on the phone. I was just so shocked that she didn't know.'

‘Hmm, maybe best to leave sleeping dogs lie. But not forever. You will have to tell them. You know that, right?'

‘God, Barb, the last thing I want to do is go back to the farm, let alone sort through his things. And choose his burial outfit – can you believe she wants me to do that?'

‘I'll help; it won't be so bad.'

‘Thanks, Barb. I was hoping you'd offer,' Emily said a little sheepishly.

‘So when do you want to do it; tomorrow, get it over with?'

‘That would be good, actually, if you can spare the day. They need the clothes by Friday lunchtime – I have to leave them at the post office. Don't let me forget.'

‘No problem. But I'd better go now and sort out a few things.'

‘Okay, thanks so much.'

‘It's quite okay. I'll pick you up at nine – I'll bring the ute, just in case you find some things you want.'

‘Oh, okay, good thinking – thanks.'

‘Well, I'll see you then.'

Emily snapped the phone shut. She hated the thought of going back to the farm, let alone going through John's things. The only comfort was the knowledge that he would have hated it even more than her.

Chapter Eighteen

‘Ready to do this?' Barbara called through the open window.

‘As ready as I'll ever be. You've no idea how much this means. Thank you,' Emily said, settling herself into the front passenger's seat of Barbara's dual cab ute. ‘The things we do,' she added as she fastened her seatbelt.

‘Well, you could have told Thora the truth and got out of it.'

Emily didn't reply. She was feeling decidedly uneasy about going out to the farm again, let alone the tasks ahead of them.

‘At least it looks like the weather might be kind today.'

‘Hmm.'

‘Your roof holding up okay? I'm sure I heard hail last night.'

‘So far so good,' Emily said.

They drove the rest of the way into town lost in their separate thoughts. Emily's stomach churned. She'd only just got used to being the subject of gossip thanks to her separation from John. It had taken weeks before she could do a trip to town without becoming a quivering mess. Now she was feeling that way all over again. If only they didn't have to stop. But they did; they needed a few boxes to pack up belongings – there were bound to be things that she would want to take home.

The place was abuzz with people stocking up after the Christmas long weekend, scurrying about and enjoying the bright sunshine after the rain. A bout of rain always seemed to put the town on a collective high.

A few times Emily noticed that voices seemed to quieten when she was within earshot. A couple of times she caught the words ‘John' and ‘his wife'. People who might ordinarily have stopped to discuss the weather or the most recent political happenings were apparently too busy tapping away on their smartphones or studying their shopping lists to utter a word. They seemed to immediately look down upon seeing her.

Emily forcibly kept her demeanour light and cheery and her head held high, despite noting that very few people held her gaze longer than the split-second nod of vague greeting. Barbara didn't seem to notice or, more likely, just chose to ignore it.

When they had finished scouring the town for packaging, Emily went to the post office while Barbara went to the hardware store to pay their account.

She had just crossed the road to come back after checking her post box – empty except for a selection of colourful glossy advertising brochures – when she was accosted by Beryl Egbert.

‘I'm so sorry for your loss.'

Emily looked blankly at the stooped old lady for a moment. It took her another second to realise she was talking about John. She made her expression sombre.

‘Thank you,' Emily said, forcing herself to sound sad.

‘Do you know yet when the funeral will be?'

‘I understand it'll be Tuesday. Thora and Gerald are handling all the arrangements.'

‘And how are they holding up?'

‘As well as can be expected under the circumstances.' Emily felt the desperate need to flee. ‘I'm sorry Mrs Egbert, but I really must be going.'

‘Of course, dear. I'd better go and get started on the sausage rolls.'

‘I'm sure Thora will really appreciate a plate for the wake,' Emily said, offering her a warm smile. The old lady was famous for her sausage rolls, identifiable by random fork marks in the pastry. Emily thought they just might be the best in the district.

It seemed Beryl Egbert was the sign everyone else needed to stop muttering behind Emily's back and offer their condolences to her face. Six old women and three old men approached her with their sympathies during the fifty metres back to Barbara's ute. Emily nodded and muttered her thanks in reply.

Barbara wasn't back when Emily reached the vehicle. While she sat waiting, she wondered why people thought it necessary to offer her condolences. Had they all forgotten she'd left John just over a month ago? Had they forgotten about him gallivanting around town with another woman? Had his death triggered some sort of separation from reality, collective amnesia?

Jesus, she suddenly thought, thank Christ he'd not ended up on life support. Otherwise she might have been expected to sit beside him in hospital, patting his hand as if they'd still been happily married.

And then a funny thought struck her: no doubt the old biddies would have her patting his left hand and his latest fling stroking the other. Emily shook her head at the absurdity of it all.

One thing was for sure, though; alive or dead, people expected her to behave as the dutiful wife. It was clear now she'd have to at least make some effort to appear as the grieving widow. Not the relieved estranged wife she actually was.

She sighed, hating the hypocrisy she was entering into – had already entered into. But it was easier than pointing out the truth.

And of course there were the sensibilities of townsfolk to consider; a life lost was still a life lost, and everyone deserved to be grieved for, no matter their sins on earth. God, she was well and truly indoctrinated. Perhaps it
was
time to think about leaving the district.

‘Sorry about that, took longer than I thought,' Barbara said as she got in. ‘The place was packed.'

‘No problem, I haven't been waiting long.'

As they headed out on the road that Emily must have driven nearly a thousand times – but not once since leaving John – she wondered how she felt, and decided that empty was the best way to describe it. Empty and numb.

They slowed down when they came to the stretch of road where John had lost his life, both glancing at the shiny new section of wire fence and disturbed earth where the thick round concrete strainer post in the corner of the paddock had been replaced.

Emily noticed Barbara glance quickly at her before returning her attention to the scene outside. The corner that John Stratten had missed last Sunday afternoon was a long, sweeping bend with plenty of warning, plenty of signage, and plenty of visibility. So what had gone wrong?

Emily wondered if he had been doing something as simple as changing the volume or channel on the radio, or lighting a cigarette. It made her a little sad to think of something so everyday snuffing out a life.

God, she really did not want to go back to the farm – it was too much like a backwards step. And just when things were finally starting to look a little brighter.

They came around the final bend, and as Emily listened to the fine gravel spraying the underneath of the vehicle, she kept her eyes fixed on the blue-grey-green of the small gums and mallee trees grouped in the corner of the first of John's paddocks.