Chapter 21
CHAPTER
The tiny creature wrapped in the blanket blinked up at Carol with bleary eyes.
‘Come on, little girl. Drink this and it will help you grow strong.’
The koala joey turned her head away from the bottle and the life-saving milk it contained.
‘Let’s try again.’
Carol had been trying to get the baby to accept the bottle for almost half an hour.
It had been delivered to her after its mother was hit by a car and killed, her offspring still in the pouch.
The joey blinked at her and turned away again.
Crooning softly, Carol presented the bottle again and this time, a tiny drop of the milk landed on the joey’s lips.
The baby opened her mouth and nuzzled the small teat. Then it began to drink.
‘What a good girl you are.’ When it came to helping injured wild creatures, Carol had all the patience in the world, and her efforts were usually rewarded.
If only the same could be said for her sons.
She looked around the room at the collection of framed photographs that sat on the table and the bookshelves.
The one in a black wooden frame was her favourite.
Her boys had been just six months old when that was taken.
They had been so beautiful. Perfect in every way and they had both looked to her for everything.
She’d known that raising twins as a single mother was going to be difficult.
But back then, difficult didn’t matter, because the three of them were all the family they needed.
As the years passed and the boys grew, though, she’d started working two jobs to earn enough money for all the things they needed.
There wasn’t a lot left over for things they might want.
What she’d wanted—the only thing she’d really wanted—was her boys.
And she’d had them, for a while. She’d been warned that identical twins develop a connection unlike other siblings.
The twins would find their own language and their own world.
No one had told her that she wouldn’t be able to follow them there.
Increasingly, she had been left outside the invisible wall around their world.
Even more so as the need to work longer hours to give them opportunities for a better future grew.
Until one day, she looked at her sons and realised that she was at best an adjunct to their lives, not a part of it.
They didn’t need her any more, apart from the roof she provided over their heads and the food on the table.
That’s when she’d turned to animal rescue, out of her desperate need to love and be loved. To feel needed.
Perhaps she’d gone too far in her involvement, but it had become important to her.
And after the twins left, it was all she’d had.
The twins were adults now, and firefighters.
That job came with responsibilities and risk, with long hours and midnight call-outs, just as hers had.
Maybe now they might understand what had driven her for all those years, and how much she had hated being away from them.
Perhaps they could begin to forgive her for that, even if not for the big lie that still stood between them.
But maybe if she could explain they would, if not forgive, at least understand.
That would be a start. She had to give herself hope.
The tiny creature in her arms had drunk its fill and its eyes were tightly closed.
Trying hard not to disturb it, she put it into a woven basket, which she returned to its place in her laundry.
The joey would need feeding again in a couple of hours.
She settled to read, as she did most days, but today she couldn’t focus.
Not on the novel by one of her favourite authors, not even on the website devoted to the care and conservation of koalas.
Finally, she gave up. What she wanted—needed—was human company.
She wanted to talk to someone. About something other than wildlife rescue.
For the first time in many years, she admitted that she was lonely.
After the twins left, she had withdrawn into herself and found solace in her work.
She would never be rich, but money had never been important to her.
The local wildlife sanctuary and donors kept her going.
Her work was all that mattered. She didn’t need fancy clothes or posh food or holidays.
Or even people. Except, today she was beginning to realise that maybe she did need people.
And it was time to do something about that.
***
Town was busy for a Saturday morning, so she parked a little way from the store. She needed some groceries and Kelly was a chatty person. Maybe they could talk for a while and she wouldn’t feel so much as if life had passed her by.
As she was getting out of the car, Deb Fraser walked up.
‘Are you coming to knitting club?’
‘What?’
‘Surely you know about knitting club? We meet in Rose’s store every couple of weeks.’
A knitting club sounded great, but there was one big problem. ‘I don’t knit.’ Carol tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
‘Most of us didn’t until we joined. It’s supposed to be all about knitting, but mostly it’s to enjoy chatting and cake.’
‘Are you sure I’d, you know … Well, I wouldn’t want to barge in where I—’
‘Of course you’d be welcome. The more the merrier. Come on.’
This was the first time Carol had been into the knitting shop.
There was quite a group clustered near a big central table that was covered with wool and needles and patterns.
As was the way in small towns, she knew most of the women.
They’d exchanged a nod at the shops or the post office.
A couple had sought her help with injured animals.
She was disappointed not to see Anna among the knitters.
Anna was the person she probably knew best of all the people in town.
‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ Rose stepped forward to greet them. ‘Carol, how lovely to see you. There’s always an extra chair and a cup of tea.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re the koala lady, aren’t you?’ The question came from the youngest member of the group, a girl of about seven.
‘I suppose I am.’ Carol lowered herself to the child’s height. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m Vicki. My daddy and Bree got married last month. I was the flower girl.’
‘Well, I bet you were a very pretty flower girl,’ Carol said.
‘Bree owns the alpaca stud, and is Rose’s granddaughter,’ Deb whispered in her ear. ‘Do you know Matt the real estate agent?’
Carol was beginning to realise she knew very little about this town where she had lived for almost five years.
She had moved here and retreated into herself, living in a house full of memories.
Panic touched her. This group of well-established friends was too much for her solitary soul.
She felt an overwhelming urge to leave, until a snippet of conversation floated through the noise.
‘Anna and the handsome firefighter raised the alarm. They were out to dinner.’ There was a hint of self-congratulation in the voice.
‘I knew they would be right for each other. There’s the other brother, too. But I hear he’s a drinker …’
Carol tried to glance casually in the direction of the voices, but she couldn’t see who was speaking.
Rose took her arm to lead her to the refreshments table. ‘Now, what will you have? Tea? Coffee? Cake?’
‘Tea and cake, please.’ Carol tried not to sound hesitant.
‘That’s easy. Now, I do hope you have come to knit?’
‘I’ve never knitted before. Never had the time.’
‘That’s fine. I have a couple of beginner packages here. You try one and have a go. If you don’t like it, that’s no problem, I’ll simply give it to the next victim—I mean, new member.’ Rose chuckled and Carol found herself smiling too.
‘Thank you.’
‘And if you enjoy it, well, we are all here every second week for whatever you need.’
‘Thank you.’ Carol understood the unspoken offer to help her learn to knit or just to drive away the loneliness.
Deb waved Carol into the chair next to her and helped her open the beginner’s parcel of wool and needles.
Carol frowned as she looked it. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’
‘You start by casting on.’ Rose took the seat on the other side of her. ‘Let me show you how.’
At first, Carol struggled to understand how an incomprehensible series of movements could ever turn into a garment, even something as simple as a scarf.
To be fair, though, that was partly because she was more focused on listening to the conversations around the table for any more mention of her sons.
Specifically of Justin and Anna, and the suggestion they were dating.
And a repeat of the comment about Ben’s drinking, which was worrying.
But the discussions had moved on and she heard nothing and slowly, Deb’s and Rose’s words weaved their way into her mind.
Before too long, there were loops on a needle and Carol was knitting. Inexpertly, but knitting all the same.
‘That’s very good for your first try,’ Deb said. ‘You didn’t learn as a child, did you?’
‘No. I can’t remember my mother ever knitting. She was always too busy.’ A bit like herself, if she was honest.
‘So, what do you think about it? Enjoying it?’
‘Actually, I really am.’ She looked down at her sun-browned and work-roughed hands. Her movements with the needles were becoming increasingly confident and the small amount of fabric she had produced looked fine. ‘I think it looks all right. Almost like shop bought.’
‘Hand knitted is far better than shop bought. May I see?’ Rose examined Carol’s efforts. ‘You’re a natural. You know, once you’ve got this far, there is no escaping. You’ll be knitting and coming to knitting meetings like this for the rest of your life.’
That didn’t sound at all bad to Carol.
‘So you think I could start something for real? I mean, this is nice—’ she nodded at the pile of green yarn on the table in front of her, ‘—but not quite my colour. It would be nice to be knitting something I really wanted to knit.’
Beside her, Deb chuckled. ‘You’re hooked, woman.’
‘Of course, let’s see what we have.’ Rose led Carol to another table where there were knitting kits on display.
‘These are all ready to go, if you like any of them. Or have a look around at the yarn on the shelves. It’s all marked with prices, so you know what you’re getting into.
When you find something you like, I can help with what sort of pattern might work and how much yarn you’ll need. ’
‘Thanks.’ Carol looked around the shop. There were all different colours and types of wool.
There were pattern books filled with pictures of beautiful garments that she was sure were well out of her range of expertise—at least for now.
She wanted something she could work on with purpose and enthusiasm.
Her fingers moved idly over some rich, dark-chocolate wool.
It was thick and soft and lovely to touch.
But the colour was more for a man than for her.
Or for two men.
‘Rose, can you tell me how much of this I’d need for a scarf and what it would cost?’