SIXTEEN
Sixteen
‘Any news?’ Bel asked the next evening when Emma rang to say goodnight to the kids.
‘They took out his feeding tube and he’s awake a lot more often now. He’s not able to speak yet, but he can squeeze the doctor’s hand in response to stimulus, which they’ve said is a big thing.’ Bel knew Emma was trying to stay positive, but there was a hint of hopelessness underlying her friend’s voice.
Bel felt a heaviness in her stomach. None of this seemed real. ‘Well, that sounds positive.’ She tried for an optimistic tone, but how on earth did you deal with the fact that your once fully functional husband was in an almost vegetative state, unable to do the most basic of things?
‘It’s … it’s so hard, seeing him so …’ Emma let out a small, tortured sound. ‘He can’t talk, Bel. He can’t eat on his own. He cries,’ she said, and stopped abruptly to gather herself. Bel heard her take some shaky breaths. ‘The nurses say it’s all normal for his condition, but it’s so damn hard to watch. Everything is just so … shit,’ she finished.
‘I wish I could be down there for you,’ Bel said, feeling helpless.
‘No, I’m fine. Honestly. Craig’s family have been amazing. I have someone with me all the time. It’s just … I’m so tired. I want this to all be over so we can come home. But even then, they keep saying it’s going to take a really long time before— if ,’ she corrected and gave a sniff, ‘he ever gets back to normal again.’
‘And when that time comes, you know that you’ll have all the support you’ll need. I’ll stay for however long it takes.’
‘But you have your own life to get back to.’
‘I don’t have to be anywhere except where I’m needed. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Thanks, Bel. I can’t thank you enough, for being there for the kids.’
‘You don’t need to thank me. God, Em, you’ve got enough to worry about without having to stress over the kids as well.’
‘They sounded a lot happier tonight. The poor things have been passed around from one person to the next since it happened. I barely had time to explain anything before I had to leave. I feel so bad, abandoning them like that.’
‘You didn’t abandon them. It’s a horrible position for you to be in. They are worried about Craig, which is completely understandable, but we think we’ve managed to come up with a distraction of sorts, so hopefully it’ll take their minds off things for a bit.’
‘Oh yes, they told me they had a big surprise for when we come home. Something to do with building. Should I be worried?’ Emma sounded a little more like her old self and Bel breathed a silent sigh of relief.
‘Absolutely not,’ Bel reassured her blithely.
‘They also told me Dean was involved, so at least there’s adult supervision.’
‘Gee, thanks a lot for the vote of confidence. I can YouTube as well as the next home handyman, you know,’ Bel said with an exaggerated sniff.
‘But seriously, it’s great the two of you can help each other out. I think the kids will be thrilled. So, how’s things going with Dean?’
‘What do you mean?’ Bel asked, a little too quickly. Rookie mistake. Emma’s curiosity radar would pick up on that instantly.
The slight pause on the other end of the line confirmed it. ‘You two had a weird vibe going on once. Is it still there?’
‘There’s no vibe. He’s great with the kids and he’s helping out because he’s your good friend. End of story.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Would you stop trying to play matchmaker?’
‘I always said you two would be perfect together,’ Emma reminded her.
‘Not happening.’
‘Why? He’s a perfectly nice guy.’
‘Because I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now. I don’t even know where I want to live. The last thing I need is to add a complication.’
‘Would it be so bad to move back to Wessex?’
‘I don’t know if I can. I mean … I’m sure everyone knows I left here like some lovesick puppy with a guy I barely knew and it didn’t work out. When I see people now, I know that’s what they’re thinking.’
‘I think you give your love life way too much credit. There have been bigger scandals in town since yours, you know.’
‘Like what?’ Bel asked, curious despite herself.
‘Like Susan McDonald cheating on Alfie with Bruce Allsop, then Alfie going off and having an affair with Bruce’s wife, Cheryl.’
‘Really?’ Bel remembered Cheryl Allsop being a quiet, church-going woman in her late fifties, not at all like someone who would have an affair in retaliation.
‘Then there was the whole Danny Limburg thing.’
‘Who’s Danny Limburg?
‘He was the stepfather of Josie Cunningham. You remember her, she went to school with us for a few years, left in like Year Nine or something.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’
‘Well, Danny left her mother … and married Josie.’
‘Get. Out. Of. Town,’ Bel gasped. ‘That’s so wrong.’
‘Apparently, it’s true love.’ Emma said with a doubtful sigh. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, snapping Bel from her abject horror, ‘you aren’t returning with a broken heart and your tail between your legs. You have a successful business. You’re self-employed. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’
She supposed that much was true.
‘You don’t have to decide straight away. Stop thinking about it for a while. You’ll know what you want to do when the time’s right.’
They said goodnight and Bel felt a little better. Em was right—as usual. Just like the kids, perhaps she could use a bit of a distraction, and maybe Dean was just the distraction she needed to take her mind off her uncertain future.
‘Lucy! Ivy! Do you have your socks on?’ Bel called from the kitchen bench on Monday morning, as she fumbled with the plastic film she was using to wrap the sandwiches.
‘My sock feels funny! I can’t wear it,’ Lucy yelled back.
‘Ben? Are you dressed?’
‘I can’t find my green tractor.’
‘We don’t have time to play with your tractor, mate. We need to get to school.’
‘It’s for show and tell! I need it!’
Bel sent another frantic glance at the clock on the wall and swore.
‘You have to put a dollar in the swear jar,’ Ayla said in a sing-song voice as she sat on a stool, swinging her legs.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Can I say that word?’ Ivy asked, coming into the kitchen.
‘No. It’s a grown-up word.’
‘How come grown-ups can say bad words?’
‘They shouldn’t,’ Bel conceded, biting back another bad word as the cling wrap stuck to everything except what she wanted it to. ‘How the hell does your mother do this every day?’
‘Another dollar!’ Ayla chortled.
‘Hell isn’t a swear word,’ Bel argued.
‘What the hell?’ Ivy said, staring at the lunch Bel had packed.
‘Okay, you’re right. I’ll put in another dollar,’ Bel said. ‘Just put the lid on the lunch box and pack it in your bag,’ she told Ivy, who was still examining its contents doubtfully. ‘Ben! We have to go!’
‘I can’t find my tractor!’ he yelled back angrily.
Bel let out a long sigh. They hadn’t even left the house and she was exhausted. People actually did this motherhood thing on purpose?
‘Got everything under control, I see,’ Dean said as he opened the back door.
‘I thought I did,’ she mumbled, heading into the lounge room only to find Lucy playing with her kitchen set, barefoot. ‘Lucy! Where are your shoes and socks? We’re running late.’
‘I don’t like those socks. They’re scratchy.’
‘Can you please go and see what Ben’s doing?’ she asked Dean. ‘I need to find some different socks.’
Fifteen minutes later, she had all four kids strapped in their car seats and was standing by the driver-side door. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said to Dean. ‘Oh,’ she added, swivelling back to face him, ‘what was it you came over for?’
‘I stopped by to see if you needed a hand, but you had it mostly under control,’ he said.
‘Yeah. Mostly,’ she said, grimacing.
‘I’m going to take some measurements for the pen while I’m here.’
‘Okay. Well … thanks again.’ She waved and closed the door, starting the engine of Emma’s four-wheel drive. They were only ten minutes late, which wasn’t too bad, all things considered.
But she was going to need to get everyone out the door a lot faster if she was ever to match Emma’s standard.
After school and daycare drop-off, Bel returned to something that she’d been wondering about ever since coming back to Wessex. There didn’t seem to be any noticeable influx of tourists. There weren’t any motorhomes or caravans in the specially designated carpark the committee had located within easy walking distance of the main street, just dusty utes and dirty four-wheel drives like the one she was in—farm vehicles and locals. The Big Rooster had been officially open for a few months now, but there was no sign that it was the drawcard the committee had been hoping it would be. A shame, considering all their hard work.
Bel pulled up at the bowser outside Dwyers’, unable to help the fond smile that found its way to her lips as she thought back over the years she’d spent working here. The familiar jingle of the bell and the smell of the old shop triggered another avalanche of memories.
Doreen glanced up from her crossword puzzle and looked at Bel over the top of a pair of smudged glasses. ‘Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,’ she said in her raspy, pack-a-day voice. ‘I heard you were back.’
‘Hello, Doreen. Yeah, I came back to help out while Emma is in Sydney with Craig.’
‘Sorry business. Sounds like he was a lucky boy. Not too many would have survived an accident like that.’
Their district had lost too many people through farm accidents over the years. It could be a hazardous job, working with big machinery in remote locations, and often alone.
‘He’s putting up a good fight.’ Bel tapped the card on the reader and waited for the payment to process.
‘How’s Emma doing?’
‘She seems to be holding it together, but I can’t imagine it’s easy for her. All she can do is wait and see what the extent of the damage is. She said they’d have a better idea in a day or two.’
‘So, you gonna be looking for your old job back?’ Doreen asked. Clearly, compassionate Doreen had left the building, replaced once more by blunt, to-the-point Doreen.
‘Uh … no. I haven’t decided if I’ll be staying.’
Doreen gave a low grunt. ‘Apparently, no one wants to work anymore. Looks like I’ll be stuck here until the day I drop off the perch.’
‘Oh. Well,’ Bel said awkwardly, unsure how to respond to that. ‘I’d better get going. It was nice to see you again, Doreen.’
The woman muttered something unintelligible before going back to her crossword and Bel headed out to the vehicle. It was strange to think that once, that job had been her life. Doreen could have been her, years from now, if she hadn’t left Wessex. A shiver ran up her spine.
Bel moved the four-wheel drive to the carpark beside the Big Rooster and got out, staring up at the huge rooster with quiet admiration. They really had done a great job. She took a photo, feeling like a tourist, and then felt sad because that was what they’d been fighting so hard to achieve, yet there weren’t any tourists coming out to see their little town.
Well, I’ll be one—and proud of it . She climbed the windy staircase inside the statue and emerged at the top of Elvis’s comb, taking photos of the main street and the vista of farmland beyond. The views were amazing.
After a few more close-ups of Elvis, she wandered down the main street and snapped some more photos. Pride began to seep through her veins. She’d always loved her hometown, but she had a new appreciation for it after being away. It was as though she were seeing it through brand-new eyes. She supposed to an extent that was true. She felt like a different person to the one who’d left in lots of ways, some good and some not so good, but her experiences had given her a new perspective on life. Craig’s accident had also given her something to think about—life was precious and it could be over in a moment.
She waited to cross the road as an old ute rumbled its way past, giving a smile and nod as she recognised Bill Matheson. She was glad he was still around.
The bell above the cafe door jingled when she walked in and Larrisa glanced up and beamed. ‘Bel! I heard you were back in town. How are you?’
‘Hi, Larrisa. I’m great. The cafe looks fantastic,’ she said, taking in the new furniture and décor.
‘Yeah,’ Larrisa agreed, but her voice had lost its enthusiasm.
‘You don’t like it?’ Bel asked, confused.
‘Oh, no, I love it. Once the committee started work on Elvis, the whole place got caught up in our big town makeover,’ Larrisa said. ‘Lots of businesses invested in shopfront renovations and sprucing everything up for the big invasion of tourists, only that never really eventuated. Now, most of us are left paying out of pocket, spending money we’re hard pressed to earn back with no tourist trade coming in.’
‘Oh Larrisa, that’s such a shame. But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What happened? I mean, last time I heard, the committee had plans to advertise and get things happening.’
‘After the Bob Baxter thing at the market night, the committee went off track. It became a personal war between Betty and Bob. Once he took his support and money away, we lost a big part of our tourism campaign, and I think the committee was tired.’
It was hard to believe such passion and drive had simply fizzled. Bel knew Emma had stepped down as secretary, but she had been so wrapped up in her own problems at the time, she hadn’t really asked what was going on. Now she wished she’d been paying better attention. Not that she would have been able to do anything, but still …
Bel chatted to Larrisa for a little while longer and ordered a coffee. She caught up with a few more familiar faces, all seemingly happy to see her. No one mentioned Tate or the fact she’d run away with a stranger and left her life behind. She gave a small, dry chuckle at how worried she’d been that everyone would be talking about it. Em had been right; people had more important things to think about than Bel’s moment of madness over twelve months ago.
She sat in the car and pulled out her phone, going through the images she’d taken earlier and posting a few on her Instagram with the caption, ‘I found Elvis! #Elvislives #Wessex #localtourism #smalltownfeels #cocksofinstagram’. Dropping her phone into her bag, she started the car and headed back to Fernvale.
The next day, Bel was feeling a little chuffed. The time from getting up to getting out the front door was improving, and she was even making some new drop-off and pick-up mum friends. Well, people that she knew enough to smile hello and goodbye to, at least. Sparked by the positive response to her Elvis post, Bel decided to do a follow-up post and record a video at the museum to explain the origin of the Big Rooster, which a few of her followers had asked about. To be honest, it was nice to have an activity to take her mind off things at Fernvale. Distracting the kids from worrying about their dad and missing their mum was a full-time job, so anything to break the strain was welcome.
She hadn’t been inside the Wessex Museum since … she had to stop and think about it. Probably since primary school? It was inside an old church that had been closed for years, on a block of land sitting back from the main street. The large weeping willow that had been there forever brought back fond memories, and well-tended flower gardens had been planted along the gravel path leading to the two large arched doors at the entrance. As she walked inside, a familiar smell of musty old books and timber polish hit her in the face, instantly taking her back in time.
‘Mabel Buckley, is that you?’ a gentle, almost whispery voice asked from nearby, making Bel jump slightly as she waited for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine to the dimly lit museum. ‘I thought it was. I heard you were back home.’
‘Oh, Mrs Simpson. How nice to see you.’ The woman was a local legend, involved in every committee and worthwhile cause in town. She’d been working in the museum even back when Bel was a kid.
‘You too, dear. Are you back for good?’
‘Oh, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I came back to help Emma for a while.’
‘How is she? How’s Craig?’ Mrs Simpson asked, frowning and shaking her head in concern.
‘Still a long way to go before they’ll know what’s happening. But Emma’s her usual optimistic self.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ the older woman nodded sagely. ‘Give them my love when you speak with them, won’t you?’
‘I sure will.’
‘What brings you in here then? Doing a bit of family history research?’
‘No, I was just posting about the Elvis statue, and it seems to have gathered a bit of interest. So I thought I might do a post about the origins of it and give my followers some background on the story. You know, for a bit of fun.’
‘Your followers?’ Mrs Simpson asked, eyeing her oddly. ‘Have you started a cult, dear?’
‘No, social media followers. You know, like Instagram and Facebook? TikTok,’ she added, fading off as the woman continued to stare at her doubtfully.
‘Oh, I see. Well, unfortunately, that may prove somewhat difficult.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bel asked. The old woman turned away, beckoning her to follow. They wound their way through a maze of old machinery until they came to a stop in front of a glass display case with a golden nameplate that was engraved: ‘Elvis Peckley. Guinness Book of World Records , largest rooster. May 1952.’
Bel frowned as she looked from Mrs Simpson to the empty display case.
‘Elvis is missing.’