11. Ryan
CHAPTER 11
Ryan
‘ H ow’s my favourite nurse today?’ Seated by the window, Lilac overlooks the jetty and bay from her recliner chair. ‘Doc said I need another day in here just to check a few more things and make sure the head and arm are as good as can be. Then I have to spend some time in respite in Seaside Village. And I told him in no uncertain terms there’s no way in hell I’m going there when I can look after myself in the comfort of my home like I have been for the last sixty-five years. I even promised to consider Meals on Wheels.’
When she takes a breath, I open my mouth to reply, but she beats me to it.
‘Now, Larry called in to update me on the jetty lights and mentioned you were helping, but there’s not much action down there. They need a bit of a razz up. And thank you for delivering the choir folder to Scarlett. She also visited earlier this morning, returned my rings, all cleaned and polished. Bless her heart. She’s a fine, young, capable lady, don’t you think? Full of beans, and she had a spring in her step today.’
My mouth opens again … Nope, not going to get a word in.
‘And I must say, at the mention of your name, those sweet cheeks of hers turned a delightful shade of watermelon.’ A knowing smirk tugs at her lips. ‘Kind of like the colour yours are right now under that scruff on your face.’
I chuckle. ‘It’s rather hot outside, is all. And I had to rush from the hall to get here.’
‘Hmm … is that so?’ She slurps some cordial through a straw. ‘What’s the update from the choir practice?’
Greta catching us in a compromising position means Lilac will inevitably find out—sooner rather than later—making the situation even worse. As I debate the pros and cons of telling Lilac, I ultimately decide to keep my mouth shut and face her scolding later when the grapevine reaches her.
Even though I’m off duty, I check Lilac’s charts, running my eyes over her nightly obs. Thankfully, they all look good.
‘The choir was sounding wonderful.’
She lets out a huff. ‘Liar.’
I make my way over to the window and lean against the frame, watching a sleepy lizard sun itself on a granite boulder in the garden. ‘Scarlett was trying her hardest to make them sound wonderful.’
‘That’s more like it.’
‘In between wrangling kids and …’
‘… snogging in the storeroom.’
A cough catches in my throat, and I guzzle some water from the bottle I brought with me. Lilac is a straight shooter; maybe I can take a leaf from her book.
‘That’s right.’ I straighten and wait for her next move.
‘So that problem you had with her, it’s all sorted now? Water under the bridge … or jetty.’ She waves her hand towards the window view.
‘Well, yes, and no. It’s … complicated.’
She lets out an enormous sigh. ‘I don’t know. You young ones …’ Our gazes meet. ‘Sit and tell me all about it.’ She points to the spare visitor’s chair in the corner. I pull it over and sit as told. ‘It’s only complicated if you make it. Kids today make everything hard when you just need to follow your heart. What’s your heart saying?’
Instinctively, I rub the tightening behind my sternum. ‘Hit me with the big question, why don’t you, Lilac.’ The bay sparkles a brilliant turquoise, boats are dotted on the water, and kids are jetty jumping. ‘I like her, a lot, and often thought of her, even to the point of trying to find her on social media, without any luck.’
‘But … what is your head saying?’
‘She’s going back to Adelaide next week.’
‘I believe she has no job to go back to, though,’ Lilac states. When I frown, she adds, ‘Scarlett’s mother rang this morning to check if there’s anything she can do to help and told me all about it.’
Poor Scarlett having her news blabbed around town, especially by her mum, when she’s still trying to process it herself. ‘That’s right. She has no job and probably wouldn’t be happy that the news is spreading around town like wildfire either. But there’s nothing here for her, and she has a career and needs to pay the bills. She wants to go home, back to the city. Told me so just this morning.’ This morning. Only twenty minutes ago, after she jumped me and left me hard but confused. Wanting more … and then I saw her so happy, playing with the kids. ‘So, what do you suggest I do, then?’
There’s a twinkle in Lilac’s eyes like she’s up to no good, which would be right on the money for Lilac. ‘Simple—make her stay. Oh, and while you’re at it, see if you can find a way so I can stay in my home, too.’ She taps her bottom lip. ‘Maybe there’s a job she can do. I can pay her.’
The cogs turn in my head, and I lean forward in the seat. ‘Well, she is qualified to care for children’—I grin at her—‘and change nappies and spoon feed.’
Lilac scoffs, picks up her walking stick resting against the recliner and pokes me in the stomach. ‘You cheeky smartarse.’ Her laugh is infectious, and it brings a lightness to my chest. It’s a random feeling for this time of the year when I’m usually sullen and avoid people.
‘It’s good to see you laugh again, Ryan. Now, get your thinking cap on, get down to the jetty, get those lights hung and then go get your girl.’
I stand and salute. ‘Yes, ma’am. Larry will be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘Get out of here!’ She waves her cane towards the door.
After straightening her bed and refilling her jug with orange cordial, I rest a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll see what I can do about getting you home, okay? You happy for me to drop in and check what needs doing inside? Might need some more safety rails and handles.’
‘Thank you, dear. I’d appreciate that. Just pop through the back door. Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t lock it.’
I tap my nose. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, Lilac.’
‘I really don’t want to go into the village. I know I can cope at home with a little help.’ She pats my hand. ‘Oh, can you grab that note next to the phone, please?’ When I hand it over, she holds her hand up. ‘It’s a list of families doing it tough this year. Marge offered to do some hampers and get some toys for the kids. Can you get the list to her?’
‘Sure, Lilac. Leave it with me. We’ll get it all sorted. Now, you stay there in your comfy recliner while we do all the hard work.’
This elicits another cheeky grin, and I leave her room on a mission.
Perry’s Café is jam-packed with a mix of locals and tourists, ordering coffees and brunches, and stocking up on bait, burley and last-minute Christmas essentials. But Marge is nowhere in sight, which is unusual for the café owner. I do a quick drive around town, past her house, the IGA, the hall, the school library, and there’s still no sign of her.
As I pull into the only available parking space by the jetty, I’m met with a Christmas tree almost double my six-foot-seven height. The smell of pine lingers on the salty breeze. Memories of not having a Christmas tree during my childhood resurface as they did when I stood in Scarlett’s house, staring at her beautifully decorated tree. As the waves of simmering anger and spite recede, a newfound curiosity sparks within me.
A group of primary-school-aged kids are mucking around off to the side, trying to flick each other with their beach towels, with Tom—one of the schoolteachers I’d recently met when his pregnant wife came into the hospital for stitches in her foot—telling them off while waiting for some stragglers wandering down the hill towards the jetty.
‘Hey, Tom.’ I wave as I open the back of my wagon to grab the boxes of lights and pull out the multi-fold ladder. ‘Do you know where your mum is by any chance?’
‘She’s in bed, crook with the flu or something.’ Woody, his kelpie, sits at his feet, earning the dog an ear scratch. ‘She must be bad to end up in bed.’
‘Ah, damn. That’s no good. Your dad did say she had the sniffles when I saw him this morning. She must’ve gone downhill fast.’
Since both my arms are laden with the boxes of lights, Tom jogs over and presses the button to close the boot. ‘Yeah, she did. She’s run herself ragged like she does this time every year, trying to help everyone else and make sure the community is looked after, forgetting to look after herself. We’ve all been trying to tell her to slow down and share the load … delegate … but now she has no choice. And with Lilac out of action too, there are a few more jobs for everyone else to pick up.’
‘That there are. I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s all hands on deck when an event is being organised in Point Perry, and it’s great to see everyone rally around.’
‘It sure is. Especially at Christmastime when the farmers have finished reaping, school’s out and the tourists start arriving.’
‘There sure is a buzz around town. I’ll call past later and check in on Marge.’
‘She’ll love that.’ Tom winks and turns back to the kids. Pointing to the ladder, he asks, ‘Can we use that?’
‘Sure can. Told Larry I’d bring an extra.’
Tom grabs the ladder and sets it up next to the tree. ‘Okay, kids, let’s get this tree decorated.’
With the two boxes of lights in my arms, I head down the jetty and find Larry onboard his crayfish and fishing charter boat The Margaret, along with a dozen or so locals, including Fabian and Jonesy who work for Larry, all enjoying a morning tea of Christmas cake and cups of coffee in enamel mugs. And I can’t not notice the metres and metres of tinsel adorning the wheelhouse and deck area.
‘About time!’ Larry climbs the steps and stands on the jetty. ‘We had to have a cuppa while we waited for you. And here’— he holds out his hand to the man who’d followed him onto the jetty—‘let me introduce you to Jack Reynolds. Jack, this is young Ryan Black, new nurse up at the hospital.’
Shite. Well, this is awkward. He has to be Scarlett’s father, with the same nose and coloured eyes … I place the boxes on the jetty and outstretch my hand. Jack’s is worn and calloused, no doubt from years of farm labour.
‘Ah, you must be the Ryan who sent the ladies on my farm into a spin last night.’ Jack’s expression is straight, lips set.
‘Um, yes. Lilac asked me to drop some things out to Scarlett, and I met Rae.’
Jack chuckles. ‘God, I’m so sorry, mate, that you had to see all that.’
When I frown, he shakes his head. His face lights up with a hearty laugh, loud enough to scare some seagulls perched on the light post. ‘All the Christmas stuff. Rae loves it, but with Lettie home this year, she’s gone a bit … what does my granddaughter say? Nek level.’ He waves off the slang. ‘Anyway, I’ve tried telling her to tone it down, but she won’t listen. It’s all rather embarrassing, but at least we’re far enough out of town and don’t get many visitors.’ He slaps me on the back. ‘Righto, let’s get these lights up.’
Larry grabs the top box from the pile. ‘Tell me again what took you so long?’
Unsure of what to make of Jack, I clear my throat and struggle to find the right words to reply about the abundance of Christmas decorations. ‘No probs, Jack. And, Larry, I had a few detours. Checked in on Lilac and went searching for your wife. Bugger that she ended up in bed. Told Tom I’d check in on her later.’
‘You’re a good bloke. Thank you. Pretty sure it’s just a cold and she’ll be right as rain soon. Just means we’ll be having a quiet Christmas, and she’ll have to put her feet up and let us all look after her for a change.’
‘That sounds like a good plan, Larry. Now, are you happy for me to leave the lights and duck off? I have a few errands to run, and it looks like you have a big team of helpers here to string them up, and Tom is sorted with the tree.’
‘Yep, all good, mate. You go do what you need, and we’ll see you back here for the lighting tomorrow night.’
‘Sure. Looking forward to it.’ And … am I?
As I walk past the Christmas tree, Tom’s son Carter—dressed as Buzz Lightyear (what a nice change from anything Christmas related)—grabs my hand, Woody close by. ‘Ryan, come and look at the decorations we’re hanging on the tree. We made them at school before the holidays started.’
He tugs me closer and again; I’m hit with the scents of pine and eucalyptus mixed with sand and brine. I rub a twig between my fingers and hold it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Is this the smell of Christmas? Not cigarette smoke, alcohol-laced breath and burnt sausages? I shake my head to dislodge the memories, trying to put them in a box and lock the lid, shove them to the back of my mind.
Hung around the lower branches of the tree by red ribbons are laminated name tags. Some have photos on the back; others have regiment names, hand-drawn pictures and messages.
One reads: Bryan Smyth—much loved by all. Another: Molly Fitzgerald, inscribed below a photo of a curly, blonde girl. And: Bartholomew R Andrews—1916 Light Horse Regiment.
‘It’s a memory tree.’ Carter slips another name on a branch. ‘Every year, we hang the names of people who’ve died. It’s sad but happy too. That way, people in the town can remember others. And some of the people we talk about in class. Who they were and what they did in Point Perry.’ For a six-year-old, he shows a lot of empathy. ‘This one’—he holds up a laminated heart-shaped decoration with Nanna Bee scrawled on the front—‘is my nanna. I never met her, but she taught Dad how to play the piano.’
There’s that feeling in my chest again, behind my breastbone. I clear my throat. ‘This is such a nice thing to do.’ I grab a couple of names from the tub sitting on the sand and hang them higher, and while I’m there, I slip some giant red baubles on as well.
‘And then tomorrow night, when we light up the jetty, we have candles too and sing carols. And’—his eyes go as wide as saucers—‘Father Christmas comes, and we all get a present. Last year, he came on Gramps’ boat. It was so much fun.’
‘Wow! That is very cool.’ What a great way to celebrate the past and ensure all the kids get something. I slip my hand into my shorts pocket. Lilac’s list is still there, and I have to go shopping.
Hopefully, the few shops in Point Perry will have everything I need.