Chapter 8
Fiona
I’ve just reached the end of my chapter when Marilyn rings the glass-of-water bell to signal the end of silent reading time.
I reluctantly look up from the book. That’s a tough spot to leave Silas and Marie—I am dying to know his plan to help her,
and if she’s going to make it out alive.
“So, what are you all reading?” Stefanie asks, something like a millisecond after Marilyn has clinked the glass, as if she
couldn’t wait another moment without speaking. She holds her book up to show us The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks.
“Isn’t that technically work for you?” Jack asks her. She’s a doctor now and works at the hospital.
“You might be surprised to learn there’s not a lot of crossover between pop neuroscience and emergency medicine,” she chuckles.
She peers at Jack’s book and he lifts it so we can all see the cover.
“Beowulf?” she gasps. “Didn’t we read that in grade 7?”
“I hated every word of it then, and I might just hate every word of it now,” he laughs. “I saw it on the shelf in my bedroom
and wondered if I could appreciate it more as an adult.”
“I’m reading sci-fi,” Patience offers, showing us the front of her copy of Galileo’s Dream by Kim Stanley Robinson.
“You’re always reading sci-fi,” Stef says.
“It’s the best genre, that’s why. What’s that book, Fi?”
I hold up The Midnight Estate and everyone looks at that striking cover. Marilyn has wandered over and she peers down at it too.
“What you think so far?” she asks me.
“It’s intriguing and I think it’s going to be a little heartbreaking,” I say carefully. “Have you read it?”
She shakes her head.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. I’m quite certain I would have remembered that cover!” She takes the book from my hands
and opens it near the front. “Ah. This is a UK edition, published in 1999. How did you get your hands on it?”
“I found it at the house. Is the author familiar to you?”
She shakes her head again.
“No, love. Do you think she was one of your uncle’s author pals?”
“I did wonder,” I admit. “I can’t find any information about her online.”
I look up to see that Mum and Alan are chatting quietly together. Mum points to something on the page of Alan’s book, and
he laughs softly and nods.
All of a sudden, I remember my mother coming into my bedroom at Wurimbirra to announce the news that she and Alan were engaged.
I was neck deep in my first infatuation with Jack at the time. I had regular daydreams about him—a whole catalogue of fantasies
I used to play through my mind when I was bored. In my favorite, we were sitting in the school playground eating our lunch
and he suddenly reached over and held my hand. And in my daydreams, where I was confident and bold, I let him.
But in reality, I was terrified of how out of control my crush seemed to be. Love and relationships and sex and all that went along with it seemed a little bit like skydiving to me. I was certain it was a thrill, but the fun couldn’t possibly outweigh the risks.
Even so, when my mother sat me down and told me that she was going to marry Alan Edendale and we would be moving up the road
to his farm, I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. Stef and I sat up late into the night trying to figure it out.
Her parents had been married since they were in high school and were demonstratively affectionate. With Mum and Alan there
had been no handholding or hugging, no pecks on the cheek.
“You have to ask her what she’s thinking,” Stef told me. Mum was talking about changing both of our lives, and I felt I owed
it to myself, and in some way to her, to be sure this was what she really wanted.
“Are you in love with Alan?” I asked her. Mum seemed very tired in that moment, as if the mere question had exhausted her.
“People talk about love as if it’s a binary thing—in love, not in love. It is nothing so certain as that and you’ll understand
that when you’re a bit older. People make all sorts of foolish choices because they think they’re ‘in love.’ When that flutter
of hormones fades away—and trust me, it always does—what happens then?
They wake up one morning and look over and on the bed next to them is a person they don’t even like, maybe a person they hate, or even fear!
What Alan and I have between us is so much better than infatuation.
He needs a wife who can organize the farm’s office so he can run the sheep and tend the crops, and if I marry Alan, I secure a suitable life companion.
We have hobbies in common and we enjoy one another’s company.
So am I love with Alan?” Her gaze softened.
“It’s the wrong question, Fiona. Am I looking forward to a life with him?
That’s what you should be asking me, and if you did, I’d tell you the answer is yes. ”
And here we all are, thirty-four years later. They are still married and seem happy enough. But it suddenly occurs to me that
Ginny Edendale may be a woman who is cautious and cynical not because it’s her nature, but because once upon a time, she learned
to be wary of love. What if those lessons she tried to pass on to me were lessons she learned first-hand? What if she was
once wild and free in her love for someone . . . for my father, perhaps? And what if his death so broke her heart that she
refused to leave herself open to hurt like that again, and even made her scared to allow me to follow the whims of my heart?
I only wish we had the kind of relationship where I could ask her about these things, because whether I knew it at the time
or not, her thoughts on the matter have had a huge impact on the choices I have made in my life.
“Excuse me,” I say quietly, and I pick up my things and make my way over to the table where Mum and Alan are seated. She looks
at me warily as I join them, but Alan greets me with a great big smile and a booming greeting. I sit my book on the table,
and as I sit, I see two messages on my phone.
The first from Mia:
Love you Mum! Really hope you’re settling in and happy. Can’t wait to see what you do with that house! Sorry I haven’t called,
end of semester exams are coming up and I’ve joined the soccer team and the debate club and I went to a protest last week
so it’s been hectic.
And one from Jon:
Just checking in. You okay?
I’ll reply to both later, so I turn the phone over so it’s face down and I’m not distracted.
“What did you think of reader’s group, Fiona, love?” Alan asks me.
“It’s such a great idea.” I smile. I glance at their books. To my surprise, Mum is reading a historical romance. Alan’s choice
is a little more predictable—it’s a book on sheep husbandry.
“And what’s this?” Mum asks, picking up The Midnight Estate. She frowns as she stares at the cover. “This is that author you were asking about.”
“Yes. I still haven’t found any letters between her and Uncle Tad yet, but . . .” I’m not sure how much to say. In the end,
I go with “I do suspect they were friends.”
Mum opens the book and frowns. She begins to flick through it, reading just for a moment or two on what seem to be random
pages. All of a sudden she snaps the book closed and thrusts it back at me.
“It looks like rubbish,” she says, and I’m surprised, because like Tad, Mum is usually far from a book snob. She’s always
been the kind to see value in any kind of words on a page, but her voice is low and sharp . . . and almost . . . strained?
“Surely there are better choices than that for you to find in Tad’s library. It might even be a nice opportunity for you to
read through his backlist since you’re living in his house.”
I ignore the dig about the house, but it’s not actually a bad idea to read back through his works again. Later. After I finish
this book.
“How’s the cleaning going, love?” Alan asks me. “I bet that house was a bit dusty after these last few years.”
“You’re not wrong, Alan,” I sigh. “It’s a big job.”
“Erin needs work,” Mum says abruptly.
“Erin . . . ?”
“You met her yesterday, Fiona. Our farmhand’s girlfriend.” Mum nods to herself, pleased with this idea. “I’ll send her over tomorrow. She can help you clean and you can pay her cash.”
“I don’t really need—” I start to protest.
But Mum cuts me off with a firm “You were asking me for help and I can’t but Erin can. This will do her some good. And you
too.”
“Right,” I sigh, because apparently this is happening. “Thanks, Mum.”
I’m not sure what I expected when I went to join Mum and Alan because while the circumstances change—the words we speak, whether
we’re on the phone or in a bookstore or her house—the end result is always the same. I want Mum to embrace me, but she always
holds me at arm’s length.
Reader’s group winds down, and people start to drift out. Stef and I find ourselves standing in a quiet corner of the store
alone.
“I really am sorry I didn’t let you know I was back,” I say.
“All is forgiven, Fi. I wasn’t really upset. You know that I’m here when you’re ready and I’m happy to give you space if that’s
what you prefer.” She pulls me close for a hug, and I squeeze her tightly as we embrace.
“Thanks,” I say. “God, this year has been so shit. I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“If you start to feel lonely out there in that house, you call me, okay? It’s one thing to lock yourself away to mourn but
it’s another if you start to feel really flat. Promise me you’ll reach out if that happens.”
“Yes, Dr Stef,” I say softly, and I hug her again. “You’re the best, you know that?”
“And don’t think I’m not going to ask questions about you and Jack,” she adds with a grin as we part.
“He just picked me up, that’s all. There’s nothing to tell.”
“Come on, Fi,” she laughs. “I don’t know how smooth you think you were as a teenager, but it was obvious you had a massive crush on him. And the reverse was true too! And now, the fates have delivered him back into your hands, right when you need a fling the most.”