The Cottage at Rosella Cove Page 16

  Wandering the streets of Surry Hills, surrounded by restaurants and bars throbbing with happy people, Nicky had never felt so alone. How had she ended up here, with this as her life? She was a strong, intelligent woman. Yet here she was. Not so strong and intelligent after all.

  Two young men stumbled out of a small bar and nearly knocked her over.

  ‘Sorry, lady.’ They threw their arms around each other and continued on down the street.

  Maybe this was just a rough patch. Lord knew Mark hadn’t dealt with his emotions after her emergency surgery. And despite his protestations that she was enough on her own, she suspected he was upset that they couldn’t have children. That she couldn’t. At least not naturally. Grief could do funny things. Maybe he was just trying to find his way round his.

  Maybe.

  She walked past a buzzing late-night café where a young woman sat perched on a stool outside playing a soft, lilting folk song, as the people listening to her drank their soy lattes. Nicky stopped for a moment. The girl had a beautiful voice.

  Mark did love her. Of that she had no doubt. He just didn’t know how to deal with what had happened.

  She didn’t, either.

  She wound her way back to her apartment. Maybe he’d be asleep already and she could just sneak in and sleep on the couch – look at things with a clear head in the morning.

  There were no lights on. A good sign.

  But sitting in the dark on the sofa, Mark was waiting for her. He fell to his knees as she crossed the room, and buried his forehead into her waist.

  ‘Princess. I was out of line. I’ll never be such a jerk again. You can’t leave me. Not ever.’

  Nicky stood still.

  Mark lifted his head and looked at her with tear-soaked eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  They were two words she’d never heard come out of his mouth before.

  Nicky took Mark’s face in her hands. ‘Never again.’

  ‘I promise.’ He stood and kissed her softly on the forehead. Then he drew her in for a tight hug.

  Sixteen

  Nicole walked along the path to the boatshed. Morning rays of light bounced off the ocean and rosellas danced between the trees in flashes of bright colour.

  Sleep had come in fits and starts last night. Memories plagued her, and she had tossed and turned, and her body felt heavy today. When she reached the boatshed she saw Charlie waiting for her and her mood lifted a little. He greeted her with his customary nod.

  ‘I’m feeling lucky today, Charlie,’ she said as she sat on her canvas chair.

  ‘Not lucky enough,’ he grumbled back.

  ‘I came pretty close the other week, you have to admit.’

  ‘Not close enough.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Nicole arranged her tiles and started watching Charlie carefully for any clues he had good letters – a touch of his nose, running his thumb along his forefinger.

  ‘Kilt. Triple word score.’ She had the upper hand now.

  ‘In the mid-1700s tartan was banned by the British government,’ Charlie said, not looking up from the board, studying his next move.

  ‘Is that so?’ Nicole had decided that Charlie must have either been a professor in his previous life, or game-show host – his breadth of knowledge so vast. One day she might just ask him.

  He was even quieter than usual today. Not that she minded. She was just grateful he now accepted their weekly game as a given.

  He put down his next word in silence.

  She countered.

  The sun moved across the sky.

  He said no more.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Nicole shouted. ‘And that’s the game, old man.’

  ‘No one likes a bad winner,’ Charlie mumbled.

  ‘No one likes to lose.’ She grinned.

  Charlie packed up the Scrabble game and took the box and table into the boatshed. Nicole folded the chairs and carried them to the door, leaning them against the dirt-spattered wall. She headed up the path and when she got to the gum tree that encroached the track just before the hill’s rise, she stopped and turned.

  He never noticed, but she always watched him walk down the cove and up the North Face, every Sunday after their game. Except last Sunday. He’d stayed in the boatshed that day and when she popped by on Monday under the pretence of sharing a coffee, he wasn’t there.

  ‘I had to go away’, was the only explanation he offered when she asked him about it.

  At least Ivy was more forthcoming with details about her life. Sometimes too many details and the vignettes became a blur that Nicole could not recall. Mostly though, the letters stayed with her and she could recite them by heart.

  8th April, 1950

  My Dearest Tom,

  Our Easter markets were a resounding success. So successful we have now decided to charge a minimal amount so we can replenish our stock and make more for Christmas. We will donate any profit beyond our supplies back to the church.

  Lucy tried to show me how to make bunny rabbits with wool and rags, but the ears were always lopsided. She is much better at them, and her rabbits are very popular with the children.

  Angus Lewis spent some time chatting to us at the stall. I assumed he was interested in Lucy for more than her artistic talents. I was wrong.

  He called on me yesterday, most unexpectedly, to make his intentions clear. I found myself in need of sitting down. I even poured a stiff sherry.

  He is a perfectly amiable man, as you well know, and despite him being some years my senior, we have always enjoyed a warm friendship. But, for him to court me? I am simply not interested. His wife, Katherine, passed I think eight months ago, and he is lonely. That I can most sympathetically understand. But I am not the solution to his problem.

  I cannot imagine being in the arms of another man, my darling, and I am now so used to being alone I am quite set in my ways. I told him as much; the latter, not the former. I do have some sense of compassion. He said he was willing to wait for me to come round to the idea. And I believe him, Thomas. The man had a look of determination I have rarely seen and I feel he will be more than persistent in his attempts to woo me. What am I to do?

  Lucy suggested I should reconsider my rejection, but she is mad. She still holds hope I have a hidden artistic talent to discover, so, clearly we cannot trust her judgement. Always the optimist, my sweet Lucy.

  I have decided to redecorate the cottage. I feel that I am drifting though my life with no real purpose and perhaps this is a project that will help. I need some more colour in my life, though I am sure Mother will disagree. She and Father have bought a new apartment in Sydney, closer to the university. Mother’s letters continue to describe her social engagements mostly, but every now and again Father puts pen to paper and he seems happier than I can remember him ever being. He writes fondly of his students and enthusiastically of his work. He never mentions Mother’s parties or soirees.

  It is late, once more, and I must to bed. I will need all the strength I can muster to keep Angus Lewis at bay, I fear. Wish me luck.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  Charlie knew Nicole had been frustrated losing to him so many times before today. It had been a few weeks since she’d tasted victory. He’d thought about letting her win, holding back. He didn’t want her to get so perturbed that she’d stop coming. Not that he was overly thrilled to have her there. But he was kind of getting used to her.

  He was grateful she never forced idle chatter, never asked him anything personal. If a word was played and an interesting conversation came out of it then so be it. She told him once that part of the Sistine Chapel had to be repainted because of mould. ‘Chapel’, thirteen points. Often they passed the morning in comfortable silence. Her calm company brought back memories he hadn’t realised he’d missed.

  If only she’d stop forcing her cooking attempts down his throat. She’d brought scones today. They weren’t bad, he supposed. She was definitely improving, though why she insisted on using him as her gui
nea pig was beyond him. Perhaps it was because he wouldn’t be missed if she accidentally poisoned him.

  He forged his way through the bush and up the steep mountain path until he reached his spot. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to make the trek, each time now harder than the last.

  He lowered himself on to the cold rock and stared at the two small buildings in the distance, the deep blue ocean their solid, still backdrop. For some reason, being so far away helped him feel close. Close to Ivy once more, his guardian angel so long ago taken from him.

  He’d found his rock not long after that awful night on the beach. He’d been a scared young man then, sitting among the trees, no noise save the wind blowing through the leaves. The image of her wet, limp body haunting his thoughts, wondering why he’d been the one to find her, where it would lead him.

  He’d looked down the valley that day at the tiny town below him dwarfed by the emerald green and sapphire embrace of nature and felt comfort for the first time in a long time.

  Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast shadows across the grass in front of him.

  He needed that comfort again today.

  Of course he’d known travelling to Sydney would be hard, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. He’d watched from afar, too scared, too ashamed to make himself known. All that trouble to find his son and he couldn’t take the last step. Coward. All his life a coward.

  Charlie saw the young man playing a ball game in his front yard with a little boy. His own grandson?

  He’d watched for nearly an hour. The little boy, about ten years old Charlie guessed, had stretched his dad’s shirt over his head.

  Bile had risen in Charlie’s throat and he’d had to fight to keep it down as he saw the scars covering his son’s torso. So red and vivid, even from where he stood hidden.

  Guilt coursed through every fibre of his body as images of that woeful night flashed in his mind.

  Seventeen

  Mesmerised, Nicole watched on as Danny replaced the last of the cracked tiles of the fireplace hearth. He’d finally managed to find some gorgeous reclaimed originals from a wrecking yard in Perth. And it was worth the two-week wait to get them shipped over.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Nicole exclaimed, as Danny backed away from the hearth.

  ‘Not too shabby, hey?’

  She hugged him tightly.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Mandy called from the kitchen. ‘Come on in, boys.’

  ‘Smells great,’ Danny said as he sat down at the table, flecks of dirt still splattered on the tops of his hands despite the fact he’d washed up.

  Jack took his boots off at the front door and came inside, followed by his father.

  ‘I thought you were here to help me.’ He slapped Trevor on the shoulder. ‘Knocked off half an hour ago, the bludger.’

  ‘You had it under control.’ Trevor smiled. ‘I did the hard part, fixing the gate for you.’

  ‘Wash your hands and sit down,’ Mandy said to her son.

  It was Mandy’s idea to have a mini working bee and to make use of Nicole’s new kitchen. No point a kitchen that large going to waste. Thankfully, Mandy did most of the cooking. Nicole played the role of sous-chef.

  ‘I can’t thank you guys enough for this,’ Nicole said, sitting next to Mandy. ‘Everything’s looking, well, it’s starting to look like a real home.’

  ‘What are friends for?’ Trevor winked. ‘Besides, we’ll all get our payback in due course. We’re planning to put an extension on soon, hey, love?’ He smiled at Mandy.

  ‘And I reckon my place would look great rendered,’ Danny said.

  ‘And I’ve got a TAFE assignment for design that could use a spare pair of hands,’ Jack added. ‘On second thoughts, maybe you could just do my written reports for a semester.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Nicole said with a grin. ‘That’s how it is, then. No such thing as a free lunch round here.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Mandy shook her head. ‘But there is such a thing as a free dinner, so quit the banter and dig in.’

  She placed the casserole dish in the middle of the table and started serving up.

  Nicole looked around the table surrounded by people with whom she shared no blood connection, no history. People a few months ago she didn’t even want to get to know. A group of strangers brought into her life by chance and circumstance.

  Jack belched loudly. Trevor clipped him over the head.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ Jack said, pleading his innocence.

  ‘Appreciation of a good meal.’ Danny patted Nicole’s hand and let it linger just a second.

  ‘What are our chances against the Badgers this weekend?’ Nicole asked, hoping the blush in her cheeks went unnoticed.

  Bringing up a Rangers game was guaranteed to set this lot off on a long discussion.

  A wave of melancholy drifted over Nicole as she listened to the gentle chatter. Finally she felt these people were becoming genuine friends, but with each renovation task completed, Nicole inched closer to the cottage being finished. Closer to her lease ending. And then what?

  After they finished dessert, Trevor helped Jack put away the gardening gear, and Mandy packed the dishes she’d brought with her in their car.

  Danny pulled a small parcel out from under his coat as he slipped it on. ‘I thought you might like this.’ He handed her the gift.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  Danny shrugged. ‘Just because. A little something to help you fill those shelves now the fireplace is finished. But you can’t open it yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ Nicole frowned.

  ‘It needs to be opened at just the right time.’

  ‘Oh?’ Nicole raised an eyebrow. ‘And when will that be?’

  Danny winked. ‘You’ll know.’

  Nicole stood on the verandah watching her guests leave. Trevor and Mandy hand in hand, Danny with his arm round a squirming Jack’s shoulder. They were a picture-perfect family. Nicole sighed.

  November, Last Year

  Sunday passed in a blur of breakfast in bed, pyjamas, hot chocolates in bed, black and white movies, and laying in each other’s arms. Monday morning saw Mark head to the office early, and then every night that week he was late home. It should have been an opportunity for Nicky to write, but no words came, loneliness consuming her a little more each night.

  On Friday morning she cooked Mark bacon and eggs for breakfast. He came out of the bedroom and smiled. ‘Smells delicious. But I’ll have to take a raincheck. Got an early meeting.’

  He left the apartment without saying goodbye.

  Nicky refused to be stuck home alone so took herself around the boutiques a couple of blocks away. Not that she would buy anything. Not that she could.

  She stopped in front of a new pop-up shop with baby clothes hanging from a miniature aqua clothesline in the window. Sorrow swelled within her.

  She’d tried to push her desire for children from her heart. She really had. But the pain was still inside her, eating away at her.

  She put her hand up to the window, imagining how soft the lemon and grey onesie would be to touch. A wave of sorrow hit her, swelling though every inch of her. She struggled for breath.

  A woman in the shop turned to look at a cot and Nicole recognised her profile. There was Jane, heavily pregnant, picking out nursery furniture.

  Nicky spun around and ran off down the street as rain started to fall.

  Back in the safety of the apartment, she crawled under the covers of her doona. Complete and utter sadness consumed her. Anger, regret, confusion swirled inside her and she clasped the side of her head with both hands, silently screaming in her mind.

  A deep breath.

  Another.

  She pulled out her phone and made an appointment with the therapist.

  After three sessions of therapy, it was obvious the doctor wasn’t going to be able help much without Mark’s involvement. Nicky tried to
get him to come along. She tried to make him understand she needed his help.

  ‘You don’t have to understand why I’m feeling like this,’ she pleaded with him in the dining room after dinner one night. ‘But can’t you understand that I am, and that I need your support?’

  ‘No.’ He got up from the table opening and closing his hands, pacing in front of the bookcase. ‘There is nothing to understand. We can’t have children. We can’t change it. End of story. Move on with life.’ He reached to the bookcase, sweeping his arm across the shelves, knocking a pile of books to the floor. He picked up her beloved copy of Anne of Green Gables, tore pages from their binding and threw the book across the room in frustration. ‘Can’t you understand how I feel? How much pressure are you going to keep putting on me to be someone I’m not?’

  Mark stormed out of the apartment and Nicky picked up her book and sobbed into the ruined pages.

  Eighteen

  Nicole sifted through the church bulletins in the library collection searching for anything that might mention Ivy. Or Joan, or Lucy – any connection to Ivy at all. Like the CWA records, so much of it was hard to read. There was scant detail – a mention here, a reference there. Still, it was fun trawling through the past, even if it wasn’t turning up much. She’d been chipping away at her renovation lists all morning and the change in pace was most welcome.

  Going through the church records, Nicole’s focus had been on any marriage notifications. She’d got up to 1953 with no luck. Ivy’s letter that morning perhaps was a foretelling of what was further to come. Though she hoped not.

  23rd July, 1952

  My Dearest Tom,

  Angus Lewis is a man of great perseverance. I have not once given him any encouragement, yet he persists in his futile pursuit of me. I have been subtle and gentle in my rejection of his advances, and blunt and forthright also. Nothing works.

  Lucy is of no help. She continues to try to change my mind and, I am sure, offers Angus hope behind my back. I cannot blame the poor man. When one is no longer in one’s twenties, the options narrow. And in a town like this, they are limited to begin with. Lucy, being a few years younger than I, is perhaps too young for him. Mrs Bridges, far too many years his senior, and Peggy’s sister, Grace, is newly engaged to a man from Sydney. Ruling out children, the elderly and the already married, I guess it leaves me. His only choice. I am sure if there were any other suitably available women, he would not look in my direction at all.