The Cottage at Rosella Cove Read online

  Mother and I parted after the funeral, the coldness between us still. Perhaps she has never forgiven me for marrying you. Perhaps she has never forgiven me for having to share Father with me. Perhaps I will never know.

  I have Father’s copy of David Copperfield with me now. I took it without Mother knowing, but her approval is something I no longer need. There is freedom in that thought. I figured she would only sell it anyway. It must be worth a small fortune now. And I could not let that happen. It was his favourite and it needs to stay where it is loved.

  I cry each night knowing I have lost him. I hope the two of you find each other in heaven and become the friends I always knew you could have been if not for Mother’s censure. Take care of him for me, darling. As Father Anthony said, ‘A good soul has left our Earthly world.’

  Lucy and Fabricio have now only two months till they marry. He has been waiting until his family were able to travel here for the celebration. They will arrive next month. I must say he has made the boatshed comfortable for himself since arriving. He is quite the handyman and he now has basic wash facilities in there. Father Anthony has ensured some of the church donations were filtered his way – a chair and a bookcase and a few smaller items, like a teapot and cups. I think the bookcase may have been Joan Wetherby’s. Father Anthony always insists on anonymity when it comes to such charity. Joan would have palpitations if she knew what has become of it. Perhaps I should tell her.

  Fabricio has given the entire boatshed a fresh coat of paint, inside and out. It certainly needed it and it looks quite inviting.

  I have not entered many times over the years. Only on the odd occasion to clean. It is good to see it used once more. Though I will be happy to have our bench back once he is moved in with Lucy. I miss my Sunday mornings sitting there, looking for you in the waves. I have no family left now and I fear what will become of me once Lucy is married and has a new family to call her own.

  Take care, my dearest. Watch over Father.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  PS Lucy manned our Christmas stall while I was in Sydney with Father. She sold every one of my sculptures. William Tucker is the new coach of The Rangers and he bought one of my angels for his Iris, who was so taken with it she has convinced him to invite me to set up a small table at all their home games. We will see how it goes.

  Twenty-six

  With a black and white scarf around her neck, Nicole walked down to the oval, Mandy waving when she saw her coming.

  ‘Well, look at you,’ she said. ‘A true convert at last.’

  She tugged on the tassels hanging from the end of Nicole’s Rangers scarf and grinned.

  ‘When in Rome …’ Nicole shrugged and smiled. ‘So what are our chances?’ She nodded towards the middle of the field where the two teams were warming up.

  ‘Yet to beat them. Riverton have been champs three years in a row. But we’ve never had our lucky charm on the sideline when we’ve played them either.’

  ‘Oh, no pressure then.’ Nicole laughed, fanning her face with her hands.

  ‘None at all.’ Mandy smiled. ‘You can handle it,’ she whispered in her ear and wrapped her arm around Nicole’s back.

  ‘Maybe.’ Nicole hugged Mandy back. Maybe she could.

  Nicole found herself cheering out loud as the Rangers scored the first points of the match when Danny went over the line. And she found herself clutching at her scarf in despair as Riverton pulled ahead just before half-time. When the hooter blew, her shoulders fell and she realised how tense she’d been.

  ‘Let’s grab a sanger,’ Mandy suggested.

  The smell of barbecuing onions filled Nicole’s nose as they walked through the market.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How long have the markets been here? At the footy match?’

  ‘Gosh, forever I think.’ Mandy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Certainly all of my life, at least. Maybe longer. Why?’

  ‘Just curious. I’ve never really seen it before. Just wondering how it started.’

  Was her hunch right?

  ‘Cheryl might know,’ Mandy suggested, as they arrived at the line for the sausage sandwiches.

  ‘Back in the early sixties.’ Cheryl put onions on Nicole’s bread and Jim served up a fat, split sausage. ‘A couple of CWA women, I think, set up a stall one day and it grew from there. I was pretty young, so my memory, well, you know …’

  ‘Cute then, cute now,’ Jim chimed in, and Mandy and Nicole smiled. ‘Sauce?’ he asked.

  As they moved past the stalls, Nicole felt like she was moving through the past and present simultaneously. She pictured Ivy and Lucy standing behind their angels and sculptures, right there where Jacqui sat, perhaps. Maybe the following year Mrs Li joined them with her sponge cakes, there where the cake stall now sat. The year after that, Joan Wetherby with her lamingtons, or lamington cakes as they’d have called them, in direct competition, her table set up opposite, her gaze across the grass steely. Nicole stepped through time and imagined the number of stalls increasing each year, the advantage of fresh, out-of-town blood to sell to each fortnight dawning on people, until it grew to the eclectic crowd it was today. In her mind the two worlds blended into a perfect collage of then and now.

  With five minutes to go, the Rangers were down five points. Both sides of the crowd were screaming and cheering loudly, waving scarves and handmade pom-poms. Not a single person remained seated. Nicole’s arm began to throb and she realised Mandy’s hand was buried deep into her flesh.

  The referee blew a penalty against Riverton, ten out from touch, and the Rams supporters booed and hissed fiercely.

  There was no point going for a field goal. It wouldn’t be enough. Danny looked over to Nicole.

  With a pump of her fist she mouthed, ‘Come on.’ Beside her, Mandy held her breath.

  Danny winked and flashed a cheeky grin. He tapped the ball, faked a pass, wrong-footed the fattest Riverton player who was in his way and dived towards the line.

  A deafening cheer erupted as the ref blew his whistle and indicated ‘try’.

  A conversion would win the game.

  The Rangers supporters went quiet as Danny lined up for the kick. The Riverton crowd jeered and heckled.

  Mandy smiled. ‘He never misses these.’

  Danny’s shoulders rose and fell. Step, shuffle, step, kick.

  A cheer went up around the spectators – the Rams spectators.

  Danny had missed. His posse of mini-me Rangers surrounded him as he came off the field, consoling him with pats on the back. The littlest Ranger, Jason Junior wrapped him in a tight hug.

  The atmosphere in The Royal was subdued to say the least. Small groups of players and supporters gathered in quiet conversations and George poured a steady stream of ale.

  Nicole looked over to Danny, who was moving around the pub patting his players on the back. He smiled across to her and warmth flowed through her.

  ‘Given we lost, you two seem pretty happy with yourselves.’ Mandy returned from the bar with a couple of wines. ‘Or is that with each other?’

  Nicole couldn’t help but grin.

  ‘When?’

  ‘The other day. It was just a kiss.’ Nicole’s pulse started racing just thinking about it. Them. Three kisses.

  ‘A kiss?’ Mandy had to cover her mouth to stop from screaming. Then she threw her arms around Nicole. ‘I want to know everything.’

  Nicole didn’t tell her everything, but enough to satisfy her curiosity. ‘And then we talked all morning. About absolutely everything.’

  ‘He told you about Caitlyn?’

  ‘Caitlyn?’

  ‘His ex.’

  ‘No. Is there something to tell?’

  ‘It isn’t really my place to say anything.’

  Nicole gave her look.

  ‘Okay, well, I have put my foot in it, I suppose. He and Caitlyn had a pretty nasty break-up, about two years ago now, and he never really got over it. We all thought they were going to get married
. But turns out she didn’t want kids. And he can’t wait to be a dad. They just couldn’t get past it.’

  Nicole’s mind started spinning. He can’t wait to be a dad. She clutched her stomach.

  ‘It wasn’t long after that that he started going to Bangladesh regularly,’ Mandy continued. ‘He sure loves those kids.’

  A shout went up from the other side of the pub and the jukebox started playing. Mandy and Trevor’s song started and in a flash Mandy was being whisked onto the dance floor.

  Nicole left the pub quickly. Halfway home she stopped to catch her breath. No, this wasn’t fair. At all.

  Inside the cottage she slumped into the couch and hung her head.

  There was a light knock on the door.

  ‘Nicole? It’s Danny. Are you okay?’

  Maybe if she stayed silent, he’d go away.

  ‘Nicole? What’s wrong?’

  Nicole walked to the front door, opening it only slightly.

  ‘Hey.’ Danny frowned.

  ‘I’m just really tired,’ she lied.

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  Oh, God. He was doubting himself. He’d done everything right. This was all on her.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘You know, Nicole, when you’re not being straight with me, your left eye crinkles ever so slightly.’

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘It’s nothing. I just need to take things a bit slower.’ Like screeching to a sudden halt.

  ‘Okay. That’s fine. But if we’ve got any hope of turning this into something, and I think maybe this could be something, we have to be completely open with each other. Tell me if there’s something wrong.’

  Nicole knew he was right. This was her chance to tell him about Mark, what had brought her here, about her inability to have children. Everything. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  He’d broken up with Caitlyn because she didn’t want kids. How would he react if she told him she couldn’t have kids?

  ‘I’m just trying to work some things out. It’s fine. Really.’

  She could see from his expression he didn’t buy it, but he was too much of a gentleman to push her too hard. He took her hands and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, catching the corner of her mouth.

  She turned her head slightly and caught the fullness of his lips.

  The realisation this could go no further hit her hard. Danny said goodnight and walked off down the path.

  Of course he wanted children. Why wouldn’t he? Tears filled her eyes. Even if Nicole could find a solution to her living arrangements, even if Danny was as genuine and wonderful as he seemed, even if she could put all her insecurities and Mark-inflicted issues aside, there was one thing she couldn’t change, couldn’t control.

  It was the one thing Danny wanted. The one thing she couldn’t give him.

  Nicole lay in bed and closed her eyes, but sleep evaded her.

  She couldn’t run. She couldn’t stay. She was trapped in the in-between.

  A life lost that wouldn’t let her go. A life found that she couldn’t hang on to.

  She rolled over and pulled out Ivy’s box from the bedside table. Her one comfort.

  2nd February, 1962

  My Dearest Tom,

  Lucy’s wedding was beautiful. There was no pomp and ceremony, which Joan felt necessary to point out continually. She was only invited because Lucy felt sorry for her, and, let us be honest, in a town like this such an omission would have been keenly felt. Still, Joan’s sourness could not dampen the day.

  Father Anthony blessed the union in a simple service, one I thought was appropriate given the age and circumstance of the bride and groom, despite what Whinging Wetherby says. It was, of course, nothing compared to her glamorous event, but no wedding ever was or will be as she still feels the need to point out, three decades and one divorce later.

  We had a sumptuous feast back at the cottage afterward. The entire town was here, my love. The front yard was awash with colour – vases filled with pink and orange roses from the garden atop borrowed tables of all shapes and sizes draped in white linen cloth, green salads and red pasta sauces on display in clear bowls, powder blue and lilac sugared almonds sprinkled on loaned porcelain plates decorated with floral sprays.

  It was kaleidoscopic, not the sort of party you could imagine me at the helm of, I am sure, but it was quite perfect. So wonderfully perfect.

  Lucy and Fabricio looked terribly happy and any doubt I had about the two of them has been washed away. I do believe they are meant to be together. They will honeymoon in France and Spain and I will join them late in the northern summer in Florence. I fear this may be my last trip to Tuscany. I have no desire to play the role of desperate-widow-friend being accommodated out of a sense of pity.

  Perhaps I should see some of Australia next year. Take The Ghan maybe, visit Ayers Rock, go to Perth. I will miss my annual art classes though. I have so enjoyed them. But they will not be the same now. Perhaps I can travel through Europe on my own instead. These days it is not as unacceptable as it once was for a woman to travel alone.

  Can you see me as the eccentric old lady travelling the world with my beaten-up brown suitcase, sipping tea alone in a Parisian café, or wandering the Victoria and Albert babbling to myself?

  I am so happy for Lucy. I truly am. To grow old alone is not an easy fate to endure. But, I must not dwell. These are happy days.

  At next week’s match, Peggy is joining me on my stall with her baked offerings. Father Anthony is talking about retirement, though I doubt it will ever happen and I think she is worried she will cease to exist should he follow through and they are no longer our spiritual leaders. She is looking for another way to reach out to her flock, I suppose. I did not have the heart to tell her that her cakes and biscuits may just drive her flock away. In all these years the poor woman has not learned to cook.

  It will be nice to have some company, though, and I owe Father Anthony for the kindness he has always shown. Father Anthony is well loved. Yes, her cakes will certainly sell, though I cannot say with any confidence they will be eaten.

  For now that is all. Take care, my dearest.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  PS I have included a photo of Lucy’s wedding. You can see how happy they are!

  Nicole looked at the picture. Lucy and Fabricio were arm in arm, Fabricio wearing a simple grey suit and Lucy looking serene and beautiful in a soft blue kaftan. Beside Lucy stood Ivy in a bright floral dress that reached to her toes. Her bare toes. On the grass lay a pair of slippers, rejected.

  Nicole couldn’t help grinning. At least someone was getting their happily ever after.

  As she returned the envelope to the box, she noticed the next one was very thin. Really thin. She pulled it out and gasped.

  23rd March, 1967

  My Dearest Tom,

  She is leaving. Lucy and Fabricio are moving to Italy. To be near his family. She is leaving. They have only another two weeks before they fly. I did not think she would really do it, really go.

  She is leaving me.

  Now I have truly lost everything dear to me. What is there left? What have I now?

  Nothing.

  Ivy

  Twenty-seven

  Nicole stared out her bedroom window, willing the sun to rise. She’d given up on sleep hours ago and now she waited for dawn to release her from the torture that had gripped her all night. She usually looked forward to Sunday mornings – no renovation tasks scheduled, her weekly game of Scrabble with Charlie mid-morning. But this morning was tainted with images she conjured every time she closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t leave Ivy there like that last night, so sad, so wretched after news of Lucy’s leaving. She had to read one more letter and make sure her friend was okay. But that one more letter had burned words into her mind that had kept her awake; that she would never forget.

  The first rays of sunshine filtered into her room and she got out of bed
. She went into the kitchen and started making chocolate-chip cookies, using Mandy’s never-fail recipe. Charlie would groan, no doubt, about the repetition of her old favourite. He’d been enjoying her weekly experiments that constituted their morning tea. But today was not the day to try something new.

  She wiped down the kitchen and checked her watch. How on earth was she going to pass the next few hours until she could get to Charlie?

  She had so many questions. Maybe she should write them down. But where did she start?

  She was desperate to know and he’d have the answers. But she couldn’t rush into it. She couldn’t blurt them out and expect answers on the spot. Even if there was time and gentleness enough to broach it with him, there was no guarantee he’d tell her what she wanted to know.

  How would she be able to sit across from him and not ask about that night on the beach?

  Tick-tock, the minutes plodded by.

  She baked another batch of cookies. She cleaned up.

  Tick-tock.

  Finally the time came. She took in three long breaths and headed to the boatshed.

  Nicole slowed her steps as she approached but she couldn’t slow her racing mind.

  Charlie was waiting for her, the Scrabble board set up, two cups of tea cooling on their saucers.

  ‘Morning,’ he greeted her.

  ‘Morning.’ Nicole smiled weakly.

  ‘You look terrible. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t sleep well, is all.’

  Couldn’t stop reading that damn letter.

  How was it you came to be walking on the beach that night? she wanted to ask. Did you realise what Ivy was doing there? Of course you would have. It would have been plain as day. No silly questions. Charlie wouldn’t answer silly questions. It would be the end of the conversation if it ever got started.

  She laid out her tiles and scored eleven points with ‘join’. She didn’t see that she could have made ‘enjoys’ for sixteen.

  The bigger question, of course, was how to start the conversation with Charlie in the first place. If she came straight out with it, she’d have to explain not only the fact she knew such intimate details of his first meeting with Ivy, but also how she did. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to that.