The Cottage at Rosella Cove Read online

  I have spent the last few weeks in Woodville Hospital. They do not know what caused this. ‘Mother Nature’s way’, they said. Her way to what? I cannot help feeling as though my body was not enough for him. To want to stay, or to want to survive.

  Father brought me home today. Mother had the nursery redecorated before my release. And I cannot find the spinning top you sent. Mother said it is better not to have reminders. That it will be easier to move forward as if it never happened.

  But it did happen. How will you ever forgive me?

  Please do. I ask this of you, knowing it is something I cannot do myself.

  Please say you still love me and that I will remain forever yours.

  Ivy

  Nicole let the tears flow as she clutched her stomach. Poor Ivy. Suffering such loss with Tom on the other side of the world. She couldn’t stop reading there and swallowed hard as she broke her ritual.

  She pulled out the next letter – a yellow envelope bordered in thick garish red with URGENT TELEGRAM emblazoned on the front. Carefully she opened it. It was dated the day after Ivy’s letter. The yellow paper, slightly torn at the edges and wrinkled as if screwed up into a ball and flattened again, bore typed words, screaming in capital letters.

  ‘REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND SGT T WILSON IS REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION AS A RESULT OF AIR ACTION LETTER TO FOLLOW MINISTER FOR THE ARMY 2 13 PM’

  Nicole dropped the telegram into her lap. Oh, Ivy. How cruel and unfair.

  Doubling over, she rested her hands on her knees and tried to stop the crying. To lose a child and have Tom go missing in one go. To lose everything.

  Six

  Just as dawn broke over the water, Nicole hauled herself out of bed. It was amazing how tired she was, and yet sleep had evaded her most of the night; how she couldn’t turn off the thousand thoughts that ran through her mind. She put the kettle on.

  Trevor and Danny would be by this morning to help put shelves up in the living room. Given the celebrations yesterday, she figured they wouldn’t be here early. In fact, they might not turn up at all.

  Nicole sat in the wicker chair on the verandah sipping her coffee slowly as the sun pushed its way through the sky. Ivy’s box sat on the small table, though she dared not open it.

  She couldn’t face the next letter. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Nothing good could come of looking into the depths of someone’s personal life. There, only pain lived. Her earlier instinct of trepidation had been right. She walked back inside picking up the box, and took it into the kitchen, where she placed it back in the cupboard.

  Her heart ached and dark, sad thoughts threatened to intrude. She had to keep busy. Yes, that’s what she had to do.

  She pottered around the cottage, sweeping and wiping away dirt. No matter how often she cleaned, everything seemed permanently covered in a thin veil of dust.

  An hour later a knock on the door signalled the unlikely arrival of Trevor and Danny.

  Trevor looked as if he’d rather have been in bed and she suggested as much.

  ‘Not worth the grief,’ he grumbled as he slumped his way past her.

  Jack was with them too, standing behind his old man. ‘He tried to get out of it, but Mum wouldn’t have it. Went on about his word being his bond or something and not letting friends down.’ He shrugged and placed his iPod earphones in his ears and headed back down to the front garden. With all the grass cut back, today he was going to focus on removing weeds.

  Danny shrugged, flashing her a smile from his green eyes, and went into the living room to set up his tools.

  Nicole led Trevor into the kitchen and fixed him a strong coffee before checking to see if Danny wanted a drink.

  ‘No. Thank you. But with Trevor out of action, I might need some help.’

  Nicole frowned. Yes, she was getting pretty good at stripping paint and wallpaper, and putting a mallet through plasterboard, but beyond that her DIY prowess had not yet progressed. She couldn’t actually build anything.

  Her ‘help’ consisted of handing Danny tools, the names of which she learned as they went, and passing screws as he put in place shelves on each side of the fireplace.

  ‘This is going to look awesome when it’s finished. It might take us a while to source the right tiles for the hearth, but we’ll get there,’ Danny said, after they’d been working together for nearly two hours. He took a step back and admired their work. ‘And when you fill these with books,’ he tapped one of the shelves, ‘wow.’

  Filling those shelves with books was something she would never get to do – no money, no time and she hadn’t brought any of her own with her.

  ‘Uh-oh. You’re frowning.’ Danny’s shoulders slumped. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘No. Of course not. It …’

  Her breathing quickened. Thanks to Ivy’s letters her emotions were far too close to the surface. Danny’s expression was full of warmth, drawing the words from her, though she tried to keep them in.

  ‘… It’s just, I didn’t bring any of my books with me. Not even my favourite, Anne of Green Gables. I … it got ruined. Before I came here.’

  ‘That is an awfully sad face for a ruined book.’

  ‘It was my all-time favourite.’

  Danny reached out and touched her shoulder gently. Heat pulsed down Nicole’s spine and she stepped back. What was that?

  Danny cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t we see how Trevor’s doing? I reckon Mandy’ll be along shortly to check on him.’ They went into the kitchen together, where Trevor was slumped over on his forearms at the table, asleep.

  Nicole grinned. Danny was probably right. They ought to get Trevor up.

  ‘Trev.’ Danny shook the man gently.

  Trevor sat up, panic across his face.

  As if on cue, Mandy called out from the front door and Nicole heard her footsteps up the hallway.

  ‘You left without saying goodbye last night,’ Mandy said, and Nicole thought she detected a hint of hurt feeling beneath Mandy’s usual friendly tone. ‘I hope they behaved today,’ she said to Nicole, looking from Trevor to Danny. ‘This one still backs up all right after a night on the grog.’ She patted Danny on the shoulder. ‘But this one?’ She looked down her nose at Trevor. ‘He still thinks he’s twenty.’

  ‘No, they were great.’ Nicole smiled. ‘We got through it all today.’

  ‘Excellent. You boys run off then and let Nicole and I have some girl talk. Poor thing probably needs a break from the two of you. Shall I pop the kettle on?’

  The quiet beauty of the early afternoon sun slowly dropping behind the tall eucalyptus trees in the distance, was punctuated by Mandy’s infectious laugh. She recounted events from the night after Nicole had left the pub.

  ‘You missed a doozy.’

  ‘Sounds like it,’ Nicole said.

  ‘I understand why you left, though. Cove people can be a little full on if you’re not used to them. Especially when it comes to their footy, and especially when they have their first win in years.’

  ‘It wasn’t bad,’ Nicole said. ‘Just a bit intense.’

  ‘Intense is one way to put it!’ Mandy turned to face her, looking serious all of a sudden. ‘So, what exactly brings you to our little corner of the world, Nicole? Don’t get me wrong, I love this place, but it’s a bit out of left field for someone like you, I’d say.’

  ‘Someone like me?’

  ‘A celebrity. Don’t they normally go to Bora Bora, or Paris? Or Byron Bay even?’

  Nicole laughed. ‘I’m hardly a celebrity.’

  ‘Sure you are! You wrote that amazing book,’ Mandy said. ‘And in my eyes that makes you a celebrity.’

  Nicole grimaced.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to say anything. I’m just glad you’re here. Maybe we can run a piece in the Cove Chronicle about our brush with fame.’

  Nicole dropped her teacup and it hit the saucer with a loud clang. ‘No. Please don’t.’

  Mandy raised an eyebrow. �
�Not if you don’t want to. Of course.’

  Nicole knew she had to change the subject and a thought came to her. ‘I was wondering if you could help me with something.’

  ‘Anything,’ Mandy said quickly.

  ‘How much do you know about Ivy Wilson?’

  ‘Ivy?’ Mandy looked surprised. ‘Not a lot more than I told you about that night at dinner.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. I just wondered …’ how could she get round this without giving too much away, ‘… if there was any more to her story. The real estate agent I signed the lease with gave away nothing. What’s the deal exactly with Ivy?’

  ‘Hmm. Let me think. She moved here in the late 1930s as a young bride. She came from money in Sydney, I think. Story goes that she married someone her parents didn’t approve of. I don’t know what happened to him. She died in the early eighties, no, mid-seventies, but I was only a kid. I have sketchy memories of these picnics she used to hold, though they’re pretty legendary with folks around town.’

  Mandy poured herself more tea and shadows from the distant gums stretched out across the land as the sun began to drop.

  ‘Mum used to tell stories of this beautiful old place. No one really knows what happened after she died. She’d hired lawyers from Sydney, like I said at dinner. Plenty of people have sniffed around over the years, made offers on the place. But they were all turned away.’

  Nicole wished she could get out her notebook and start writing down the questions pinging around her head. What had happened to Tom? To Ivy? Why had the house stayed empty so long? Why had it never been sold? And how did Charlie fit in?

  ‘Why the interest?’ Mandy asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘Every time I meet someone and they find out I’m living here, people talk about her. She must have been really something.’

  ‘I can ask Mum what she knows. Her lucid days are few and far between, but next time she’s good I can ask.’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’ Nicole suddenly felt guilty for keeping Ivy’s letters from Mandy. She knew Mandy could help her unravel this mystery faster, but she was still ashamed at having pried.

  ‘Nah, it’s fine. When Mum’s on form, she likes to talk about the good-ol’ days. You could come with me if you like.’

  ‘Oh. No. I couldn’t impose.’ A faint yearning stirred inside Nicole. There was that curiosity again. ‘Thank you. But no. And don’t you bother her with it, either.’

  ‘It would be fine,’ Mandy insisted, but Nicole shook her head. ‘Okay, then,’ she continued. ‘But if you ever change your mind, you let me know.’

  Nicole spent the rest of the afternoon alone, scraping peeling paint from the ceiling in the hallway. Afterward she took an evening stroll along the peninsula down towards South Beach. The opposite direction of the boatshed. She didn’t think she could cope with being challenged by Charlie.

  As the road wound round the bend back towards the cottage, Nicole was struck by the beauty of the indigo sky fading to pale blue then into a peach that deepened to fire orange at the horizon. The black silhouettes of the scratchy branches and leaves of the gum trees surrounding her looked as if they had been painted there.

  For the first time that day she felt peace.

  When she reached the cottage she crawled into bed exhausted and ticked off today’s list. Bookshelves, check. Make a start on ceilings, a weary check. Ivy’s next letter. She hesitated.

  She wasn’t sure if she could take that kind of emotion tonight. But she did want to see if Ivy was all right.

  She took a deep breath and opened the carved wooden box. Unlike the first few letters, there was no stamp on this envelope.

  25th October, 1941

  My Dearest Tom,

  No news has reached me yet as to your fate. So I must believe that is a good sign. I am sorry it has taken me so long to write to you again. But with nowhere to send my correspondence and the grief of losing our child, I simply have not been able to put pen to paper. The unrelenting pain that consumed me the first few months after that dark, dark week now comes in waves that overwhelm me without any warning and then subside to a dull ache around my heart.

  Mother would think it quite ridiculous that I write to you like this. However, I fear gravely that should I not correspond with you, then I give up hope. And that I cannot afford to do.

  Mother says I must face the reality of your ‘situation’ and prepare myself for unwelcome news which might yet come. I do believe that woman has no compassion in her whatsoever. She is far too practical for emotion.

  She is right, of course. But I will not give up, though the more time that passes, the harder it becomes.

  I have left the house today for the first time since your news reached me, as I felt duty-bound to visit with Lucy Falcon. She called on me many times these last six months with a plate of food, a posy of flowers, an offer to chat, only to have me shoo her away. News reached us yesterday of her husband Henry’s passing, another casualty of this infernal war. He is the second we have now lost from our tiny community. Colonel Bridges first and now Lucy’s husband.

  It was a brief visit. She was trying to be stoic, bless her, but I could see the pain in her eyes. No matter how hard we try to hide our feelings, our eyes give us away should anyone care to look. Thankfully, most people do not bother.

  I shall call on her again soon.

  Joan visited me once during my, what shall we call it? Isolation. She left a basket of flowers on the doorstep, but did not come in.

  The sun was so warm on my back today as I walked home along the peninsula. It was a balm I did not know I needed. I went to the cove, in part, I admit, to avoid seeing Mother. She has decided to stay with me until I ‘recover my senses’. I sat on the sand just out of reach of the waves, tracing my fingers around the pippy shells that washed up with yesterday’s storm.

  I inhaled as the ocean exhaled its salty breath. It was as if I was breathing for the first time in six months. What is it about the sea that calms a troubled soul?

  It is our anniversary next week, my love. I will mark it as we always did, with a picnic by the boatshed. I shall have to find a distraction for Mother, but I will think of something. I will bring a basket of your favourite food and sit on the bench you so beautifully crafted all those years ago. I will look for you in the waves, my dearest.

  I cannot promise not to cry, but I will endeavour to think only of the days we had together and how very much you always made me feel loved. I shall hold steadfast to the hope that you will be returned soon. Until then I shall continue to write.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  Seven

  The heritage-listed Federation homestead that housed Rosella Cove’s elderly and those who needed full-time care stood proud on a large blanket of green grass. Inside, high ceilings and lavish leadlight windows created a sense of grandeur and joy. It was a week since Mandy had suggested bringing Nicole along to meet her mother in order to find out more about Ivy. And this morning Mandy had turned up on the cottage verandah, insisting it would be okay for Nicole to come with her.

  They stood in the foyer, and Nicole spun round to take it all in. ‘This is a stunning building.’

  ‘It’s the least we can give them,’ Mandy whispered.

  She led Nicole through to a spacious garden out the back where the twenty or so residents could enjoy the sun. There they found Carole, Mandy’s mum, sitting on a wrought-iron bench under a dripping jacaranda tree at the rear of the garden.

  ‘Mum, this is Nicole. She’s new to town.’

  Carole nodded, her thinning grey hair catching in wisps on the gentle breeze. She went back to the conversation she was having with herself, soft mumblings which mainly consisted of gossip from around the nursing home. Nicole didn’t know whether to find it hilarious or scandalous.

  Apparently someone named Fred Appleton had tried to hit on Carole during bingo, right in front of Mrs Appleton, who he’d clean forgotten he was married to.

 
‘He suggested we go to Fiji, you know,’ Carole confessed. ‘But how can I leave my babies behind?’ She smiled and patted Mandy’s hand. ‘Who’s this, then?’ Carole looked at Nicole.

  ‘Hi. I’m Nicole. I’m living in Ivy Wilson’s cottage.’

  ‘Really? Where is Ivy, then? Is she with you?’

  ‘She’s gone, Mum. Remember?’ Mandy’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘We must be due another picnic. Will she be back soon?’

  Nicole glanced at the ground. Despite the age of her parents when they passed, they’d been spared the horror of diminishing faculties – their bodies had given up well before their minds. She had never spent time with someone in Carole’s condition. It was far more confronting than she’d have imagined.

  ‘He won’t be there, will he?’ Carole grabbed Nicole’s arm. ‘There’s something about him.’

  ‘Who, Carole?’ Nicole asked.

  A soft, purple bell fell from the branch above and landed on Carole’s shoulder. She turned her head to look at it as if studying its fragile form for botanical detail, or trying to read tiny lettering printed on its delicate flute. Then she carefully lifted it from its resting place, laid it beside her and stared ahead with altered eyes.

  Silence settled over the three of them.

  Mandy took her mother’s hand and smiled lovingly at her. She kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘That’s it for the day,’ she whispered to Nicole.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, Mum.’ She adjusted the blanket over Carole’s legs and Nicole followed her out of the home.

  ‘Sorry. We didn’t really get much information about Ivy. Come back for a cuppa,’ Mandy suggested, ‘and I’ll dig out some old photos.’

  Nicole went back to Mandy’s house with her, where they found Trevor stretched out on the banana lounge on the back patio. Jack was sprawled across the lounge with the TV on full bore. Mandy waved hello to her son as she turned the TV volume down, receiving barely a nod in response.