CHAPTER 15

Saturday 3 April

The melody of a lone bagpiper drew Georgie and AJ beyond the aged timber 'St Andrews' sign, along the curved steps and through a cottage-style garden with its cascades of seaside daisy. Douglas Macdougall stood apart, in full highland getup, blowing mournful fingers of music that twisted heartstrings and lingered in the chill autumn air.

At the top of the stairs, Georgie turned to look down on Daylesford. So much for a sleepy country town renowned for romantic weekends. She blinked back tears and swivelled. Clouds travelled swiftly behind the neo-gothic Presbyterian Church. Weak sunlight illuminated its slate roof and leadlight windows. Beautiful, yet depressing. Like the bagpipes.

Despite a cocoon of pillows and tripled-up painkillers, the journey from Melbourne had been akin to an endless row of rib-jolting speed humps. Emotionally battered too, she took AJ's hand. They leaned together and stepped through the arched entrance. Ruby and Michael Padley trailed and they all squeezed onto the end of a pew.

The bagpipes ceased. An occasional sniffle or shuffle punctuated the descending hush.

A black-cloaked preacher glided through the internal door, as Macdougall hurried up the aisle. He joined his mates Lewis Davis, Bill and Gabby Noonan and Pam Stewart in the front row, below the pulpit.

Georgie braced herself for the obligatory heaven, hell, fire and brimstone religious bullshit.

'We are gathered here today not to mourn the deaths of Susan and Roland Pentecoste but to celebrate their lives. What a more fitting farewell than to rejoice in the gift of their mateship, their benefaction to the community…' The minister gazed over the pews. 'I don't think I'm alone in thinking that it is especially apt, yet poignant that we are here today, on Easter Saturday.'

He let his words sit and nobody fidgeted.

'I'm Minister Malcolm.' He cleared his throat and waved to the coffins. 'These are my friends, as they are yours. So, let us step outside convention. Who wants to speak? Suggest a song, a hymn? This is your service today.'

Bill flanked the minister and pointed.

A full-house followed the old copper's finger.

Georgie twisted with them. Confused, she sighed.

'Stand.' He lifted his hands.

The congregation rose. Georgie tried but gave up.

'Show your respect for Georgie Harvey,' Bill demanded.

What the hell?

'For what she went through for Susan and Roly and their Margaret.'

They applauded and Georgie wished for a trap floor. She shook her head. Then grimaced with pain.

'Three cheers for Georgie.' She identified Gabby's voice.

'Hip, hip, hooray.'

At the third hooray, Georgie's mortification gave way to an embarrassed smile. She struggled up and said, 'No, please. It's not about me.' She waved the congregation to their seats.

Macdougall replaced Bill.

'Susan and Roly were grand chums and I'll sorely miss them. Every Wednesday the boys and I play a few hands of cards and enjoy a wee drop of single malt at my place. We'll keep a spot at the table for Roly.'

There were several chuckles as he returned to the pew.

The steady succession of eulogies ranged from elaborate to impromptu by characters as disparate as the content. Meanwhile, Georgie's body uncoiled, apart from her clenched, throbbing jaw.

After a hymn that Georgie mimed, Davis and Pam Stewart shuffled to the altar. They stood with their arms touching. They smiled, yet tears streaked their cheeks.

Pam glanced at Davis, who nodded. They looked to the caskets laden with wreaths. She said, 'Most of you will know that this is Roly and Susan's favourite.'

Georgie stiffened. She expected a soppy poem.

Pam inhaled a deep breath and sang in the sweetest of voices. Georgie recognised the tune from her first visit to Rose Cottage and her mouth gaped. When Davis joined in, his was a gravelly timbre, not dissimilar to Louis Armstrong's.

Pam crooned, Davis echoed. And That's My Desire tore at Georgie's heart.

While the friends sang, Georgie pictured Roly and Susan in their twenties, twirling into their middle years, then older age, yet still gazing at each other with the excitement and love they'd felt on their wedding day, as captured in the photograph that'd stood on their bedside table.

As she listened to the lyrics, Georgie realised she'd never be able to hear them again without seeing the couple dance. And that the song would always make her heart sing and sob at the same time.

The friends finished to cheers, foot stamps and claps. Pam dashed away tears. Georgie felt her own hand do likewise.

'It's too soon to say goodbye. But the music doesn't die,' Pam said when the crowd quietened. 'Neither do…' She faltered. 'Roly and Susan.'

A sombre lull ensued. Minister Malcolm filled it with his personal reminiscences, then thanked everyone for their contributions and extended a welcome to the final farewell.

Georgie coaxed her sore muscles and joined the exodus, hobbling next to Ruby. They picked their way to the car and fused with the slow convoy.

Over the hill, beyond bungalows, the Farmers Arms Hotel and pastureland.

To the cemetery.

 

Georgie spied the arrival of various cop vehicles, headlights on, their red and blue lights flashing mutely. Her mood fitted the leaden sky overhead, as she scanned the milling men and women in blue. He had besieged her thoughts for the past week. She could feel his lips even while asleep. And the sensation ramped up as she huddled among the fresh tombs in the old part of the Daylesford Cemetery.

The bagpipes began to cry and the minister's speech drifted. To avoid Franklin and the reality of Susan and Roly's deaths, she focused on neighbouring graves. A rusty wrought iron structure that resembled a cot; several grassy unmarked mounds.

AJ's tug startled her. The caskets had disappeared into their deep voids and the mourners disbanded. Peripherally, she caught a wave from Helena Watkowska and a younger man, her son. They shunned the media greedy for a story on the Iceman's family and departed with paparazzi in pursuit. Matty Gunnerson saluted Georgie. He jostled counterparts to his car, mobile to ear, undoubtedly dictating to the news desk. He ignored the Advocate's Jennifer McGuire.

'Ready?' AJ reached for her hand.

She sidestepped. They paced after Ruby and Michael, two stones sporadically rubbing. The longer the silence stretched, the greater the aura of hurt exuded from AJ.

AJ's misery increased the intensity of Georgie's guilt.

She was guilt-ridden over her survival where the Pentecostes had perished. About the stolen kiss. Because she took from AJ although offered him little. All that and some.

The more her mood darkened, the more isolated she and AJ grew. They separated at the wake. Georgie bee-lined for the Noonans and skolled a beer; AJ lurked on the fringes, acquainted with few. Even as she took another bottle, the alcohol and analgesic cocktail already blurred the edges of Georgie's pain.

Ruby and Michael huddled with Ann Campbell, Susan's sister from Sydney, the women renewing their acquaintanceship of decades ago. Georgie spoke with Gabby and Bill and noticed an old man. He snuffled into a large navy hanky, drifted to the food table and picked at morsels.

She forgot him when Franklin materialised.

'Georgie,' he said, dipping his head. That mouth, a forced smile.

He turned aside and beckoned. 'Kat, Georgie.'

So, this is Kat, his daughter. She's a knockout. Not a supermodel but I hope Franklin's got a big stick to fend off the boys who come sniffing around.

Fuzzy-headed, Georgie gazed at Kat. Oh my god, she's got his eyes. She's seeing right inside me.

She strained to concentrate. Uttered something - hopefully it was sane, polite.

Her mind obsessed.

Does Kat know about us? What's there to know? Nothing happened, right? Is he OK? Does he regret it? There's no 'us', is there? There's an 'AJ and Georgie' but there ain't no 'Georgie and Franklin'. Not that there should be either.

Georgie slugged a long draught of beer and caught Franklin's stare. It held regret and the same kind of longing AJ's retriever, Molly, assumed when she begged scraps. She severed the connection, scanned the room. Saw the old guy in animated discussion with Ruby and Ann and AJ chatting with Michael and the minister.

She spotted Pam Stewart, made excuses and ducked away.

 

'Pam!'

They hugged gingerly. Pam patted Georgie's back.

When they broke, Georgie caught her friend's hand in her good one.

'How are you doing?'

Pam flapped her free wrist. She gulped and managed, 'I woke up this morning and I'm still here.'

They both smiled at her weak joke.

'But more to the point, how are you, dear?'

They'd talked since Georgie's discharge, well aware that each glossed over their feelings to be a rock for the other. Georgie's eyes rolled to her strapped ribs, bundled fist, and crossed downwards on her nose cast.

As hoped, Pam laughed. Then a thought struck Georgie. 'How's Oscar?'

Pam sobered. 'Similar to the rest of us. Fretting, lost some appetite.'

'Aw, poor little thing.'

Pam clucked and assured her, 'Don't you worry, we'll make sure he comes good. He'll stay on the farm, of course. He's a Pentecoste and belongs at Abergeldie. With Roger and Mick inheriting the place, they'll move in and be three bachelors together.'

While Georgie was imagining that, Pam unexpectedly said, 'You and John Franklin seem chummy.'

King-hit, Georgie flushed. 'He's not so bad. I guess I owe him.'

Pam searched her face, tone gentle. 'You know what they say about relationships with those you meet under extraordinary circumstances, don't you?'

'What's that?' Georgie asked, not really wanting to know.

'That danger can be a powerful aphrodisiac but it wears off. You might think it's love but it can't last.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Georgie muttered.

Did she think it was love or simply want to jump Franklin's bones?

'Yes, you do, my dear.' Pam sounded sad. After a pause, she remarked, 'Your young Adam is quite a spunk.'

Georgie laughed unhappily. The fine lines above her nose deepened as she mulled over what exactly Pam suspected.

Not prepared to let up, her friend murmured, 'I'm only interfering because I care. Choose whoever will make you happy.'

Georgie raked the room for another escape opportunity. Ruby filled one of the Noonans' armchairs and appeared to be asleep. The old man and Michael Padley were drinking in a corner with Roger and Mick, Abergeldie's lessees. Lewis Davis was pissed and he and Doug Macdougall alternated between maudlin and jovial. There were dozens of people she didn't know who were familiar with each other.

She glanced back to Davis and Macdougall and glimpsed the big Scot run his hand over the other's cheek. His thumb brushed at tears and lifted the corner of his mate's mouth. Weird.

'I've often wondered,' Pam whispered. Her discreet twitch indicated the two men.

'You mean?'

She nodded. 'We're branded a gay-friendly town but I suspect that tolerance doesn't extend to the bank manager.'

Georgie huffed and simultaneously supposed it may explain the men's initial caginess.

Michael Padley, AJ and Bill Noonan now perched on the couch.

The old man sat alone. He swiped his eyes with his blue hanky.

 

'You must be Jack?' Georgie said, arriving at his side.

The sad old man looked surprised. 'Yes?'

On a roll, she said, 'And you've loved Susan Pentecoste since you were kids in Wedderburn?'

'Wychitella actually. My folks owned Wychitella Produce. Hers had a farm out of town. You have me at a disadvantage, young lady.' He peered at her. 'You were the lass everyone cheered in church. Georgie?'

She nodded, 'Yes, Georgie Harvey.'

'You're our Ruby's friend.' They shook hands, as he added, 'I'm sorry I was a bit slow to place you. I've been so overwhelmed since the news about Susan and Roly.'

'You have nothing to apologise for.' Georgie admitted, 'I fluked a few lucky guesses about you there, myself.' Her throat constricted. She regrouped. 'I'm sorry for your loss. And that I couldn't help Susan.'

Jack blinked rapidly. Eyes watery, he asked, 'So, how'd you know about little ol' Jack Henry then?'

'I found a bunch of letters that didn't say much, yet seemed to have plenty between the lines. Unfortunately, you didn't date them or include your surname and address. They were important or Susan wouldn't have kept them in the bottom of her robe. So, "who is Jack" has been one of the burning questions for three weeks.'

Is it really only three weeks?

'I'm flattered she kept them. And I beg your pardon that my dull letters became a time-wasting riddle.'

Georgie waved off his apology. She hesitated before saying, 'This is none of my business but I'm curious. It's an occupational hazard.' Relieved when he laughed, she blurted out, 'I gather you thought you had no chance of more than a platonic relationship?'

Jack replied quickly, 'What I believed and hoped were two different things. While you live and breathe, never stop wishing for the things that matter. You don't want regrets when it's too late.'

Georgie scuffed her toes, knotted with emotion. She thought there couldn't be anything worse than the old man's misery, then fixed on AJ. With a roller-coaster plunge in her guts, she realised her mistake. It could be much worse. And was.

In the red corner: AJ and John Franklin conversed intensely.