CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It was the light in Australia that was so different, Gracie realised, as she drove beyond the airport, heading north towards the goldfields for the first time in sixteen years. On either side of the freeway, the scenery was changing from scattered suburbia to sunburnt rolling hills, clumps of gum trees, that big, big sky all around. She fiddled with the car radio, finally settling on a station playing classical music, in need of the soothing tones.

She’d promised to call Charlotte and her mother on her arrival, to phone Hope too, but she hadn’t yet. She’d ring once she got to Templeton Hall, she decided, once she was inside and had real news to impart, something beyond the obvious – that the flight had been long, the sky was blue.

Charlotte had been all concern in their final conversation. ‘You’re still absolutely sure you’re okay to go back? You won’t be too nervous there in the Hall on your own?’ A pause then. ‘You won’t do anything silly, will you?’

‘Like what?’

‘Go looking for Tom and Nina. I can understand you might want to find them, Gracie, I do, but I don’t think you should do something like that on your own.’

Sometimes Charlotte knew her too well, despite the years and distance between them. Because it had crossed her mind again as her departure date neared – more than crossed her mind. Perhaps if she saw them face to face, even for a minute, even if it ended badly, it would be better than the picture she’d imagined for so many years. Being there, in Australia, would surely make it easier to track them both down. She could go into Castlemaine, ask around. Someone there would know what had happened to Nina, and once she knew where Nina was, Tom would surely be nearby. It was at that point that her imagination kept failing her. She couldn’t picture him any more.

She’d once seen a documentary about young people with spinal injuries and her heart had filled with sadness. She’d seen so many bright minds in broken bodies, reliant on round-the-clock carers, their days punctuated by feeding, washing, their hopes and plans changed in a split-second. Many still had remarkable spirits, great senses of humour, changing their goals and ambitions to small, attainable things – lifting a finger, breathing on their own for a few hours a day. Some had married. ‘My body was damaged, not my brain. I can still communicate, still fall in love,’ one said. The interviews with the carers – almost invariably the mothers – were as heartbreaking. Footage of elderly women gently washing their grown children. ‘I did it when he was a baby. I’m happy to do it now.’ But what happened after the mother died? Hospitals? Nursing homes? Is that where Tom was now, confined to a bed, a wheelchair? And if she did find him, would he even allow her to see him, give her the opportunity to say to his face how sorry she was, how sorry she would always be? Or would he send her away before she had a chance to speak?

Just over an hour later, something about the landscape made her slow down. A sign came into view, Castlemaine 25 km. She wasn’t far away now. She hadn’t been sure she would find her way so easily. There were no longer any roadside signs pointing to the Hall, after all. But it felt so familiar. The broad paddocks, gentle tree-covered hills, the big sky, the space. So much light and space. She stopped briefly to double-check her map and the smell when she opened the car door almost overwhelmed her: warm soil, gum leaves, the scents of her childhood.

Five kilometres later she was at the turn-off. The huge gum tree at the junction of the highway and the dirt driveway had always been their landmark. She indicated left and drove slowly, jolting over potholes and loose stones. As she tried to negotiate her way around the worst of them, she saw broken tree branches, crooked posts, gaps in the fencing. Her father would never have let the approach road look this uncared for. ‘First impressions are everything, my darlings,’ she could almost hear him saying.

The closer she came, the more neglect she saw: uneven patches of grass where there had once been smooth green lawn, bare brown earth where she’d once picked flowers, rows of fruit trees now left to grow wild, their branches heavy with unpicked, rotting fruit.

One final bend of the driveway and there it was in front of her. Templeton Hall.

She slowly brought the car to a halt, feeling as though her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. She’d expected the building to look smaller, but it seemed bigger. Two storeys high, large shuttered windows, an imposing front door reached by a flight of wide steps made from the same golden sandstone as the house itself. It needed painting, several roof tiles were broken and one of the window shutters was missing a slat, but it was still standing, almost glowing in the bright sunshine, as beautiful as she remembered.

As she walked towards it, the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her shoes mingled with unfamiliar bird calls from the trees all around. She automatically reached for the antique silver whistle, holding it tight in her hand.

She climbed the first step, the second, the third, wishing, too late, that she hadn’t offered to arrive early, hadn’t volunteered to be the first to step back inside the Hall again.

The front door opened before she had a chance to put the key in the lock.

In the seconds before her eyes adjusted completely from the bright sunlight, she registered only that a man was standing there. A tall man with dark, curly hair, holding something in his right hand. As she saw his face, she felt a rushing sensation from her head to her feet. She heard herself say his name as if from a long distance away.

‘Tom?’ She tried again. ‘Tom?’

‘Hello, Gracie.’

He took a step forward into the light.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.

She was imagining this. She had to be. She was still on the plane, daydreaming, picturing what she would most love to happen, the person she would most like to be there waiting for her. Tom, standing in front of her, tall, strong, looking down at her, his face as familiar as if she had kissed it only the day before, not eight years previously. His hair as dark and curly, his eyes as dark brown, his gaze as direct.

‘I was going to invite you to come in, but it probably should be the other way around.’

If he wasn’t real, if she was imagining this, how was he talking, stepping back into the doorway of the Hall, calmly waiting for her to come inside? If she was truly in charge of this, this apparition, he wouldn’t be saying that. He wouldn’t be keeping his distance. He would be smiling at her, throwing his arms around her, kissing her, telling her he had missed her so much, how hard it had been for them both. Of course he understood the guilt she felt, but at last, here she was. Here they both were —

‘Gracie?’

She wasn’t imagining this. It was Tom, waiting for her to answer him. An unsmiling Tom. After years of imagining this moment, of rehearsing every line, every plea, every apology, she couldn’t think of a single word to say to him.

For a long moment they stood, staring at each other. Then they both spoke at once.

‘I thought you were … I always imagined you … but you’re walking. You’re —’

‘I’m sorry to surprise you, but Hope told me you were arriving today.’

He smiled then, the briefest of smiles. ‘You first.’

She ignored for now his mention of Hope, having to say what she’d started, needing to know now. ‘You’re all right? You’re walking? You’re okay?’

‘I’m okay.’ A shutter came down over his face then.

She couldn’t stop her questions. ‘But Nina said you’d never walk again. She said —’

‘It turned out she was wrong.’ Where there had been a wary expression on his face, there was now something different. A blaze of something in his eyes. Anger. At her?

‘Tom, I —’ She stopped there. Where did she start? How could she explain everything? How happy she was for him, how shocked, how amazed, how confused. She was now filled with words she wanted to say, but there seemed to be no way to begin. ‘Why …?’ Again, she stopped.

‘Why am I here?’ That brief half-smile again, too quick. ‘I wanted to see you.’

That smile was enough. It would be all right between them. She knew in that instant. He was here, she was here, the two of them, alone, so much to talk about, so many questions. She smiled back, relief flooding through her, the shock of seeing him fading so fast, replaced with something else. Wonder, a kind of happiness. She felt tears come into her eyes and didn’t try to wipe them away. ‘Tom, I can’t tell you how long, how much …’ She laughed, the words suddenly rushing from her. She couldn’t tell him everything she needed to say quickly enough now. ‘I can’t begin to tell you, how it feels to see you, to see you’re all right. You must have been so tired of my —’

‘Hello there.’ A voice interrupted her. A female voice.

Gracie turned. Nina? Nina was here too?

It wasn’t Nina. It was a young woman, about Gracie’s age, maybe younger. A pretty woman with dark curls, as dark as Tom’s, in a crimson summer dress and blue cardigan. Gracie noticed every detail, as she stood, mid-sentence, watching the woman walk gracefully across the foyer to where she and Tom were still standing in the doorway, walk as if she crossed that tiled floor every day, so confident, getting closer, relaxed, curious, bright-eyed. Gracie could only keep watching as she came up close to Tom, looped her left hand through his arm and smiled again.

‘You must be Grace.’

‘Gracie.’ She sounded rude; she couldn’t help it. ‘It’s Gracie, not Grace.’

Another smile, a dimple appearing in the other woman’s cheek. ‘Sorry, Gracie. It’s just it seemed like a pet name and a bit forward of me to call you that when we hadn’t met yet.’

‘Who are you?’ She wouldn’t look at Tom. She could already sense what the answer would be and she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, look at him.

The woman held out her hand, keeping the other linked to Tom. ‘I’m Emily. Tom’s fiancée.’

The next ten minutes were the hardest of Gracie’s life. She felt as though she was suddenly in a stage play: an awkward, stiffly written play, with fake lines, fake manners, fake exchanges. Inside she was reeling, unable to take any of this in. Being back in the Hall again was difficult enough, but to be greeted by Tom, to be greeted by Tom and his fiancée, was a nightmare. She was dreaming it. She would wake up and she would be there on her own, none of this happening.

But it was. Tom, with Emily beside him, standing calmly and casually as if something like this happened every day, his voice as controlled as her questions were breathless.

‘How did you know I’d be here today?’

‘Hope told me you were coming.’

‘Hope did? But how did she know where you were?’

‘She got in touch with our solicitor in Castlemaine. He’s always known where I was.’

Was there something in his voice? An accusation? But she had written to that solicitor herself. Not just once, either. Surely he knew that? But he was still talking.

‘She explained you were both coming back. Asked if Nina and I wanted to join you, be part of your reunion.’

‘She what?’ It came out wrong. Gracie was astonished at Hope’s duplicity, not at the invitation. She knew immediately that Tom had taken it the wrong way. That shutter again, the wariness and something else back in his expression. She wanted to go to him then, take him into the next room, tell him how much she had thought about him, how much she still thought about him, explain everything, open her heart to him. But that was impossible. There was Emily beside him, her hand on his arm, her ownership clearly obvious, the message she was sending even more so. He’s mine now.

She had to talk to him. ‘Tom, can I, can you and I —?’

‘I’m sorry, Gracie. I can’t stay long. I’ve a flight to catch this afternoon, a work trip —’

‘You work?’ That came out wrong as well.

‘Yes, Gracie, I work.’

‘Where? What do you do?’

Emily answered for him. ‘He’s far too modest to tell you, but he’s one of the best young sports journalists in Australia. He won a Walkley last year.’

‘A journalist? But how did you …?’ She stopped there. Where did she start? All the questions she wanted to ask, that she couldn’t ask, not with his fiancée there beside him, not when she was still so completely and utterly bewildered.

‘I’m a cricket writer, Gracie,’ he said. ‘I’m about to go on tour with the Test team. But when I got Hope’s letter, I thought I should say hello at least.’

‘And I wanted to meet you,’ Emily said brightly. ‘I’ve heard so much about you all. The tours and all of that. It must have been great fun growing up here. Tom’s told me so much about your whole family.’

Was she really having this conversation? Standing here in the entrance hall, reminiscing, when Tom, her Tom, was there, metres away from her and all she wanted to do was run to him, to cry at the sight of him? She blinked hard once, twice, to stop the tears she could feel appearing.

Emily was still chattering away, sharing all she knew about Templeton Hall. Gracie turned away from her, looked at Tom, trying to plead with him with her eyes, to stay longer, to let her talk to him. There was a moment, a moment, when she saw something in his eyes, when it was like looking at the old Tom, her Tom. But then he looked away, smiled down at Emily, gently interrupted her chatter and said he was sorry, but they really should get going. He moved then. She saw a limp, a careful movement. Then she saw too, her heart almost stopping, that he was reaching for a walking stick, a half-crutch really, made of dark metal, black and stylish, but unmistakably a walking stick. She saw too that Emily got to it first and handed it to him unself-consciously. Look how close we are, she was saying to Gracie.

They were leaving. She couldn’t let him leave. Not yet. Not now. She found a bright voice from somewhere, made herself smile at Emily, directed it all at Emily. Happy, smiling Emily. Hateful Emily.

‘So you’re engaged? When’s the big day? There must be so much to organise.’ She had never used the words ‘big day’ for a wedding before in her life. She’d never been to a hen’s party, or been a bridesmaid and yet here she was urging this stranger to confide in her, to be girlfriends with her. She felt sick inside.

It worked. Emily stopped moving towards the door, but continued to hold Tom’s arm.

‘We haven’t quite set the date yet. It’s hard to do it with Tom travelling so much, but we’re keen to start a family, so the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.’ She gave a happy laugh.

Gracie did her best to laugh too. ‘And where did you meet?’

Emily smiled up at Tom. ‘We were match-made really, weren’t we?’

Tom wasn’t smiling. ‘Emily —’

‘Oh, Tom. Don’t be shy. Let me tell Gracie all about it. Women love these sorts of stories, don’t we, Gracie? It was when he was in hospital for all those months, after he got back from Italy.’

She brought it up as casually as that. Gracie realised she was holding her breath.

‘My father used to work at the cricket academy. He used to be a journalist but he’d crossed over to the dark side and was working with the young cricketers, as a mentor, media-training advisor, that kind of thing, and he and Tom were close —’

‘Stuart? Stuart Phillips is your father?’

Tom’s head jerked up.

‘You met my father?’ Emily’s voice changed imperceptibly. ‘I hadn’t realised that.’

‘No. No, I remember Tom talking about him.’ She wouldn’t look at Tom. She couldn’t.

Emily’s voice brightened again. ‘I’d heard Dad talk about Tom all the time, how brave he was, all the operations, the different methods they were trying to get him walking again. It was practically experimental, wasn’t it, Tom? You were their guinea pig, really? And of course after the operations there were all those months of physiotherapy and rehab …’

Gracie didn’t want to hear this from a stranger. She wanted to hear it from Tom. If there had been a miracle – there clearly had been some kind of a miracle – she wanted him to tell her. She wanted to be alone with him, holding his hands as he told her every single thing he’d been through in the past eight years. It wasn’t possible, though. Emily was still talking, talking, talking, smiling up at Tom, smiling at Gracie, her hand holding Tom’s arm so tightly Gracie could see the tension.

‘Anyway,’ Emily said, ‘Dad kept going on about him, what a great guy he was, and so eventually I thought I’d better see him for myself, so I came in with Dad one day and it was love at first sight really, Tom, wasn’t it?’

Tom didn’t say anything. Gracie looked at him. He was looking back at her.

Another hand-squeeze from Emily. Gracie saw it. ‘Well, love at first sight for me, anyway. It took Tom a few months to catch up.’ She laughed then, a pretty, musical laugh. ‘I’ll stop there. He’s getting embarrassed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Gosh, look at the time. Tom, we’d better get going if you’re going to make your flight.’

‘Where are you going, Tom?’ Gracie had to ask him something, had to prolong this meeting for as long as she could somehow, no matter how hard she was hurting inside.

‘To Perth. It’s a match between Australia and England.’

‘Who do you think will win?’ A ridiculous question, but she wouldn’t let him leave yet.

That half-smile again. Her old Tom was in there. He was in there somewhere. In that moment she was sure of it. ‘England doesn’t stand a chance.’

Gracie’s heart lightened. He was referring to the old family joke. She opened her mouth, was just a moment from mentioning it when she realised how completely inappropriate it would be. She stopped, silent, and felt her face grow red.

Emily was looking back and forth between the two of them. ‘Well,’ she said brightly and too loudly, ‘it’s been lovely to meet you, Gracie. I hope your visit goes well. Come on, Tom. We should get going.’

Tom reached into his pocket. ‘I’ve got something for you, Gracie. I should have sent it back years ago, I’m sorry.’ It was a big brass key. A key to the Hall.

She held out her hand. He held out his. For a second the key was the link between them.

‘I thought Nina …’ she stopped there. What could she say? ‘I thought Nina had returned everything to us?’ No, she didn’t want to say that. ‘Thank you.’ She made herself ask the question. ‘How is Nina?’

‘Fine. Good.’

Where is she? Has she forgiven me yet? Would she see me even if you clearly never want to see me again, if you and Emily are too happy together, getting married and having children, to ever want to see me again? ‘Oh. Good.’ A long pause. Too long. ‘Please tell her I was asking after her.’

A nod.

‘Well, bye, Gracie.’ Emily, all smiles.

‘Bye, Emily.’

‘Goodbye, Gracie.’

‘Goodbye, Tom.’

There was no smiling between them.

Gracie stood at the door as they walked to the side of the Hall where their car was parked, out of sight. Tom’s limp was now hardly noticeable. She watched and waited until they got in the car, until he started the engine, until the car was on the driveway. She waved when they did, waited until they were completely out of sight, before she went back inside the Hall, shut the front door and burst into tears.