Brianna
Sydney, March 2017
Landing gear hitting the tarmac jolted Brie out of sleep and a moment later the first officer’s voice came through the PA system.
‘Welcome to Sydney, where the time is eight twenty-five am.’
Brie stretched, feeling the aches, kinks and fatigue that go hand in hand with being forced to sleep while upright. Rubbing her lower back, she groaned, and the older woman next to her shot her a sympathetic smile.
‘Night flights are both a blessing and a curse,’ she said. Brie’s face must’ve been painted with confusion, so she elaborated, ‘You either sleep the whole distance or you don’t.’
Brie grimaced. ‘Then it was a curse for me.’
The woman chuckled wisely. ‘I’ve had many of those, but this time it was a blessing for me.’
Brie smiled politely. She wasn’t kidding. As soon as they took off, the woman had reclined (if you could call the meagre movement of the economy-class seat a recline) and within minutes had begun snoring like a tractor, only ceasing when the customer service manager announced their descent into Sydney.
Truthfully, Brie couldn’t blame the woman for her sleeplessness. Not entirely at least. It was a motley combination of anxiety, adrenaline and grief. In less than twenty-four hours, Brie had packed up her life in Narita, on the outskirts of Tokyo, and purchased a one-way ticket to Sydney. Her rented apartment, in typical Japanese style, situated on a narrow street lined with colourful shops and restaurants in the style of Japan’s Edo period and near Narita’s centuries-old Naritasan Shinshoji Temple, was the size of a shoebox, with all the furniture and appliances as part of the property agreement. It had been home for the past three years.
The physical act of packing had been relatively simple. What did it say about a person when all their worldly possessions could fit in one single suitcase? Did it mean their life was not focused on materialistic baubles? That they lived like a gypsy, ready to be whisked away by the next adventure life had waiting for them? Or did it mean that like a gypsy, their nomadic life meant no home, no roots, no knowing where they belonged?
‘For those visiting Sydney, we wish you a pleasant stay, for those returning, welcome home,’ the first officer’s voice sounded once again.
Home.
The four-letter word twisted like a barb in her chest. Brie was born and raised in Sydney, but it had ceased to be home long ago. Brianna Hart may have known where she came from, but she didn’t know where she belonged. And now, the only thing that linked her to Sydney, her grandmother, Rosie, was gone.
She was faced with the grim task of planning Rosie’s funeral. Brie wasn’t sure why the call informing her of her grandmother’s death had come with such shock. It was inevitable, after all. Rosie was eighty-one, no spring chicken, and yet, Brie was floored. Maybe it was because all her life, Rosie had seemed invincible. She had singlehandedly raised Brie and run a successful business, a business that she only stepped away from a little over eighteen months ago. Invincible, it seemed, but not immortal.
Sydney’s trademark humidity hit Brie the second she stepped out of the airport terminal. Even though summer was officially over, the heat would hang around for some weeks, like an oppressive Third World dictator suppressing its citizens. Stripping off her heavy winter coat, she headed towards the taxi stand. It was just before ten in the morning. Brie had just enough time to head to her gran’s house, shower and change before she was due to meet with the funeral planner. In the back of the cab, she rubbed her gritty eyes. It would be so easy to nod off, but sleep would need to wait. It was only a short ride to Rose Bay.
As the taxi turned into her gran’s street, Brie felt her heart squeeze. She’d packed and left in such a hurry that the thought of returning to an empty house had slipped her mind. Was she ready for this? Even though she’d lived alone for the better part of a decade, she’d never been at Gran’s house alone.
The taxi pulled into the driveway, but Brie didn’t move. She was transfixed by the sight before her.
‘Miss?’ the driver prompted when she made no effort to get out. ‘This is the right address, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is.’ Brie made the mechanical movements of paying and retrieving her luggage, and as the taxi drove away, she stood rooted to the spot in disbelief. Finally, she pulled out her phone and called her grandmother’s solicitor. ‘Joe, it’s Brianna Hart.’
‘Brianna, I’m so sorry about your—’
‘I’m standing outside of the house, Joe.’
There was a pause as Joe Nichols, Rosie’s solicitor of forty years, slowly processed Brie’s words. ‘She didn’t tell you,’ he sighed heavily.
‘No, Joe, she didn’t.’ Brie closed her eyes and rubbed the heel of her hand into her forehead. Tears pricked the inside of her eyelids. Anger and confusion battled for attention. ‘Why wouldn’t she tell me, Joe? Why wouldn’t she tell me she sold the house?’
‘I have no idea, Brianna. I simply assumed you knew … I thought you and Rosie were so close.’
‘Yeah, I thought so too.’ And here she was standing outside her childhood home that brandished a ‘For Sale’ sign with a fire-engine red ‘Sold’ sticker.
‘Perhaps you’d better come in and see me.’
‘I’m due at the funeral parlour soon.’
‘Can you come after that?’ There was an urgency in Joe’s voice that didn’t bode well.
‘What’s going on, Joe?’
Joe cleared his throat. ‘If Rosie didn’t tell you about selling the house, I’m guessing she didn’t inform you of the … other matters.’
‘Other matters? What other matters?’ she demanded.
‘Brianna, such things are better discussed in person.’
‘Joe, for crying out loud, just tell me. What else was Rosie hiding?’ But even as she asked the question, her mind was working overtime.
‘I think it’s best if I show you. I’ll text you an address. Will you be able to meet me after you’re done at the funeral parlour?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ she said, suddenly feeling like she was in the middle of The Bourne Identity or some godforsaken spy movie. She ended the call and less than a minute later, Joe’s text came through. Brie frowned. She knew the street, but had no idea what it would have to do with her grandmother.
What on earth was the connection between Rosie and Kings Cross?