The following day Brad put his plan into action as soon as he got to work. He went to see his manager, and watched Rodney shuffling papers around, as usual trying to give the impression that he could hardly spare the time to talk to anyone.
Brad fought hard to restrain the smile that was twitching at the corners of his lips. He was going to enjoy every second of this meeting. Rodney was a fool, a pompous, self-opinionated fool. But the manager’s job had come up when Helen was terminally ill and Brad hadn’t even bothered to apply. He’d felt from the start that things wouldn’t go well for Helen, though he hadn’t said that to her, of course. Another of his hunches, one he could have done without.
For all his lack of sleep, Brad’s brain felt crystal clear this morning. ‘I turn fifty-four tomorrow,’ he announced when Rodney looked up.
‘What? Oh. Happy birthday. Don’t forget to bring us some of that fantastic chocolate cake.’
There was a pause as Rodney realized his faux pas.
Brad took a deep breath. Helen had been famous for her cooking, sending in luscious cakes each year to celebrate his birthday. ‘Look, I need—’
‘I’d like to talk to you about—’
They both spoke together then broke off. Determined not to be sidetracked, Brad quickly dived in before Rodney could start again. ‘Fifty-four,’ he repeated loudly. ‘One year away from retirement.’ Ah! Now he had his manager’s full attention. ‘And I want to retire early.’
‘Isn’t it a bit premature to discuss this? I mean, you have another year left before you’re eligible to stop work. And anyway, you’ve still got a lot to give to the organization. When I consider—’
Brad interrupted ruthlessly. ‘I have six months’ long service leave accrued. If I take that on half pay, it’ll double the time and bring me to retirement age. I not only want to retire; I need to. So I’m telling you first, since you’re my manager.’ He pushed a couple of pieces of paper across the table and added with great relish, ‘Here. These are the forms you’ll need to sign to OK that.’
Rodney pushed the pieces of paper hastily back, shaking his head. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean this, Brad. It’s—’ he paused and his voice took on a solicitous tone that was as false as his smile, ‘the anniversary of Helen’s death soon, isn’t it?’
Brad nodded, feeling his face muscles tighten. He had never discussed his feelings with Rodney and never would.
‘You’re bound to be feeling a bit down. Look, why don’t you take a week off? We can manage without you for a few days, though it won’t be easy.’
‘No.’
Rodney puffed out an angry breath. ‘I’m trying to give you time to think things through properly. You should—’
‘I shan’t change my mind. If it weren’t for my superannuation entitlements, I’d have gone two years ago.’
Rodney glared at him. ‘Well, I won’t approve a year’s leave. I do have the power of veto on such things, you know. Your services are going to be needed on the big new training project.’ He took the papers, ripped them in half and tossed them in the bin.
Brad shook his head, trying not to smile. ‘I’ll have to see the doctor then and ask about sick leave. I’ve been feeling rather depressed lately. In fact, that might actually be the best way to do things from a financial point of view. I’ve got lots of accrued sick leave. Yes, that’s a great idea, Rodney. Thanks. You’re doing me a favour by refusing, really.’
He stood up and walked towards the door, turning only at the last minute to frown and say, ‘On the other hand, I’d rather do it my way by using up my holiday leave. Fewer hassles, you know. I’m really not up to hassles at the moment.’
With a loud, patently false sigh, he left, but couldn’t help smiling broadly once he’d closed the door. He strolled back across the big open area to his office at the far side, a rare cubicle of privacy on the perimeter of a group of desks, ringing telephones and staring faces. For once, he didn’t stop to speak to any of his colleagues.
But he couldn’t settle to work. His thoughts kept returning to Rosie and to the idea he’d been toying with for a while, of going to England and travelling round Europe. It all fitted together so neatly, as if it was meant to be.
Gina woke up with a start, covered in sweat, and gaped in shock at the glowing green numerals on the clock/radio. Nine o’clock! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so late. She usually enjoyed getting up early, especially during the hotter months, waking at six or even earlier.
Then she remembered what she’d discovered among her father’s papers, something which had kept her awake until the small hours, and she groaned softly. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. But as she showered and snatched a hasty breakfast, she knew it was, didn’t even need to look at those papers to check.
She pulled them out of the bag and checked anyway. Yes, she’d remembered the date on the second marriage certificate quite correctly.
Her parents hadn’t got married until she was ten years old!
She didn’t mind about them living in unwedded bliss, but she did mind them pretending they’d got married the year before she was born, counting off the supposed number of years each wedding anniversary and including her in their little celebrations.
They’d lied to her!
She minded that very much indeed.
There were some envelopes with faded Australian stamps in the carrier bag, addressed to members of his family in England. Jake Everett was the name on some of them, Peggy Everett on the rest. That wasn’t his wife’s name, so who were these people? Children? Did she have a half-brother and sister? The mere idea of that made her clutch the envelope to her bosom and close her eyes. So often as a child she’d longed for a brother or sister.
Or were these people her father’s siblings? In which case she had an aunt and uncle.
Why had the letters been returned unopened, though?
She studied them. They all had the same address, scored through with a heavy hand and ‘Not wanted at this address, return to sender’ written in big capital letters.
She wondered whether to open them, but didn’t feel she ought to. It would seem like prying into something very private.
Then she gasped as another thought occurred to her. Perhaps she could go and find these people, give them the letters in person? Surely after all this time they’d have lost their anger and be prepared to hear what her father had to say.
She went to make herself a cup of English Breakfast Tea, her favourite in the mornings, and sat staring into space for so long it went cold.
‘Snap out of it!’ she told herself. She still had to finish clearing out her father’s house.
Putting the letters away, she ate a bowl of cereal and set off. It took a full hour to drive up the freeway from Mandurah to her father’s house, what with major road works and the busy Saturday traffic. When she pulled up on the drive, she stood by her car for a minute or two, staring at the old weatherboard house with its sagging veranda, suddenly reluctant to go inside. She hoped desperately that there wouldn’t be any further shocks lying in wait for her.
The house looked the same as ever. Only the garden betrayed a lack of care and attention. It had been beautiful before, her father’s hobby, with roses, petunias and flowering bushes to attract the birds. Now, it was merely tidy and she’d put the bird feeder away. She hadn’t time to do anything except weed the front, make sure the reticulation system was working and pay a man twenty dollars to mow the lawn every couple of weeks. Grass grew so quickly in the hot weather and the place had to look neat so that it could be sold.
When she went inside, her strange mood evaporated and the house felt, as it had always done, peaceful and welcoming. She’d had a very happy childhood here. It suddenly came to her that what had happened didn’t change that and feeling better, she settled down to work on clearing the final bedroom.
Her parents weren’t stupid or spiteful. They must have had a very good reason for what they’d done.
At two o’clock there was a banging on the front door and Lexie yelled through the letter box, ‘Open up, Mum. We’re here to kidnap you again. It is Saturday, you know. You don’t have to work 24/7.’
Gina hurried to unlock the door, wishing her car hadn’t given away the fact that she was here. Today she’d far rather have been left alone.
Lexie stared at her. ‘Why did you lock the door? Are you all right? You look tired.’
‘I didn’t sleep very well.’
‘Why not?’
Gina shrugged, wondered whether to explain why, then decided not to, not yet anyway. ‘It’s upsetting me, clearing out Dad’s stuff.’
‘I told you it wasn’t worth the effort. You should have given everything to a charity and let them clear the place.’
‘We’d all be several thousand dollars poorer if I’d done that.’
Lexie stared at her. ‘You mean those horrible, lumpy old pieces of furniture are worth that much?’
‘So the valuer told me. At least they’ve taken them away now, so I shan’t be worrying about the house getting broken into. There’s probably nothing else of value left.’
‘I’ve got this afternoon free, so I can help you if you like, speed things up a little.’
Ben began tugging at his grandmother’s jeans, holding his hands up to be cuddled so she picked him up. ‘Thanks for offering, Lexie love, but I need to do this myself. And anyway, you’d just throw everything away.’
Lexie grinned. ‘Yeah, well, someone has to or you’ll never get it finished.’
‘Look, I’ve got everything sorted out into piles and you know what Ben’s like. Let me finish it my way. You could make me a cup of tea before you go, though. I’ve brought some of my own tea bags. Dad used to drink cheap rubbish.’
‘You and your fancy teas! Have you had any lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You always used to nag us to eat sensibly, so I’m going to return the favour now. I’ll go and buy you a sandwich at the corner deli and I’m staying to make sure you eat it. We don’t want you fainting when you’re babysitting Ben tonight.’
Damn! Gina had forgotten about the babysitting. She would normally have brought her overnight things with her to save an extra journey, since Lexie’s house was the other side of her father’s from hers.
When her daughter came back from the deli, Gina obediently ate the sandwich.
‘Mum… Did you know Mel’s pregnant again?’
Gina gaped at her. ‘No, I certainly didn’t, though she didn’t look well last time I babysat. But she said she’d been doing extra hours at work. Why on earth didn’t she tell me?’
‘She’s upset about it because she’s sick as a dog again.’
‘Poor darling. My mother said she was the same when she was carrying me.’ Gina screwed up the piece of paper the sandwich had been wrapped in and threw it into a bag of oddments destined for the tip. ‘Time for you to leave now, Lexie. I’ll never get anything done with this young man messing up my piles.’
‘All right. See you tonight!’
‘What? Oh, yes.’ Damn! She’d have to leave early to go home and fetch her things. She was getting a bit tired of all the babysitting, something she’d never expected to feel in the first flush of joy at having grandchildren. No, she’d buy a cheap nightie and go as she was to Lexie’s. It was a warm day. She didn’t need anything else, could leave early tomorrow morning to go home.
Since Tom’s death, both Lexie and Mel simply assumed Gina would be free any time they wanted her help, which had been three times last week, and she’d had to miss her book club meeting. If this went on she’d have no life of her own. She needed to put her foot down about it.
She began to go through the final bits and pieces in grim readiness for any other nasty surprises. But she couldn’t settle to it with her usual efficiency, because one thought kept coming back to her.
She might have half-brothers or sisters in England!
The thought of that made something deep inside her ache, the same desperate longing for family that had haunted her childhood, something she thought she’d outgrown after she married. Tom had an older brother and a few relatives in Sydney, but apart from that one visit, he hadn’t kept in touch with them beyond a card at Christmas. None of them had bothered to come across to Western Australia for his funeral, which had seemed dreadful to her.
She’d have kept in touch if she’d had a brother or sister. It must be so wonderful to have big family parties and…
Oh, she was a fool! Always wishing for the moon lately.
Brad couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who said she was his daughter. The letter writer must be telling the truth… mustn’t she? Surely no one would lie about a matter as important as that? And she knew about him and Jane.
The mere thought of this Rosie, another child of his begetting, made him catch his breath in wonder and stop whatever he was doing to contemplate the idea. What did she look like? Did she take after his side of the family or Jane’s? He dearly loved the two children he had raised. He didn’t always agree with them or approve of what they were doing with their lives – which seemed a natural parental reaction to the next generation – but that didn’t stop him loving them. They were flesh of his flesh and that made all the difference.
He would be happy to love another child, however belatedly.
Why hadn’t Jane told him?
He replied to Rosie the day after receiving her letter, noting that she’d given him a PO Box, not a street address, and wondering if that was significant. It was a difficult letter to write, even for a man supposed to be skilled with words, but he assured her that he was indeed the correct Brad Rosenberry and that he wanted very much to meet her, would have done so sooner if he’d known of her existence.
He wanted to say so much more, to ask about her current life and interests, her childhood, what had happened to her mother, what Jane thought about this… but decided after several abortive attempts that it would be better to keep his first communication short and wait until they were face to face to do some real talking. He did ask if next time Rosie could send him a photo, though. He didn’t even know what colour her hair and eyes were.
Why hadn’t she emailed him about this? It’d have been so much quicker. Everyone of her age was on email these days and most people his age, too. He included his email address in his reply, just in case.
He hadn’t told Michael and Joanna what he was doing. Better to present his two children with a fait accompli about both the retirement and the trip to England. They’d grown absurdly protective of him since Helen’s death and wouldn’t like him going off on his own.
He, on the other hand, was excited about it.
And if he was too old to climb any tall mountains at fifty-four, he wasn’t too old to climb a few hills, surely?