‘Wait?’ Jake’s outburst caused curious glances from the other Fisho’s Club patrons at the bar. ‘For how long, sis?’
Sidney shrugged and slid her phone back in her pocket. ‘How should I know? I asked for him by name and enquired about visiting and the woman on the other end of the telephone said someone would phone me back in business hours.’
‘They have business hours?’
‘A prison isn’t like a hotel. I guess they don’t transfer phone calls to cells or have twenty-four hour concierge.’ Sid’s smile was short-lived. ‘It was dumb to even ring at this time of night. Besides, they probably have to verify callers. Make sure we’re legit.’
‘You didn’t ask anything about him.’
‘They’re hardly going to say much over the phone, Jake, and I wasn’t about to cross-examine the woman.’
‘But you interrogate so well.’
‘Very funny.’ Sid stared at the now pitch-black cove over her brother’s shoulder. ‘Here I was thinking the hardest part was deciding what to say to the man.’
‘Getting to see him is going to prove harder still. Maybe we have to rob a bank to get inside the joint.’
‘Hmm.’ Sid didn’t laugh. She’d lost her sense of humour when she’d lost her job, her partner of seven years, and most of her friends.
‘Why do you want to see him so badly, Sid? Did it bother you, not having a proper family and grandparents and all that? I never thought you really cared.’
‘At school sometimes, hearing the other girls talk about having a big extended family and sisters to borrow clothes from. You?’
‘Massive family feasts would’ve been pretty cool. All of us sitting at a huge table picking at platters. The worst thing was seeing so few people at Dad’s funeral,’ Jake said, serious now. ‘Having no one from his side of the family made the whole thing sadder.’
‘Most of the family died young. Isn’t that what we were told growing up?’
‘Yeah, and I used to believe what I was told. Like I believed you about the bloody tooth fairy.’ Her brother rolled his eyes.
‘This isn’t a joking matter, Jake.’
‘Neither is upsetting Mum. Maybe you should give up on the idea.’
‘We’re here now and with the jail not far away I could drive there tomorrow. Fronting up and making enquiries in person, and with ID, might speed up the process, or even clear us for visiting on the spot. But if we have to wait, all joking about inheritances aside, I really am happy to wait on my own.’
Jake eyed his sister. ‘No. I’ll hang around Watercolour Cove, too. This could get interesting. Hey, love!’ Jake nabbed the attention of the young female bar attendant collecting glasses from an adjacent table. ‘Know of any temporary work going in town for a big, burly bloke like me?’
The girl raised a well-shaped eyebrow and shrugged, jerking her head towards the bar. ‘Noticeboard sometimes has the odd thing, or you can ask at the co-op tomorrow.’
‘And a place to bunk down?’ When the girl glanced in Sidney’s direction Jake was quick to clarify, ‘With my sister. So a couple of rooms.’
‘Try the caravan park. They have two-room villas with a sofa bed. Nice, but not cheap. Entrance is behind the petrol station, over the road from the breakwall.’
‘Yeah, we know it. Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you around.’ Jake winked at the barmaid, then gulped the last of his beer before burping a short tune.
Sid laughed, grateful to have a brother like Jake. ‘I love you, you big ape. Come on.’
• • •
‘Problem solved,’ Jake announced the next morning.
‘Shut the door–quick,’ Sid demanded before the wintery sea breeze blew through to her bones. ‘Which problem would that be?’
‘We have a place to live for free as well as a paying job.’ He plonked himself down victoriously in the chair opposite to Sid at the small round table under the villa’s air conditioner, now rattling hot air into the room to take the chill out of the morning.
‘Seriously? How?’ Sid asked in between mouthfuls of the healthy, homemade muesli she’d cooked and packed before they left home: no salt, no sweeteners, no surprises. ‘Where is this too-good-to-be-true opportunity?’
‘I went for a run while you were snoring your head off.’ Jake had taken an apple from the plastic bag Sid hadn’t unpacked yet and was busy polishing the skin with his shirttail. ‘Geez, you’d wake the dead.’
‘Yeah, yeah, get on with your explanation.’
‘Figured I’d check out if there was any work going on a local trawler, or something.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing on the boats, so I was checking out the fish co-op–at the same time checking out the blonde behind the counter. Her and I got talking and there’s work going on a local property–perfect for you and me.’
‘Chuck some of that horse chaff of yours in a bowl for me and I’ll tell you.’
Sidney complied, but she was worried. Jake had the worst employment record of anyone on the planet. Their mother was constantly on at him about being more responsible, while in the meantime spoiling him rotten and doing his weekly laundry. The rambunctious, rebellious and restless Jake had been a bit of a wild one and a big dreamer. He’d failed to get good grades at school and missed out altogether on their mother’s creative genes–and her ambition. Now he flitted from one seasonal hospitality job to another because the pay usually meant six months working and six months skylarking. With his boyish crop of dark curls, Jake had grown up to be the image of their father, but that was where the resemblance ended.
Their father had been a hardworking man whose number-one priority was always financial security, often to the point of penny-pinching. Frugal was probably one of the first words Sid had learned as a child. Reliable and loyal, she liked to think she took after him in that way. Father and daughter were both high achievers. They were also trusting, which meant disappointment came easily and too often. On the contrary, her mother trusted no one. Fiercely protective, Natalie took no prisoners–no fight too big when it came to family. That often meant arguing with her husband about not spending enough on the children, especially when they finally had the funds.
Sid cared less than her mother about the material things money could buy, but there was no denying she shared Natalie’s creativity and her drive to succeed. Sid hadn’t realised how fiercely protective she could be, and how much like her mother she really was, until standing in front of Damien a couple of months back. What a moment of absolute clarity that had been. The look on his face was still etched into her brain.
‘You should’ve told me before, Sid,’ Damien had said that day.
‘I’m telling you now. I’ve only just found out myself. It’s not like I could have looked in a crystal ball and seen it coming.’
‘No, Sid, but there is a thing called contraception. I thought you had that detail covered.’
‘I did. I do. It just happened.’
‘And you haven’t done this to make me marry you?’
‘Make you marry me?’
‘Sorry, Sid, that sounds a bit harsh. It’s just . . .’ Damien paced back and forth between the breakfast counter and the window of their tenth-floor apartment with a view of Melbourne’s Yarra River. ‘We never discussed kids.’
‘Yes, we did actually, Damien, at Lloyd and Justine’s baby christening. Lloyd had asked you to be godfather and you told me you loved the idea of raising a child.’
‘Yeah, sure, Lloyd’s child. On a weekend. Every now and then. Shower the kid with gifts and hand it back–that kind of kid. Besides, my best mate asked. What else was I supposed to say? Thanks, but no thanks? I thought you knew I was being polite.’ When Damien reached out for her hands, Sid searched desperately for something to keep them busy, like tucking her shirt in the top of her trousers. She couldn’t look at him. ‘You know I don’t have what it takes to be a father full time. I’m too busy growing a business. Our business, babe.’
‘So what do you expect me to do?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I thought we wanted the same thing. Now I’m . . . stumped.’ He shook his head in a way that reminded Sid of her mother.
‘And I’m pregnant with your child–in case you were looking for a way to ask.’
‘Sid, come on.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she said, both hands now clawing her waist. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
Silence.
‘Say something, Damien.’
‘Sid, this isn’t my call. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and unduly influence your decision.’
‘My decision? I see.’ Sid knew then just how strong she had to be. ‘So I’ll be making the biggest decision of my life on my own. Fine.’
Jake shovelled a spoonful of muesli into his mouth and chewed it down before giving Sid a cocky grin. ‘Did you hear me, sis? I said I’d like this recipe. It’s good.’
‘Sure, whatever.’
‘Ooh, who got out of the grumpy side of the bed this morning?’ Jake continued to talk through the last mouthful of muesli. ‘Wanna know about the job, or not?’
‘Yes, Jake. When you’re ready. I have all day to watch you eat breakfast.’
Looking smug, he slid his cereal bowl to the centre of the table as though the dish might pick up the spoon and run away to the kitchen sink all on its own. ‘Cushy caretaking job, only a few days a week–with perks,’ he added.
‘Perks?’
‘For a start it’s some sort of tourist operation that has accommodation and a gallery attached. Pretentious prancing around an art gallery is right up your alley, sis, whereas I get to do the hard yakka and keep the property maintained.’
‘And we get to live in?’ Sid raised her voice over the sound of water running into the kitchen sink and the clatter of cutlery as she rinsed plates. ‘Sounds too good to be true. Who’s offering the job?’
‘Pearl referred to the place as The Greenhill Plantation, so I’m guessing it’s the Greenhills’ place.’
‘And where exactly do we find these Greenhills?’
Jake wiped the back of his hand across the milk droplet on his chin. ‘Last night you were curious about who lived in that house you can see on top of the highest hill? Well . . .’ Another grin, even more smug. ‘If we pass muster, sis, you and me will be living there–that’s who.’
‘Seriously?’ Sidney bent over to peer out the villa’s rear window, through tall palm trees, towards the distant mountain behind. The steep hillside was a patchwork of green in the morning’s golden light. Some sections were planted out with banana trees, others left bare, only a dirt track snaking its way back and forth, linking both areas. Her gaze travelled the narrow, winding ribbon of roadway to the dwelling perched at the very tip. ‘And you’re sure the job is for the two of us? Who told you?’
‘Come on, Madam Sceptic, I’ll take you to the fish co-op and you can hear it all yourself from Pearl’s lovely lips. Then you can tell me how smart I am. In fact . . .’ Jake took the tea towel from Sid’s shoulder and started wiping dishes. ‘Maybe you can hold off and praise me after Pearl’s done talking. I’d kinda like to make a good impression.’
‘Pearl?’ Sidney pictured a little old lady with mauve hair and a matching twin-set busily wrapping up smelly fish in paper.
‘Pearl’s the chick at the co-op. Come on, get yourself ready. She said she wanted to meet you first.’
• • •
Pearl was tiny, as Sid had imagined, but young and pretty, though in an unusual way–her skin colourless and her hair as white as the shaved ice she was scooping around the fresh fish on display. She waved from behind the counter when Jake blustered into the shop, Sidney close behind him.
Cold and reeking of seafood and saltwater, the place ponged a lot like Jake when he’d worked at the Sydney Fish Markets, coming home to Natalie’s on a Monday with a week’s worth of laundry sealed in a plastic garbage bag. Sidney preferred her fish cooked and on a plate, especially when Jake practised a new dish. His Monday night cook-up had been the one positive thing about moving back into her mother’s house. But when her brother brought home his smelly clothes Sid had wanted to hold her nose. She wished she could do the same now.
‘Hey-ya, Jake.’ Plump, sexy lips painted bright red smiled. ‘And you’re Sidney?’ The girl extended the palest of arms, tattooed from her shoulder to her elbow with a purple climbing rose. Up close, her hair, currently in a ponytail with the fringe held back by a pair of dark sunglasses resting on top of her head, was white, not simply over-bleached as Sid had first thought. One thing was for sure–Pearl wore her complexion beautifully.
‘Nice meeting you, too.’ Sidney shook hands, regretting the cold, wet contact instantly. ‘Jake said you know about the Greenhill place offering work and accommodation.’
‘I know it all right. I’m up on the mountain a few times a week. I do remedial therapy–like massages and stuff,’ Pearl said.
‘You mean like a masseuse?’ Jake’s eager enquiry received the same eyebrow-raising reaction from both women. Sidney knew what his pea-sized brain was doing with that bit of information. Her brother was about to burst just picturing the very pretty Pearl in a very particular masseuse mode.
Pearl grinned at him. ‘Not quite. There’d be even less call for that line of work here. There are a few local customers in need of healing hands who come to me. I’ve got a room in my place. But some I visit, like the bloke who runs the gallery up on top of the mountain. I enjoy the work, plus he pays me to mind the shop, so to speak. It’s a nice change.’
‘From working with seafood?’ Sid asked.
She could tell from Pearl’s small snicker that fishy comments were right up there with her brother’s masseuse misunderstanding. He’d been so keen to make a good impression, too. Sid wasn’t sure either of them had managed to achieve that so far.
‘I’ve had years to get used to the smell here. No longer bothers me.’ With the front of the red gumboots she wore over faded and torn jeans, Pearl kicked a crate of fresh milk across the floor, lowered her sunglasses to her face and commenced stocking the self-serve fridge, at the same time talking over her shoulder. ‘So anyway, yeah, the job . . . Well, Greenhills was one of the earliest banana plantations in the district, and for years the most productive–a third-generation family business. But things changed a lot in the slump of the 1990s, about the time I was born. These days the main house is an overpriced B & B for snobs throughout summer and a gallery for artistic snobs all year round. The place also provides an outlet for local artists to display and sell their work, so that makes it easier to put up with arty-farty folk, as long as they bring their money with them.’
Jake butted in. ‘Sid’s keen to know about the accommodation.’
‘The property has a couple of old worker cottages, while the main house has six guest bedrooms with two share bathrooms. The two of you can share the smaller, self-contained caretaker cottage.’ Pearl kicked the now empty milk crate and it skated over wet tiles to the far end of the counter, while the smile on her face suggested she’d seen the look pass between the siblings. ‘Past managers have been a hubby-and-wife-type deal. There’s a pull-out sofa bed.’ She shrugged. ‘Or you can arrange something different. Best to play things by ear for a few days. You can make your own accommodation arrangements in town, of course, but take it from me, a villa will send you broke.’
‘Don’t we know it!’ Jake said, his eyes on the display of fresh fish Pearl was back behind.
‘Besides, I can tell you from experience, having helped out since the last workers bolted, travelling up that road every day gets tiresome, which makes me very happy you’re interested in the job.’
‘Have there been many past managers?’ Sidney was beginning to wonder if this offer was too good to be true.
‘There’s nothing sinister about the place, if that’s what you’re thinking. Mostly people are travellers, like you. They come and go. Although . . .’ Pearl seemed to scan the shop before leaning over the counter, a finger beckoning Sid closer as she slid the sunnies to the top of her head again. Pearl’s eyes, blue and framed by strikingly white lashes, were the most dazzling Sid had ever seen. ‘The owner can be a bit stroppy. He dislikes art snobs and elitists equally. As the gallery gets a few of them, he mostly keeps to himself and never mixes with the guests when they’re staying.’
Or the help, Sidney figured. Fine with me!
‘So when do we meet him to talk about the job?’ she asked Pearl.
‘You’ve already got the job. He lets me hire, and as I’m a jill-of-all-trades up there until the jobs are filled, you can consider yourselves hired–unofficially.’
Sidney was confused. ‘Unofficially?’
‘By that I mean don’t go telling the taxman or anything. You’ll be paid cash in hand. Good cash, too. What he calls isolation money. Easy money at this time of year. Well, for the next few months, anyway.
‘Why the next few months?’
‘The B & B is closed until the end of winter, and the gallery is only operating Thursday to Sunday at the moment. To be honest, I reckon he’d shut the place down if the gallery wasn’t on the council’s cultural trail. Gets a few day tourists, either coming from Coffs Harbour in small groups by bus, or sightseers in their own cars. Others take the trip up to the gallery simply because the road is there. They see the trek up the mountain as a challenge for their city four-wheel drives. But no matter, as long as they buy something at the gallery before they go. That’s where you come in. You’re basically minding the shop.’
‘I see.’ Sidney looked out the front window of the co-op at the rough mountain road, winding its way up until it disappeared from view.
Isolation money or danger money?