A mob of wild horses could not have dragged Natalie back to this town. The love of her children had brought her here and deposited her overnight in the dingiest motel on the planet because there hadn’t been an available motel room or cabin anywhere in Coffs Harbour.
Ridiculous!
Due to the weekend car rally, and all the tourists, she’d had to accept her daughter’s invitation to stay at this Watercolour Cove place for the next two nights. As soon as Natalie could find a room in a nice beachside resort back in Coffs, she would. When Jake was discharged she’d secure him a room of his own. He’d need his mother, but he’d also need his privacy, especially with a girl on the scene. Natalie had made a mental note to make a few subtle enquiries. It couldn’t be too hard to find out about a girl named Pearl who lived in a beach shack.
In the meantime, here was Natalie accompanying her daughter and quietly curious about the idyllically named Watercolour Cove, thinking what a lovely title for a residential estate. No doubt a developer had carved up a slice of the forest on the outskirts of Coffs Harbour, given the place a stylish name to justify the hefty house and land package prices, and created another satellite suburb. Coffs Harbour, these days, seemed to be bursting with new housing.
The view from her window seat on the flight in had been both spectacular and surprising. The plane’s approach followed a dozen pristine beaches before descending low over the magnificent marina precinct. What she hadn’t expected to see from the air was the sprawling regional city, its once green landscape now marred by deforestation, development, and white bird netting, with newly established residential pockets sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb. Now, from inside her daughter’s Jeep, there seemed to be nothing but chain-wire fencing along a new highway that allowed truck convoys to travel at terrifying speeds. Nervous and a little queasy, Natalie focused her stare out the passenger window and remembered those times Hilda had tasked Ulf with collecting something from Coffs Harbour. Tilly would ask to go along–just the thought of getting out of Dinghy Bay for a day was enough to put up with Ulf and his smutty jokes.
Sid had mentioned their destination today was quite a bit south of Coffs CBD and Natalie had wondered if they would drive right by, or come close to, Dinghy Bay, which was obviously still too small a town for inclusion on the map Nat had discovered among the motel room’s tourism brochures. She had checked the map’s index, curious despite herself, but Dinghy Bay wasn’t listed.
‘Fine,’ Natalie had muttered to herself at the time. She had no intention of seeking out the place of her youth anyway. But as the Jeep now ploughed south, she had butterflies in her stomach and with each passing landmark she recognised, those butterflies took flight for a few seconds.
Sidney was pointing things out as she drove, prattling excitedly–or a little nervously, Natalie had thought at one stage–about the amazing place they’d been staying at, and how much Natalie would love the amazing local gallery. Then she chatted about how impressed her new boss had been with Sid’s amazing knowledge and appreciation of art. Natalie was only half-listening, lost in her own thoughts, though she did pause briefly to wonder why her beautiful, smart, amazing daughter was so excited about selling small-town arts and crafts.
‘Everything okay out your window, Mum?’ Sid asked a little pointedly, drawing Natalie back to the unchanging landscape.
The narrow, unkempt road they’d travelled since leaving the highway was becoming frighteningly familiar to Natalie, like the road that had once wound around the hills to connect Dinghy Bay to the old highway.
‘This place we’re staying is further away from Jake than I’d hoped.’
‘Not long now. Besides, the nurses seemed to think the drain in his leg won’t be needed, so he could be out as early as tomorrow. No doubt glad to be rid of him!’ Sid laughed. ‘That will mean we’ll get to collect him and come back home–all three of us, here.’
‘Home. Yes.’
After another ten minutes of silence, and another all-too-recognisable bend in this narrow back road, Natalie developed an overwhelming urge to be sick. She gripped the doorhandle, her fight-or-flight instincts kicking into overdrive as her daughter slowed before a sharp left turn.
‘Stop the car, Sidney!’
‘Mum?’
‘Stop!’
A little down the road, with the Jeep barely at a standstill, Natalie flung the passenger-side door open.
‘Mum! Wait! Be careful of the ditch.’
‘I’m fine. Give me a minute.’ Natalie was half in, half out of the car, feeling the cool of a winter’s day and a sea breeze on her face.
‘Are you going to be sick? We’re almost done with the winding roads.’ Sidney leaned over and popped the glovebox, snatching several tissues. ‘Only a few more bends. Get in, Mum, it’s freezing.’ The temperature inside her daughter’s car was warmer, and Natalie hauled herself back into her seat, but she didn’t close her door. ‘On the way to the caravan park, where I’ve booked you a villa, we pass what locals call the Greenhill plantation road. I want to show you something before we go into town. The view from the top is so incredible that tourists tackle the roadway just to see it.’
‘No. I don’t want to go up there.’
‘Relax, Mum.’ Sid leaned forward to pat the dashboard. ‘I’ve put the Jeep to the test a few times, so I know what I’m saying. The place is included in the scenic tourist route. Pearl said the drive up is part of the thrill.’
‘Pearl lives up there? So you and Jake are staying in a beach house in this Watercolour Cove place. That’s what you told me, right?’ Natalie clarified.
‘No, Mum, I said Pearl is living in a beach house and Jake dreams of living in one. Like he’s ever going to have the money to buy real estate–even an old shack in a place like this. Shame you missed Pearl at the hospital. Wait until you meet her. You’ll see why the guy is so hooked.’
‘No, Sidney. I don’t want to.’
‘Why don’t you want to meet her, Mum? You’ll love her. I think Jakey does already. She’s lovely and makes this amazing tea blend with honey straight from the hive. I’ll make you one. I have some in my room. Honest, Mum, let me take you up the mountain. The view at the top is worth the drive. Then I’ll take you to the villa.’
‘Oh, Sidney, I am not talking about Pearl. Of course I want to meet the girl my son’s been talking about. It’s the mountain. I am most certainly not going up there. I don’t even want to stay here.’
‘But I’ve paid in advance.’ Sid was sounding a little miffed. ‘No fancy ribbons, but still well appointed and very comfortable. I asked for the Gumnut Cabin specifically–from the veranda you can see the breakwall. But I thought, with the Greenhill property on the way, I could stop there first, freshen up and–’
‘This is the place you’re staying?’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you, Mum.’
‘The town is called Watercolour Cove and I have accommodation for the night–here?’
‘A couple of nights, yes.’
‘Well then, I’d like to go straight to the villa.’ Natalie huffed, her head jerking back against the headrest. ‘You can drop me in town. I’ll wait for you there while you go wherever it is you need to go.’
‘But the gallery is–’
‘For goodness sake, Sidney, I’ve seen enough galleries in my time. I hardly think this town is the art and cultural hub of the mid-north coast. If you want to make it in the art world, you won’t do it by staying in a place like this. How would our work get any notice out here?’
‘Our work, Mum?’ Sid was staring at her, those big brown eyes blinking in confusion. ‘Whose work are you talking about? What did you mean by–?’
‘Oh, Sidney, stop with all the questions. Please.’ The passenger door slammed closed so hard her daughter jumped, then burst into tears, her head dropping to her hands on the steering wheel.
‘Sid, Sid, I’m sorry. Come on, now, buck up.’ Natalie reached over, wanting to pull her daughter close, wanting to cuddle, like she’d wanted to comfort her children after their father died, but she’d been too numb with shock to be any good to anyone. Shock is what had Natalie’s stomach tied in knots. ‘I’m not sure what came over me, except I don’t think my stomach can cope with any more twists and turns. Forgive me?’
Sid sniffed, nodded and straightened up in the driver’s seat, engaging the gears. She wiped both cheeks with her hands and steered back onto the roadway. When she veered left, away from the mountain, Natalie knew exactly where they were headed.
She took several deep breaths and tried telling herself Greenhill didn’t matter. There would be nothing there for her anymore. Nothing mattered except surviving two nights in this town before returning to Coffs. From the look of the Land for Sale sign she’d glimpsed as they drove by, the Greenhill property might become yet another residential estate. Sadness added to the coiling emotions tightening inside her as Sid parked outside the old caravan park. Natalie alighted, knowing from where she stood, if she looked she would glimpse the top of the mountain. She couldn’t look. She didn’t want to see.
Never look back.
• • •
The name Watercolour Cove was plastered everywhere: on the caravan park signage, the coloured bunting on poles along the main street, in the now formalised breakwall car park across the way, and painted on the toilet block that probably no longer smelled of old fishermen and fish guts. The Dinghy Bay she remembered was no more–changed, charming, fancier and more colourful.
Natalie whipped her sunglasses from her handbag to hide her face. ‘Sid, please pop the tailgate so I can get my suitcase. Then you can go. I can manage to check myself into a villa. I’m quite exhausted and happy to turn in for the evening.’
‘G’day!’ A young man wandered across from the petrol bowser as Natalie attempted to remove her bag, heavy with coats for a Melbourne winter. ‘Checking in?’
‘Gumnut Cabin,’ Sid said. ‘It’s paid for.’
‘Then I’ll take your bag over, if ya want?’
‘Thank you,’ Natalie said, hoping the boy’s hands were clean. ‘See? All under control, Sid. Please collect me early in the morning so I can be back with Jake as soon as possible.’
‘Can’t I help you settle in?’
‘There is no settling in, Sidney. It’s two nights. I can take it from here. I’m looking forward to a rest. Off you go.’
‘You don’t want to eat dinner? I’m starving. The Fishermen’s Club does a–’
‘Sidney, this isn’t a holiday. Jake is in hospital. I also don’t need to remind you–’ She stopped short. ‘Forgive me, darling.’ If only you knew how truly special you are to me and how desperate I am right at this minute to protect you. To protect us. Natalie reached out to raise her daughter’s face, to show her a smile. ‘I’m tired and I’ve been very worried for your brother, but that’s no excuse for snapping at you. Tomorrow will be better.’
‘I thought we might spend some time together tonight.’
‘Of course, yes. You do what you have to do. I’m sure you’ll want to shower. Then come back here. We can talk for a while. Tea and bikkies perhaps, as I’m not all that hungry. Then you should get a good night’s sleep–in a bed for a change. You’re looking a little peaked. You need to take more care.’ Natalie smiled and dabbed a tear from Sid’s cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. ‘Everything will work out. We’ll all be fine, just fine.’
Mother and daughter hugged awkwardly, before Natalie pulled back and sent Sidney on her way.
Nat could picture her daughter’s route to the bottom of the mountain, along the very same road Tilly had ridden her bike, at speed, with David in pursuit. The image and the memory made her too tense for a lie-down. Instead she’d take a stroll around the shops and wait for her daughter’s return. Maybe she’d buy something from the bakery on her way back to the villa. Sidney needed to eat, even if she didn’t.
• • •
The first place to grab Natalie’s attention was the volunteer-run arts and craft gift shop that doubled as a tourist information outlet. What had once been the creepy old doctor’s surgery was now a store crammed with shelves and all manner of cheesy, chintzy souvenirs. Sharing shelf space in the compact shop were crocheted bears, linen dolls and wooden signs painted with words like IMAGINE, DREAM, WISH, LOVE. Natalie was immediately drawn to the side wall and a collection of original paintings, appreciating both amateur and obviously accomplished pieces hanging side by side. Stopping on her way out to drop a five-dollar note in the donation box, Natalie noticed a flyer promoting an up-market B & B.
‘I’m afraid those brochures are old,’ the grey-haired lady behind the counter blustered, grabbing the remaining flyers before Natalie could read them and popping them out of sight. ‘The B & B is closed. I should have shifted them.’
‘I see.’ A wave of sadness washed over Nat at the thought of her own abandoned Brushstrokes in the Bush languishing empty, its future uncertain.
‘It was expected the place would reopen. We certainly hoped that would be the case,’ the woman explained. ‘We refer a lot of people there. But the young chappie who runs the B & B has had a tough time of late. Got his share of troubles, for sure. Nice enough fellow. Feel sorry for his most recent loss, even though most folk around here might not say the same. You can’t judge a boy by his father, can you?’
‘He’s young?’
‘Well, everyone’s young once you get to my age,’ the lady sniggered. ‘The lad certainly tried to make a go of the B & B. A bit flighty, though. Few people who are clever with their hands are equally as clever with their heads when it comes to running a business. Of course, I’m not saying anything I don’t know. Those four oil-on-canvas works you were admiring before are mine,’ she said proudly. ‘And I’m certainly no genius. Now, if you want a nice bush retreat to relax for a bit, there’s always–’
‘Thank you. I’m not looking to stay long. Only a night or two and I have a villa.’
‘Can I give you any local information, perhaps?’
Natalie was curious about the state of Greenhill–how Ted and Rose had coped after Matthew left, how rundown the place was now–but she was pretty sure that wasn’t the sort of local information the lady was offering. She toyed with the idea of asking how long Greenhill had been on the market, as the real-estate sign had been placed a little to the right of the Greenhill gate, not easily seen by passing motorists. Perhaps Natalie could ask if it was the Marhkts’ old property up for sale, and not Greenhill.
Had Natalie known she’d be back here, she might have taken more notice of the detail in the solicitor’s letter before throwing it in the bin. Her only thought at the time–after recovering from shock–was a kind of smug satisfaction that old Ted was in prison. He was getting his comeuppance, finally, after having been so mean to Matthew and so dismissive of her need to see David and say goodbye.
‘If you like your art, and you appear to have very good taste,’ the woman was saying, ‘you might want to drop by the other gallery in town.’
‘There’s more than one?’ Oh, thank goodness! For a while Natalie had thought this was her daughter’s idea of an amazing gallery.
‘Yes, dear. The Rose Gallery. It’s not far from here, although not walkable, unless you’re half mountain goat.’
Natalie forced a smile. ‘The Rose Gallery?’
‘Not as in flowers, not that I could blame you for thinking that. It’s named after the lady of the house.’
Natalie stifled a small gasp. ‘And there’s a gallery up there?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Rose started the gallery.’
‘Rose?’
‘Yes, a wonderful woman. She gave most of her life to the arts in one way or another. She was a very fine artist, and an extraordinarily gifted teacher. She used to hold classes for locals. Such fun times, especially when we got to study nudes.’ The woman’s cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Mind you, we were all a few years younger then and choofing off up that hill to workshops like a bunch of silly chooks.’ The woman tittered. ‘A lot of people credit that husband of hers with the growth of our little town, but Rose was the driving force behind the Hill family.’
‘And she’s alive?’ Natalie asked.
‘Sadly, no. She passed away. The service was fitting.’ The woman shook her head. ‘We all go eventually, I know, but poor Rose . . . So much tragedy in her life, too. That sad, sad business of losing a son.’
‘She lost a son?’
‘Terrible, terrible shame, and what a wonderful family they were before the accident. All that fuss and kerfuffle afterwards was . . . Well, it was one too many tragedies and such things eventually take their toll on the strongest of people.’
‘Tragedies, yes,’ Natalie mumbled, wondering if the woman had heard the regret in her voice. She’d liked Rose.
‘You’re visiting family around here?’ The old lady looked at her quizzically. ‘You look familiar.’
‘No, just one of those faces, I suspect.’ Get out of there, Natalie. ‘I’ll head off, now. Thank you for your time.’
‘Enjoy your stay in town. The breakwall is lovely today . . .’ The woman’s voice faded away the minute Natalie stepped outside into the sea breeze.
She hadn’t expected to be recognised, not for a minute. In her immaculately-cut caramel-coloured trousers and jacket she looked so different to that barefoot young girl with the wild hair and fresh face who’d skipped school and wreaked havoc around town wearing Hilda’s homemade dresses. Natalie was never seen in public these days without full make-up, hair straightened and sprayed in place, and a mirror to check for lipstick on her teeth. The old woman’s curious squint just now had rattled her, though, and she drew the sunglasses down off her head, repositioning them on her nose, then fussed at her bobbed blonde fringe that tipped tinted eyebrows.
For a winter’s day, the late afternoon sun still bore down hard and Nat felt squint lines forming around her eyes. She had her woollen cloche hat and matching scarf in her suitcase, but they were hardly practical. Next to the bric-a-brac store she found a pharmacy with assorted caps and straw panamas on a stand by the front door. Rather than full cover, she chose a sunvisor that wouldn’t mess with her hairdo. After paying the girl at the register, Nat crossed the street, nostalgia drawing her to the foreshore.
Like the sea now pounding the breakwall, Natalie’s recollections came crashing back. She could picture her younger self on this very spot, huddled on her haunches, the hem of her dress tucked under the elastic of her knickers so she could clamber to the ocean side of the breakwall. She was a child desperate to save the helpless marine treasures sheltering beneath the boulders. Did they not know the tide would come in and all the tiny creatures tucked high and dry and safe from predators would find themselves caught up in swirling water and swept out with the receding wave, forced to fend for themselves? Such were the perils of the sea, where the slightest turbulence could dislocate that which had remained undisturbed for decades.
Such were the perils of coming home!
Is that why she was back here? Was it time she let the tide come in and sweep out all those memories Natalie had thought were safe?
She examined the old breakwall that was now an open-air gallery–works of art mixed with exuberant graffiti. Some pieces were remarkable in their detail, others obviously spontaneous. The thought that she and David might have started such a craze made her breath catch in her chest. To think that what they’d once hidden away from the public for fear of censure was now a local attraction.
On the drive down, Sidney had been rambling excitedly about a series of sculptures for the breakwall, commissioned by the local council to mark the town’s upcoming centenary. Natalie saw three installations, the third one being uncovered by two men in fluoro work vests. A council work crew were putting the finishing touches on the ceremonial plaque while two other men–one wearing a shirt and tie, the other with his grey ponytail and baggy clothes fitting the artist stereotype–stood in conversation nearby. Such stereotypes were everywhere in the industry, but there was nothing typical about the three life-size effigies he’d created.
The first flat figure–feminine in shape–fashioned from a thin, mirror-like material, meant the work blended eerily into its surroundings, the reflection different depending on the observer’s perspective. In fact, Nat had barely noticed it until she was in close proximity.
Although clever, Nat felt uncomfortable about the artist’s choice of medium. Why reflect what’s behind a person? Wasn’t that simply looking back? Or was his purpose deeper, more symbolic? Was he challenging the observer to consider how we fit into our surroundings? Or, perhaps more importantly, the impact on our environment. Sid, the self-appointed recycle police, would like that. The opposite side of the reflective sculpture was neither glass nor mirror, but a delicate mosaic, painstakingly arranged into a quotation: It’s what you can’t see in a mirror that matters most. Credit to the author was on a small engraved plaque: Stephen Gray. Now intrigued, Natalie moved to the next installation. Another mirror, again in the shape of a person–the male–with another quote on the back: The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face.
‘William Makepeace Thackeray,’ she spoke aloud, not familiar with that person either, but approving of both the quote and his name. Making peace with herself and her daughter was Nat’s very thought. She’d start by finding Sidney and hugging her.
As she made to leave, something drew Natalie to look more closely at the final sculpture–different again, as this one was comprised of not one but two smaller figures–obviously children hand in hand. With the artist still engaged in conversation, Natalie took the opportunity to examine the third and final piece, wondering if the boy and girl were linked in some way to the adults. Was his message about family, or about reflecting on how we are born and grow and change? Natalie was excited about the possibilities. Interpreting art is what she enjoyed the most.
She circled the sculpture, observing how the reflection changed from shades of blue sea and sky to the multicoloured reflection of the rock art along the breakwall. Then she saw it . . . Sitting dead centre in the mirror . . . The blue and orange design that was etched like a tattoo on Natalie’s memory.
Our rock!
A small stagger backwards, another small shift in perspective, put her own reflection in the mirror sculpture side by side with that of a man standing behind her. Natalie froze, her arms hanging limp, her stare locked onto her hand and the man’s, both now together and mimicking the small hand-holding effigies. She was still managing to breathe, barely, until she looked up. The face might have been thirty-six years older, thinner, tired-looking, but it was his face.