Sam didn’t know what to think. Competing emotions made her dizzy. She should be very happy, and she was, in a way. Thankful, certainly, to see Charlie looking so much stronger, although she still had a kind of frail, elfin beauty about her, and still looked wrong, somehow, outside of a hospital setting. Her eyes had grown elegant brows and lovely long lashes. Her hair was an inch or so in length now. If you didn’t know she’d been bald, it might have looked like she had a stylish crop, one designed to bring classic definition to her features. It was a great comfort to see this beautiful, healthy version of her sister. But with a jolt, Sam recognised that happiness wasn’t on the top of her emotional scoreboard. Disappointment, jealousy, guilt, resentment – these were the clear winners. Charlie’s face had filled out, and the resemblance was more disconcerting than ever. Sam was looking into a distorted mirror.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ said Charlie,
Sam pushed past Drew and briefly embraced her sister, feeling meat on her bones for the first time. ‘This is such a surprise,’ said Sam, meaning Why didn’t you ring first? Charlie started to softly sob. Sam gathered her up again in sodden arms, filled with a sudden, fierce, protective love that hunted away all her negative feelings. ‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ said Sam.
‘I got so fucking fed up in Melbourne,’ said Charlie, sniffing back tears. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t stand it for one more minute. What’s the point of beating cancer if that shitty city is just going to kill me anyway?’ Sam stayed silent and let Charlie talk. ‘And I’ve had some terrible fights with Mum. She’s on my back all the time. Don’t do this, don’t do that. And she’s got this new boyfriend. They get stoned all the time.’
Sam couldn’t reconcile Charlie’s portrait of Mary with that of the woman she’d known in Melbourne. The woman at her daughter’s side, who bought her beautiful headscarves that she clearly could not afford. The woman who concocted homemade herbal remedies, with mother’s love as the main ingredient. Sam stroked Charlie’s hair. It had the silky-smooth texture of a Siamese cat. She made soothing noises, holding her sister close.
‘Come on, you two,’ said Drew, ‘Inside. I’ll light a fire.’ Sam sat Charlie down in the kitchen. Drew caught Sam’s eye. ‘Get into dry clothes,’ said Drew. ‘You’ll be no good to anybody with pneumonia.’
He was right. She was shaking; whether from cold or emotion, she couldn’t tell. Sam ran to the bedroom, threw off her wet things, climbed into pyjamas and tore back down the hall.
Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table. Drew had a blaze going in the hearth, but she was still shivering.
‘Does Mary know you’re here?’ asked Sam.
Charlie shrugged. ‘I finally spat the dummy, and Mum said that if I’d made up my mind, she’d drive me home. She just had to say goodbye to Carlos first … she’d only be an hour.’ Charlie’s eyes blazed with a furious indignation that had chased away any hint of tears. ‘Five fucking hours later,’ she held up the fingers of a hand for emphasis, ‘and she’s still not back. Nice one, Mum. So,’ she shrugged, ‘I drove myself. Mum probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.’
Charlie had driven alone for six hours, in shocking weather without a licence. Sam was aghast. She’d left her phone behind that morning. Where was it? There, behind the bread. She quickly checked it – five missed calls from Mary, and a dozen messages.
‘Oh, I think she knows,’ said Sam, still reeling from Charlie’s sudden appearance. Drew held up the kettle behind Charlie’s back, and she nodded for him to put it on.
‘I’m a good driver,’ protested Charlie, ‘and I didn’t see one single copper.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Sam. Charlie yawned. ‘Now let’s get you something to eat, and then get you to bed.’ Sam winced; she was sounding like her mother. ‘We’ll talk more about it in the morning.’
‘I’m not sleepy yet,’ said Charlie, like a petulant child. She stood up and looked into the little lounge room. ‘The house looks so beautiful and clean. I’ve never seen it like this.’
Sam swelled with unexpected pride. ‘Sleep in Mary’s room,’ she said. ‘You might be more comfortable.’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ve been dreaming of my old bed, my old room.’
Drew placed mugs of tea in front of them. Sam slipped down the hallway and quickly inspected Charlie’s bedroom. The posters on the wall, the frogs, the cast-iron bed frame – these were the only original things about it. Sam had bought a new mattress, new bedding, new curtains. She’d painted the grimy walls and scattered colourful rugs over the stained carpet. Charlie’s frog collection was displayed on shelves made from bricks and planks, and brightened up with pretty throws. Drew had donated the simple colonial wardrobe with a lovely etched-glass mirror that now stood in the corner. It had been languishing in a Kilmarnock shed for a decade, ever since his mother refurbished the bedrooms. Sam had used the old dressing table and wardrobe for firewood.
She switched on the antique lamp that stood on the two-drawer timber bedside table, both pieces she’d found at Tallangala’s sprawling second-hand dealer’s yard. She smoothed the bedspread, accented with gumleaf motifs in rich red and green. Frogs featured in the pattern and were embroidered on the pillowcases. What if Charlie didn’t like it? It seemed insane to her now, to have tampered with the bedroom without permission.
Her sister appeared in the doorway. A stunned look appeared on her face as she gazed around. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ Charlie walked about the room, feeling textures, opening drawers. She jumped on the bed, grinning broadly. ‘It’s like I’m on one of those home makeover shows.’
Sam heaved a relieved sigh. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ She sat down on the bed beside her sister. ‘Are you really well enough to be here? Shouldn’t you be near your doctor?’
‘I told you, I can’t stay in Melbourne. It’s driving me fucking insane.’
Drew stuck his head around the corner. ‘Supper’s up.’
Charlie looked curiously from Drew to Sam. ‘Has Drew been … helpful?’ Sam nodded and smiled, a little too brightly. What was Charlie implying? And for that matter, why weren’t Drew and Charlie acting like a couple, if that’s what they were? She stood up and opened the curtain. Was her face flushed with guilt? Perhaps the cold air by the window would help.
‘Sammy?’ Charlie hadn’t called her that before. Something in the tenderness of her sister’s voice broke her heart.
‘Let’s have that supper,’ Sam said briskly, and hurried from the room.
In the kitchen they found plates of toasted sandwiches oozing melted cheese, and mugs of Milo. ‘Whose car?’ asked Drew.
‘Mine,’ said Charlie. ‘Something peculiar’s been happening. Somebody’s sending me and Mum money. Lots of money. Then this car arrives, registered in my name, with an unsigned Get Well Soon card taped to the windscreen.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Sam, hot cheese squishing out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Any idea who?’
‘Nope. Mum reckons it must be one of her old lovers made good. Maybe even my dad.’ That would be my dad too, thought Sam. It was odd and kind of exciting. A mystery father, showering gifts on his daughter. With a twinge of envy she realised that if this anonymous benefactor was her real father, he may not even know that a second daughter existed.
‘Fair dinkum?’ said Drew. ‘That’s some story. You sure Mary didn’t just harvest a dope crop or something?’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m not sure. Anything’s possible with Mum.’
‘Why would you say something like that?’ asked Sam.
‘A few years ago, Drew and I were mustering calves out of the Snake Creek flats,’ said Charlie. ‘We came across this bloody huge cannabis plantation, half in Brumby’s, half in the park. Mum had a real dickhead of a boyfriend back then. What was his name?’
‘Clint,’ said Drew, taking the last sandwich.
‘Yeah, Clint. What a lowlife he was. Anyway, Drew and me ripped up the lot and burned it.’
Drew nodded and laughed. ‘Took us two whole days.’
‘We had to stand upwind or get fucking stoned ourselves,’ said Charlie. ‘You should have seen Clint’s face when he discovered the crop was gone. He blamed this mate of his. They got in a fight, Clint got arrested and we never heard from him again, thank God.’
Sam was staggered. She wanted to say something, to defend Mary, to demand evidence that she was complicit in Clint’s scheme. But what right did she have to even hold an opinion on the past? The story was an unwelcome reminder that she was an outsider here at Brumby’s Run. Drew, Charlie, the bush, the town – they shared a history, from which she was forever excluded. It was too painful to contemplate.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in,’ said Sam. ‘It’s been a big day.’ Charlie raised her exquisite new eyebrows, requesting an explanation. ‘Drew will fill you in,’ said Sam swiftly. Of course he would. No doubt they had lots to catch up on. She gave Charlie a hug, and hurried down the hall to her room. No, it was Mary’s room. She was just visiting. For the first time in a long time she thought about Faith, about Dad and her grandparents. She thought about university. She’d deferred her course, but now she wasn’t so sure that had been a good idea.
Sam could hear low voices in the kitchen still, muttering, reconnecting. She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved her head beneath the pillow. Sam drifted into troubled sleep, confused about Charlie, desolate about Drew, and trying without success to block out the looming memory of Rowdy Clarke’s face.