Two days before Christmas and four hours after picking up the hire car at Tullamarine airport, Harry reduced his speed as he approached Yallambah, the town he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life. Despite his reluctance about returning, he had to admit it was a pretty place. Set in a valley in the foothills of the Stanley State Forest and untouched by developers, it had an old-world charm with its wide tree-lined streets that looked pretty no matter what the season. Today the sunlight flickered through the canopy of trees.
He drove slowly past the green and gold sign welcoming him into town, surprised at the updated population figure. Where had all the new people come from? When he was born, the population was around five hundred. Now it was close to double that number. As he coasted down the hill, music blaring, air conditioner blasting, his stomach growled. He’d woken early to catch his flight from Sydney to Melbourne and he’d driven the whole way from the airport, only stopping to get a coffee and stretch his legs at the service station on the highway near Avenel.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the familiar – the local bakery – before he spotted two cafes that hadn’t been there when he’d last come home. Suddenly spoiled for choice, he wavered briefly and deliberated longer than usual before deciding he was craving a good old meat pie. There would be plenty of time over the next few days to check out the coffee and food at the new places.
He did a U-turn at the bottom of the main street and drove back up to the top. The sun was shining and he’d been cooped up in the tiny car for too long. He’d take a stroll and pretend he was a tourist. He parked, got out and stretched his arms above his head. Inhaling deeply, he smelled nothing except clean, fresh air. Absolute bliss. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.
He ambled down the street to the bakery. When he pushed open the door a bell tinkled, announcing his arrival. A huge array of cakes and breads displayed in the glass cabinets overwhelmed his senses. The Yallambah bakery didn’t bother with any of the ‘best in Australia’ boasts like other bakeries in other towns, but Harry knew the pie would be the best he’d tasted in years. His eyes widened at the price listed on the chalkboard on the back wall though. Last time he’d bought one he was positive he’d only paid two dollars, not six. He asked for one anyway.
If his memory served him correctly, the name of the old lady who served him was Lois Stephens. With her flashing reindeer ears, dangly bauble earrings and red ‘I love Santa’ T-shirt, she embodied the typical festive spirit of small-town Australian country life. Harry smiled, handed over his cash, accepted the pie with thanks and left the shop.
It was odd she didn’t seem to recognise him. Surely he hadn’t changed that much? Fair enough, musical theatre stars weren’t exactly tabloid fodder, but with the upcoming charity concert he’d presumed he’d be recognised by someone the moment he arrived in town. Then again, he realised with a flash of guilt, it had been a long time since he’d last walked down the main street.
Although he considered Yallambah home, the locals still thought of his family as outsiders because they sent their kids to boarding school in Geelong and did most of their business in the larger town of Beechworth. His father was an introvert with a dislike of crowds. It would surprise Harry to learn he’d driven over the cattle grid more than twice in the past year. It was one more reason father and son didn’t see eye to eye. Harry loved the spotlight, but Jim seemed to crave a life lived in the shadows.
Back out on the street he stood and bit into the pie. The tomato sauce was turning the brown paper bag into a soggy saucy mess but he didn’t care, it tasted so good. While he ate, he took in the faded paint of the motor garage, now an art gallery, the packed cafe over the road, the new gift shop and its attractive Christmas-themed window display, and the faux Greek Athenaeum that stood proud and tall in the centre of town. A new bank stood beside the old one, which had been turned into a museum. The red brick post office stood at the high end of the main street, and the Yallambah Hotel – or bottom pub – sat at the bottom of the street. He’d spent many Saturday nights there over the years when he was home from school.
The bridge at the end of the main street was new – Harry recalled his mum saying they’d replaced it after the original one was damaged by floods back in 2010. The road crossing the creek would take him to his parents’ farm, around twenty minutes’ drive away.
An ancient ute rattled up the street, drawing his attention. It pulled into the parking bay directly in front of him. An equally aged kelpie barked an enthusiastic greeting. An old bloke climbed out, adjusted his hat and belt and silenced the dog with one word. Harry smiled. George Osborne, known to everyone as Dusty. Harry hadn’t seen him in years.
‘Whaddya think of our pies, mate?’ he asked. He stood waiting for Harry to confirm they were the best he’d ever tasted.
Mouth full of beefy goodness, Harry gave him the thumbs up.
Dusty grinned as his eyes flicked up and down. ‘Where are ya from?’
Harry swallowed and wiped at the sauce on his chin. ‘Here.’
The grooves around Dusty’s eyes deepened. ‘Don’t look like a local in that clobber.’
Harry chuckled as he glanced at his navy blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt tucked into stone coloured shorts, then down to his leather deck shoes. No, definitely nothing like the locals. He balled up the paper bag and tossed it in the bin before extending his hand. ‘Harrison Baxter. Harry. Grew up out near Stanley. Jim and Jenny’s son. You’re Dusty Osborne, right?’
The farmer removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘Well, I’ll be buggered. It is too. Good to see ya, mate.’ He pumped Harry’s hand enthusiastically. ‘You’ve grown into a fine young lad. Musta been years since I’ve seen ya. How’s your old man these days?’
‘He’s okay.’
Dusty settled his hat back on his head thoughtfully. ‘Bit of a loner now, isn’t he? Never used to be when he was your age. I never see him or yer mum down at the pub.’
‘He’s happy at home.’
It was Harry’s standard answer and Dusty appeared satisfied with his response.
‘And you’re an opera singer now, I hear. Is that right?’
‘I am a singer, yes. Musical theatre.’
Harry remembered the day he’d fallen in love with musical theatre. His mum had taken him to see Seussical the Musical in Wodonga. He’d sat in awe from the very first note to the last, mesmerised by the orchestra, the vibrant colours of the costumes and sets, the singing and the dancing. Mostly he was impacted by the way the actors connected with the audience as they told a story. He found the whole thing breathtaking, and years later would pinpoint that moment in time as the one when he knew he wanted to perform on stage.
He’d gone home and told his father, expecting support and encouragement, but all he got from Jim was ‘Acting’s not a real job’ followed by ‘You can’t make a living doing that’ and ‘Very few ever make it to the top’. Harry stopped bringing it up, focusing instead on trying to win his father’s approval in other ways by playing sport and excelling at his studies.
At night though, in the privacy of his bedroom, he watched movies on his computer: Grease, Oliver and The Sound of Music were among his favourites. When he was sure he had the house to himself, he’d stand in front of his bedroom mirror and sing as loudly as he could, acting out scenes.
When he moved to Geelong to go to boarding school, he no longer had to hide his passion. Once his Year Nine music teacher heard him sing, she made sure he auditioned for the school production. He won the lead role, earning the spot above the Year Twelve theatre studies students. It opened up a whole new world to him. He’d never looked back.
A car drove past and the kelpie barked. Dusty waved to the driver before shouting an expletive at his dog who dropped down into the tray of the ute and stopped yapping immediately.
‘So . . . musical theatre, eh? Interesting career choice.’ Dusty smirked.
At Dusty’s comment the familiar taste of resentment filled the back of Harry’s throat. He ignored the hurt and smiled politely.
But before he could say anything, Dusty slapped him on the back. ‘But then again I reckon you’ve gotta do what you wanna do. If prancing around on stage makes you happy, I say go for it. Mind you, if my son had any ideas like that I’d probably whip him into shape, quick smart.’ Dusty laughed the laugh of a man used to having everyone crack up at his jokes down at the pub.
Harry wasn’t surprised Dusty’s opinion was the same as his father’s. He pulled out his keys and tried to sidestep around him to head back to his car. ‘I should be going. Mum’ll be expecting me.’
‘You back to see your folks for Christmas?’
‘Yeah. I’m here for the week. Then I’ll be coming back for the concert.’
‘Concert?’
‘The charity fundraiser for the bushfire appeal.’
‘Oh yeah, Chrissie Jennings is all over that. I heard her goin’ on about it the other night. She was putting up flyers in all the shops.’
‘It’ll be a good night,’ Harry said.
‘If you like all that kind of highbrow stuff.’
The dog barked again, saving Harry from having to say anything.
‘Well, mate, good to see you again.’
‘Good to see you too,’ Harry replied.
‘Say g’day to your mother.’ Without another word, Dusty crossed the road and entered the general store.
Harry had one more stop before going home. He needed to check in on Christine Jennings and see how the plans were coming along for the concert, then he could get out to the farm and his family.
After what happened last time, he was in no rush.
*
On Monday morning, two days before Christmas, Eddie strode down the main street of Yallambah. The hot sun kissed every step, its intensity already threatening to burn her bare arms and legs. She usually loved summer – the hotter, the better – but after the devastating bushfires the year before, she wasn’t thrilled about another long, hot, dry summer. There hadn’t been any bushfires yet, but the season had really only just begun.
Eddie had a busy day ahead of her. This year she’d taken on the task of coordinating the town’s annual Widows and Orphans Community Christmas dinner. The dinner had started fifty years ago and her nan had run it singlehandedly for as long as anyone could remember. It wasn’t only widows and orphans who attended now – the dinner was on the Christmas calendar for most of the locals.
Although Eddie was still on call with the SES, she’d taken time off work at the hospital to organise the dinner. It was the first time in years she hadn’t worked Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year’s Eve. As a single woman with no children, she always rostered herself on around Christmas so others could spend the time with their families.
When her nan broke her hip, there was discussion about whether the dinner should be cancelled but Eddie had stepped up to the plate. It was a massive undertaking, but she assured everyone she was up to the challenge. And Daisy kept reminding anyone who would listen that she might be an invalid, but she still had her marbles and was only a phone call away if anything went wrong.
At times the responsibility weighed heavily on Eddie’s shoulders, but there was never any consideration of backing out. She wasn’t the type to let people down, especially her nan.
As well as hours spent planning for the dinner, over the past few weeks since Jarrod’s announcement, Eddie had spent hours talking with Aimee and Gus. She’d done a lot of soul-searching, shed a lot of tears and finally come to a decision. Despite how much she dreaded telling him, Eddie’s mind was clear, her decision final. Her home, her family, her job, her life, was in Australia. In Yallambah. With or without him.
When Jarrod flew to America to find them a house he’d promised to keep in touch, but she’d barely heard from him. When they did eventually speak on the phone, he blamed the time difference and being busy as his reason for not calling. She’d avoided discussing the move, keeping their conversation on mundane matters and naively hoping he’d hate America and tell her he’d changed his mind. But it was obvious from the phone calls that hadn’t happened. She was certain she hadn’t imagined the twang in his tone the last time they’d spoken.
He’d called the night before to say he was back in Australia and coming to town to talk to her. Although she’d wanted to claim she was too busy planning the dinner, she knew she couldn’t chicken out. They couldn’t keep going on like this – ignoring the elephant in the room.
She checked her watch. If she didn’t get caught chatting to anyone, ten minutes should be enough time to pick up the cake and get to the cafe before Jarrod arrived. Her stomach tightened. To say she was anxious about seeing him was an understatement.
She pulled her list from the pocket of her shorts even though she’d memorised every detail. First stop was the bakery to pick up the Christmas cake she’d ordered, then she would see Jarrod, then she was heading over to the CFA shed to confirm what time the Santa-carrying fire truck was to make its grand appearance at the dinner. After that, she was catching up with Christine Jennings, who conducted the community choir.
When she stepped through the entrance of the bakery, she momentarily forgot her apprehension over seeing Jarrod. Christmas music played through the speakers and the room smelled of sugar and cinnamon and vanilla. She inhaled deeply and her mouth watered.
When Eddie was a child, her mum had always made sure Christmas was a magical time of year and, although Eddie felt her death more keenly than ever in December, she still loved the silly season. In spite of everything going on between her and Jarrod, she wasn’t going to let him ruin it for her.
‘Morning, Mrs Stephens,’ she called out to the woman behind the counter sporting flashing reindeer ears.
Lois Stephens had worked at the bakery for as long as Eddie could remember. Despite hovering at an age somewhere in her mid-eighties – no one was sure and Lois refused to tell – there was no suggestion of retirement.
‘Edwina, dear, good to see you. How are the plans coming along for the dinner?’ She fanned her reddened cheeks.
‘Everything’s cooking with gas,’ Eddie replied. She didn’t bother reminding Lois she hated being called Edwina. Lois was old-school when it came to things like names and Eddie wouldn’t have dreamed of calling her by her first name.
‘And how’s your nan?’
‘Doing well. She should be home in a couple of weeks.’
‘Wonderful. How’s Frank coping without her?’
Eddie chuckled. Nan did everything for Grandad and it was a standard joke he couldn’t boil water without setting fire to something. It was a generation thing, typical of many men of his age. Eddie often wondered how he’d cope if her nan died first.
‘He’s actually staying with her in respite. Nan needed to be somewhere without steps while she recovered, and at the place in Albury she gets seen every day by physiotherapists and OTs. Can you imagine if they were apart? He’d be pricklier than an echidna.’
Lois chuckled. ‘Respite’s a good idea. Gives you a break too.’
‘Trust me, it wasn’t my decision. I didn’t want him to go and I don’t need a break from them. I was more than happy to drive him to Albury every day to visit Nan if I had to, but you know Grandad. He’s a stubborn old fool and wanted to do things his way. To be honest, knowing how much they both hate the idea of nursing homes I’m surprised he suggested it in the first place.’
‘Makes sense to start thinking about the future,’ Lois said. ‘Maybe he wanted to check it out. They’re not getting any younger.’
Eddie stifled a smile. Lois was probably a few years older than Daisy and Frank. ‘I doubt it.’
Lois wagged a finger. ‘Never say never. Stranger things have happened. Although you’ll never find me in a nursing home.’ She gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Nursing homes are like hospitals – cold and sterile and everything’s made of stainless steel. Promise me, Edwina, if I’m ever on my deathbed, make sure you let me stay at home.’ She brushed her hands on her broad hips. ‘Now, what can I do for you today?’
‘I’m here to pick up the cake,’ Eddie said.
‘Of course, silly me. Let me grab it.’ Lois hobbled away into the back of the shop.
While Eddie waited, she eyed the cakes and pastries behind the glass windows. For the first time in weeks, she bounced on the balls of her feet and hummed along to ‘Joy to the World’ even though she usually reserved her singing to the safety of her shower. Would it hurt to have one? She forced herself to focus. No. She needed to save her kilojoules for Christmas Day. Each year it was getting harder to shift those pesky post-Christmas kilograms. Not that anyone would ever describe her as fat. Blessed with a fast metabolism, she had no trouble maintaining her weight. Still, it didn’t hurt to remember the older she got the harder it was to stay slim. And Jarrod said he loved her slim.
Jarrod. Her temporary good mood plummeted. She checked her watch again. He was never late and hated it when Eddie kept him waiting. She tapped a toe on the tiled floor. Hurry up, Lois. As she turned her back on the breads and buns behind the counter, she caught sight of him crossing the street and entering Bean There. She’d recognise that walk anywhere. Her heart sank. He was early.
While Lois painstakingly rang up the amount for the cake and processed Eddie’s credit card as if it was the first time she’d ever used the Eftpos machine, Eddie tried to tamp down her impatience. Finally she accepted her card back, shoved it into her purse and snatched the box from the counter.
‘Thanks for the cake, Mrs Stephens. Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas to you too, dear. Give my love to your grandparents when you see them.’
‘Will do,’ she called out over her shoulder. ‘I’m heading up to see them for lunch on Christmas Day.’
Balancing the massive cake box on one arm, Eddie crossed the road. At the window of the cafe, she peered in. Jarrod was at a table near the wall, his back to her. Her resolve almost slipped. Was she ready for this? As her heart hammered loudly in her chest, she took a deep breath and forced her legs to steady. Yes. She could do this. Had to do this.
She pushed open the door and made her way over to him. Placing the cake on the table, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Hey.’
‘Hi.’
‘Do you want another coffee?’ she asked, pointing to his already empty espresso cup.
He shook his head. ‘No, but you go ahead and order one if you want.’
Something in his clipped reply caught Eddie’s attention. She suddenly had no desire for a coffee. She pulled out the chair opposite and sat. Under the table, she jiggled one leg.
‘Good to be home?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘How’s your mum?’
‘All right. She’s glad I’m back for Christmas.’
Awkward silence filled the gap between them.
‘How’re the plans coming along for the dinner?’
Eddie was surprised he’d remembered. ‘Good. I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. I hope Nan’s going to be proud of me.’
More silence. Eddie watched a muscle working in his jaw. If only she knew what he was thinking.
She dragged in a deep breath. ‘Jarrod?’
‘Eddie.’
They spoke at the same time.
‘You first,’ she said.
He avoided looking at her, his attention caught by something fascinating just above her head.
‘I don’t think this is going to work out, Eddie.’
She froze. Had he changed his mind? ‘What’s not going to work out? America?’
He hesitated, still wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Us.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
His gaze finally met hers. ‘Us, Eddie. I think it’s over.’
What the? She shook her head, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. ‘You’re breaking up with me?’ It wasn’t supposed to happen this way around. Even though she’d been prepared to break things off with him and walk away from the relationship if he chose America over her, she couldn’t believe he’d just turned the tables on her and was the one calling it all off. She had not seen this coming.
‘I don’t see any other option. We’re two different people.’
‘I thought that’s what made us a great couple. You know. Opposites attract. I’ve heard you tell your friends that’s what you liked about me when we met.’
‘I can see now that we want different things.’
She narrowed her gaze. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re not as ambitious as I am. You’ve settled for a job in some tiny two-ward hospital and I can’t see you ever wanting anything more.’
His words stabbed straight into her. She loved her little hospital. Often the nurses were the only ones on site, with doctors called in for emergencies. Anyone critical of the hospital clearly had no idea what the nurses did and the fact they were very good at it.
Jarrod was still talking, giving it to her with both barrels, reflecting on all her faults. She forced her attention back on him.
‘Plus, the way you’re over-involved with your grandparents, it’s not normal. Not healthy. No one is that close.’
This time fury ripped right through her. He had no right to comment on her relationship with her grandparents. They were everything to her.
She crossed her arms and glared at him. ‘Not normal? Just because your relationship with your parents is dysfunctional.’ Jarrod’s parents were divorced and his mother was onto her fourth husband. Jarrod had step-siblings he’d never met. Didn’t even know their names. And she had no idea when he’d last seen his father. ‘My grandparents raised me. Of course I care about them. Of course we’re close.’ She was aware her voice had risen when she saw people staring. Great. The gossipers would be loving this and taking it all in.
‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t care about them. It’s just you’re nearly thirty-five and still live at home. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am with my career and I’m not giving it all up to live in a place like this.’
She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.
‘I could have had both you and America, Eddie. I was excited about the prospect of an adventure together. I could have offered you everything you could have ever wanted.’ He shook his head. ‘I did offer you everything. The chance to live in a nice house, drive a nice car, have nice new clothes. And you didn’t want it.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘You know what I think? I think you’re stuck in a rut here. No,’ he corrected himself. ‘It’s not a rut. You’re in a pothole. And moving to America with me would have been your ticket out of this place.’
Anger bubbled within. Who said she’d ever wanted a ticket out of Yallambah?
‘So when did you realise it wasn’t going to work?’ she asked, amazed her voice was so steady.
‘The moment I suggested it. I could see you weren’t on board.’
She took a deep breath. What. A. Jerk! ‘Of course I wasn’t “on board”!’ she hissed. ‘You’d already made your mind up that you were taking the job and moving to America without as much as asking me what I wanted. How dare you blame me for this not working out.’
‘I’m not blaming you, but even you have to admit our relationship doesn’t function properly. We spend more time apart than together.’
Even though Eddie had been having similar thoughts herself, hearing him say it aloud didn’t damper her anger.
His tone was unbearable as he continued. ‘At first I thought about just coming back to see you every few months, but I realise now that would never work. I need to focus on my career and coming back to Australia so often would be a distraction.’
‘So now you’re saying I’m a distraction.’ It was as much a statement as a question.
‘I’m saying I need to focus on my career.’
Which really meant he wanted to focus on himself. Something he already excelled at.
He kept talking about his job, and as Eddie listened to him go on and on about everything he and Lauren had worked for, it hit her that if she’d stayed with him and agreed to move to America she would have given up so much of herself to fit in with his plans and dreams. As Aimee said, he’d never intended to meet her halfway on anything, especially not the things that were important to her – a fulfilling marriage, a family, growing old with someone you loved. He didn’t care about family and relationships and the bond she had with her grandparents. What he wanted was a token woman on his arm at functions, not someone to share the rest of his life with.
Had he always been like this? Or was she blind? Or deep down had she always known what he was like and pushed the knowledge aside?
‘And you don’t even have a passport,’ he was saying. ‘That should tell you something. Most people your age have been overseas, explored the world. You’ve done nothing.’
She opened her mouth to argue and closed it again. Jarrod would never understand. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to travel and see the world. She did – one day – but right now she had responsibilities she couldn’t walk away from. One day it would be her turn to explore the world and achieve some of her dreams, but not until after her grandparents no longer needed her. And that was hopefully a long way away.
Jarrod eventually stopped talking and stared at her. She struggled to stem the tears that threatened. She didn’t want him to see her crying, didn’t want anyone in the cafe to see her crying. The silence between them was thick and heavy. She swallowed and tried to dislodge the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t move.
Although she’d been prepared to end the relationship, it still shocked her that it had just ended. Irreconcilable differences. Wasn’t that what the celebrities claimed in the gossip magazines when their marriages broke up?
As a lone tear spilled down her cheek she looked up, praying for inspiration, for words, for something witty to say. Nothing came.
He met her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ve changed and I can see you never will.’
She’d heard enough. Who cared whether she made a scene? She didn’t have to sit here listening to him a moment longer. Scooping up the cake box, she took a deep breath and stood, willing her legs not to buckle. Her arms felt heavy, the box anchoring them. Her legs felt heavier. Her knees wobbled and her chest tightened.
‘Goodbye, Jarrod.’
If a heart could shatter into a million tiny pieces, in that instant, Eddie’s did. She spun on her heel and bolted out of the cafe without a backward glance, the door slamming behind her like a gunshot.
As she sprinted up the street, hot tears welled in her eyes and blurred her vision. How dare he accuse her of being unambitious and small-minded? She clutched the cake box tighter, not caring if it became a mashed mess, and tried to blink the tears away. But it was impossible, and the dam wall broke.