Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 11 November 1975
Stalemate Continues in Canberra
LEAFSONG
Someone banged on the front door at seven am. Leafsong opened it, took one look at Scarlett’s face, put on the kettle, made toast, spread it with blackberry jam and took out the powdered ginger. Chocolate ginger hedgehog was the best mood lifter she knew, and it was quick to make: no bake. And Scarlett needed it.
She listened as Scarlett poured out her story, the suffocating prison of Jed’s overwhelming generosity, the right to live her own life, how Jed had DARED to hire a private investigator, how she didn’t even TRUST her to be sensible, as she mixed smashed biscuits, sugar, cocoa, ginger and melted butter, pressing them into the tin, pouring on chocolate and ginger icing while the mix was still hot, so both would meld together, covering the tray with alfoil and putting it into the fridge so it would be set in half an hour.
It would be needed.
The hedgehog was ready on the plates in the glass case below the counter and Scarlett had eaten four pieces when the middle-aged woman came in at eleven am, looking a little like a nervous guinea pig, despite her freshly curled hair and recently applied lipstick. She wore what was probably her best dress, a floral print mini dress with lace at the collar.
She approached the table where Scarlett sat, using its bulk to partially hide the wheelchair and her helpless legs dangling from it. The woman hesitated, then bent and hugged her, pressed a lipstick kiss to her cheek. ‘Sharon! It’s . . . it’s so good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you . . .’ a pause, as if she tasted the word first ‘. . . Mum.’
The woman smiled, more genuinely this time, and sat. Leafsong was ready with a pot of tea, the cups and milk jug already there and, once again, the Closed sign on the door.
‘I’m so glad you wanted to see me! I was afraid you were so angry about . . .’
‘About your leaving me at River View?’
Mrs Taylor nodded. She had glanced at Leafsong, then glanced away, in a look Leafsong knew well. Ignore the unpleasant if you can.
‘I . . . I think you did what you had to do,’ said Scarlett. She took another hedgehog slice and nibbled it.
Mrs Taylor mirrored her actions, then had a sip of tea and then another. The tea seemed to give her courage. ‘It turned out for the best though, didn’t it? Here you are, adopted by a lovely rich family.’
Scarlett put the hedgehog slice down.
Mrs Taylor prattled on. ‘I can’t tell you how glad your father and I are for you. It’s like you won the lottery!’
Can’t she see Scarlett’s face? thought Leafsong desperately. But the woman was one of those who never looked. Aggressive ignorance. Do not look at the distorted face of the girl who served your tea. Do not think of the baby you abandoned at the hospital. So very, very practised at not looking . . .
‘I thought you’d be too high and mighty to want to know us! But now I have my own little daughter again.’
Scarlett didn’t speak. Her hands sat in her lap, to stop them trembling. ‘Yes. But I wondered . . . I wondered if I could come for a visit?’
‘Of course . . . darling.’ Again the slight hesitation on the word. ‘We’d like that more than anything. That lovely sister of yours can bring you, can she? There was an article about her in the Woman’s Day six months ago. It was such a surprise. I said to your father, “Look, that’s Sharon’s sister in Woman’s Day!” That sports car of hers! Your brother said a car like that must cost as much as your dad earns in two or three years! Tell you what, why don’t you come for your dad’s birthday dinner next week?’
‘I was thinking more of staying a bit longer.’
Mrs Taylor laughed. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t like our house after the grand place you must live in now. And of course the wheelchair and all . . . Your father’s back isn’t up to lifting you, you know. But we could have Dad’s birthday dinner in the backyard. He loves a barbecue.’
‘I can lift myself.’
Mrs Taylor didn’t hear. ‘That was really what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s . . . it’s a bit urgent, you see. It’s about your dad.’
‘He isn’t ill?’
‘Oh, no. Just had . . . a bit of . . . bad luck.’
‘What kind of bad luck?’
‘On the gee-gees. The horses. Always one for a flutter, your dad. But since he was laid off at the factory — well, he thought he had a system. He even won for a while. Of course he might come good again . . .’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Scarlett evenly.
‘He mortgaged the house,’ said Mrs Taylor flatly, her fluttery social voice giving out, looking down at the hedgehog slice. ‘I’ve got my shift at the supermarket; that keeps us going day to day. But we can’t make the mortgage payments, not on what I make. So I was thinking, maybe you could lend us the money. It wouldn’t seem like tuppence to a family like the Thompsons.’
‘Lend, or give?’
‘Lend, of course,’ said Mrs Taylor with the vehemence that meant it was just the opposite. ‘You wouldn’t want to see your family put out in the street.’
Her words stopped. Silence filled the café till it bothered even Leafsong, who almost began chopping carrots, just to batter it away. At last Scarlett said, ‘You could sell your house and rent a cheaper place. A little flat.’
‘Where would your brother live then? Like your dad says, blood is thicker than water. We’re your family and if family can’t ask for help, who can?’
‘You . . . you never helped me.’
‘But you didn’t need it! Or not from us.’ For the first time Mrs Taylor seemed to realise that the silence was not an acceptance of her scenario. ‘Sharon? Just a bit of help would mean the world to us.’
‘I don’t have the money to help you.’
‘But your sister does.’
‘Then write to her. Please, write to her. Tell her what you told me. I’m pretty sure she’ll decide to help you. She loves using her money to help people.’
Once again Mrs Taylor only heard what she wanted to. ‘You really think she will? Oh, that’s wonderful, darling. You wait till I tell your dad. And you and your sister must come to Dad’s birthday dinner. Get to know your real family.’
‘My real family? Yes,’ said Scarlett slowly. ‘I’d like to know them.’
‘Then that’s settled.’ Mrs Taylor glanced at her watch. ‘If I get away now, I’ll still be able to do my shift at the supermarket. I told them I’d need tonight off, but I can call them. Do you mind?’ And then as Scarlett shook her head, ‘Is there a phone nearby?’
The café phone was in the kitchen. ‘There’s a phone box on the corner, down near the post office, on your way out of town,’ said Scarlett, her voice as cold, her face as white as vanilla ice cream.
‘I’ll ring them now. You don’t mind my ducking off, do you, darling? After all, I’ll see you next week.’
‘No. I don’t mind at all.’ Scarlett lifted her cheek for Mrs Taylor to kiss. The coral-coloured lipstick had been eaten off with the hedgehog slice.
Leafsong wondered if the woman would attempt to pay for her tea and slice. But apparently she assumed that Scarlett’s riches would cover those too. She left, leaving only a whiff of not-quite-rose-scented talcum powder.
And Scarlett, her face expressionless, her hands clenched.