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40

January 1973

Catherine

When the dreadful news rocked the valley, part of Catherine wasn’t surprised. England joining the Common Market meant the collapse of their main export market and their primary source of income. It spelt ruin for the valley. To Catherine it was yet another catastrophe in a long line of disasters. The past months had been hell. Lies had created more lies. After everything he’d said and done to keep them apart, Catherine couldn’t bear to admit to her father that he’d been right about Mark all along. When he’d asked why she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring, Catherine had told him she didn’t want to lose it in the orchard. The lack of a wedding was explained away with another lie – Mark had a contractual obligation to do an extended tour of the mainland with his band. In reality, after the divorce proceedings in Sydney, he’d spent time with Lara’s parents in Melbourne trying to figure everything out, including what to do with the ashes buried under the plaque with Lara’s name on it. Once again Lara’s lawyer had stepped in and taken care of it all, with everything hushed up by whatever means necessary. It had added to the layers of deceit and disrespect that Catherine hated.

Poor Charlie had been kept in the dark about everything. He’d stayed with Annie and Dave while Mark was away but shielded from what was actually going on. Catherine was forced to lie to Charlie too, because of decisions she didn’t agree with. It created a tension whenever she saw him. Would Charlie ever know he had a sister? And would Angela ever be told? Annie still refused to consider it. The birth certificate named her and Dave as the parents. Angela should never know any differently. To anyone who asked, Lara was explained away as an eccentric aunt of Annie’s. Everybody knew how rich her family was, and there’d been no hiding the expensive car with a chauffeur cruising through Cygnet that day.

Mark’s lies were the worst. She’d been uncertain of him from the beginning, thinking he was waiting for Lara to come back. Then, after Lara’s ‘death’ and Mark’s return to the valley, she’d foolishly believed it was for her. But it was because of his other child. A daughter he’d given away. A secret he’d kept from her all this time. If he was capable of lying to her about something so important, what else was he capable of?

Catherine knew some of this mess wasn’t Mark’s fault. He’d honestly thought Lara was dead. But he’d gone along with so much deceit; the lies Lara wanted, Annie wanted and the lawyer wanted. There was no room left for what Catherine wanted. Charlie was the one who suffered most. He was looking forward to being the ring bearer at the wedding, and part of a whole new family. Instead, Mark and Catherine were like strangers. Since Mark had returned to Wattle Grove they had spent Sunday afternoons together, either at the river or the pickers’ hut, but only for Charlie’s sake and she never stayed long. She missed the afternoons and evenings she and Mark had spent in her bed, hungry for each other’s touch, and afterwards lying tangled together, unwilling to let each other go. But she couldn’t give herself, body or soul, to a man who’d lied about so much for so long. When people asked about when the wedding would be now Mark was back, Catherine gave vague unconvincing answers that never assuaged the doubt in their eyes.

And now, more bad news. Catherine trudged through the orchard towards her parents’ house, pausing to touch a few of the growing apples. But what was the point of tending to them now? The heaviness in her heart filled her days with despair. She could see no glimmer of hope. The fire in 1967 had been devastating, and Peter’s death heartbreaking, but she’d had something to fight for – getting the orchard back up and running. Then Charlie had given her joy and Mark’s love had transformed her life. That had ended in deceit and pain. And now England had perpetrated the greatest betrayal of all.

Her father sat at the kitchen table, the orchard ledger in front of him along with assorted files and papers. His mouth was a grim line. ‘We’ve got the Hong Kong market for the Red Delicious, but that’s not enough. We could try to increase our sales to the mainland, but everyone’s going to be doing that, and even when times were good those sales hardly paid enough to cover costs. The Jonathans, the Golden Delicious and Sturmers are dead in the water, I reckon. I was counting on the Brits to take all of them.’

There’d been rumblings about what might happen if England joined the Common Market, but no one had planned for this. With the stroke of a pen Tasmania, along with the rest of Australia, had lost its favoured nation status. The orchardists used to joke that England would buy every variety Tasmania chose to grow. Now England would be taking very little. Instead, a committee in Brussels would dictate which markets Britain would buy her apples from. Tasmania was a long way down the list. No longer would the apple ships wait three deep at Port Huon. No more would the trucks packed with boxes of apples line up through the streets of Hobart on their way to Constitution Dock. It was over.

Catherine’s mother placed a teacake and two plates on the table next to the teapot and cups.

‘Not having any cake, Mum?’ Catherine asked.

‘No appetite, darling. It’s all a bit of a worry.’ Her face brightened. ‘Is Charlie going to come over today?’

‘Not today.’ Catherine was glad, in a way, that her mother didn’t know about Lara. At least Charlie had one adult in his life who wasn’t lying to him. But even so, with everything that had happened, Catherine kept his visits to a minimum.

‘Oh.’ Her mother sighed, her face contracting again. ‘I might go and have a little lie down.’

Catherine’s father waited until his wife was out of earshot. ‘She’s taking this pretty badly. As we all are. I can’t believe Britain would do this, after all we’ve done for her.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Helping in her darkest hour. Sending our young men over to fight in their thousands. Many never returned. Our best helped her win not one, but two wars, and now she’s turned her back on us. It’s a disgrace.’

Catherine’s father had been born here, as had his father and grandfather, but there was still an enormous attachment to the ‘Mother Country’. So many of the older generation referred to England as home, even though they’d never been there. And now their mother had abandoned her children.

‘Doug Anthony is furious,’ her father said.

‘I’ll bet.’ Doug Anthony was the leader of the Country Party. Her parents were dyed-in-the-wool Country Party supporters, as were most farmers and orchardists.

‘Been a monarchist all his life, but now he reckons he’s going to join the Republican Movement. Don’t blame him. Not the Queen’s fault though. It’s the bloody British Government.’

‘Our government knew this was going to happen. I can’t believe they didn’t put anything in place.’

Her father shook his head. ‘I reckon the Libs were too busy worrying about winning the election. Lot of good that did them.’

‘The new government might do better.’ The Labor Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam, had only been in power a little over a month, but already Catherine was impressed by how he was shaking things up.

‘Bunch of radicals. Where’s the money going to come from to fund all their promises? Anyway, the horse has bolted. I can hear the Argentinians cheering from here. They’ll be shipping their cheap fruit into Europe holus-bolus. It was hard enough to compete before, but now?’ He turned up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

One good year, Catherine thought. That’s all they’d managed despite the endless work, season after season, with early mornings, late nights and no holidays. It had seemed worth it with a goal in sight. But now the goal posts had been moved. They had no hope of scoring, let alone winning.

Her father patted her hand. ‘You’re lucky you have a profession to fall back on. Me and your mum? What have we got? Worked all our lives for nothing.’

Tears sprung to her eyes, unbidden and unexpected. Her father had always been a figure of resilience and certainty. Yes, she’d battled against him, both of them being so stubborn in their own way, but he’d been her rock, no matter the circumstances. To see him crumble now, beaten by a political decision in a distant country, was too much. ‘We’ve been through worse than this. We’ve got to keep trying. What about the stabilisation scheme? That can keep us going until we figure it out.’

Her father dropped his eyes to the ledger. ‘The scheme won’t last. Not now. It’ll cost the government too much. There was a point to it when there was a market but it’s gone.’

‘But the Red Delicious – the Asian market. We still have that.’

‘And it’ll be a good selling point.’

‘For what?’

‘We have to get out now, before the rush. We’re too small to survive. One of the bigger mobs might find our Red Delicious an attractive option.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’ve decided. Your mother’s never been the same since Peter’s death and being here is a constant reminder. The fire. Costs going sky-high. The competition from other countries. And now this.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘It’s time to let it go.’

A hard cold band clamped her chest, restricting her lungs and stilling her heart. ‘Dad?’

‘I’m selling up.’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘I’m selling the orchard.’