August 1975
Catherine
Catherine read down her list of pros and cons. So far the first column was lengthy and compelling. It had been another disastrous year for Golden Delicious. A massive oversupply meant prices had plunged yet again. If it wasn’t for the Salamanca Market they’d have had to tip most of the crop. The results for Sturmers were even more appalling, which was a shame because they were a sturdy variety and easy to grow. Freight rates to Europe were going through the roof so it had actually cost them more to send their Cleopatras to Norway and the Democrats to Germany than they’d made on the sale. The Red Delicious were still doing well in Asia, and the Granny Smiths were holding their own.
She eased the crick in her neck and looked out at the endless rain. If Mark didn’t get home soon he mightn’t be able to get through. Word was some of the roads in Huonville were going under. The weather made pruning miserable work, with cold water running down the back of her neck and up her sleeves, not to mention the mud up to the top of her gumboots. When she was working near Izzy and Stardust’s block she’d keep check on the changes they’d made in the year since they’d arrived. Sometimes she envied the grass and clover growing like a luscious green carpet around the trees. The thick clinging mud wouldn’t be a problem in their orchard. It was too early to tell how it was affecting the trees, but Catherine had looked into grassing down her own orchard and Stardust was right, it was becoming popular. Maybe it was time to invest in some grass seed rather than a new disc for the plough. The rain had been relentless for weeks. If it didn’t ease up she was worried about an infestation of black spot; the fungus multiplied like crazy in damp conditions. There were other issues concerning her – electricity tariffs were way up meaning cold storage costs would rise, and interstate freight had jumped another 40 per cent. The apple industry wasn’t the only one doing it tough. The newspapers were reporting unemployment rates as high as they’d been during the Depression.
Catherine picked up the letter from the Ag Department that had arrived the previous week. She’d read it at least ten times and could quote it verbatim without having to look at the words printed there in black and white. The government was extending the Tree Pull Scheme. Already more than two-thirds of Tasmanian apple and pear growers had applied for assistance. Others had tried to keep going and were struggling, as she was, but had finally been forced to give up. She glanced down at the balance sheet of the orchard ledger. Even with the extra income from the Salamanca Market, some varieties were definitely dragging them under. The obvious answer was to take advantage of the government’s offer and grub out some trees. What would her father say? Catherine slammed the ledger shut. It didn’t matter what he thought or said. The orchard was hers now, and always would be.
The sound of Mark’s ute pulling into the driveway and the rumble of another larger vehicle drew Catherine away from her lists and budgets.
‘Come round to the back door,’ Mark called out to the driver of the truck. ‘It’s a flat entrance through there.’
Catherine peered out the kitchen window. Mark had been mysterious about his reason for a trip up to Hobart today. Two burly men jumped out of the truck’s cabin, opened up the back, and locked a ramp into place.
Mark bustled in, water dripping off his hair, nose and clothes. ‘What a day.’ His kiss and the chill of his skin made her shiver. ‘Sorry about letting the cold in but I’ve got to keep the back door propped open for a bit.’
‘What on earth is in the truck?’
He gave her one of those smiles that made her bones weaken. ‘You’ll see.’
The men wrestled a large object down the ramp. It was covered in a blanket so Catherine couldn’t be certain, but it looked suspiciously like a piano. With Mark’s help the men manoeuvred it through the back door and, with some grunting and muttering, managed to edge it down the short hallway and into the lounge room.
‘Where do you want it, mate?’ One of the men, wet with rain and sweat, stood hands on hips surveying the room.
‘What do you think, darling?’ Mark’s face was flushed from exertion and excitement. ‘If we move this side table it would fit up against this wall.’
‘A piano?’ Catherine stared at the object. With all the trouble they were having trying to stay afloat, Mark had bought a piano?
‘Second-hand and a real bargain. I couldn’t resist.’ He removed the blanket to reveal the lovely mahogany instrument. His eyes gleamed as he opened the lid to display the black and white keys just waiting for someone’s touch.
The delivery man cleared his throat. ‘So, along this wall then?’
‘Catherine? What do you think?’
She wasn’t sure what to think. Mark was usually as frugal as she was, but a piano was a pure extravagance. She wanted to say as much but instead pressed her lips together. They’d wait until the delivery men had gone to talk about it. ‘Sure.’
After the truck had disappeared back into the rain, Mark sat at the piano and played a few bars of ‘After the Gold Rush’.
‘It needs tuning,’ Catherine said, aware of the sharpness in her voice as well as the piano.
Mark stopped, his fingers hovering over the keys. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I’ve been looking at our budget.’
‘I thought it’d be a wonderful surprise. I know how much you love playing. We could have sing-a-longs, you on piano, me on guitar and I bet Charlie would be a natural on drums. I was thinking of buying him a set for his birthday. Just a small one.’
She thought Charlie would probably prefer a colour TV, but there was no way they could afford one. Catherine sat beside him on the piano stool.
‘He has a great sense of rhythm. Maybe bass guitar.’ Mark played a few more chords. ‘You’re right, it does need tuning.’
Catherine placed a hand on his. The notes fell away. ‘Our budget. It doesn’t look good.’
‘It was really cheap. The delivery cost more than the piano. I paid for it with my latest royalty cheque, and I’ll get it tuned as well.’
Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought anything for herself. Any money she earned from relief teaching and the royalties that still dribbled in for ‘Cathy’s Song’ went straight into supporting the orchard and their living costs. Mark had hoped another of his songs might have been picked up after his success with Glen Carter, but he’d been right, getting a song placed was like winning the lottery. Not that it would have made any difference to the orchard. Catherine would never accept his money as anything other than another loan and she was stretched to make repayments to him as it was. It was strange, though, how after each one of those payments something they desperately needed would turn up. The tractor would mysteriously have two new tyres, a local man would spend a day ‘helping out with a few bits and pieces around the joint’, or Mark would have found an ‘amazing deal’ on sprays or fertilisers. None of those costs ever came out of the orchard budget. Catherine had stopped questioning it because all she got from Mark was wide-eyed innocence and flippant explanations. He’d distract her with kisses and change the subject. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly and she laced her fingers through his. ‘It’s a beautiful piano.’
She turned her face up to his and they kissed with a passion that kindled sensations low down in her body. ‘And we’ll make beautiful music together,’ he murmured.
Catherine pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. ‘How about now?’ She didn’t want to think about freight charges or electricity bills. She craved his naked skin next to hers, ecstasy and oblivion. She stood and took his hand, leading him towards the bedroom. They fell onto the bed, pulling off clothes, each hungry for the taste and touch of the other. The sheets were cold with the clamminess of endless days of rain, but his body was wonderfully warm and his mouth hot. Mark’s kisses traced lines of fire across her breasts and down her stomach. The glow between her legs grew in heat and intensity, sparking through her body. She moaned and pulled him up towards her, pushing hard against him as he thrust into her with the urgency she craved. He met her with an energy and intensity of his own, bearing down upon her with a combination of strength and lightness. He called her name and his body rippled beneath her fingers, then sighed and softened. Cradling her face with his hands, he kissed her lips, her nose and her eyelids, then held her tightly against the length of his body.
They lay together as little undulations of pleasure pulsed through her body. Mark pulled the blankets up to keep the cold away and she snuggled into his warmth. ‘Beautiful Catherine. Beautiful music,’ he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Slowly her body calmed and stilled. Her heartbeat steadied and the reality of the afternoon eked its way back into her consciousness. They needed to discuss her decision to apply for the Tree Pull Scheme and go through the budget together to see if there was anything she’d missed. There was dinner to cook and before she could do that she had to go out in the rain and pull some potatoes and carrots from the vegetable garden.
‘Where have you gone?’ Mark propped himself up on an elbow and looked into her eyes. ‘You were here with me and now you’ve disappeared into a world of worry.’
‘Just a few things on my mind.’
‘I’ll make a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’ She watched as he dressed, the muscles in his back moving with ease under his skin as he pulled on a T-shirt and jumper. She’d never regretted asking him to move into the house. They might never marry. The idea was getting further and further away, like a small boat drifting away on the tide. She was reminded of the Joni Mitchell song about not needing a piece of paper to stay together. What would a wedding certificate give them that they didn’t already have?
In the kitchen the window was fogged up with condensation from the recently boiled kettle. Mark had put out mugs, milk and sugar along with the chocolate coconut slice she’d baked yesterday. He sat down opposite her to pour the tea. ‘So, you really do like the piano?’ he asked.
‘It’s beautiful. And I have missed playing.’
Mark put pieces of the slice onto plates, avoiding her gaze. ‘Have you given any more thought to giving Angela piano lessons? She’d be old enough now.’
‘Pardon?’ Catherine hadn’t been considering lessons at all. She and Annie had never discussed it. Was he referring to a comment made years ago, before Lara was mistakenly declared dead? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.
‘Eight years old is a good age, don’t you think?’
Catherine rubbed her temple, easing the sudden headache that bloomed there. ‘I see.’
‘What?’
‘The piano. It’s not for me. You bought the piano as a ruse to get Angela over here, using me as the bait.’ She couldn’t even look at him.
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Is it? A piano arrives, and next you’re asking me to give your daughter piano lessons. Not only that, but you distract me with sex, and when I’m all softened up and pliant you spring your real objective on me.’ Catherine pushed the plate away. ‘Honestly.’
‘Hey, it wasn’t my idea to have sex. You literally dragged me into the bedroom. And as for pliant? When have you ever done anything you didn’t want to do? It’s your way or no way. Every single time.’
‘Well, if that’s the case how come …’ she stopped.
‘How come what?’
Catherine concentrated, thinking back over their time together. There had to be something. Some instance where he’d got his own way even though it went against what she wanted. He’d wanted to get married, she’d said no. He’d wanted to buy half the orchard and make them equal partners, and she’d refused. ‘Izzy and Stardust.’ She glared at him. ‘That was your idea, not mine. You talked me into it.’
‘You could have said no at any stage. It was always your decision.’
‘Still.’ She realised she was acting like a petulant child, but was unable to stop herself.
‘And?’ He lifted his hands in a questioning gesture. ‘You love them. Was that so hard?’
‘You never told me about Angela.’
‘Not fair. We’ve been over that, more than once. It wasn’t my secret to tell. Well, it was, but I couldn’t. Anyway, I thought we’d got past it.’
He was right. She had understood, eventually, and forgiven him. She wasn’t playing fair. ‘Well, I think you’re being underhand buying a piano and pretending it’s for me.’
‘It is for you. It’s for us. You, me, and Charlie if he wants to learn. For Izzy and Stardust when they drop over. I bet Stardust can play the ‘Moonlight Sonata’, or ‘Für Elise’ at least.’
Catherine laughed despite herself. Every girl who learnt those pieces played them hoping to appear waif-like and ethereal. Stardust would pull it off better than anyone.
Mark took a breath. ‘And I’m hoping it will be for Angela as well. I know Annie will object, but half an hour once a week, is that too much to ask? I miss her.’
Catherine’s heart constricted. Of course he did. When Mark lived in the pickers’ hut he’d see Angela almost every day – in the packing shed during the season, at the house whenever he’d go there, probably often just to catch a glimpse of his daughter. Angela was the secret he couldn’t share, the lonely burden he carried. He’d had to watch her grow up from a distance, never being an integral part of her life. It was the kind of pain Catherine would never know, but one she could help ease. She studied his face and saw the anguish there, etched in the lines around his eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said.
He reached for her hand. ‘You’ll ask Annie then? She has a piano at home for practice. Just half an hour here a week, that’s all.’
Catherine felt small and somewhat petty. Mark had missed Angela all this time but he’d never complained. She hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in her own troubles. He’d never said a word until he had a plan in place to change it. Her part here was simple. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’