A Bush Christmas (10 page)

 

After a time, a quiet voice came from right beside her, ‘Jaime?'

She looked up and there he was. His hand came up and he was wiping her tears, pushing her hair back from her face. She must have been a sight, but the expression on his face was as soft as she'd ever seen it, his fingers gentle on her skin.

‘Let's get you home.'

She nodded. Slowly got up, staggered a bit and then allowed herself to be guided to the bike. Once he got on, she mounted up, dropped her head into his warm, solid back. A big hand came down on her bare knee and gave a reassuring pat. And they were off, riding the last kilometres to Polly's Plains. She refused to look at the lights she knew would be glowing from the gateway and his house. She kept her head down until the bike stopped at the garden gate.

‘Thanks,' she said as he handed her the boots he'd stowed in a pannikin.

‘You going to be alright?'

She looked up into his concerned blue eyes, and her legs nearly gave way.
Hold me, hold me tight and make all this grief go away.

But she stiffened her resolve, tried to smile and said, ‘I'll be fine. Goodnight.'

 

Sometime later, after she'd downed Berocca (she was making a habit of this) and at least six glasses of water, she fed The Cat (Dine) and crawled into her bed. Tried to stop the tears from coming again but to no avail. They ran freely and she made her way through a box of tissues trying to stem the flow. It took a while, but finally, after an hour so, she was able to hiccup to a stop, curl up in the foetal position and close her eyes.

The last thing she was aware of was a melodious meow from below, a dip in the bed as something landed gently and the feeling of cat's fur somewhere near her head.

Her lips curled into a little smile.

It was late in the morning on Christmas Eve, and Jaime was making an ambrosia salad. According to Valerie's recipe book, it was one of those concoctions that needed to sit for twenty-four hours before you ate it. It was also the only salad in the book that she had all the ingredients for. Another problem with living in the bush – you needed to be organised. Jaime was used to being able to just pop down the street if she ran out of ingredients. Obviously ‘think ahead' was a cook's motto out here.

She shut the book and looked at the partially made salad with satisfaction. She was
not
going attend tomorrow's Christmas lunch regardless of what anyone said, but at least her salad would do her proud.

A glint off a windscreen caught the crystal hanging in the kitchen window. Who was this? Maybe Stirling had got Valerie's ute back and forgotten to tell her?

She peered out the window, trying to see through a cloud of dust that was swirling out near the front gate. She couldn't see a thing. So unusual was it to see so much dust, she grabbed a pair of binoculars that were sitting on top of the fridge. She focused them and zoomed in on the commotion.

The front of a Mercedes … then the bulbar of a ute. Her
dad's
old ute.

What the–?

She took another hard look and jumped in fright, dropping the binos onto the tiled floor. CRACK!

Shit, shit, shit!

She'd busted the binoculars, but worse still, the visitor …

… was her mother.

 

Stirling met them first. The wafting clouds of dirt must have tipped him off too and he'd come to check it out. He was watching with one hand on his brow and a guarded look on his face as the pair of vehicles arrived.

Blanche was out the car door first. ‘
Helloooo,
and you must be Stirling. How lovely to meet you. I'm Blanche, Jaime Hanrahan's mother.'

A man came ambling up behind Blanche, holding out his hand. ‘And I'm Dave, her step-dad.' He laughed self-consciously. ‘That's Jaime's step-dad, not Blanche's …'

Jaime arrived right at the moment Stirling shook redneck Dave's hand, and she noticed that both men resembled one another. Tall, broad men, without an ounce of spare flesh, dressed in matching khaki-green workshirts, jeans and boots.

And that was all she had time to observe before she was hugged near breathless by her mother.

‘Jaime! We had to come. Say you don't mind. We just had to be here with you at Christmas, didn't we, Dave?'

‘Yes, siree. Blanchey 'ere didn't want you spending this Christmas without ya family, particularly after your father and all, so we thought, we best be getting our sweet butts up here.' The man cast a quick glance towards Stirling. ‘I mean, we hope that's okay with the boss?'

‘I'm not the boss,' said Stirling with a smile. ‘And I don't mind at all. In fact, you are most welcome. We do Christmas in a big way here in the bush.' His eyes caught Jaime's. ‘Well, of course that's only if you want to …'

‘Of course we want to,' cried Blanche. ‘Don't we, Dave? Aw, it'll be so much fun. I thought you said they didn't do anything up here, Jaime? We've brought everything with us. That's why we've brought two vehicles. We've got the turkey,
ham, prawns, pudding, bon bons, beer, rum, presents, lights, decorations and Dave even threw in a Christmas tree.' Blanche included them all in her delighted grin. ‘Now, where do we unpack?'

 

It was much, much later before Jaime managed to find a place that was peaceful (and more importantly away from her full-on mother). Her slice of paradise was a rock pile sitting on a ridge just a little way from the main house. A quiet and beautiful place, it looked down over the river, where, if she gazed hard enough, she could see both Stirling and Ryan setting up trestle tables for the Gap's Christmas lunch under the massive red gum trees.

She sighed. Christmas was all around her. Blanche had taken over Valerie's house and turned it into something resembling a Myer Christmas window. Along with Stirling's lights, the damn festive season now confronted her on all sides.

‘Jaime, I'm coming up.'

She groaned. It was her mother, calling from the bottom of the huge rock pile she was perched on. So much for finding peace.

Blanche climbed up and sat down beside her daughter. She silently took in the view for a little while, then said, ‘It's beautiful here.'

Jaime squinted her eyes. There were some birds swirling and flapping above the river.

‘I've been wanting to get you on your own …'

The birds looked like magpies from this distance. But then maybe they might be Currawongs?

‘… to talk with you …'

The Currawongs were shying away from the river now, taking flight across the river flats, heading for the mountain beyond.

‘… about Dave.'

The ridge they were heading for was nobbled with rocks. It looked a bit like a dinosaur's backbone.

‘You're making this very difficult,' said Blanche.

Jaime wasn't going to give her an inch. This was a discussion they should have had
before
her mother upped and got married.

‘Look. I know you don't like it that I got married so quickly.'

Yep, pretty much, thought Jaime.

‘And you obviously think I'm trying to force you to accept Dave taking your father's place.'

Right again.

‘Well, I'm not. I loved your father. Very, very much. And after he died so suddenly …' Her mother stopped, gazed out across the grasses waving in the breeze towards the blue mountains on the horizon. ‘I was lonely. And you had your life in the city. I was living in the suburbs like a good little wife, but a good little wife to whom? No one needed me anymore.'

Jaime shifted uncomfortably. Finally she said, ‘I did. I needed you.'

‘Yes,' said her mother. ‘But not in the way I need to be needed.'

Jaime rolled her eyes. Yeah, whatever.

Blanche looked around at her. ‘Don't you roll your eyes at me, young lady! Kids think their parents don't have emotions. But we do. We need love just as much as you young people. Sometimes more so.' She fiddled distractedly with a loose
stone, before chucking it down to bounce over the edge of the rock face. Pausing for a moment, she seemed to be considering what to say next.

Jaime waited. Felt her mother pick up her hand.

‘When I met Dave, well, he … he filled the gap. He'd lost his wife and was looking for someone else, too.'

Jaime snatched her hand back. She didn't want this conversation but, hell, seeing as they were having it she may as well just come out and say what she was thinking. ‘Well, why didn't you just go out with each other? Why did you have to rush in and get married?'

‘You know when it feels right,' said her mother, defensively. ‘And at our age we're too old to be doing the whole one step forward two steps back courting thing.'

‘But Dad was barely cold in his grave and you were running down the aisle!'

Blanche pursed her lips. ‘Oh, Jaime, grow up. I loved your father, but I needed a man to take his place. I'm not like you. I can't do this “on my own” thing. I'd been with Jack for twenty-six years and then suddenly he was gone.'

‘But, Mum, you
loved
him. How could you just up and marry Dave?'

‘I married Dave because it makes everything okay. I'm Mrs Dave Bennett now and I have a place in the world again.'

Jaime finally swung her head to gaze reproachfully at her mother. Took in the perplexed look in her mother's eyes. Realised that Blanche truly believed she'd done the only thing that would set her world to rights again.

‘Dave says his wife was a homemaker, just like me. They weren't able to have kids so he'd thought with you, maybe, he had been given a second chance. That since you had lost your own father, he might have been able to step in.'

‘Well, he thought wrong.'

‘Obviously.' Her mother's tone was wry. She went to get up off the rock. ‘I can see I'm wasting my time. You know, Jaime, it might do you the world of good to think beyond yourself. I know it's hard for you losing Jack, but there are others in this world hurting too. It might pay you to remember that.'

Blanche stood and made to climb down.

Jaime could sense tears welling in her eyes. Why hadn't they had this talk before her mother had trounced down the bloody aisle?

Blanche was nearly at the base of the rock pile when Jaime started to talk. ‘I loved him so much, Mum. He was my rock, my filter for the rest of world. He taught me everything I know and I miss him so much.' And she started to sob, wracking gulps that wouldn't stop. She felt like nothing had stopped in honour of her father, no one had understood his loss. And so she had soldiered on, not allowing
herself
to grieve either.

Through the waterfall of tears now pouring down her face, she was aware of Blanche climbing back up to her side. Staring down at her for a bit, making some sort of decision and then sitting down again. Hesitantly taking up her daughter's hand again.

‘I miss him, Mum. I miss him so much.'

Blanche's arms came around her, and her mother whispered into her hair, ‘I know, honey, I do too.'

They stayed like that for a while, mother and daughter on their rock, until Jaime's sobbing subsided.

‘I don't
not
like Dave,' she stuttered. ‘It just takes a bit of getting used to, seeing you with another man …'

She could feel her mother nodding.

‘… and I thought Dave was
so
different to Dad and I couldn't understand why you chose him.'

‘But, honey, he's not that dissimilar.'

Jaime glanced up to see Blanche was crying now.

‘Both Jack and Dave are loving, thoughtful and caring. Oh, of course there're things that are different, but essentially,' her mother tapped her chest just near her heart, ‘they're the same kind of bloke.'

Jaime nodded. She could see that now.

Her mother went on, ‘And regardless of the fact we live in the suburbs, their hearts are in the bush. I think I'm attracted to the caveman thing. I'm the homemaker while they go and do their hunting-and-gathering.' Blanche sniffed and gave Jaime's hand a squeeze. ‘I'm just blessed to have been so lucky in love. Well, that's what Dave says.'

‘He does?'

‘Yes. I remember the first time we met at the RSL. He said, “You remind me of my wife,” and here I was thinking he reminded me of Jack. I think that's what brought us together.'

A bit like her and Stirling. He reminded Jaime of her dad. When she saw him shake Dave's hand, she was jolted by the thought that they were all cut from the same cloth.

‘And I reckon this Stirling McEvoy fella hasn't dropped too far from Jack and Dave's tree either,' said Blanche.

Through her now slitted eyes, Jaime gave her mother a sharp look. What was she
really
saying? You never quite knew with Blanche.

‘They often say you're attracted to a man like your father,' said Blanche with a smug smile.

Jaime didn't respond because, in this case, ‘they' weren't far wrong. But she wasn't going to say that to her mother.

Regardless.

 

She and Blanche got back to the homestead just as Stirling, Ryan and Dave were downing a cup of tea. Jaime went off into the garden to turn off the sprinklers she had watering the vegie patch, before joining them all in the kitchen.

‘Your mum's just been telling us of your plan to avoid Christmas,' Ryan stated. His expression was reproachful.

Jaime glared at her mother.

Blanche held up her hands in mock-defence. ‘I just said it was the first anniversary of your father's passing on Boxing Day. You didn't want to do Christmas. Dave and I are here to make sure you do.'

So much for their touchy-feely heart-to-heart on the rock. Then again, her mother had never been known for her diplomacy. Jaime glanced sideways at Dave. He shrugged apologetically.

Next she took in Stirling, who was sitting, appraising her with a calculating look. He jumped up, saying, ‘Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it! In fact, I need to go. I'll walk back to my house, Ryan. Thanks for your help.' And with that he grabbed his hat and departed, post-haste, without a backwards glance. He didn't even stop to pat Dodge, who was coming in the screen door. The Cat looked affronted.

‘Dodge, come here, mate, I'll give you a cuddle.' Jaime couldn't help but laugh at him.

The Cat ran up into her arms and she rubbed between the pads of his paws. Dodge stretched out his leg and claws and purred with pleasure. They were getting on famously now she had made friends with him
and
Dine.

As she stroked the cat, she wondered why Stirling had left in such a hurry.

Ten or so minutes later the roar of the motorbike going past raised more questions than answers. Looking out the window, Jaime could see the bike was loaded to the max with plastic chairs and what she thought looked like a rod hanging off the back.

Stirling, going fishing? After his effort with the gun, she'd thought a stick of dynamite in the river might have been more his style.