Authors: Louise Forster
“Oh Katy, of course they loved each other. Finding these letters has nothing to do with that.”
“Then why keep them all this time?” Katherine asked herself as much as Pierre. “There’s something that I can’t put my finger on, something I can’t remember from when I was a kid.” She ran her fingers into her hair, desperately trying to evoke the past. “So, it’s not just about love letters. What is it, Pierre?”
“Keepsakes from a man your mother dated. We all collect mementos from places we enjoyed visiting or people that touched our lives.”
“There’s more to this than keepsakes! A big fat diamond ring fell out of the tin. What’s the secret behind it?”
Pierre huffed out a breath. She thought, this was it, he was going to tell her what it was that tumbled around in the back of her mind like a rock with sharp edges.
“I’m not the one you should ask! Give me a question I can answer. What’s the real problem, Katy?”
She covered her eyes with the palm of her hand and sighed. “Andrew is looking for Mum; he calls her Ellie. I’m dating Andrew’s adopted son. If this was a soap opera, no one would believe it.”
“I know what’s going on, but Maggie is the only one who can help. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll wait for Mum. But I keep asking myself why am I so apprehensive. It’s like stage fright, first-night jitters and there’s no logic to it.” She waited for Pierre to jump in with something, anything, but it seemed he wasn’t going to. “Jack will be back any moment. I’ll tell him what I’ve found. It’s only right. Hopefully, he can at least tell me if we’re talking about the same Andrew, though I really can’t see it being anything else.”
“You haven’t read the letters?”
“No! That’s like reading someone’s diary, I couldn’t do that.”
“I do understand your dilemma. But nothing is ever as bad as it seems.” Pierre said. “I’ll see you later—only briefly, so you and Maggie can talk alone.”
After picking up supplies at Millie and Ted’s store, Jack headed for the big red sign that said ‘Hot Bakery, Spruce Valley’s Freshest Buns’. Jack opened the door, and the aroma of freshly baked bread and cakes made his mouth water. A woman wearing a white apron and a big happy smile greeted him.
“Good morning, what would you like, honey?”
Jack peered at her nametag. “Good morning, Silvey. I would like two of every muffin, six cinnamon doughnuts, six wholemeal buns—make that eight.”
“Good idea, you look like you need the fuel.” Silvey put everything in a carry bag. Jack paid, and with a cheerful goodbye left.
Walking back to his car, Jack checked to see if he had any messages on his mobile, in case Katherine was awake and wanted something extra. He noticed that Dave had left texts, and he sounded progressively more frantic. He held his mobile up and slowly moved it left and right, hoping for a signal.
“No one’s been that lucky yet, pal,” a guy said in passing.
“Thanks. Where there’s life there’s hope.”
“Not in this town.” The guy chuckled and shambled off. “Too many mountains.”
Dave would have to wait. Jack slid behind the wheel of his Mercedes, edged into the traffic and drove up Mountain View Road. In the car the delicious aromas of warm bread made his stomach rumble all the way back to the cabin. Jack parked at the usual spot at the top of the drive and gathered his parcels. He could think of nothing else but the way he’d left Katherine, relaxed and fast asleep among the rumpled bedclothes. He hoped she was awake and that he wouldn’t have to haul her out of bed.
He looked up from where his feet trod the lumpy snow and saw Katherine waiting at the door. He smiled, but she didn’t smile back. She looked paler than usual, face drawn, worried. Bubbles didn’t move from her side. Something was wrong. Jack hurried down the slope and strode up the granite step.
“Are you all right?” he asked, peering into her anxious blue eyes.
She didn’t say anything and turned to go into the living room. Only then did Bubbles wag her tail and wriggle for a pat.
“Yes, you’re a good girl,” Jack said and ruffled her ears. Closing the door he followed Katherine in and dumped his shopping bags on the coffee table. The ANZAC biscuit tin immediately caught his eye and his heart began to pound.
Shit!
He looked up at Katherine, her expression bewildered, lost.
“Eric was here when I woke.” She gave him her mobile and showed him the photos.
Anger surged.
The fucking bastard
. “I should never have left you.” He held her tight until her shaking eased. “I gather you sent these photos to the police?”
“Yes, the moment he left. They’re after him.”
“Good, I won’t leave you alone again until he’s locked up.” Jack peered into her troubled face. “What else is going on? What’s with the tin?” Jack asked.
Shaking her head, Katherine hesitated and stepped back, away from him.
“Kate …” he pleaded. “Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Whatever it is, share it with me.”
She handed him the official death certificate addressed to Margaret Elizabeth Johnson informing her of Andrew Riley’s death.
He started to say something, took a breath, stared at the official paper and looked up at Katherine. “You’re saying … this belongs to Margaret?” he whispered. And then he laughed. “Well I’ll be! Your mother was right under my nose the whole time. I’m …I don’t—Christ!” Head shaking, he opened his arms and waited for Katherine. She hesitated and just stood looking at him. His chest tightened.
Oh oh
. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She shrugged, moved closer and let Jack hold her. “I know I have important memories, but do you think I can remember the memories I’m supposed to remember?” she said, her voice muffled against his neck. He could feel her smiling, and then she giggled.
He pulled her back far enough to look at her face, and returned her grin. “Okay, was the death certificate in that tin?” He nodded towards the coffee table.
“Yes,” Katherine answered.
“Okay, let’s sit and talk this through.” Jack stripped off his winter layers and quietly listened as Katherine told him how memories that had no real substance managed to plague her.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but … ugh, it’s driving me nuts.”
“Did you read the letters?”
“Why do people keep asking me that? No. I wouldn’t like someone pawing over my personal mail.”
“You have a point.” He stroked her hair and kissed her softly on the lips. “All you can do now is wait for your mother.”
“Let’s have breakfast. Will you take Bubbles when you leave?”
“Sure, we’ll go for a walk before I head for my palace on the hill,” he grinned.
“Thanks, I want to be alone with Mum when I break the news to her. It’s going to be a shock.”
“Probably, but it’s also like reconnecting with a good friend.” He cupped her face. “Think of it, Kate, a man she loved and thought dead is alive.”
Katherine hurried to the top of the drive to greet her mother. Nerves put her on edge, but there was nothing to worry about, was there?
“Mum!” Her mother walked into her open arms. “You smell so good, like an ocean breeze. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true.”
“Really, I’ve been travelling for …” Margaret glanced at her watch. “Nearly forty hours. I feel wrecked.”
Crap, too tired for a long and meaningful?
“You look really well though. Must be all that sea air and sunshine; Spain likes you. I’ll get your luggage.” She was babbling, and knew it.
Her mother leaned back to look at her. “Are you okay? You look worried.”
“I’m good, I’m happy.” She turned to Pierre. “Was the drive okay? And the Arts Minister from China, everything work out?”
“As expected,” Pierre answered abruptly, his face tense.
“Okay,” Margaret assessed them both. “Pierre’s been acting weird all the way home, but won’t say why.” She narrowed her eyes on Katherine. “Whatever the problem is, I’m sure we’ll get to it.”
Yes, we will
. Katherine thought it a good idea to change the subject. “What’ve you brought back?”
“Not much. Just some clothes and trinkets; you know, memorabilia.”
As they negotiated the trampled snow, Margaret turned to Pierre. “Staying for coffee?”
“No, thank you, darling. Must head back where I can get phone reception. I wish I was staying, your cooking smells delicious.”
Katherine gasped.
Oh shit
.
“Let me guess.” Margaret’s eyes lit up. “It’s a roast! Lovely, I’m starving.”
Pierre left Margaret’s suitcase in the living room and said his goodbyes.
“Well, that’s my exercise for the day.” Katherine closed the door. “I bet you had lots to talk about on the drive home?”
“Pierre drives like an elderly gentleman. He said he’s arranging it so we’ll all be together for Christmas—a bit odd, since we do that anyway. The best thing is I don’t have to lift a finger, he insisted. No turkey to dress up, no cooking,” Margaret smiled. “He sounded cagey. I wonder what he’s up to?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Do I have time for a shower before dinner?”
Crap, I hope the turkey doesn’t look like shit.
“What’s the matter?” Margaret asked. “You look worried.”
“Well, it turns out I’m not a great cook.” Katherine hurried to the kitchen, and wished her mother hadn’t followed. She shoved on a pair of oven mitts and pulled out the baking tray.
“
Hmmm
crispy skin,” Margaret said, and poked the turkey pieces.
“Is it still fit for human consumption?” Katherine peered at the bird.
“Of course it is. I love baked turkey. Come on, I’m dying to try it.”
The turkey wasn’t bad after all. Crunchy, but tasty. Katherine asked as much about Spain as she could think of. Her mother’s animated response proved she’d had a blast while away. Katherine stacked the dirty dishes in the sink. Her heart pounded; she couldn’t delay telling her mother about Andrew still being alive.
“Ready for a coffee by the fire?” Reaching for a cup, Katherine noticed how much her hands shook.
“Yes, please. Have you met someone—is that why you’re behaving weird?”
“Yes, I have … sort of.” She placed the cups on the coffee table.
“Lovely, tell me about him,” her mother grinned, eager for news.
Shit!
Katherine’s mouth went dry.
Quick, get the panicked look off your face. Shit, shit, shit!
“Um … his name is …” She drew a blank! She stopped breathing, and panic raced through her body until her skin prickled and she broke into a sweat. Her mother stared at her, waiting expectantly. Katherine’s mouth got drier with every second that passed, and there was nothing she could do, nothing. “Jack Riley!” she yelled, remembering before she was about to faint from brain strain. She gripped her mother’s hand. “Jack Riley and Dave Wilson are from Australia.” She wondered if her mother would twig, but she seemed oblivious.
“That’s wonderful, Katy, but why are you yelling and behaving so strangely?”
“Well, a lot has happened and I need to talk to you,” Katherine said. Her voice cracked with tension.
“Of course. I knew you’d get around to it sooner or later.”
Katherine brought the tin out from behind a cushion, and her mother’s hands flew to cover her mouth.
“Mum, you’re trembling.”
“Is that … is that? Oh my God, it can’t be.” Margaret pulled herself together. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Just having a moment, that’s all.” She flapped a hand in front of her face. “What I’d give for a little sea breeze right now.”
“Mum, there’s something I need to tell you,” Katherine tried again.
Margaret’s brown eyes filled with heartache and dread. She reached for Katherine’s hand and gripped it tight.
“Mum.” Katherine pulled her hand free, unclasped the chain from around her neck and slowly dropped it into her mother’s palm.
Misty eyed and trembling, Margaret stared at the precious gift Andrew Riley had bought for her over thirty-two years ago.
Katherine stroked her mother’s back and waited for her to recover.
Eyes awash with tears, Margaret looked up, and with a trembling mouth she said, “I’d totally forgotten about this.” She paused as if to gather her thoughts and memories. “What I’m about to say does not lessen, in any way, how I feel about Henry, okay? I love him. We had a wonderful life together. Henry was a loving husband, and
your
Dad.”
“Yes, Mum, you and I are the lucky ones.”
“You read the letters?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” She couldn’t very well say, I threw the tin at an idiot stalker’s head. “I dropped it and everything tumbled out.”
“Andrew Riley was a wonderful man, and I loved him with all my heart. When I got the news he’d died, I was devastated.” Margaret prised the lid off and peered into the tin. “Look, here are the letters I wrote to Andrew, returned to sender.”
“Mum, why does Andrew call you Ellie?”
“There was a time when I preferred Elizabeth to Margaret, but Andrew shortened it to Ellie; Australians are always shortening names.” Her mother paused. It was obvious she was struggling with something she needed to say.
“What is it you’re not telling me? I can feel it. Please, whatever it is, I need to know it all.”
Her mother took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes, her pained expression scaring Katherine, making her heart race.
“I hope what I’m about to tell you won’t change anything between us.”
“Of course not, how could it.”
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Hands clasped, she twisted her fingers, her knuckles white.
It hurt to see her mother in so much turmoil. “It’s all right, Mum, just say it.”
Lips trembling, Margaret looked at her. “Andrew Riley … he—he’s—your father.” Her mother covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
“What? That’s crazy. Dad is my father!” Katherine cried out. Her thoughts scattered, unable to get a grip, she stared at her mother. “Mum, you’re not making any sense.”
Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up. “It’s true. Why would I make that up?”
Shaking, Katherine wrapped her arms around herself. “No, no, you’ve made a mistake in the dates or something. It happens.”