He came over to her then and took both her hands.
‘Gemma Lincoln, don’t you get it? Am I completely wasting my time with you?’
‘Mike?’
‘Yes?’
‘What’s going on?’
‘I can tell you what’s going on with me,’ he said.
Before she could reply, he’d put his arms around her and drawn her close. She breathed in his scent, so different from Steve’s sharp, exciting aroma. Mike’s scent was soothing and woody, his body wider and somehow warmer than Steve’s. Then she stopped thinking about Steve as Mike’s lips covered her own and within seconds she was kissing him back, her head reeling from the sudden change in her world, as a colleague revealed himself instead as lover.
Dazed, she stepped back, recalling the moment just after she’d discovered her pregnancy. Mike had been there too. Knowing better than she did. In fact, Mike had been there all the time; it was she who’d been pushing him away, looking to a man who was never there, seeking qualities from Steve that he couldn’t give. Her heart was racing with confusion and excitement.
‘That’s what’s been going on for me,’ he said, taking her hands again. ‘I’ve been trying not to do that for a long time.’
Gemma looked away, trying to order her emotions, her thoughts.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘I’m recovering – from shock, I think.’
‘Didn’t you have any idea? Of how I felt about you?’
‘I .
.
. I just thought you were being kind. That you were a kind man.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Me? Kind? You should have a word with my ex-wife! According to her, Attila the Hun was a saint in comparison.’
His arms reached around her again. It was a good place to be, Gemma felt, wrapped in the arms of a man who knew her in close-up and still loved her in spite of it.
‘But I owe my ex-wife. I learned a lot from that marriage.’
She leaned back, looking into his eyes.
‘Tell me. What exactly?’ she asked.
Mike smiled. ‘Get the right woman from the start.’
She tightened her arms around him, feeling more sure of herself. ‘You think I’m the right woman?’
‘You must have realised I was very interested in you. What are you thinking now?’
‘Of how you hugged me when I first found out I was pregnant,’ she said. ‘And how you knew that I was pregnant before I did. And I can’t help remembering the way I pounced on you that disgraceful night in your car. How I unbuckled your belt and unzipped you.’
Mike whispered against her ear. ‘How about trying that on again?’ he said. ‘Now that you’re stone-cold sober?’
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Last time I started, you were very disapproving.’
‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘If you remember, I wanted to come in here, but you were set on a particular course.’
She laughed at his phrasing. ‘I’m surprised you can remember the details .
.
. of my particular course.’
‘Gemma,’ he said, ‘you don’t get it. I remember everything about you.’
‘Would you have made love with me, if we’d come inside?’
Mike straightened up. ‘Probably not.’
‘Why?’
‘Think about it. By the time we climbed out of the car, got down the steps, fumbled around with keys, avoided that bloody cat of yours –’
‘Bloody cat?’
‘And made our way into your bedroom, you would most likely have changed your mind. The moment would have been lost. And I’d never know whether you really fancied me or if you were just misbehaving under the effects of alcohol.’
She was touched by his words. ‘But, Mike, I’m pregnant with another man’s baby. If you’re serious about me –’
‘There’s no doubt of that,’ he said. ‘And I’m happy to be the father to another man’s baby, because the baby is half yours, Gemma. Neither half causes me a problem; I’m going to love the whole baby.’ He smiled. ‘I already love the baby’s mother.’
Gemma leaned into him, hearing the emphatic beating of his heart.
Somehow, the world had turned so that they were now standing in the doorway of Gemma’s bedroom.
‘Do you remember your first move on me?’ he whispered. ‘Back in my car?’
She looked up into his grey eyes. ‘I think I did this first,’ she said, kissing him fiercely, her hand fumbling for his zipper. Awkwardly, they moved together and fell onto her bed where Mike rolled over to be on top of her and her kiss became more urgent. A swooning sensation caused her heart and body to expand so that for a moment she thought she’d melt all over her bedspread. Then the swooning gave way to another, even more urgent feeling. She broke from the kiss and rolled away from him.
‘What is it?’ Mike’s concerned voice followed her as she raced from the bedroom.
She made it to the bathroom just in time.
Gemma hung over the toilet, retching and swearing together. After a lengthy break from the nausea, it had suddenly struck again. What bloody timing, she cursed, holding on to the cold rim of white porcelain.
‘Go away!’ she mumbled, aware of Mike coming in behind her. ‘Don’t look at me like this!’
But he took no notice, and the next time she convulsed, Mike’s strong hand was there, cool on her forehead, supporting her as she hurled.
With that action, in that moment, Gemma fell in love with Mike Moody.
‘You’ve got to admit,’ she said ruefully, as they sat at the dining table with the cup of tea Mike had made after she’d cleaned up, ‘that my timing is exquisite. For black comedy.’
‘Very original foreplay,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘I’m fine once I’ve thrown up. Sorry about losing the moment, Mike.’
He smiled. ‘There’ll be plenty more.’
With his usually combed down hair undone and a half-fringe over his forehead, he looked like a kid again.
Back in Mike’s car they drove south, heading for the Southern Highlands on the old highway. In her briefcase, Gemma had stowed the small photograph of her father, Dr Archie Chisholm – Grace’s father too. She’d included a recent snap of Kit and her son, Will.
‘When I was checking an alibi in Katoomba,’ Gemma said, turning to Mike, ‘I read a story about The Group opening a new centre in Mittagong. That’s where Grace is living now.’
By the time they reached Picton, it was well after three and Gemma was starving so they had afternoon tea at a snug restaurant, enjoying the crackling wood fire in the centre of the dining room. While waiting to be served, Gemma nervously flicked through the house newspaper, her mind largely preoccupied with her sister. One item caught her attention.
‘Oh no,’ she said, staring at the photographs.
‘What’s up?’ asked Mike.
Gemma held the newspaper up for him to see.
‘“Teens found dead in city squat”?’ he read. ‘Who are they? Do you know them?’
‘I’ve seen them round the Cross. They were known as Romeo and Juliet. God, Mike, they’re fifteen and sixteen.’
‘And dead. Does it say what happened?’
Gemma read on, then shook her head. ‘It’s not clear yet. Could be an overdose. Apparently a new, purer batch of heroin hit the streets in the last few days.’ She put the paper aside. ‘It’s so sad. They were only kids.’
Their scones arrived and they were silent a while, Gemma thinking ahead fifteen years. She swore she would do all in her power to keep her son or daughter safe. Not have them ending up like that.
‘Okay,’ said Mike, as they were finishing their tea. ‘How are you going to approach the Grace meeting?’
Gemma fiddled with the sugar tongs. ‘I’m not sure yet,’ she said. ‘Let’s just get to the house. Maybe inspiration will strike me.’
The drive to Mittagong didn’t take long and soon they’d pulled up in a quiet street lined with flowering cherry trees, still bare, but poised for budburst.
‘Look,’ said Gemma. ‘That’s it. Number 131. Grace’s house. Wisteria Cottage. It’s so pretty!’
A dainty lychgate, covered with wintering wisteria, led to a mossy lawn then to the front verandah of a white weatherboard cottage, where the first silvery bud sprays of wisteria bunches were frosting the timber uprights.
Gemma took a deep breath, turning to Mike. ‘You stay here,’ she said. ‘I’ll go to the door alone and then call you in if it seems appropriate.’
Gemma stepped up to the front door, noticing a light on inside through the etched glass panels. The evening was drawing in already and with only a second’s hesitation, she knocked gently.
Nothing moved inside and Gemma knocked again. Still nothing. She walked over to the curtained window to the right of the door and peered through. Feeling somewhat uneasy, she realised she was looking into her sister’s bedroom and that her sister seemed to be having a nap.
She went back down the garden path, pausing to admire a line of snowdrops nodding their green-spotted skirts. Shivering, she slid back into Mike’s car.
‘Not home?’ he asked.
‘She’s having a nap. I don’t like to disturb her.’
‘Do you want to go for a look around and come back later?’
They spent half an hour poking around in antique shops, then drove back to the white weatherboard. Gemma knocked again, and when there was no answer, she peeped once more through the lace of the curtain. Grace was still lying on the bed in the same position. Gemma frowned. This didn’t feel right. She peered closer, scanning the room, aware of Mike stepping up behind her.
Gemma focused on the bedside table, then on the motionless figure on the bed. ‘Take a look,’ she said, stepping back to allow Mike to see. ‘There’s some sort of pharmaceutical pack and an empty glass on the bedside table. Either she’s not well or .
.
. Mike, I’m concerned.’
As Mike peered through the window, Gemma hastened to the front door and banged on it noisily.
‘She didn’t move,’ Mike called. ‘She’s dead to the world.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ she said. ‘I don’t like this. I’m going in.’
Gemma ran round the side, past a vine-covered trellis to where a small stone patio with a couple of wrought-iron benches formed a shelter at the back of the house. The back fly-screened door proved to be unlocked, and when she tried the timber door, Gemma found that it opened with a turn of the brass handle.
‘It’s open,’ she said to Mike, who’d joined her.
Inside, Gemma made her way past a small laundry and utility area into an old-fashioned kitchen, then through another doorway into the hall.
‘Grace?’ she called. ‘Hello? Grace? It’s Gemma.’
She hurried past a bathroom and two small bedrooms until the hallway opened into the main living area, which was furnished with dainty period sofas and armchairs and a fireplace that was barely warm. Just to the left of the front door, another door stood partly open.
‘Grace?’ Gemma called, before going to the main bedroom and pushing the door all the way open. It was definitely Grace Kingston, she thought, who lay on the candlewick bedspread in navy corduroy trousers and a blue jumper, the same tawny-haired, square-featured woman whose eyes she’d encountered once before.
She approached the figure on the bed. ‘Grace?’ she said softly.
But Grace didn’t stir.
Gemma picked up the pharmaceutical packet on the bedside table: twenty-five sleeping pills missing. Scraps of metallic paper littered the table and floor where Grace had pushed the tablets from their plastic housing.
‘Mike!’ Gemma said as he appeared at the bedroom door. ‘We’ve got to call an ambulance!’
•
The grandfather clock in the hallway donged 2 a.m. as Gemma sat on a footstool, Grace opposite her, leaning back in the embrace of a huge Victorian wing-backed armchair. The rekindled fire both warmed and lit the room, while Mike discreetly fiddled in the kitchen.
The resident at Bowral Hospital, after noting the drugs Grace had taken, had advised Gemma and Mike to take Grace home and let her sleep it off. But even as she was telling them this, Grace was already stirring.
Now, wrapped in a thick quilted dressing-gown, face puffy from her deep sleep, Grace blinked hard. ‘I feel so ashamed,’ she said, ‘so stupid. I didn’t mean to put you to all this trouble.’
‘Trouble? No trouble, Grace. But hey,’ Gemma said softly, ‘this is a hell of a way to meet.’
Their knees touched as Gemma reached over and gently pushed her sister’s thick tawny hair, familiar as her own, back from where it hung around her face.
‘You’re probably feeling really disoriented right now,’ said Gemma. ‘But do you remember ringing me?’
‘I wasn’t sure if I really did that. Or just thought about it. I remember wanting to after I .
.
.’ Her voice faltered.
‘You’re safe now,’ said Gemma.
‘No, I’m not. I’ve lost everything,’ Grace whispered, raising her eyes. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. ‘My mouth is so dry.’
‘Don’t move,’ Gemma commanded. ‘Mike! Will you please bring a big glass of water?’
Gemma took the restless hands of the younger woman in her own. ‘Talk to me, Grace,’ she said. ‘Tell me why you tried to do such a serious thing. Was it because of The Group?’
Grace looked directly into Gemma’s eyes, then flinched away.
‘I can’t bear to think about it. I can’t bear facing how stupid I’ve been. How gullible.’
‘You mean being part of that community?’
Grace nodded.
‘We all make mistakes,’ Gemma said, taking the proffered glass of water from Mike and passing it to Grace. ‘You wouldn’t believe the ones I’ve made. Here, have a good drink. Do you feel like anything else?’
Grace drained the large glass, then threw herself back into the depths of the cavernous armchair. ‘I couldn’t face food just now. I’ve made such a mess of everything. I couldn’t even kill myself properly. I’m a complete failure.’
‘You’re not thinking straight,’ said Gemma. ‘You’re not a failure.’
Grace gave her a long look.
‘At least give us the chance to get to know you. Me and Kit. We’ve been longing to meet you.’ Gemma looked around for her briefcase, praying that what she was doing and saying might be helpful. ‘I’ve brought a photo of Kit to show you. And one of our father.’
‘
My
father?’
‘Yes. Dr Archie Chisholm.’ Gemma pulled her briefcase closer, digging out the photos. ‘This is our father, Grace. Yours and mine and Kit’s.’
She was aware of Mike settling down on a long sofa at the other end of the sitting room as Grace took the photographs.
‘What was he like?’ Grace asked, studying the face in the picture. ‘All I know is that my mother took her own life not long after I was born.’
Gemma inhaled. ‘It’s a long story,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you later, when you’re feeling stronger.’
‘Did something bad happen?’
Gemma blinked. Now wasn’t the time. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said. Sometimes, even she didn’t understand it all.
‘He’s very handsome.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Gemma. ‘Our father was very handsome.’
She looked around the graceful room with its deep bay window and long curtains, the pressed metal ceiling of flannel flowers and pineapples, the gleaming cedar sideboard and the framed nineteenth-century botanical studies.
‘I never knew him,’ said Grace.
Nor did I, thought Gemma.
‘My grandparents brought me up,’ Grace continued. ‘But I never felt I really belonged to them. I wanted a mother and father like everyone else. I so wanted to
belong
. I can see now that’s why I was a sitting duck for The Group.’
‘I know what that feels like,’ said Gemma.
‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ said Gemma, not wanting to open this up just now. ‘Like I said, our family is very complicated.’
‘No one ever wanted me. And when you grow up knowing that the only people who are
supposed
to love you – who almost
have
to love you, no matter what –
can’t
love you, you feel there’s not much likelihood that anyone else will.’
Gemma stroked her hand. ‘Grace, I’ve learned a lot about love,’ she said, ‘just recently. And you’ll find that even if some people can’t love you, there are definitely others who can. And that goes for you too. Kit and I wondered what had gone wrong,’ she continued. ‘We’ve been dying to meet you.’
‘You and Kit?’ Grace asked. ‘You wondered about me?’
‘A lot,’ Gemma nodded. ‘We talk about you often. We want to bring you home.’
Outside, the deep silence was broken by the distant roar of a big rig, then it faded, leaving only the small snaps and cracks of the fire to disturb the tableland peace. Gemma noticed two large tears rolling down Grace’s face. ‘Home,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t think anyone in the world cared about me.’
‘Now you know differently,’ said Gemma. ‘We’re both looking forward to getting to know you.’
‘I wish to God I hadn’t met Sheridan Stark,’ Grace whispered. ‘I wish to God .
.
.’ Her voice faltered and faded. She gulped a deep breath and started again. ‘I fell in love with him. He made me feel special – and beautiful. He made me feel we could run Wisteria Cottage together – as a refuge from the harshness of the world – and that we would always have Archangel Reziel for guidance. I imagined a life of peaceful communal living. Sheridan said he loved me and that I was specially chosen by Heaven to be his partner. It’s so pathetic now when I think of it! Then last week, a few hours after you drove off’ – for Gemma had reminded Grace of her visit, but hadn’t detailed Stark’s actions – ‘I overheard him saying the exact words he’d used on me – only this time, it was to a new member. I had been in love with a
script
!’
Memories of Steve flashed into Gemma’s mind, of how he’d put an arm around Julie Cooper.
‘I realised that contrary to what Sheridan Stark said and what we followers believed, Archangel Reziel was simply a mouthpiece for Stark’s own greedy ego,’ Grace concluded sadly.
‘One day, I’ll tell you about all the actions I regret,’ said Gemma, thinking that at the right time she’d also tell Grace about Stark’s attempt at angelic goosing. They could laugh about it together.
‘Lots of people join groups like that for a while,’ she went on, ‘then discover that it’s not what they’d hoped for. Don’t blame yourself. It’s what happens to a lot of marriages, too. You learn more about yourself and you move on. I’ve been in love with someone for a long time – too long. And he’s not capable of loving me. Not the way I want it.’ She briefly recalled what Angie had said at the clinic. ‘But just recently .
.
. well, a lot of things have changed for me.’
She turned to see what Mike might say on the subject, but he’d gone to sleep leaning back on the sofa, his legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, his arms folded across his strong chest and his head gently inclined. In that moment, Gemma felt a new tenderness towards him.
‘Little sister,’ she said with a smile, ‘it’s very late. We have a lifetime to talk about these things.’
Grace’s face was illuminated with hope. ‘A lifetime,’ she repeated.
Gemma climbed to her feet, exhausted. ‘Let’s get you into bed. And maybe we could bunk down here for the rest of the night?’
‘There are two bedrooms down the hall,’ said Grace. ‘Both the beds are made up.’
‘Thanks,’ said Gemma as Grace got up from the chair and padded across the room to the door of her bedroom, Gemma following.
‘A good night’s sleep,’ said Gemma, ‘and in the morning, breakfast with a long-lost sister. How does that sound to you?’
Grace bit her lip then nodded.
She climbed into bed and Gemma stood nearby, ready to turn off the light. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘before I drive home, I’d love to see all round your beautiful house and your garden.’
Grace’s face was suddenly stricken. ‘Oh, but that’s just it. It’s no longer my beautiful house. Yesterday – or was it the day before – what I’d done really hit me. That’s why I wanted to die.’