The unusual abduction of.., p.36
The Unusual Abduction of Avery Conifer, page 36
‘Having fun?’ asked Beth.
‘Yes.’ Avery glanced up only briefly. ‘I’m bewding an eyeand.’
It took Beth a few moments to decipher this last. The child was building an island. It demonstrated an admirable imagination but she really would have to look into speech therapy. For now though, she was just enjoying having her here. Avery had arrived only that morning, after spending last night at Shirley’s. Beth imagined that this had involved a reunion with her father but she neither knew, nor cared. She hesitated for a moment.
‘Did you have fun at Nannie’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, good. Um, did you see Daddy?’
Avery nodded. She tore open a cellophane-wrapped packet of Lego bricks and poured them onto the floor.
‘Did you stay at Daddy’s?’
‘No.’ She looked up, perhaps sensing that Beth wouldn’t leave until she got more. ‘Grandpa took me there but I syeep at Nannie and Grandpa’s now. Dodge the dog’s not ayowed inside anymore either.’
‘Ah, good. Good. Was Luke there?’
‘No, he’s not ayowed either. We aw think he’s an arse-ho.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Beth with conviction. ‘Okay then, darling, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Good,’ said Avery shortly. She returned to her game.
Beth watched her for a few more minutes until Avery shot her a look of irritation. She left the door open and headed back towards the kitchen. She hadn’t yet told the child that her mother was expected back soon. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, just in case anything went wrong. Excitement fizzed along her own veins like sherbet. Watching Sunday Brunch this morning hadn’t helped, although she had derived some amusement from their woeful ‘special edition’. Served the fools right. How dare they try to waylay them! It had made her even more appreciative for the detective’s offer to collect Cleo, and it was also gratifying to see her tax dollars at work.
Indeed, she had cause to feel grateful to several people, and it was not a position she was accustomed to. Shirley’s morose husband, for hiring the lawyer who had become their spokesperson. Samantha Conifer, for collecting them from the assessment centre in the city and being so surprisingly supportive of all they had done. Stan Attenborough, for taking such good care of her house. And finally, Alex Conifer and his girlfriend. Pretty girl, but with a face like painted porcelain and nerves like spun glass. The two of them had driven to Bendigo the previous day and picked up Harth from the council kennels. Just in the nick of time too, given the state of him on his return.
Beth put the kettle on and went into the laundry to check on the dog. He lifted his head, regarding her through his bristly brow, his tail sweeping against the edge of his cushioned bed. She thought he might have PTSD. Apart from meals, and a thorough bath, he hadn’t changed position. She bobbed down, her knees protesting, and ruffled his fur.
‘Home now, Mr Harthacnut. And soon Cleo will be here too! Isn’t that just dandy?’
Harth’s tail indicated his endorsement of this last. Beth straightened just as the kettle began to whistle. In the kitchen she made a fresh pot of tea. While it was drawing, she went back into the lounge room and stood just to the side of the tightly drawn curtains. From here she could see the furthest news van but she knew there were several other vehicles parked nearby. A cameraman had taken position by her rhododendrons. If any of those got trampled, she was going to sue the station. She had already taken careful note of every number plate out there. To her amusement, as she watched, Stan Attenborough came across the lawn and planted himself before a reporter. Lovely man but extremely garrulous. Served them right.
She returned to the kitchen and poured her tea, taking it over to the table. She wrapped her hands around the cup and closed her eyes as the steam cushioned her chin. This was like a hiatus, the calm before the storm. Tomorrow she would need to ring work, announce her return. Make a vet appointment for Harth. And also at the dog groomers. Sort out her finances and pay bills. And of course, any minute now Cleo would be back. Beth took a deep, calming breath. She loved her daughter deeply but there was no doubt that Cleo exuded drama. It was like ectoplasm, expanding and contracting along with her moods. And it was sometimes just hard work.
But Beth was determined that this time would be different. This time she would ensure that her own control was tempered with empowerment. She had done a lot of reading on the subject. It was called capacity building. Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. She was going to teach Cleo to fish if it killed her. And this time, she had a number of advantages. Firstly, Cleo was going to be back under her roof. Secondly, she would no doubt be more tractable after her sojourn in prison. Thirdly, her daughter now owed Beth. And fourthly, the timing could not have been more perfect. Cleo had mellowed last time she had been pregnant, and indeed for much of Avery’s infanthood. Beth expected exactly the same this time around.
She had known about the baby for weeks now. Since a random comment about her having a single grandchild had elicited an extremely odd look from Winnie. She had added that expression to the fact that Winnie was in regular contact with Samantha Conifer, who Beth had been told was visiting Cleo, and then added that to the last time she had seen her daughter. Cleo had been puffy-faced, a little thicker around the middle. At the time she’d put it down to prison food but with Winnie’s I-know-something-you-don’t look, it had all fallen into place. Fluid retention. She’d been exactly the same with Avery.
At first Beth had been horrified. All she had wanted to do was ring the prison and berate her daughter. How could she be that irresponsible? But then, over time, she had begun to see it as something of a blessing. Her little family would be expanded and having reared a single child herself, she knew how beneficial a sibling would be for Avery. Of course it was a shame that Daniel was the father, but at least both girls would be full siblings. And it was probably better than throwing another man into the mix. Cleo’s taste in that respect was not good.
Another plus was that, like Avery, this new grandchild would also be shared with Shirley. It would cement their place in each other’s lives. There would be all sorts of milestones and celebrations and even just casual get-togethers. Perhaps they would even make it a regular occurrence, say once a week, where they met for coffee and discussed the … family. Beth mouthed the word without saying it out loud, tasting its feel on her tongue. It would be vastly different from before, when she had been an outsider. She would be different. Beth knew that she had some faults. She was a little too exacting, at times, and those high standards led to what some might call judgementalism. But she was determined to work on this, and Shirley, so that they could meet somewhere in the middle.
Last but by no means least, this new baby would slow her daughter down. Limit her choices. She would most definitely need her mother’s support. Beth smiled happily as she took a sip of her tea. It had gone cold. She pushed it away just as Harth gave a low bark from the laundry. Seconds later came the creak of the back door opening. Beth leaped to her feet, knocking the teacup sideways. Tea sloshed across the table. Her heart contracted painfully and then surged into her throat. Cleo was back. The hiatus was over. Life—larger, fuller and potentially so much richer—began now.
Epilogue
Sunday, 26 January
Coloured balloons bobbed slowly along the ceiling, given propulsion from the breeze coming from the open sliding door. It rustled the banner suspended from the curtain rod, sending shimmers along the embossed silver words that read Happy 90th Birthday! Gaily wrapped presents tumbled across the couch and a glossy, purple and silver motorised scooter sat beside an armchair, festooned with a giant bow. On the television played a silent slideshow that traversed nine decades, and then began again. A cycle of sepia to colour. A few people stood watching, sharing reminiscences and exclaiming over clothing and haircuts and children who now had children of their own. Most of the guests though were outside. They sat at tables across the lawn, or stood in clusters by the temporary bar, or crowded the swing seat on the deck. More balloons were tied from the eaves while hundreds of fairy lights twinkled in the dusk from strands draped among the trees. Pockets of conversation swelled along with the breeze and music emanated from a speaker above the bar. Children ran across the grass, dodging the adults, giggling as they were reprimanded without conviction.
It had been a hot, sticky sauna-like day, but the breeze had swung in with the early evening, bringing a much-welcomed drop in temperature. Even so, there were mosquito candles on every table and as many bottles of water in the ice-filled tubs by the bar as there were stubbies of beer. A small blackboard sat on the bar itself, announcing the cocktail of the day. It was named for the guest of honour. The Winsome: one dash of dry gin plus half a dash each of blackcurrant liqueur and scotch whiskey, topped with beaten egg white and a tumble of raspberries. Enjoy!
Shirley bustled from group to group, exchanging pleasantries with extended family and friends, greeting late arrivals and organising drinks for the table of residents from the retirement village. This last group was actually the easiest to deal with. Apart from having to find space for their wheelchairs and Zimmer frames. But they were the only ones who didn’t ask how she was going, followed by some sympathetic reference to the events of last winter. It had been six months since then but the platitudes just kept coming. Shirley had decided to have one drink for every person who laid a hand on her shoulder while they tilted their head just slightly and then muttered an inanity that they seemed to think was transformative. It didn’t bode well for her sobriety.
‘Mum?’ Sam came up by her side. ‘Should we do the cake?’
‘What? Isn’t it a bit early?’
‘A little, but …’ Sam inclined her head towards her grandmother’s table. There were an awful lot of empty cocktail glasses there. The minibus drive back to the village would be interesting.
‘Good idea. Can you get it?’
Sam nodded and headed towards the house. Shirley dodged one of the catering staff, who was wandering around aimlessly with a platter of mini quiches, and then found herself accosted by Felicity De Vries. She put a manicured hand on Shirley’s shoulder and murmured something sympathetically banal. After extracting herself politely, Shirley went straight to the bar. A small Australian flag had been blu-tacked to the side, paying lip service to the fact that this was also Australia Day. She ordered a glass of chardonnay from Hamish who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his role as bartender. This was her sixth glass of chardonnay, however she estimated that at least five of those had been abandoned on various tables when she had become distracted and then forgot which drink was hers. She lifted up one of her feet, rotating the ankle. Her heels were killing her. She took the glass over to the side of the bar and turned to survey the party, proud of how pretty the backyard looked. Her eldest granddaughter ran past, clutching a bunch of balloons. There was a two-year-old that she didn’t recognise sitting in the vegetable patch eating strawberries. The music stopped, and then started up with ‘My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean’. One of the elderly gentlemen began singing in a surprisingly good baritone.
‘Cake!’ called Samantha from the deck. ‘It’s cake time!’
Hannah stood beside her, holding a piece of cardboard against the large slab cake, protecting the lit candles from the breeze. Conversations ceased, turning to coos of admiration as they began a slow procession across the lawn. Ninety flames flickered as the cake was lowered slowly onto the table before Winnie. She was flanked by the baritone and Lillian from Majic. Empty glasses were pushed aside to make room. Shirley saw that the icing was already melting.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Winnie, leaning away. Her purple foils glinted in the reflected light.
‘Quick, Gran!’ yelled Alex from the deck. ‘Blow them out before we get into trouble! It’s a total fire-ban day!’
‘Ha ha,’ said his grandmother. ‘Where’s Avery?’
There was a great deal of gazing around and then Avery was produced from within the crowd. She was still clutching her balloons. She came forwards eagerly though, as soon as she realised what was expected of her. Balloons bumped against her great-grandmother’s head as she nestled alongside.
‘On my count, schnooks!’ said Winnie. ‘One, two, three!’
They both blew with gusto but only about a quarter were extinguished. One of the balloons popped in the reflected heat and those around jumped, and then laughed. Sam pushed Hannah’s cardboard away and let the breeze lend a hand. Within seconds, all the candles were out. Everybody cheered and a number of discordant renditions of ‘for she’s a jolly good fellow’ rang out.
‘Speech, speech!’ called someone from across the lawn.
‘No,’ said Winnie. She clamped her mouth.
This brought a good deal more laughter. Sam passed her grandmother a large knife and Winnie did the honours, slicing through the cream and jam filling.
‘You touched the bottom!’ said Avery with delight. ‘You have to kiss the nearest boy!’
‘Not a problem,’ announced the baritone. He leaned over and gave Winnie a hearty kiss on the lips. He looked pleased with himself while she looked a little cross. The crowd just looked surprised.
‘That’s called sexual assault nowadays, Bill,’ said one of the other elderly women.
‘Only when the recipient is unwilling!’ replied Bill, wiggling impressively bushy eyebrows.
Winnie cleared her throat but didn’t reply. There was a moment of awkward silence and then Sam filled it by organising plates and cake forks. She began slicing up the cake, handing chocolatey wedges to Hannah to distribute. Shirley realised that she was still gaping at her mother. Winnie had only been living at the retirement village for three months. She couldn’t possibly have found a paramour already, could she? What the hell was going on over there? She took a swig of wine, and then another.
‘Slow down,’ said Janine, coming up beside her. She was eating a meatball on a tiny skewer.
Shirley didn’t reply. They both stood watching their mother. She and bushy-browed Bill were now sharing a piece of cake. She suddenly realised who he reminded her of. Harth, the miniature schnauzer. They even shared the same white moustache.
‘Hmm,’ said Janine. ‘Not sure I’m ready for a new father. I wonder if they—’
‘Don’t finish that sentence,’ interrupted Shirley. She turned to her sister. ‘Sorry, but it’s all right for you. You’ll just flit back to Canada and leave me with all the visuals.’
‘Well, at least they won’t have to use birth control.’
Shirley put her glass down and stuck her fingers in her ears. ‘La, la, la. I’m not hearing this.’
‘Neither are they.’ Janine leaned a little closer. ‘Both have hearing aids the size of a potato.’
Shirley grinned, despite herself. She lowered her hands. ‘It’s good to see you. I wish you’d get over here more often.’
‘Maybe you should visit me instead?’ suggested Janine.
Shirley nodded. She’d been thinking about that lately. ‘Are you able to offer me equivalent accommodation though? A vacant, fully self-contained unit in your backyard?’
‘Not quite. You’ll have to slum it and stay in the house.’ Janine plucked a vol-au-vent from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Speaking of visits though, maybe that’s what you should have done last year, instead of zigzagging across the state.’
‘Maybe,’ said Shirley. It wouldn’t have worked though. Avery didn’t have a passport. And perhaps the authorities would have taken a dimmer view if they’d tried to spirit the child out of the country.
‘All’s well that ends well though,’ said Janine. She briefly put her hand on Shirley’s shoulder. ‘And now I’m going to get a drink and then go over to give Mum the third degree. I need to find out if I have to book another trip, for the wedding.’
‘Lol,’ said Shirley, demonstrating her progressiveness. She watched her sister make her way to the bar. Janine didn’t seem to have aged much since she had last seen her; she had just gotten much plumper. Maybe it smoothed all the lines out. Maybe Shirley should try that. She looked around for her wine but there were several abandoned glasses on the side of the bar. She sighed and then went to order another instead.
At the largest table, Winnie waited impatiently for Sam to finish with the slab cake. Every time she moved, she was in danger of getting icing on her new blouse. She pushed the rest of the shared plate towards Bill. In the sparkling reflection of the fairy lights, the skin on her hands looked like filo pastry. Bill’s were more ropy veins and liver spots. She cast him a sidelong look. He was a nice enough bloke, and very entertaining company, but she wasn’t sure there was a future. At his age, most men were after a replacement wife. And some could be very set into their look-after-me ways. She wasn’t at all interested in that.
‘Here you go,’ said Lillian, returning from the bar with a fresh cocktail. She put it down in front of Winnie. ‘Gotta keep the birthday girl oiled!’
‘Thanks.’ Winnie smiled. She was trying to talk Lillian into moving into the retirement village also. She was determined to succeed. There was far more life there than up the back of beyond. Apart from anything else, family were so much more enjoyable in small but regular doses. One didn’t need to be ensconced. She glanced over to where both her daughters were leaning against the bar. Typical. But it was very nice seeing them together. She wondered if she would book a trip to Canada during the year. Maybe she would even take one of those Alaskan cruises while she was there. Maybe she would take a friend.
