The Long Road Home, page 22
‘Oh my god,’ Danni said, and went over to the chair behind the desk and slumped into it. She was as white as a sheet – worse than at any time previously on this awful day. She ran her hands over her face and hair, over and over. ‘I can’t believe Mum would drop this bombshell and just leave us.’
‘Well, technically she didn’t drop …’ Matilda started, but one shrivelling look from Danni and she shut her mouth. Then she opened it again. ‘Yes, sorry, not helpful,’ she babbled, with an almost hysterical edge to her voice.
‘But why wouldn’t they have said anything? Why keep it a secret? It’s not like adoption has the same connotations it did in the sixties and seventies?’ Danni said. As Rick sat in the silence in the room that felt like all the air was being sucked out of it again, a strange calm came over him. Well not calm, exactly, he realised, trying to channel Anthea and put words to his feelings. Vindication? No that wasn’t quite right either. Or maybe it was, but it wasn’t exactly a feeling. Finally, there was a reason why he’d always felt like he didn’t quite fit, didn’t belong.
Christ, who the hell am I? His head began to pound as another thought tumbled in: Do I want to know? What if it’s bad? What if there’s a reason they’ve kept this secret all these years – a reason beyond being secretive arseholes. That thought hurt, made him feel a twinge of guilt. What if they’d done the right thing in adopting him? Had they, though? The girls clearly hadn’t found any adoption papers. Rick felt a part of him trying to retreat – the part that wanted to know more. Maybe it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That had been one of his father’s – who was not his father, actually, as it turned out – favourite quotes. Was that a clue? But the stronger part of him was throbbing with the need to know. The cork was well and truly out of the bottle. He leant over and picked up the framed photo. And then the envelope that had the mice across the front around to the back where there was a Ballarat return address. He put his finger under the loose flap.
‘That’s private,’ Matilda said as he pinched the letter and drew it out.
‘It’s a little late in the piece to be worried about that now, don’t you think?’ Rick said. Quite restrained, he thought, when what he really wanted to do was spray a heap of F words everywhere.
‘I guess,’ Matilda said with a shrug.
It was very short. The handwriting was large, looping but neat and clear on the thick cream paper. Rick noted the date and did a quick calculation. He must have been not quite born yet. Unless they’d somehow lied about his date of birth as well. God, where did it end? He shook it aside – there was only so much he could deal with right now. He read aloud: ‘Dear Maureen, Please don’t be like this. I miss you. We’re family – they’re brothers, for goodness’ sake. We know you and Joseph don’t agree with our choice of lifestyle, but we’re happy. Why can’t you be happy for us? What harm are we doing to you? Come for Christmas. Please! Let’s talk about it. I’m begging you. Come on your own if Joseph won’t. I’ll pick you up from the airport – let me know. Please. Don’t leave it like this. All my love always, B. And some hugs and kisses.’ Jesus, Rick thought.
‘Oh god,’ Matilda said. ‘That’s heart-wrenching. The poor woman is begging. Actually begging. I wonder what they fell out over. What do you reckon lifestyle means – that they’re druggies or crooks, or something like that? Like, Dad was embarrassed or something? Though, it was his brother …’
Rick almost scoffed aloud. Joseph Peterson had been a walking, talking pile of hypocrisy. Matilda was kidding herself if she thought family was like superglue.
‘Hang on, that must have been around the time Dad’s parents died. Maybe it’s something to do with inheritance,’ Danni said thoughtfully. ‘Lifestyle could be referring to spending too much money.’
‘I wish I’d known the Peterson grandparents,’ Matilda said wistfully. ‘I bet they’d have been nicer than Granny and Grandpa V.’
I doubt it, Rick thought.
‘Where was the plane crash again?’ Matilda asked.
‘New Zealand,’ Danni said. ‘Queenstown. Before my time, too. Well, sort of. I think I was maybe one or nearly two, or something.’
‘I reckon you’re right. People only ever fall out over money or love.’
‘Oh, honestly, Matilda. Generalising much?’
‘Well, it’s true,’ Matilda said quietly.
‘Okay, so whoever this B is, she’s Dad’s brother’s wife,’ Danni said carefully, clearly thinking it through as she spoke. ‘Wow. I didn’t even know he had a brother. And they clearly lived in Ballarat – well, they did in nineteen-eighty-six.’
‘So are the photo and this letter related, do you think?’ Matilda said.
Rick pushed back the clips holding the back on the photo frame in and took out the photo. On the back of it was more writing in the same large, round letters as the handwriting in the letter. He read it aloud: ‘Bart and Beatrice all ready to start being responsible adults!’
‘I reckon they are. I think she must be Rick’s mother – pregnant with him,’ Danni said.
‘So that makes us cousins, then, not siblings, doesn’t it?’ Matilda said, her forehead wrinkled tightly.
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Rick said.
‘It certainly seems that way,’ Danni added.
‘Well I’ll still think of you as my brother!’ Matilda declared.
Whatever that means, Rick thought.
‘My whole life’s been a lie,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s not just about you, Rick,’ Danni said. ‘All our lives have been a lie, really, when you think about it.’
But he didn’t hit you when you were a kid and berate you for the rest of your life, did he, Danni? You got to go away to school and uni and …
There were so many things Rick wanted to argue, but his head was pounding too much. He badly wanted to go, get away from all the secrets and lies, learn the truth, start figuring himself out. Because if they had hidden his real identity – as in the facts of his identity – then they’d also hidden his identity, as in his personality, too. All the cruelty he’d endured because he didn’t behave right growing up, hadn’t complied, had talked back, questioned things … He really liked the quirky outfits on the people in the photo – Bart and Beatrice. My parents. He stared at it. It might take him some time to start calling them that. And he reckoned the woman sounded like she’d been fun. Suddenly his whole being stopped as if dead. Were they still alive? And then his system started up again. If they were, you wouldn’t be here, silly.
‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but Jesus I’m annoyed with Mum right now. And Dad,’ Matilda said.
‘I’m sure they had their reasons,’ Danni said. And there was the Danni Rick knew and had told himself, convinced himself, he loved. The familiarity was a little reassuring.
Matilda repeated: ‘You’re our cousin? You were born in Ballarat? And your dad is, was, our uncle – Dad’s brother – who we never knew about?’ Rick could almost see the social media post composing itself.
‘That’s about it,’ Danni said.
‘So, are you going to go to Ballarat?’ Matilda asked.
‘God, what do we do about the farms?’ asked Danni.
Rick looked at her with an expression he hoped conveyed his thought without him having to utter the words. Not my problem. He shrugged in order to make it clearer.
‘You’re just going to leave us, aren’t you?’ Matilda said, sounding a little scared.
‘I’m not named in the Will as an executor. I have no ownership, which is fair enough given I’m not actually a blood son. It’s nothing to do with me now.’ I’ve wasted my whole fucking life here: I’m not staying another day!
‘But we don’t know where to start,’ Danni said. ‘We found the rainfall records, but that’s about it. All those little red notebooks are just jottings and gobbledegook.’
‘I can probably write a list of what’s planted where at the moment, but that would be about it. The accountants might be able to help you with the money side of things. Call Warren Smith. He rang Mum about doing harvest and she was going to get back to him. He might even want more land to lease or buy, but that’s up to you.’
‘Jesus, what a fucking mess,’ Danni said, running her hands through her hair.
Yup. It doesn’t get much more fucked up than this, Rick thought. But at the same time, he could see himself fighting clear of it. He might have been cast adrift, but he was also being released. He could damned well do some art now if he wanted to. And he had a hundred grand – well, he would have eventually when that side of things got sorted out. Would they have to sell a farm to pay him out? He ignored the guilt that ripped through him. Perhaps they’d get away with just refinancing, depending how much equity they held. Or maybe Joseph had been sitting on a shitload of cash and it suited him to cry poor. Whatever. Meanwhile he had enough in his own account to tide him over for a bit.
‘If it’s too hard, you could always just put everything up for sale,’ he said.
‘God, Dad and Mum would have a fit. Turn in their graves.’
Had they both forgotten that it was just that morning their mother had died?
‘Well, they should have planned things better – or differently, then. It’s yours to do with as you want – the two of you.’ While he didn’t like seeing them stressed, he couldn’t help feeling a little relieved that when he left it would no longer be his problem.
‘Can you at least just write down the crop stuff you said?’ Danni said.
‘Okay,’ he said, opening the drawer of the printer and pulling out a wad of plain paper. He drew a quick map of each of the farms with the paddocks and major landmarks and types of crop planted and where the three mobs of sheep were located.
‘Here you go,’ he eventually said, handing the pages over. ‘You’d better take the dogs with you now and remember to feed the chooks until you decide what to do.’
‘You’re really going, aren’t you – to Ballarat?’ Matilda said.
‘Yup.’
‘You’re not even going to help us with the funeral, are you?’ Danni said quietly. That tugged at Rick’s heart. How the day had started was clearly beginning to come back to her.
‘Are you going to come back for it, at least?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Probably not.’ Rick thought he was more erring towards definitely not, but saying that wouldn’t help anything.
‘What about your place – all your stuff? You’ll have to come back some time to sort that out.’
Nope.‘Yeah, I guess. There’s not much – just my car and clothes, really, which I’ll take. Everything else is yours now – furniture, the ute. I’ll tip the milk out, but don’t forget to empty the freezer.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ Danni said.
‘Like what? I’m not being anything, Danni. I’ll lock up and leave the key in the meter box. Okay?’
‘No. Nothing about this is okay.’
‘Could we pay you as a consultant? Can we do that, Danni?’ Matilda asked, looking from Rick to Danni.
Rick shook his head. ‘I need to go. I’ve wasted nearly my whole life here without knowing it, waiting to be rewarded, having my strings pulled. I can’t do it any more, especially now I know the truth – well, a bit of it. I’m sorry, but don’t be mad at me.’ Be mad at your parents.
‘I’m not mad. Well, not mad with you,’ Danni said. ‘I understand.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Well I’m mad!’ Matilda said. ‘How could Mum have done this – left us in the lurch like this?’
Now you might know a little of how I’ve felt all these years, Rick thought sadly. But he didn’t say the words.
‘There’s always a place here for you if you decide to come back,’ Danni said.
Maybe until you sell everything or the dust settles and you realise I mean nothing to you – even less than before – and you don’t have to pretend.
‘Thanks. I’d better get going.’
‘At least have something to eat before you go,’ Danni said. ‘It’s all out ready.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll keep moving. I’m sorry, but it is what it is. Look after yourselves.’ Rick gave them each a brief hug – he was too close to falling apart to linger in their arms – and then gathered up his birth certificate, the framed picture of his parents and his mother’s letter and its envelope.
When he left the room, Danni and Matilda were standing with their arms around each other. His heart twanged at seeing the tears rolling down their faces. They’ll be fine, they’ve got each other – they always did, he thought as he strode through the kitchen and to the ute parked outside.
Chapter Twenty-three
Rick drove slowly, preoccupied with the jumble of thoughts racing through his brain. His name would be mud for leaving them in the lurch, but he couldn’t help that. He just hoped Danni or Matilda might put the rumour mill to rest and tell the truth. Would they be too embarrassed by the actions of their parents and stay silent? That was up to them.
Rick felt like a big part of his soul had stayed at the house with them. He was hollow, completely empty. He supposed it should help to know the truth – well, part of it, anyway. Would he ever know any more? He couldn’t answer that until he got to Ballarat.
His frustration turned him inside out as he thought of his mother – who was really his aunt – dying before telling him the truth. He really hoped she hadn’t taken her own life. Why couldn’t she have just finished writing her bloody note? Or, better yet, told him the other day? Jesus, how hard was it? ‘Rick, you’re not our biological son; you’re our nephew on your father’s side. This is what happened to your parents … blah, blah, blah and this is why you were living with us blah, blah, blah.’ Stuff all the tiptoeing around. The silence. The lying by omission. For fuck’s sake! They’d had more than thirty years to sit him down and gently tell him the truth! When he’d needed his birth certificate to get his driver’s licence would have been the perfect opportunity.
The fury dug into him like a knife, twisting, turning, stabbing. How could I have missed that? If only I’d been more observant. Jesus, he was so annoyed at himself his mind was clouding red. If he’d known, he would have left. Got his licence and driven far, far away.
Oh, who was he kidding? He’d been as much under Joseph’s control as he reckoned Maureen had been. They’d been his pawns. Arrogant arsehole. He probably only doted on the girls – well, other than the odd dig at Matilda about her weight. He had a gruff manner generally, but both of them had never really done any wrong in his eyes. Because they were blood. From his loins.
‘Shit. Shit. Shit,’ Rick muttered as the tail end of the ute swung out in the gravel on a corner and he fought to regain control. He’d taken it too wide in his haze, his inattention. Concentrate, dickhead. They were the words of his father. Jesus, he so badly wished he could stop referring to him as that – exile him in his mind and heart and soul. His heart was pounding. The last thing he needed was to have a crash and be stuck here longer. A part of him was a little sad to be leaving – disappointed, he supposed. But he really did feel cast out. Danni and Matilda would deny it until they turned blue, but theirs had been farewell hugs, not just saying goodbye to close the chapter of an awful day. And he wasn’t being paranoid. It was the truth. He’d spent far too long ignoring how he felt inside, far too long telling himself he was wrong, giving excuses for what his parents and Danni and Matilda had said and done. Nope, when Danni and Matilda realised what they’d inherited they would only be in touch if they needed something from him – not that he had anything to give.
It would help that he wasn’t around for any awkward meetings in the street by the post office or outside the supermarket. Jesus. Supermarket. God, wasn’t he lucky his father hadn’t left him money and he’d bought into the business Alice’s family was selling? Not that he’d really taken the thought seriously. At the time, a part of him knew that maybe it was an attempt to raise the middle finger to the family by doing something different but staying in the district. It was mind-blowing how much could change so quickly.
Rick slowed as he came to the eighty-kilometre sign just outside of the town, for a fleeting moment wondering how he could be here already. He’d lost a chunk of time.
Oh. My. God. Rick was so busy staring at the Welcome to Hope Springs sign and fixated on his latest thought that he almost drove right through an intersection designated by a stop sign. He stopped just in time with a lurch, wheels partway across the line as new questions tumbled in, and the new realisation: how had this place kept a secret so big? All the oldies knew. They had to. They couldn’t have not. What had been said? Had a whole town and district been capable of keeping this secret for three decades, when the reminder of it – Rick himself – was constantly on view? This community, when the moment someone so much as looked twice or for too long at someone else’s significant other they were all over it, spreading the juicy rumour from the bank to the service station in a matter of minutes?
Had all the old ladies sitting behind the trading tables full of handmade jam, cakes, crocheted goods been smiling at him out of pity all these years, not genuine kindness? All the old family friends, churchgoers? Worse – had all the old barflies in the pub, sitting on the same stools they always had since he’d started drinking legally, known the truth too? Right then Rick thought he was as disappointed in the place as he was in Maureen and Joseph.
Fuck the lot of you, he thought. You’re supposed to be these lovely towns that are all kind and caring. Well, what about me? I’m one of your own. The feeling of how he’d been duped, and for so long, how stupid he must have looked, made him feel physically ill. Where had been the gossip with the grains of truth being muttered about his origins so he’d get a whiff and begin asking questions? Why hadn’t anyone got drunk and blurted out the truth? Even a hint would have been useful.
He checked for oncoming traffic and crawled across the intersection.
Oh. But, but of course. Maureen and Joseph. Two of their own. His parents – no, his aunt and uncle. They were theirs – the community’s. And so had the older Petersons been. Bart might have been once, too, but he – Rick – was the ring-in because he’d been born outside. And for all he knew, the district had cast Bart out like Joseph had. Of course – that was how. That was why. Fuck.
