Home to Turtle Bay Page 28

  ‘And Henry welcomed her?’

  ‘Maybe he couldn’t resist. Maybe after all that time … But I know so little. I do know from the postcards Sonia wrote to my parents that she hurt him. “You were right,” she told them. “He’s a monster but this island’s cool.” She took one look at his damaged face and she hated him. Oh, she loved the surf—the life—and Henry gave her and her friends free lodging for as long as they wanted. That would have given her status. But of course when the novelty wore off, they all disappeared. And she went, too.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘For Sonia, life must have been as lonely as it was for me, but there was nothing I could do. I’d done the damage. I had to wear it.’

  ‘You didn’t know where she was?’

  ‘You don’t understand. I knew nothing. I didn’t even know you’d been born. She stopped writing to my parents. There was nothing— until that call from Nepal. From Henry. I remember standing in that restaurant, staring at nothing. Thinking … my daughter’s dead. My daughter …’

  I felt so ill I held my arms across my chest as if cradling myself.

  ‘I hated him. I think I almost … hated her.’ Her voice was less than a whisper and I had to lean in to hear. ‘But I loved her. They’re so close—hate and love. My little girl who looked like Henry. My lonely Sonia. I must have hurt her as much as Henry hurt me. And then you arrived and that look was still there. You have Henry’s eyes. Henry’s hair. Henry’s smile. So I thought … if I had to care for you, then at least I’d do it without the tears. Without the love. The loving had to stop right there.’

  ‘But it didn’t. You still love Sonia. I can hear it in your voice. And you never stopped loving Henry.’

  ‘He’s still here.’ Muriel was staring wildly up at me now. ‘The ghosts … I can’t get away. He’s judging me.’

  Enough. I took a deep breath and fought for sanity.

  Someone had to face these ghosts with a touch of reality.

  Things were shifting inside me, major things. For as long as I remembered I’d held back from my grandmother. She’d taught me well. Don’t care. As I got older, as I’d gained perspective on my lonely childhood, I’d judged her. There’d been … desolation. It’s a strong word but loneliness is an ugly thing. Maybe that desolation would always stay with me but it didn’t have a place now. Or maybe it could be re-formed into anger, directed where it could be useful.

  ‘Then maybe we can judge him back,’ I retorted with asperity. ‘Kicking a pregnant wife out isn’t exactly a gentlemanly act. Henry’s letter explains but it doesn’t justify.’

  Muriel stared at me as if I was mad. ‘He was burned.’

  ‘And you were pregnant. And Sonia made her choices too, Grandma. Your parents loved her in their way and she must have known you did. You can’t blame and blame and blame yourself. And afterwards … I think you did really well. You’ve had some great lovers.’

  Muriel’s face stilled. ‘What do you know about my lovers?’

  ‘I was brought up with them, remember? They gave you some very good times. I remember them as kind, generous and fun. Without exception they adored you.’

  And amazingly, Muriel’s lips twitched. ‘They did, didn’t they?’

  ‘And Al’s great.’

  ‘But I didn’t love them.’

  ‘That didn’t stop you from having a good time with each and every one of them. If Henry’d relaxed a bit more and forgotten how he looked, I bet he could have had a good time, too. He had a gorgeous wife and the best home in the world. He had you to love him. Instead of embracing what he had, he sulked his life away, with a detective following you around over in the States costing him a fortune. He didn’t come near his daughter when he could have done some good. He made one big effort when Sonia was dying, but did he try to make a relationship with me?’

  ‘I don’t …’

  But I wasn’t countenancing interruptions. I wasn’t finished.

  ‘I don’t even remember him and I remember that time. I was appallingly alone. If anyone had hugged me, I’d have remembered. If someone—anyone—had picked me up and cuddled me, I would have welcomed them as my saviour. He didn’t. I was old enough to remember if someone cared and no one did. He sent me to you and at least you gave me a home which is more than he ever did. So I refuse to admit you’re at fault, Muriel. And you … You’re too pretty and too vivacious to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder at some miserable, self-pitying and cruel ghost.’

  So there. Stick it, Henry, I thought, and maybe the same to Sonia. But I couldn’t quite resist glancing over my shoulder.

  Muriel stared. ‘I … could have done better by you,’ she started, but I tossed the ghost an angry look and went right on shoving in my oar.

  ‘Oh, great. Are you planning suicide on my behalf now? Thanks, but I don’t need it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. I won’t.’

  Silence. ‘You promise?’

  ‘It was really cold,’ Muriel said, and amazingly I saw a hint of humour.

  Yes! This was the response I wanted. ‘Was it horribly scary?’ I prompted and got a look.

  ‘Don’t get carried away.’

  ‘But it was scary. Fraser inspected your surfboard for shark bites. How scary’s that?’

  ‘I did think of sharks,’ Muriel admitted. ‘Actually I thought about sharks a lot.’

  ‘As I definitely would have. How about giant squids and manta rays and—’

  ‘Alright,’ Muriel conceded. ‘I thought of them all. My body refused to sink so I floated for hours, waiting. It was awful. I won’t do it again.’

  ‘And no sleeping pills? You won’t step in front of a bus?’

  Muriel gave a shamefaced smile. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘I swear.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll tell you what I thought out there, when I wasn’t thinking about sharks and the like. It was silly but here it is. I had my hair done the week before we left New York and it cost me three hundred and eighty-six dollars. Jeremy’s the best stylist in Manhattan and there’s still a good four weeks left in this cut.’

  ‘So there is.’ My heart did this crazy lurch. ‘We have four weeks’ grace until your hair grows out. What will you do after that?’

  ‘Go back to Jeremy.’

  ‘You don’t think going home to Al might be better?’

  ‘Like you’re going home to Richard?’

  I refused to be deflected. ‘That’s right. We’ll both go home to our respectable men on the other side of the world. To hell with ghosts.’

  ‘To hell with ghosts?’ Muriel winced. ‘I wish they’d let us be.’

  ‘Maybe they never will,’ I told her. ‘Maybe we just need to get along with them. We’ve taught ourselves not to care about people. Maybe we need to teach ourselves not to care about ghosts as well.’

  I let her be. I closed Muriel’s door behind me—and Jack was standing in the kitchen. Looking sheepish. He was wearing faded jeans, an ancient T-shirt and his feet were bare. He had a stethoscope dangling from his pocket. Doctor doing house calls?

  I glanced at his face and knew he’d been there the whole time. He must have heard every word.

  ‘Um … sorry.’ He struggled with his face, seemingly trying to turn sheepish into innocent. ‘Clive’s back milking your cows and I needed to talk to him. I thought I’d check Muriel before I went home. So I overheard.’

  For some reason his feet had me fascinated. And distracted. I tried to think of Richard in bare feet—and couldn’t. Even in his centrally heated Manhattan apartment, Richard would wear leather slip-ons. What did his toes look like? I must have seen them countless times.

  I couldn’t remember.

  ‘You’re doing a house call in bare feet?’ I managed.

  ‘Aye.’ He tried for a look of virtue. ‘I’ve ditched almost every suit I own. Last night. Clothes aren’t important.’

  Oh, right. What sort of statement was that?

  ‘You ditched them l
ast night?’

  ‘I’m not sure why,’ he said. ‘I went home and they were sort of looking at me. Designer suits. City shoes. Silk ties. They’re now destined for welfare, though we might have to ship them off the island. I can’t see every second islander in one of my suits.’

  ‘You threw them all away?’

  ‘I kept a couple,’ he admitted. ‘Weddings and funerals still happen.’

  ‘But why?’ I demanded, confused. ‘Why last night?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure,’ he conceded. ‘But I thought, you know, Muriel’s spent half her life not being happy where she is. I didn’t choose to be here, but I’m damned if I’ll let it put me on a surfboard bound for suicide.’

  ‘So you’re staying here?’

  ‘I’m stuck.’ He smiled. ‘But there’s the odd compensation. Having my toe stomped on in the wee small hours springs to mind.’ He held up his foot. ‘Look. The toe’s still red. I reckon I can sue. Pain and suffering. Emotional stress. Loss of income.’

  ‘Loss of income?’

  ‘I’ll need to whine about this toe to every patient in surgery today. That means clinic will take twice as long, which means income will be curtailed. Speaking of which … I need to get on. How is she?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to listen.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. What’s between Muriel and me is hardly personal.’

  ‘Talking about preferred methods of suicide isn’t personal?’

  I shrugged. There were some places I didn’t want to go. And his feet were so disconcerting.

  Lean brown toes, crusted with sand … Designer suits heading for welfare … But I wasn’t prepared to be distracted again.

  ‘Henry drove her away.’

  ‘To be pregnant and alone when she knew how much he needed her,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It must have been a special kind of hell.’

  ‘It was.’ The unexpected response was deep and gravelled.

  Fraser.

  We turned to find the old fisherman standing in the doorway. He was freshly shaven. He was wearing a bright checked shirt that looked like it had just come out of its plastic bag—you could still see the lines where it had been folded in the shop—and he smelled of …

  Aftershave?

  I sniffed. This wasn’t just any aftershave. This was what Richard wore back in New York.

  ‘Gucci aftershave?’ I asked, stunned enough to forget about not being personal, and the old man flushed beetroot from the too-tight collar up.

  ‘One of my grandsons left it last time he was here.’

  The change was unbelievable. Jack was staring at him, fascinated, and so was I. The old man’s white hair was slicked back. He’d shaved so close his skin was shiny and he looked like he didn’t know where to put himself.

  I stared down at Fraser’s feet. What was it with feet this morning? His boots were ancient but they’d been polished until they shone. Fisherman in shiny boots. Doctor in bare feet. The world was upside down.

  ‘Um … were you by any chance listening, too?’

  ‘I was coming around the house,’ he said, and if possible his colour turned redder. ‘I told you I’d look after Muriel while you did Doc’s clinic. Can I help that the window was open?’

  ‘You’ve both been eavesdropping.’

  ‘I overheard,’ Fraser objected. ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Jack.

  ‘You … spies!’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Jack said. ‘If you insist on living with open doors and windows …’

  ‘And at least there’s no longer any secret,’ Fraser said. ‘Fifty years back I took Muriel to the harbour and I wanted to come back here and punch Henry’s lights out. But she made me promise not to. I was to give him the dignity of being deserted. She said it was all she had left to give him. Bastard.’

  ‘I think,’ Jack said carefully, ‘that I might possibly have misjudged Muriel.’

  ‘You and the rest of this island,’ Fraser muttered. ‘But now it can all come out.’

  ‘Would Muriel want everyone to know?’ I didn’t think so.

  ‘You think I’ll let people keep thinking of her like they do?’ he demanded.

  ‘It was fifty years ago,’ I said gently. ‘But I’m guessing it still matters to Muriel—what people think of Henry. The people who need to know are right here and she can live with that.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Ask her, Fraser,’ I said. ‘Don’t take my word.’

  ‘I’ll talk her into it.’

  ‘You can try.’ Jack was looking back and forth between the pair of us with a strange expression of satisfaction. ‘Meanwhile, I need to see her. There’s no need for that drip anymore. As long as she keeps the fluids up she should be okay, and you two seem to be sorting the rest of her life for her nicely.’

  ‘Until she goes back to New York,’ I muttered and Jack nodded.

  ‘To her respectable man.’

  ‘Is he a good ’un?’ Fraser demanded, and I thought about it.

  ‘Al’s great.’ But then I glanced at Fraser and something made me add, ‘He’s not permanent, though.’

  ‘She’s not married?’

  ‘Muriel doesn’t commit to anyone.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Fraser said, and tried to look nonchalant.

  I shrugged. This was … none of my business? The phrase was starting to sound hollow. Nevertheless, I needed to back away. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to make her some breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll make her breakfast,’ Fraser said, visibly squaring his shoulders. Oozing aftershave. ‘Eggs and bacon and the lot. I brought stuff from home, in case you didn’t have enough.’

  ‘But she doesn’t eat—’

  ‘She will this morning.’ Fraser poked Jack in the chest. ‘You said you were here to examine her?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for? Get in and examine. You, girl, don’t you have a clinic to run?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Then what are you hanging around for? There’s too many “buts” in this place. Let’s shut up and get on with it.’

  Jack finished with Muriel—an examination done with doors and windows firmly closed. I changed fast into my work clothes. Fraser took over.

  ‘I don’t have a clue what’s going on,’ I complained as Jack and I left the house together.

  ‘You think I do?’

  ‘Fraser’s decided to court Muriel?’

  ‘The aftershave and the shirt would suggest it.’

  ‘She’ll never go for it. Muriel chooses men who don’t interfere with her life. Also men with money. Not ancient fishermen reeking of aftershave who bully her into eating eggs and bacon.’

  ‘How would you feel having Fraser as a grandpa-in-law?’

  ‘It won’t happen.’

  ‘She has too much sense?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘It’s what you meant, though, isn’t it,’ he said softly. ‘Her life’s back in New York. To bury herself here would be unthinkable.’

  I stared around me. The morning sun was glinting on the surf below the house. The cows, released from their bails by Clive, were plodding slowly towards the lush pastures overlooking the sea. Somewhere nearby a plover was calling a warning to stay clear of her nest. Yes, it was beautiful, but …

  ‘Muriel loves … things,’ I muttered. ‘Like me. She doesn’t love people or … or places.’

  ‘Like you. Right.’ He was watching me the way he’d watch a puzzle he couldn’t make out, but he obviously decided to move on. ‘Okay. You have a clinic to run and I have another house call to do before I take Bridget for a swim.’ Then he hesitated. ‘You know, your grandma’s great. For her age she’s come out of last night’s ordeal looking amazing. She could do anything she wanted. Start a new life even.’

  ‘You don’t start a new life at her age.’

  ‘Depends how bad the old one was.
’

  ‘It’s not bad. She has—’

  ‘A respectable man? A life in New York? I heard.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m fine, too.’ Definitely. I looked pointedly at my watch. ‘You’re wasting your morning, Dr McLachlan.’

  ‘So I am.’ But he didn’t move.

  ‘Jack …’

  ‘Mm.’

  It had to be said. I knew what the unspoken question was and it had to be answered. ‘No,’ I said.

  He looked at me. ‘You mean that?’

  ‘What else could I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said and turned away. ‘How could I know anything at all? All I do know is that I’ve thrown away my suits. I’ve made my decision but you’ve scuffed my boot, Jenny, and if you ever decide you want to scuff the other one, I’m coming back for more.’

  18

  bottom turn n. a turn at the base of the wave, to get into position for the next manoeuvre.

  I didn’t want it, and he seemed to respect that. The days wore on and we settled into a workable routine.

  Muriel recovered. I’d like to report she’d had an epiphany and turned into a smiling, cuddly grandma, but that might have been too much for both of us. She’d retreated again, but her retreat was sort of different. There was baggage between us that could probably never be sorted, but it was like we were working out new boundaries, boundaries that suited us both.

  We moved on.

  I ran clinics every morning. I even treated my first case of snake bite, which had me finally abandoning my last pair of gorgeous, impractical shoes. They could wait. A few more weeks and I’d be donating the gumboots to Nautilus Island’s charity bin. Not that they needed more. Islanders seemed to be born with them already attached.

  Two weeks into my stay, mid clinic, I fielded a call from Isabella. The boundaries between us were uncharted territory. Richard would have advised not to answer but I did.

  I copped anger.

  ‘I’ll be fine. No thanks to you. But you … Staying on that island while I get closer … Running off … You can’t just do what you want.’