She tried to put him out of her mind as she hurried across the playground.She didn’t have long before she was meeting Viv to start packing up the clinic.A throng of volunteers with HOW TO VOTE flyers accosted her as she approached the school hall.
‘Vote Greens in the senate!’said a dreadlocked volunteer, thrusting a page into her hands.
‘Susan Elliot!An independent voice for the Opal Coast.’
An elderly man handed her a page with Geoff Marshall’s face on it.‘Vote 1 Geoff Marshall!’
Nel emerged out the other side of the pack and joined the voting queue.When she reached the front, she collected her ballot papers and went to a cardboard booth, between a middle-aged man in budgie smugglers and an elderly lady with a walking frame, who she recognised as a patient from the clinic.She followed the directionson Susan Elliot’s flyer, shoved her forms into the right slots then hurried out.
As she reached the exit, she came face to face with Faye.They froze.Tears welled in Faye’s eyes, pain etched on her face.Nel went to speak, but no words came, then Faye shook her head and pushed past her.
Nel frowned as she watched her disappear down a corridor and into the ladies’ bathroom.Should she follow her?Offer her comfort?It was because of Nel that all this had happened after all—she was the one who had stirred up the past—but then she thought of that moment outside the church sixteen years ago.Faye flinching at the touch of Nel’s hand.Her vicious words.And instead she turned to go.
*
The door of the clinic was unlocked when Nel arrived, but the waiting room was dark.
‘Hello?’Nel called as she stepped inside.There was no answer, but Viv’s handbag was sitting on the front desk.
‘Viv?’Nel walked down the corridor and into the consult room.Still nothing.Maybe she’d popped out for a coffee.
Nel breathed out, still troubled by the sorrow and despair in Faye’s eyes.It was as though the scar tissue over her pain had been ripped away, leaving the wound of her grief raw once more.
She looked around the room at the filing cabinets, the framed certificates, the shelves heavy with books.It was going to be a big job.She walked over to the bookshelves.Reference books lined the lower shelves—thick, well-thumbed tomes collected over a long career.The upper shelves were full of novels.She scanned the spines, appreciating the eclectic collection.Her father had alwaysbeen a wide reader.The Da Vinci Codesat next toThe Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe.Patricia Cornwells rubbed shoulders with Austen and Frank Moorhouse.
A copy of Tim Winton’sCloudstreetcaught Nel’s eye and she took it off the shelf.The cover was familiar, a sepia photo of two kids jumping into a river, the colour dialled up to a brash yellow conjuring the harsh Australian sun.She’d read it in Dublin, with its crowded buses and overcast skies, and felt the deep pang of homesickness.
Tears welled in her eyes.She’d never talked about it with her dad.She didn’t even know he’d read it.She felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of loss for this conversation that had never happened and never could.
She opened the cover to read the first page and found a handwritten inscription.
December 2010
Happy Christmas R.
I’ll always wonder.
She frowned.Wonder what?Who had written it?It wasn’t her mum’s handwriting.She was sure of that.December 2010.That was just a couple of months after Maddie died.She tried to recall that Christmas, but it was a blur.She read the inscription again, trying to solve it like a crossword clue, as the front door slammed.
She slipped the book back into its spot on the shelf as Viv bustled in, carrying a stack of cardboard boxes precariously balanced in front of her.
‘I picked these up from the mini-mart, doll,’ her muffled voice said.She dropped them on the floor and looked from the bookshelves to the boxes, as though assessing whether the books and knick-knacks would fit.
‘I can’t believe it’s less than three weeks until we hand over the keys,’ Nel said.
‘End of an era.’Viv’s voice faltered slightly as she spoke, her eyes glassy behind her red frames.The new owners were keeping her on, but it wouldn’t be the same.‘Feels momentous, doesn’t it?Like we should commemorate it.How about I pop up the street and get a bottle of bubbles?’
‘Good idea,’ Nel said.
Viv disappeared out the door.Nel selected a box and started packing the reference books, putting aside a couple of more recent publications.When the lower shelves were empty, she started on the paperbacks, packing them into a separate box so Cath and Lauren could have a look and take anything they wanted.They would donate the rest.When she got to the copy ofCloudstreet, she opened the front cover and read the words again.
I’ll always wonder.
So will I, she thought.There was something familiar about the handwriting.She closed the book and stared at the cover.Just as she was about to put it in the box, she noticed a bookmark between the pages and flipped to it.It wasn’t a bookmark though.It was a photo of her dad.At first she thought it was the one she’d wanted to use for the funeral booklet, but it was slightly different.It had been taken a moment before when he was laughing.His blue eyes sparkled.
She studied it for a moment, then she put it back between the pages and placed the book to one side on the desk.As she turned to pick up another box, it hit her.
She reached for the book again and looked around on the desk for something with Viv’s handwriting.She found a Post-it.Her heart hammered as she opened the cover and placed the note beneath the inscription.
