They chatted easily as they ate. Ethan might not be country and his appearance—tattooed from the knuckles up, black plugs in his earlobes, short dreadlocks—raised eyebrows in the small town, but he was a decent guy.
‘If you want to dump your gear in the spare room, I’m heading over to Tracey’s directly,’ Hamish said. ‘A few of us are looking at getting her backyard up to scratch, but I’ve got something on later in the morning, so I’d better shake a leg.’
‘I’m in,’ Ethan said instantly. ‘She’s a nice old bird.’
‘Would it matter if she wasn’t? You’re becoming more a local than some of the locals.’
Ethan grinned. ‘Believe me, man, unless you’ve lived in the city, you can’t appreciate what you guys have out here. It’s … the sense of community. I mean, yeah, Christine’s a bit full on, and old Dave Jaensch is something else, but it’s like you’re all so accustomed to them that you simply accept their idiosyncrasies. In the city, they’d be ostracised. And you know what?’ He rubbed a thumb over the tatts on the back of his left hand. ‘Same goes for me. In the city, people will avoid me. But here … you guys actually stop and say g’day.’
Hamish stood and picked up the plates, taking them to the bin. ‘That’s because you make an effort, man. You do right by us; Settlers will do right by you. Ask Roni, Lucie and Gabby. They’ll tell you how it works.’
Ethan stood, swigging the last of his coffee. ‘Recycling bin, mate?’
Hamish snorted. ‘Then you go and say something that totally outs you as a city slicker. No pickup here, man.’
‘Sprung,’ Ethan replied with a grin. ‘I’m going to head down the street and hand out decks to some of the kids. Want to give me Tracey’s address? Or I’ll just walk the streets—bound to come across a friendly local to point me in the right direction.’
6
Jemma
Jemma stood outside the church, her Bible clutched in one hand, the other pulling at the hem of the ridiculous nightie. All the other girls had strutted by wearing beautiful white confirmation dresses, many the custom-made creations they’d been talking of for weeks, but Mum had only produced Jemma’s last night. She strongly suspected it had come from the local op shop. It smelled like it hadn’t even been washed.
She glanced down the street again. They’d been running late—timetables didn’t figure in her mother’s life—so Mum had barely pulled the old station wagon to a halt before ordering Jemma out. ‘I’ll park up a side street and walk back,’ she’d said.
That was at least fifteen minutes ago. Jemma could hear voices inside the church, but it was ages since the last couple of people had passed by to enter, covertly eyeing her. That meant the other twenty-seven twelve-year-olds were inside, along with, no doubt, their extended families, waiting forthe service. And here she was, waiting for her sole family representative.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should have listened to Dad. He hadn’t wanted her to get confirmed in the Anglican church—despite Nonna and Nonno’s Catholic faith, he hadn’t wanted her to get confirmed at all. But, in a rare moment of lucidity, Mum had practically begged Jemma to do it. Said that Father Richmond had been helping her, and it was the right thing to do.
Jemma was all for doing anything that meant Mum might stay on the straight and narrow for a while. So she’d sat through the confirmation classes after school each Tuesday, internally arguing with the priest over the plausibility of his wildly inaccurate statements, but remaining silent for Mum’s sake. Well, except for one occasion, when he’d lectured them against worshipping images and she’d asked what the carved statues adorning the church walls were, if not images. Father Richmond had tried—unsuccessfully—to stare her down, but hadn’t explained.
Jemma lifted her thumb to her mouth, but the nail was gnawed so far back she couldn’t get any purchase. The door opened behind her.
‘Jemma? You need to come in now. Everyone is waiting.’
Father Richmond’s tone wasn’t unsympathetic, but instead of easing her pain, it made her feel guilty for having doubted his teachings. Perhaps hehadbeen helping Mum? But if that was true, why had Mum not turned up?
Jemma sighed, straightened her dress once again and turned to the church. No bride could find the aisle longer than she did, with every eye in the building on her. She walked as fast as possible and only dared take a breath when she made it to the other kids without falling flat on her face or something equally humiliating.
‘Finally, we can start.’
The priest conducting the ceremony wasn’t Father Richmond and Jemma felt panic rising within her. She and Father Richmond might have crossed swords occasionally, but now she needed to mentally prepare herself to stand up to someone else. That’s how it went with Mum’s boyfriends, too: once Jemma got the measure of them, she could deal. The problem was, the men changed almost as frequently as she saw her mother.
The priest tapped the sheaf of paper in front of him. ‘Your baptism certificate, where is it?’
Jemma lifted one shoulder, looking to Father Richmond for a lifeline.
‘Ah, Jemma’s mother said she was dropping it off.’ In turn, he looked to his aide, who appeared flustered. A whispered conversation between the men had the sweat trickling down Jemma’s neck. The crowd was muttering, her friends making their eyes huge in question, as though she should know what the hold-up was.
Father Richmond approached the other priest, a scrap of paper in his hand. ‘Apparently, Jemma’s mother phoned through a short time ago to say that Jemma hasn’t been baptised.’
The priest’s glare should have incinerated the offending note; instead, he switched it to Jemma. ‘A confirmation is a reaffirmation of your commitment to the faith you have been baptised into,’ he thundered. ‘How can you be confirmed if you haven’t been baptised?’
Jemma wanted so badly to shout back at him, but she couldn’t. It was one thing to argue a point, another entirely when she was in the wrong. Thanks to Mum.
More muttering ensued, the note waved around like evidence. Jemma’s cheap nylon nightie grew slimy with sweat.
Eventually, Father Richmond smiled at the crowd. ‘It’s perhaps very unorthodox, but we’ve decided that Jemma will be baptised today with the entire confirmation class listed as her godparents; that way, the confirmation service can go ahead.’
