For once Simone didn’t argue with her. “You’re right. I am judging you through the same lens that I view myself. That’s the way I’m programmed. In my family, achievements were measured by certificates and qualifications that could be framed and quantified. Sometimes I think my mum studied art less for the love of it and more to conquer the enigma of it. ‘Contentment’ could only be achieved through accomplishment; anything less would simply be laziness.”
“But surely that’s relative, or at least dependent on your definition of ‘contentment.’ Dad was at his most content when he lived out of his van.”
“Our father was the reason my mum pushed me so hard. She was terrified I’d inherit his lackadaisical nature.”
“No chance of that.”
Simone laughed grimly.
“Whatever could have made Rene fall for Dad? I mean, I can totally see it with my mum—two stoned wanderers, makes sense. And even Lilibeth I can sort of see; she was older and lonely, and Dad was friendly. But your mum? What was that all about?”
“God only knows. I can only imagine that he must have talked her into bed.”
“He was a very smart man,” Star agreed.
“Knowledge is like catnip for my mother.”
“And here we both are. Unlikely sisters.”
Simone smiled at her baby sister. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there that summer.”
Star was quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”
“I was trying to figure out what I was doing that year that kept me from coming to Rowan Thorp. And the answer is not very satisfactory. I wasn’t doing anything much, hanging out with friends and going to parties, nothing that was worth leaving you to go through that on your own.” She bit her lip as though considering whether to go on. “I know that you tried to reach out to me. I remember my mum saying you’d called the house and I didn’t call you back. I was feeling guilty about not coming down and I didn’t want to have to talk to you because I knew I’d feel worse. And now I feel really bad. If only I’d not been so selfish.”
This was an unexpected admission from her sister. She hadn’t meant to make her feel bad; she’d only wanted her to understand that she was serious about her offer.
“It’s in the past. Looking back, I can see why you wouldn’t want to come down.”
“It must have been frightening.”
“Yeah. I was terrified.” Star gave a little half laugh, to lessen the awfulness. “I’d so hoped you’d be there; I knew you and Maggie would help me. And when you weren’t . . .” She’d felt so lost. That whole summer had a nightmarish quality to it. “Well, it all turned out in the end. Luckily I was only six or seven weeks gone, so it was very straightforward. It could have been a lot worse.”
Simone pursed her lips. “And Perdita never knew?”
“No. She wasn’t neglectful, exactly; she is a very loving person, she just wasn’t very present. She never would have coped.”
“She wouldn’t have coped? You were just a kid! You deserved better.”
Star shrugged. Laying blame never solved anything.
They sat for a while in companiable silence as they crawled along behind the tractor. This was new. Simone and Star were only usually silent with each other because they’d had a fallingout or simply had nothing to say to each other, nice or otherwise. Star couldn’t remember a time since childhood when they had been simply happy to sit quietly and enjoy being together. It was nice. Peaceful. She sent a little prayer of thanks to the universe.
31
It was the thirteenth of December—unlucky for some, which was rather how Patrick felt when he was woken by Maggie that morning. She had entered his bedroom, proffering hot tea and using the voice she reserved for when she was going to ask him to do something he didn’t want to do.
“You want me to do what?” His hair was mussed, and his eyes puffed with sleep. Maggie suspected he’d had another heavy night with his old school friends.
“Dig a pit in Granddad’s garden.”
“Have you killed someone?”
“Not yet.”
“What day is it?”
“Thursday. Why does this matter? Are you unable to dig pits on Thursdays? Or do you have a pressing engagement?”
“Ugh! I hate it when you’re so chirpy in the mornings.”
“I’ll try to be meaner. We need a pit dug before we start laying the bonfire wood in it. I am reliably informed by Milton and Harini, our resident fire-safety experts, that this is an important measure. They’re going to supervise you. I’ve been over there this morning, and they’ve already measured it all out for you.”
Rowan Thorp possessed one retired firefighter, Milton—Doreen’s husband—and one Harini, who worked full-time as manager of the post office and also part-time as a firefighter for the surrounding rural areas.
“Arrrghh,” Patrick groaned dramatically. “Why me?”
“Because you’re young and haven’t yet slipped any discs in your spine or recently had a gallstone removed. Please, love. I really can’t have Milton and Harini digging holes with their various ailments.”
He rolled over in bed and pulled his head under the duvet.
“Make Joe do it, and I’ll help you out in the shop,” he mumbled.
“Okay fine, I’ll do that. Sorry to have woken you at the crack of nine a.m.,” she said sarcastically. She moved to the bedroom door, then added, “Harini said her granddaughter is coming to help. You might know her. Her name’s Louella?” she said archly. “I’ll just call and tell them to expect Joe instead of you because you don’t like getting up.”
Patrick’s head popped out from under the duvet just as she was stroking her imaginary evil-genius beard.
“No fair,” he said, laughing. “I’m complaining to the ombudsman for devious mothers.”
She shrugged, all innocence. “I didn’t invite her. But wouldn’t it be a shame for Louella to miss out on all those muscles you’ve been building up in the uni gym?”
Patrick scowled and then grinned. “Give me half an hour,” he said.
Maggie left the room rubbing her hands together. “One job down, eight hundred and sixty-two left to go,” she said to herself.
* * *
Kat almost fell into the greengrocer’s, the bell jangling furiously above her. “I’ve run out of onions!” she panted. “I’m in the middle of making a savory tart.”
“Didn’t I drop, like, ten kilos of onions into you this morning?” Maggie laughed.
“Yeah,” agreed Kat, maniacally stuffing her arms full with bunches of coriander and parsley. “But most of those went into the French onion soup special, and then I made tomato sauce for meatballs, and now I haven’t enough to caramelize for the tarts.”
“Blimey.” Maggie began to tip onions into the burlap bag Kat had thrust at her.
By now Kat had added several vines of cherry tomatoes and had a large daikon radish tucked in her armpit. Maggie held out a cardboard box, and Kat gratefully dropped her spoils in.
“How’s it all going with the solstice arrangements and the curios shop?”
“Oh, you know, getting there slowly but surely.”
“Must be nice having your sisters back.”
“Do you know, I never thought I’d say this, but it actually is.”
Saskia Brannigan—Vanessa’s mum—came in for a kilo of clementines and some brussels sprouts, followed by Ellen of Cussing Crocheters infamy.
“Here,” said Ellen, thrusting a paper bag at Maggie. “I’ve made you something.”