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Georgie is sitting in the kitchen when Tom comes home. It’s late, but she can’t sleep because her blood is dancing with anxiety over everything.
“Go to bed,” Tom says, doing that thing where he opens the fridge and stares at it for ages as if his favorite food is going to somehow appear miraculously.
“You know he’s not going to ask for your forgiveness, don’t you? But you know it’s what he desperately needs, Tommy.”
“Don’t,” he says coolly. “I don’t want to talk about him, Georgie.”
Bill’s at the kitchen door too and she wonders if anyone’s asleep tonight.
“If you say a word,” Tom says over the fridge door, addressing Bill, “I’m walking out the door and I’m not coming back.”
Despite Tom’s tone, he walks by, brushing a kiss on Bill’s head. Bill makes himself comfortable in front of her and she realizes, all too late, that it’s her he’s been listening out for and not Tom.
“She doesn’t ask Dominic to drive her to appointments, not because she thinks he’s busy or whatever she says . . . She doesn’t ask Dominic because she wants you to do it. It makes her feel safe to have you there,” he says quietly.
She doesn’t speak and when she can’t handle the silence anymore, she stands up.
“You don’t seem happy about the baby, Georgie.”
It shocks her to hear those words, coming from Bill. Like no one dared to a
“How can I be happy?” she asks with anguish. “To get this baby, my brother had to die. Do you understand?”
“And to get this family, my best friend had to die,” he says gruffly. “So aren’t we both a sorry pair?”
The next afternoon, she sits out back with Grace and Tom on the banana chairs. Callum’s there as well. It takes her a while to work out that the satchel buckle he has around his shoulder and the hat on his head and the cord from Bill’s dressing gown that he is using as a whip actually mean he’s Indiana Jones. She has no idea where Sam’s disappeared to, probably somewhere with Dom. It’s a good day for sun, and between her mother wearing Tom’s ridiculous sunglasses and Callum whipping the trees with the cord, Georgie is feeling happy for a change. Grace asks Tom about the women in his life and he just grunts.
“I’ll organize a novena for you when I get back to Albury,” Grace says.
“What are you going to pray for?” he asks. “That I get lucky with the girl I want? And just say I do? We’ll end up having sex. Will the novena people at your church like that?”
“Now you’re being silly and making fun of me,” Grace says. “I always offer novenas for you kids to be happy.”
Georgie wants to point out the low success rate of Grace’s prayers to the Virgin Mary but doesn’t dare. She’s trying to work through the fight with her mother the night before and doesn’t want anything to break the peace.
“They work for me,” Grace says. “Look at Anabel. She could be like some other miserable teenager, but you can’t stop her excitement over the phone. And Dom’s been sober for six months when some people can’t even make one day. And he’s living with you, Tommy, and I know that means everything to him. And Georgie’s having this baby.”
Georgie catches Tom’s eye over her mother’s head. She can’t hold back. “How can you see things in that way, Mum?” she asks gently, frustrated. “When they’ve been so awful?”
Grace turns to look at her. Georgie can only see her own face in the reflector sunglasses.
“Because if I don’t, I wouldn’t be getting out of bed every morning, Georgie,” her mother says. “And don’t any of you forget that no one was happier than Joey when he died. That’s better than some people get.”
The baby decides to have a bit of a stretch and Georgie grabs Grace’s hand and Grace is oohing and aahing, and next minute Indiana Jones junior is standing in front of them, his eyes wide in awe.
“Can I listen?” he asks.
“It doesn’t actually speak,” Georgie explains, but she holds out a hand and he takes off his hat and leans forward to press his ear to her belly. Tom takes a photo with his phone.
Callum calls out “Hello, hello” to the baby until he gets a bit bored and goes back to his game.
She hears Tom’s sigh of exaggeration. “Okay, you can say a novena to help my love life, Na
“Spelling’s not important,” Georgie says.
“Middle name, Marie,” Tom adds. “I could get brownie points because she was probably named for the Virgin Mary.”
“Marie is a cheat name for the Virgin Mary,” Georgie explains to him. “That’s what Sister Patrick told Marie Fitzgerald when we were in primary school. It has to be either Mary or Maria.”
But Grace is shaking her head. “Tara Finke? Didn’t you break her heart, Tommy?”
“No,” he says, irritated. “Who told you that?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m sure there are some people out there who organize novenas for Tara Finke’s people. To keep Thomas Finch Mackee away from her.”
Georgie’s forgotten that Dominic and Joe got their ability to shit-stir from Grace. It used to make Georgie giggle uncontrollably when she was younger. She finds herself laughing now. Tom isn’t. He asks Grace for his sunglasses back and goes inside.
“Too sensitive, that one,” Grace says, putting her scarf across her eyes. “Gets it from Jacinta Louise’s side of the family.”
Too many things disturb Tom. One is that even people in his grandparents’ town of Albury know what went down between him and Tara. Then there’s the whole thing about the peacekeeper being Brazilian. That starts him thinking about what the Brazilian and Tara get up to and what Tom got up to with her and then his head’s spi
To: [email protected] /* */
From: [email protected] /* */
Date: 29 August 2007
Dear Tom,
I have to be honest that when Frankie sent us a text about you working at the Union I wasn’t ready to get excited. Regardless of how gutted you were, you had no right to treat us like shit. But everyone’s grown-up now and I’m glad you and Tara are friends. She seems pretty happy with her peacekeeper. He’s really lovely, Eduardo is. Very good-looking, judging from the MySpace photo she has of him. He treats her like a queen. Just what she deserves when you think of the bastards she’s been in love with in the past.
I’m still working for British Fail, as they love to call the railroad system here. I’m in charge of making sure the trains run on time. I’m seeing a guy who’s so decent that I’m worried. Keeping my fingers crossed.
Cheers,
Siobhan
P.S. Just in case you forgot how to read between the lines. Don’t. Screw. With. Tara’s. Head. I was there after the one-and-a-half-night stand and I will never forgive you for it!
To: [email protected] /* */
From: [email protected] /* */
Date: 30 August 2007
Dear Siobhan,
I can imagine what Frankie said when I turned up at the pub and she sent you a text. She’s always been so articulate when it comes to me. I’m presuming the words dick and head were combined.