Page 2 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

THE PARSONAGE

As Oliver climbed out of the taxi, the sun dipped behind the row of liquid amber trees that lined the street.

The sweet gums, blazing scarlet and orange, cast long shadows over the road.

Underneath their broad branches, a carpet of autumn leaves had gathered.

In this light, his hometown looked deceptively charming.

In the mid-west region of New South Wales, and set on the Cudgegong River, in the heart of wine and olive country, Eagle Nest was a cornucopia of scenic lookouts, wine tasting tours, historical buildings, and heritage walks.

The surrounding fertile landscape signalled pastoral abundance, but the picturesque countryside masked decades of hard work by the grape growers and farming communities.

Before European settlement, the place would have looked very different.

Staring out the window of the taxi, the driver asked, ‘Is that place really a parsonage?’

‘Many years ago,’ Oliver replied. ‘Now, it’s just a house. Mate, if you could pop the boot.’

A tall, broad man with steady brown eyes and rivers of dark curls, Oliver slipped on his leather jacket.

Three days ago, he was four thousand kilometres away, and the temperature in the Kimberley was 39 degrees.

In Eagle Nest, it was 20 degrees. The trip home had been exhausting – three flights with two lengthy delays.

His joints ached. He needed a shower and a shave.

After collecting his luggage from the boot, he stacked his suitcases, one on top of the other.

He slung his laptop satchel over one shoulder and looped his suit bag over his finger.

As he shuffled up the path toward the old house, he half expected to see Elsie at the window, keeping tabs on the neighbours.

The screen door flew open, and twelve-year-old Tash stepped onto the porch. With her dark hair standing on end, rosy cheeks, and wearing socks without shoes, she looked wild and windswept. To his weary eyes, she was still a beautiful sight. His heart rate quickened. He hadn't seen her in six weeks.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Tash dropped her gaze and scowled. Her expression might have startled a lesser man, but Oliver stifled a laugh. After setting down his bags, he gave her a little backwards wave. ‘Come here,’ he said.

She uncrossed her arms and marched down the path toward him.

As Oliver reached out to embrace her, she slapped his hands away. ‘I called you. I called like twenty times. Why didn’t you answer your phone? What’s the point of having a phone if you don’t answer it? ’

‘Honey, I spoke to you three times this morning. When I called later, Blanche told me you were asleep. I got here as fast as Qantas can fly. Now, give me a bloody hug.’ He pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her.

She rested the side of her face on his chest. ‘Sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.’

‘I’ve missed you more.’ He smoothed down her messy hair and kissed the top of her head.

After rubbing her nose back and forth across his jacket, she sniffed his shirt. ‘You smell like Lynx.’

‘I can live with that.’

She wiped her eyes and then she sighed. ‘Did they get the Tiger Cub started?’

‘They did. It’s on the truck with the other bikes. Vickie and Allen send their love. Are you okay?’

‘No. It’s been horrible.’ Again, she buried her face in his chest. ‘You weren’t here. You said everything was going to be okay, but it wasn’t. Nan died. She died in her sleep.’ Tash began to cry, the tears catching in her throat.

Oliver closed his eyes. They remained huddled together, neither moving.

The rhythm of their breaths and heartbeats, the only sound in the cool evening air.

Life was unpredictable. People died. It happened.

It was inevitable. Elsie was only seventy-five and in good health.

He never expected her to die. Two days ago, when Tash found her, Oliver had received a full description of the corpse from his daughter: White as a ghost. Cold as a wet mop.

Like she was half frozen, but not like she’d been in the freezer.

She was still soft, sort of like wax. He had placed Tash on hold to call an ambulance. His second call was to Blanche and Leo.

‘Honey, I’m so sorry this happened,’ he said.

Tash pulled away and considered her father. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘We made this decision together. I wanted to be here.’

With his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I have one job, and that’s looking after you. I might have dropped the ball on this plan. Sorry.’

‘You’re forgiven.’

‘Okay. Let’s go inside.’

Tash scurried up the path.

‘No, no, you go right ahead,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll manage the luggage by myself.’

On the porch, Tash swung on her heels. She rolled her eyes and stomped back down the path.

Oliver handed her his laptop satchel. After taking it, she marched toward the house and left the bag inside the front door.

Oliver followed. He placed his cases on the floor, hung his suit on the coat stand, and closed the door behind him.

From the far end, Leo entered the hallway. ‘Oliver, hooray.’ He raised his hands in the air. ‘Glad you could make it.’

Ignoring Leo’s outstretched hand, Oliver came in for a bear hug. Off guard, Leo managed an awkward side embrace. Oliver slapped him on the back. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Leo pulled away and held Oliver at arm’s length. ‘You look a little worse for wear. Been out shagging around? On the booze, picking up women?’ Leo cuffed Oliver good-naturedly on the shoulder. ‘Because if you had been, the old witch probably died just to piss you off.’

‘Leo!’ Blanche entered the hallway. ‘Elsie was family. I won’t hear a bad word,’ she said.

‘Now that she’s dead, you can’t say anything bad about her,’ Leo whispered. ‘But two days ago, you could have called her the Wicked Witch of the West and no one would have cared. Or disagreed.’

‘Stop that.’ Blanche scowled. She turned to Oliver. ‘Reverend Rebecca just arrived…through the back door. Do you think that’s odd?’

Oliver shrugged. He wasn’t qualified to judge.

‘I’ve left her in the kitchen.’ Blanche kissed Oliver on the cheek. ‘Darling, how are you? You don’t look too bad for a grieving son-in-law.’ She walked down the hall. Oliver and Leo followed.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but the neighbours are popping over,’ Blanche continued. ‘Arthur Ferguson wanted to drop in and give his condolences. He might bring Flora. Do you remember Arthur?’

‘Lives on West Street up by the water tower. He used to own the newsagency before it closed. I’m not sure about Flora?’

‘Watch yourself around her, she’s a troublemaker.’ Blanche gave him a stern look. ‘Helen and Barry from next door said they’d check in. I thought it best if everyone came at once – get it over and done with rather than spread it out over several days.’

The doorbell rang. Blanche raised a finger. Spinning around, she walked back to the front door. Stepping aside, Leo entered the living room where guests were enjoying tea and cake. Oliver had no idea who they were.

He continued to the kitchen, where he found Reverend Rebecca, a cup of tea in one hand and an antique teaspoon in the other. After admiring the religious art piece, which was part of a set mounted on the kitchen wall, she turned to Oliver. ‘These look antique,’ she said. ‘Very nice.’

Oliver didn’t respond. He thought teaspoons were functional, not decorative. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets and smiled. ‘Reverend.’

Reverend Rebecca wore chinos with black rubber boots. Oliver thought she might have been gardening. Her dark hair, styled in a short pixie cut, suited the square shape of her face.

After placing the spoon back into its slot on the wall plaque, the reverend turned to Oliver. ‘We need to talk. It’s urgent.’

‘About the funeral?’ The serious tone in her voice alarmed him.

Stepping closer, she leaned in. ‘Yes, that too. But there’s another matter.’

‘Should we go somewhere private?’

She raised her head and, with a conspiratorial gaze, glanced around the kitchen. ‘No, not now. Tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you at the parish. Are you free?’

Oliver nodded.

‘Good, settled then. Saturday at ten. It’s the Uniting Church.’

‘Okay.’

‘The one at the top of the hill.’

‘I know.’

She looked doubtful. ‘We have four churches!’ She turned and studied a watercolour of a lost sheep on the adjacent wall. Like the spoons, it was new. An amateurish artwork, he thought Tash might have painted it.

‘Lovely frame. Might be worth something.’ She picked up a bright cupcake from a passing platter and joined the crowd in the living area, where she made a beeline for a small picture of the Virgin Mary hanging above the bookcase.

Someone tapped Oliver on the shoulder. When he turned around, Arthur Ferguson handed him a cup of tea. The octogenarian and ex-newsagent owner was a neatly built man with a sharp nose, a mop of silver-grey hair, and deep, pensive eyes.

‘Oliver, nice to see you again,’ Arthur said. ‘Terrible news about Elsie.’ The man looked genuinely upset. He forced a smile. ‘But it’s good to have you back. Very handy having a mechanic in the family.’

People used the word ‘family’ when they wanted their car serviced for free.

‘Remind me to talk to you about my car,’ Arthur continued. ‘There’s a rattle in the engine – it might be the carburettor. When you have a minute, would you mind having a look?’

‘You’re still driving the Ford Escape?’ Oliver asked.

‘Yes. The blue one.’

‘It’s electric. It doesn’t have a carburettor.’

‘Oh dear. Planning on staying long…this time?’

Oliver smiled.

Arthur spied a cheese platter wafting past. He followed it out of the room.

As word of the gathering spread, people continued to arrive.

Clutching Tupperware containers filled with baked goods, they flooded into the house.

It felt like half the town was there. Oliver wandered from room to room, the crowd swelling and parting around him.

Most of the faces were a mystery, but he picked out Mrs White from the crowd, his sixth-grade teacher.

A short, elderly woman came up to him. With soft, fragile eyes, she had a mouth like a stubborn child. She looked like trouble, and he thought this might be Flora, Arthur’s offsider. The top of her head reached his chest. When she looked up at him, he smiled down at her .

‘I once met a woman whose mother’s mother held hands with the queen,’ she said.

‘Interesting,’ Oliver replied. It was all he could manage.

‘Do you think they’ll be serving dinner?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure, but if you’re hungry, I’ll get you something to eat.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I couldn’t eat a thing.’ She shuffled into the living room.

When the music started, Oliver wondered if this impromptu gathering was a celebration of Elsie’s death. There was certainly no evidence of mourning amongst the crowd. Every pair of eyes in the house was dry.

Elsie was a teetotaller, so it was also a dry gathering.

Cups of weak tea and glasses of watered-down apple juice were being offered to the guests.

In the kitchen, Leo manned the kettle. He told Oliver he couldn’t find the sugar, but there was golden syrup, so he was making do.

Blanche piled platters with cakes and handed them around.

Oliver thought that if he sat down, he might fall asleep, so he continued to wander through the house.

In the living room, Arthur was showing Tash a disappearing coin trick.

Oliver smiled. Tash had seen Arthur do this before, but she humoured the old man, and to her credit, she looked genuinely surprised.

From behind Arthur’s back, she made goggle eyes at her father.

Tash’s outfit now included a knitted headband with a flower stuck on the side. The accessory reminded him she was a girl. His daughter was now in high school. Soon, she would become a woman. Sometimes the future was beyond comprehension.

When the crowd vacated the kitchen, he searched the cupboards for coffee but came up empty-handed. He made do with a second cup of tea, declining the golden syrup .

He had never felt so utterly exhausted. If he could grab a few minutes of sleep standing up, he would.

It was worth a try. In the kitchen, he wedged himself between the wall and the fridge.

A conveniently placed shelf served as an armrest. He nestled his head against the door frame and closed his eyes. Sleep came easily.

A few minutes later, a clinking sound – like a bell – roused him.