Finding Darcy Read online

  With love and admiration for my grandfather

  William Avenel McLennan

  (VX23813 2/22 Battalion),

  who is listed as having been aboard

  the Montevideo Maru

  and who never came home,

  and to my grandmother

  Phyllis McLennan,

  who waited.

  Also for the 2/22 Battalion’s families,

  especially my mother Fay and aunt Joy,

  who still wrestle with the mystery

  surrounding their loss.

  VX23813 D C FLETCHER 2/22 INF BN. Camp Site 26 Trawool 31st July, 1940 My darling Betty, This is the coldest, wettest place in Victoria. It’s poured since we arrived last week—not that the rain stops our training drills. Alby and I have fitted in well. Most of the other boys are from Victoria too. We even have the Salvation Army band in our battalion, so we’re not short on music. How’s the farm? Make sure you ask O’Sullivan to fix that hinge on the dairy gate. He’s a good worker, pet. Let him do more. I don’t want you overdoing it in your condition. Love and kisses to Alice and Margaret. I hope Alice is starting to stand up to her bossy younger sister. All my love to you, my darling. Try to be brave, and understand I’m doing this for us, so that our babes have a safe and happy future. My love, Charlie

  Chapter One

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Darcy,’ whispered Mum, stirring her coffee. She glanced around the packed café. ‘We need to discuss this calmly.’

  I leaned forward. The edge of the table pressed against my ribs. ‘Discuss? What’s to discuss? It’s all decided. You’re moving to Melbourne for three months and I have to live with Misery and Batty.’

  Mum stopped stirring. ‘Don’t call them that, Darcy.’

  ‘Why not? It suits them. Grandma’s mad, and as for Granny! She’s a foul-tempered old witch.’ I sat back, arms folded.

  ‘Darcy!’

  The din of the café had stopped. I stared at the carrot cake between Mum and I to avoid the eyes focused on us.

  ‘Grow up,’ hissed Mum, ‘and show some respect.’

  I bit my bottom lip.

  Mum cut the cake with her fork. ‘I’ll be home on weekends,’ she said, her voice light.

  ‘Great. You can visit me in the mental hospital.’

  ‘Darcy, what choice did I have?’ She wasn’t asking a question, so much as pleading with me. ‘The director of nursing said I had to update my midwifery qualifications. I can’t lose my job.’

  I sipped my hot chocolate, rolling around my mind the implications of Mum without a job. The sweetness of my drink soured. ‘I get the job thing, but I don’t get why you didn’t tell me before now.’ I set the mug back on the saucer. ‘And why tell me here?’

  ‘It wasn’t … Okay, you’re right. I should have brought it up sooner—’

  ‘Yes, you should have.’

  ‘Maxine, Darcy. How are you both?’

  I hadn’t noticed Mrs Phillips at the table beside us until she spoke, her voice as silky as the nighties that hung in her shop window.

  Mum raised her cup. ‘Great coffee.’

  Mrs Phillips gave us a tight smile.

  ‘Dragon,’ I muttered.

  ‘Darcy, stop it.’ Mum sounded fierce.

  ‘Well she is. I don’t get why she’s so … stuck up. It’s not like she’s a brain surgeon, she just sells undies.’ Hard as I tried, I couldn’t suppress the anger bubbling in me like lava. ‘Mummified stick insect.’

  ‘Please don’t get her offside.’ Mum glanced at Mrs Phillips. ‘You know what a gossip she is.’

  ‘Mum, do you have to move to Melbourne?’

  ‘It’s either that or I spend every weekend in Melbourne for nearly two years. Two years.’ Mum rubbed her face with both hands. ‘Getting it over and done with in three months seemed less painful.’

  ‘For you, maybe. Why do I have to stay with Mis—, Granny M? Why can’t I stay with Boof or Laura?’

  Mum laughed. ‘Now who’s kidding? My brother lives on fried food and steaks the size of a small child. You really think you could cope with that, Miss Healthy?’

  I was too angry to concede she had a point.

  ‘And then there’s milking. I’d expect you to help with that.’

  Milking? A shudder raced down my spine.

  ‘Anyway, with his divorce…’

  I ran my thumb around the lip of the saucer. ‘Okay, so living with Boof is out. What about Laura?’

  ‘It’s too much to ask of friends.’

  ‘The Tanakas are more than friends. Hal and Julie call me their adopted daughter.’

  ‘Darce, Julie has just started back at work…’ Mum shifted in her seat. ‘Anyway, it’s all organised. Mum is expecting you Sunday.’

  A red mist settled in my brain. ‘Sunday?’

  Mum nodded. She stared at her car keys lying on the table.

  ‘You mean, this Sunday? Four days from now, Sunday?’

  Again, Mum nodded.

  I pushed the debris of carrot cake—crumbs, sliced strawberry trapped in a blob of whipped cream—towards Mum.

  ‘Hey, you know when Dad died? Did you tell me about that in a café, too?’

  Mum gasped.

  The Stick Insect tutted into her cup.

  I snatched Mum’s keys from the table. ‘I’m finished.’

  I stormed past the Stick Insect and out the door.

  That night I lay under my doona and stared at the sliver of light where my curtains didn’t quite meet.

  Why hadn’t I seen it coming? It had been a perfect day. Double art with Ms Pippos, an A from Mrs Broadkin for my John Donne assignment and a substitute teacher for PE because Mr Rao was sick. Neanderthal Thackery had laryngitis and the Killer Python I bought from the canteen was totally red—no green in sight.

  Plus, a movie, coffee and cake with Mum.

  All sure signs of impending doom.

  Perfect days are just the world setting you up to rip you down.

  Chapter Two

  ‘This time Sunday, I’ll be sucked dry. A shell of my former self,’ I groaned, wading through the tide of students flooding out the school gate.

  Laura dodged two wrestling Year 10 boys. ‘It’s only a couple of months, Darce.’

  ‘Laura, the Titanic sank in under three hours. The Boxing Day tsunami destroyed half of Asia and killed over 100,000 people in seven hours. Seven hours.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m living with Misery and Batty for months.’

  ‘You’re funny, Darcy.’ Ava laughed. ‘Hey, remind me. Which one is which?’

  ‘Misery is my grandmother—Mum’s mum. And Batty is her mum—Mum’s grandmother, my great-grandmother.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Ava, nodding.

  Laura cleared her throat. ‘Darce, living with them will be different to visiting. Bet they bake grandmother stuff. You know chocolate sponges, jelly slice, stuff like that.’

  ‘Living with Nonna would be cool,’ added Ava. ‘Remember when Mum and Dad went to Launceston for the weekend? Nonna bought me the coolest lip-glosses. And she baked, every day. Three months of that would the best.’

  Images flashed through my mind.

  Batty crumpled in her brown armchair, hankie scrunched in her hand.

  Misery scowling as I reached for a Tim Tam. The tap, tap of her index finger on her folded arms. Her booming voice correcting me. ‘Seriously is an adverb not an exclamation, Darcy.’

  I kicked a stone off the footpath. It thudded into the trunk of a Norfolk pine. ‘Bake? Yeah, right! They’ll scowl and snarl.’

  Laura elbowed Ava and pulled a face.

  ‘What?’ I asked, looking from one to the other.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Laura.

  ‘This is where I t
urn off,’ said Ava, stopping opposite her street. ‘See you Monday, Darce, after the sucking dry has begun!’ She made a noise like the bath emptying as she strolled across the road, grinning.

  Laughter glittered in Laura’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t get why this is funny.’ I stalked ahead.

  Laura jogged after me. ‘Darce, have you told your mum how you feel?’

  ‘I’d say she’s got the message.’

  Laura stood in my path. ‘Talk to her, Darcy.’

  We’d stopped at the top of the hill overlooking Port Avenel’s harbour. The war memorial loomed to our right. Below us, fishing boats bobbed on the sapphire water. Grass on the dunes bent in the breeze and seagulls scurried across the sand.

  I sucked in a lungful of ocean air.

  ‘You can escape to our place any time,’ said Laura, her voice soft.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Want me to walk you all the way home?’

  ‘Nah, I’m fine … thanks.’

  ‘It’ll be okay, Darcy.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, wishing I believed it.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Will u have MSN at Misery’s?’ typed Ava.

  ‘R u kidding?’ I inserted a massive frowning face into my MSN message. ‘No computer—no MSN, YouTube, MySpace, FaceBook. And no mobile until I have the $$ to pay for it.’

  ‘That sucks.’

  ‘U said it. My life sucks.’

  Mum touched my shoulder. ‘Coming for a walk on the beach?’ she asked. Her smile was quick.

  The silent treatment hadn’t changed anything. Maybe a walk would. ‘I just have to tell Ava,’ I said, eyes back on the computer screen.

  ‘Say hi to Ava for me,’ said Mum. This time the smile seemed real.

  The wind off the waves chilled my cheeks and tangled my hair. I zipped my coat up to my throat.

  A couple walked towards the breakwater, holding hands. Two boys, younger than me, threw a tennis ball into the surf for their border collie to retrieve.

  ‘Left or right?’ asked Mum.

  I looked right to the harbour and left towards Dobson’s Bay. ‘Left,’ I said. I set the pace on the wet sand. Mum started this mess. She could start the conversation.

  Mum cleared her throat. ‘Darcy, this is hard on me, too, you know.’

  ‘Three months in Melbourne staying with Deb. Yeah, it’ll be tough.’

  ‘I admit it’ll be good to spend time with Deb. In a way I lost Deb too when Sean died…’ Mum bent to pick up a shell. When she continued talking, her voice sounded too bright. ‘Remember when we lived in Box Hill? We spent so much time with Deb. Shopping, coffee—’

  ‘Coffee? You told stupid stories about when you two nursed together and cackled like old hens.’

  Mum flipped the shell in her hand. ‘I miss that.’

  I folded my arms. ‘That’s not my fault. You were the one who moved us to Port Avenel after Dad died. I didn’t get a say, just like now.’

  ‘Stop punishing me, Darcy.’

  Mum chucked the shell towards the dunes. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Bit late to ask that isn’t it?’

  Mum’s hands curled into fists. ‘Darcy, I agonised over this. I even looked at schools in Melbourne for you, but I thought you’d rather stay here with your friends.’

  ‘That’s the problem. You thought, you didn’t ask.’ I jumped a channel of sea water rushing back to the ocean. ‘Maybe I’d love living in Melbourne, like Dad did.’

  Mum splashed through the water I’d jumped. ‘He’d had enough of the city, Darcy. He’d sold the business so we could move to the beach.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it. Then again, it’s not like we ever talk about him.’

  ‘Stop being such a cow!’ Mum’s words stung.

  I rushed ahead. With each step, my anger built, squeezing out the hurt. ‘You know what?’ I yelled, spinning to face her, hands on my hips. ‘I might be a cow, but at least I’m not like Misery.’

  ‘And I am?’ said Mum, her voice low and even.

  ‘You work it out. Misery never talks, she just gives orders. Now you’re doing the same. Both of you decide what’s right for everyone else. And neither of you talk about anything important.’

  ‘Like what, Darcy. What do you want to talk about?’

  I thrust my fists into my coat pockets. ‘Dad for starters.’

  Tears filled Mum’s eyes. ‘I do talk about Sean.’

  ‘Yeah, right. About how he was a builder with his own business, and how he was tall, like me. It’s all superficial. Stuff I could find out by looking up his birth or death certificates, or by looking at photos. It’s not what I need to know.’ I stomped on a curl of kelp. ‘Misery’s the same. It’s like Gramps never existed. And as for her father … Bet Misery was found under a thorn bush.’

  Mum pulled a hankie out of her coat pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘I get it, Darcy. I’m a bad mother. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m going to Melbourne and you’re staying with Mum. Deal with it.’ Mum tripped on a lump of seaweed as she spun around.

  Waves tickling at my runners, I watched Mum march back the way we’d come.

  Chapter Four

  ‘There’s a first. Boof’s here before us,’ I said, nodding at the dual cab parked in Misery’s drive.

  ‘He helped move Grandma’s things this morning.’ The tyres scraped against the gutter as Mum parked the car.

  ‘Wonder if Batty is as happy as I am about living with Misery? Bet she had about the same input.’

  Mum shot me a filthy look. ‘Grandma’s situation is different. Dr Wentworth insisted she move in with Mum until she has the hip replacement. He’s worried she’ll fall.’

  ‘I’d have taken my chances with a fall.’

  Mum’s seat belt banged against the car door. ‘We’re not doing this, Darcy.’

  I stepped onto the nature strip. ‘Can you open the boot? Please?’

  ‘Get your stuff after lunch. We’re late,’ said Mum, leading the way to Misery’s front door.

  ‘Why don’t you ever go around the back? Just let yourself in?’ I asked. ‘This is your home. Where you grew up.’

  Mum answered with a frown.

  Misery and Gramps built the place after they married in the sixties. At least a builder did, they did stuff like planting the garden and laying the concrete path. They even built the fence separating their house from Mrs Hardcastle’s. Apart from new curtains and carpet five years ago, Mum reckons it’s the same as it was when she was a kid.

  Misery opened the door before Mum knocked. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Sorry. We had to pack and clean up,’ said Mum.

  Misery’s mouth was a thin line. ‘I’ve packed Grandma’s belongings, been to church, prepared lunch and mowed the back lawn this morning.’

  Mum folded her arms.

  ‘How are you, Granny?’ I asked, stepping inside. The rich aroma of roast meat was making my stomach rumble.

  Misery looked me up and down. ‘You need a haircut, Darcy. That fringe is too long.’

  My shoulders sagged.

  ‘Lunch is ready.’ Misery ushered us through the lounge to the kitchen.

  Batty sat in a crumpled heap at the table. Her eyes were dull and her face sallow.

  ‘Hi, Grandma,’ I said, kissing her lined cheek. She smelt of baby talc and roses.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Batty didn’t look at my face. She never did.

  ‘Gidday, Darce,’ said Boof, carving a leg of lamb at the kitchen bench. ‘Ready to study, Einstein?’ he asked Mum.

  Fear skittered across Mum’s face. ‘I think I’ve forgotten how.’

  ‘You’ll be great, Max,’ said Boof.

  ‘Enough talk. Darcy, help me serve,’ said Misery, bustling to the bench.

  While we ate lamb with lumpy gravy and mushy vegetables, Misery dominated the conversation with stories about Eunice Smyth’s ungrateful children and the dust balls under the altar after Joyce McCarthy’s cleaning week at
Star of the Sea church.

  ‘How’s the farm, James?’ asked Batty, when Misery took a breath. James was Boof’s real name.

  ‘Be better if the drought broke, Grandma.’

  Batty ran the farm on her own after her husband, Charlie, died during the war. She milked twice a day, every day, with help from her milker, Mr O’Sullivan.

  None of Batty’s kids wanted the farm. Misery had married Gramps, a bank manager, and was settled in town, Uncle Art had already moved to America and Alice had been dead for twenty years—so Batty decided to sell up after Mr O’Sullivan retired. That was when Boof started helping Batty. He left school not long after.

  When Boof married Linda, Batty moved into a unit in town. Ten years ago, Boof bought the farm.

  ‘Must we discuss the farm over lunch?’ said Misery, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Give it a bone, Mum.’ Boof’s words sounded like a long sigh. ‘It was my decision and I’m happy with it.’

  ‘You were sixteen.’ Misery shook her head as she placed the knife and fork together on her plate. ‘Such a waste.’

  ‘And being a banker would have been so much more … prestigious,’ said Boof glaring down the table.

  ‘Can we not do this today,’ said Mum, her hand on Boof’s arm. ‘Please.’

  Batty, her face flushed, lifted a potato she’d cut in half and inspected it. ‘Soggy.’

  Misery stood and gathered the plates, banging them so hard I was sure they’d break.

  ‘There’s no dessert. Maxine has to go and I have to unpack Grandma’s things.’

  ‘I’m full, anyway, Granny. Thanks for lunch,’ I said, trying to sound sincere.

  Misery scowled. ‘Full is such a vulgar expression, Darcy.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’d rather have a guest full than starving after a meal,’ said Boof, winking at me.

  Misery huffed and stalked to the kitchen sink.

  Mum sighed. ‘Darcy, bring your bags in while I help Granny with the dishes.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand, mate,’ said Boof.

  Chapter Five

  ‘How will you cope with those two carping at each other?’ asked Boof once we were outside.

  ‘I’ll meditate. Twenty-four hours a day.’

  ‘You know you just have to ring if you need me. Could do with the company.’