Georgie Harvey and John Franklin Collection

Chapter 12

‘Don’t you ever wake up grumpy as hell?’

ever Some people were obnoxious first thing in the morning: cheerful, chatty, capable, chic. Everything Georgie was not; everything Bronwen Silvers epitomised. Yet despite their differences, they’d clicked during high school, been flatmates, backpackers and fruit-picking partners in their late teens and continued to be bosom buddies in their twenties.

Bron leaned against the windowsill. When she laughed, her carrot-red bobbed hair flashed in the morning sun. The silver flute she stroked contrasted with crimson fingernails, as did the rings on her fingers. Those fingers were never idle.

Georgie contemplated the hands wrapped around her coffee mug and bare fingernails in need of a file. She rarely wore nail polish, being prone to chip it before she left the house. The creativity that stemmed from her fingertips was limited to words and less lucrative than her friend’s artwork.

She told strangers she was a writer and let them draw their own conclusions. But in reality, she edited tomes on square roots and fractions and wrote health and safety material. These cash cows paid reasonably, were dead boring and while in progress shut down her imagination. That meant zero, zilch, nil, nada fictional output in anyone’s lingo. When she’d quit her job at the law firm to study, she’d imagined it leading to a glamorous writer’s life. She’d dreamed of loyal fans, masses of published articles, generous cheques and a row of novels with Georgie Harvey on the spine. Joke, right? She’d received more rejection slips than cheques and settled for the odd byline without payment to broaden her portfolio.

nada Joke, right? Conversely, Bron’s two solo exhibitions in the past twelve months alone had been sell-outs, and patrons were queuing up for commissions. She lived comfortably on the proceeds of her contemporary pastels. Georgie was proud and envious.

She waved to Joanna Holt, who dropped a kiss on her partner’s cheek and rushed out, wearing Blundstone boots, jeans ripped at the knees and a grungy T-shirt. Wisps of grey and ash-blonde mottled hair already escaped the ponytail secured by an ordinary elastic band.

‘She’s chucking bricks today.’ Bron said it with a go-figure gesture but Georgie knew what lay behind that bravado.

go-figure As Jo approached her fortieth birthday, a pap test had highlighted a low-grade lesion in her cervix. It scared the s**t out of them all, not least Bron and Jo. The pre-cancer was excised and Jo’s prognosis was excellent, but the experience had triggered a deep soul-search and respite from her high-flying accountancy career.

‘You and Jo cruise along, don’t you?’

‘Unlike you and Adam, GG? I suppose we do. Though occasionally I pick a fight for fun.’ Bron sniggered. ‘Sometimes she drives me nuts, agreeing with everything I say, no matter how stupid.’

‘I don’t need to try to stir AJ. It happens by itself.’

‘Is that why you’re avoiding him today?’

Georgie wrinkled her nose. She’d escaped to Bron’s for a stay on both the script and AJ. He’d been a dogged shadow last night, asking annoying questions. About the court case, where she’d been the previous evening and why she was pissed off with him.

‘How much did you tell him about Daylesford?’

‘He got the bare bones, that’ll do,’ Georgie replied. ‘I’m a grown woman and don’t have to report my every move.’

‘All grown up. Intelligent and independent, huh, Georgie Girl?’

Georgie shrugged.

‘And that’s why you insisted on representing yourself in court. And lost. Instead of using one of Adam’s associates… Because you’re so intelligent.’

And lost‘No one likes a smart arse,’ Georgie retorted with an eye roll. ‘Okay, so stress independent. He’d frown on me going into Susan’s house and freak out that I borrowed her stuff. He’d tell me I don’t know what I’m doing and shouldn’t get involved. And that’d make me all the more determined.’

independentFranklin placed hands on hips and winged his arms sideways to block the entrance to the TAB. Paul Wells tried to push through from behind him. Franklin bent his knees to reinforce his stance.

‘I’ll sort it. Let me through.’

Engrossed in the chaotic scene before him, Franklin snorted exasperated streams of air from his nostrils. Wells was an i***t and would charge right in without summing up first.

He inhaled to focus his mind and caught a whiff of cow dung and sweat. Now he pinpointed the mêlée culprits in the far-right pocket of the shop. High-pitched threats and blows flew between these two young males.

‘Call yerself a mate! I’ll kill you!’

‘Call yerself a mate! I’ll kill you!’‘As if. You’re too much of a pussy.’

‘As if. You’re too much of a pussy.’Franklin frowned as the tall bloke rained blows on the shorter one’s torso. He knew these jokers. They were thick as thieves normally.

Several bystanders cheered and egged the blokes on. They looked like kids in a schoolyard about to call Fight! Fight! Fight!

Fight! Fight! Fight!Leigh smacked at Ryan’s fists. Ryan’s punches grew wilder and faster. His face turned fiery red with exertion and fury.

‘Imbecile,’ Wells hissed just loud enough for his partner to hear.

Franklin itched to punch Wells but would never give him the satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the conceited, privileged cockhead who took up space at their station. The greenest of green probationary constables—as long as they didn’t have connections to the brass—would be an asset by comparison.

‘Let me through, Franklin.’

Franklin ignored Wells and continued his assessment of the betting agency. He needed to know what the brawl was about and sort it before someone copped a serious injury. He reckoned Ryan was the instigator of the fight and Leigh had seriously upset his mate.

A woman. It’s gotta be about a woman.

A woman. It’s gotta be about a woman.Franklin couldn’t imagine anything else getting between these two.

Inside the doorway to his left were Roger and Mick, the father-son team of farmers from Abergeldie. They debated the next race in loud ocker accents.

‘Think we should put ten bucks on Nancy’s Reign, Dad.’

‘You dumb prick –’ There was a world of hurt in Ryan’s words.

‘You dumb prick –’ ‘Each way or on the nose?’

Punters in front of the televisions shot angry glances at the fray between Ryan and Leigh and towards Mick and Roger, who’d lifted their voices over the ruckus. The blokes cursed, turned back to the screens and strained to hear their race. They’d be annoyed at a masked robber with a sawn-off shotgun if he interrupted their gambling fix.

Franklin didn’t flag immediate risk to anyone but the two combatants. Yet things could swiftly escalate with a surge of testosterone and adrenaline. At Ryan’s next taunt, he called to the two brawlers, ‘Righto, you two. What’s going on?’

Most of the punters craned their necks towards Franklin, but the Abergeldie farmers continued their deliberations. Metres in front, Ryan jabbed Leigh’s face, left then right. To Franklin’s relief and amusement, both skimmed the shorter bloke’s jaw.

‘Hey! Are you two thick or deaf?’ Franklin raised his volume over the din and let three patrons exit. He saw why the manager had called the station. The fracas was costing the TAB business and could end up with the shop trashed or one of these blueing knuckleheads comatose. ‘Cut it out,’ he shouted.

Mick and Roger glanced at the policeman and nodded together. He hadn’t addressed them, so they resumed their debate. Leigh seemed to be more than protecting himself now. He threw an uppercut that would’ve been perfect if Ryan hadn’t tripped. The Abergeldie farmers paused, chuckled and turned away.

Franklin stepped forward just as the brawling men fell into the cluster of customers near the televisions. As one, the gambling addicts pushed away the two young blokes like a battering ram.

Ryan and Leigh ricocheted across the room. The scene was almost comical, especially when Roger and Mick finally chose their next horse as if nothing else was going on.

Franklin nudged past the farmers. He eluded Leigh’s elbow.

‘Wasn’t my fault. Your old lady was up for it!’

‘Wasn’t my fault. Your old lady was up for it!’Spittle flew from Ryan’s mouth as he countered, ‘She’s me wife, ya bastard. And yer s’posed to be me best mate.’

‘She’s me wife, ya bastard. And yer s’posed to be me best mate.’Franklin collared the aggrieved man in the midst of winding a fist. The mob chortled, then lost interest.

I was right. It’s about a woman.

I was right. It’s about a woman.He nodded to himself.

Leigh’s done the dirty deed with Ryan’s wife.

Leigh’s done the dirty deed with Ryan’s wife.He still restrained Ryan and gave Leigh a look that warned him not to try anything. He said to the TAB manager, ‘These two cause any damage?’

The manager shook his head with a discreet smile.

‘All right then. We’re going to have coffee and shoot the breeze, boys.’

‘Rather have a beer,’ Ryan said.

His old mate grinned, seconded the motion, then scowled.

‘We need to take this down to the station,’ Wells said.

Franklin glared at him. ‘No need for that, Constable. In fact, you can tootle off. The boys and I are going for a cuppa.’

Constable‘Hey,’ said Ryan. ‘Why should I have a coffee with this bastard?’

‘Because I said so,’ Franklin replied, shooing Wells.

‘You could have your coffee and we could have a beer at the Rush.’

Alcohol was the last thing these jokers needed. Their breath already reeked of it.

AJ was out when Georgie returned. Sort of relieved, she settled into the study, accompanied as usual by the cat and dog. She mulled Bron’s advice on her love life and procrastinated with coffee and cigarette breaks while the clock ticked towards the script deadline. Eventually, she scratched a passable draft and orbited the document to David Ruddoch’s computer.

Georgie checked her watch: Made it.

Made it.She clipped her notepad as she sprawled back in her chair. When she bent to retrieve it, the points jotted while driving to Daylesford caught her attention.

Most prominent on the page was Susan’s telephone number.

Even before the first burrup-burrup, Georgie knew it would ring out. She visualised a frustrated Oscar, perched on the hall table, eyes fixed on the phone, as he waited for his mum to answer it. She imagined the cat’s misery after the final ring echoed through the house and replaced the receiver.

burrup-burrupFortunately, after much complaint, Franklin got the blokes settled at the Pastry King Café.

‘Righto, I gather you’ve had a falling out.’

Ryan’s face flushed. ‘He screwed my missus –’

‘He screwed my missus –’‘She was asking for it!’ Leigh shouted back.

‘She was asking for it!’Franklin’s ‘Keep it down!’ went unheeded. A couple at another table were transfixed. The shop assistants shook their heads and leaned on the counter to watch.

‘That’s not the point –’

‘That’s not the point –’‘What’re ya s’posed to do if a sheila comes onto ya?’

‘What’re ya s’posed to do if a sheila comes onto ya?’‘Okay, fellas.’ Franklin held up his hand. ‘Settle down. Ryan, what happened?’

One ear attuned, he did a quick scan. He’d selected a chair that faced the street to keep an eye on things while he sorted the feud. Through the window he saw a woman reverse from the centre island parking despite signs prohibiting it. She pulled her burgundy Camry into the path of a white Ford Econovan. The latter locked up, followed by a stream of cars behind it. All marginally avoided impact but let off frenzied horns. The Camry sailed away, and Franklin thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to deal with a multi-car pile-up on Vincent Street.

Imagine explaining that to the district inspector.

Imagine explaining that to the district inspector.He noted the men had toned down. ‘Well, Leigh. What’s your side?’

A flood of customers filled the shop, keeping the assistants busy. He still listened to the shorter bloke’s version and the occasional outburst from the other while he helped a woman manoeuvre her pram through the throng. She ordered a cappuccino and squeezed onto a nearby chair.

‘Okay. So what do you plan to do about it, boys?’ Franklin asked.

‘I dunno,’ Leigh said.

Ryan shrugged.

‘You’ve been mates forever.’

They grunted.

‘So, why don’t you,’ Franklin nodded to Leigh, ‘apologise to your buddy? And you,’ he told Ryan, ‘accept his apology?’

This suggestion triggered an uproar that silenced everyone else in the shop. The young mother sat taller to better observe. She unconsciously ran her finger around the rim of her cup.

Franklin raised his brows, satisfied the boys were close to a resolution.

‘Look. I’m sorry, mate. Shouldn’ta done it.’

Ryan stared at his old friend, whose eyes were stuck on the tabletop. ‘She’s always been a bit of a tart, I s’pose,’ he conceded. He scowled when his mate vigorously agreed, yet extended a hand and declared, ‘Reckon we can both do better than her.’

Franklin thought, Yes!

Yes!Leigh’s ‘Wanna have a beer, mate?’ left Franklin abandoned. He watched the men cross the street pulsing with day-trippers and locals. Ryan grabbed his buddy in a headlock, jabbed without contact. They laughed and headed for the Rush.

Within minutes of her email to Ruddoch, Georgie had morphed from triumphant to gloomy.

‘Where are you, Susan?’

She remembered the woman’s stuff was still in the Spider and jumped up, alarming her own cat. The tortoiseshell had been curled next to the laptop, accepting the occasional stroke over her ears as the computer warmed her belly. Phoebe hissed and stalked to her cat flap. Georgie beat her to the door.

Minutes later, she sat cross-legged on the floor, shoes off. The stash from the farm—the photographs, album and shoebox—surrounded her and would perhaps provide a clue to Susan Pentecoste’s location.

She tossed the lid off the box originally containing size-eight beige court shoes and tipped out the letters. Georgie extracted one at random and unfolded the sheet of feint-ruled paper. She leaned against the retro, black velvet couch.

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,The old water tank has given way. No more dips on top of the tower on hot days! It seems everything, and nothing, changes. Rather like my letters. I sit beside the window, looking at the countryside but not seeing it. I gather my pen, full of thoughts of what I shall write to you and then the ideas disappear and the page has yet again only a few ramblings of a silly old man.

The old water tank has given way. No more dips on top of the tower on hot days! It seems everything, and nothing, changes. Rather like my letters. I sit beside the window, looking at the countryside but not seeing it. I gather my pen, full of thoughts of what I shall write to you and then the ideas disappear and the page has yet again only a few ramblings of a silly old man.The old water tank has given way. No more dips on top of the tower on hot days! It seems everything, and nothing, changes. Rather like my letters. I sit beside the window, looking at the countryside but not seeing it. I gather my pen, full of thoughts of what I shall write to you and then the ideas disappear and the page has yet again only a few ramblings of a silly old man.I wish my letters were on par with yours – newsy, cheerful and energetic.

I wish my letters were on par with yours – newsy, cheerful and energetic.I wish my letters were on par with yours – newsy, cheerful and energetic.Write soon.

Write soon.Write soon.Jack

JackJackThe undated letter also lacked a return address. The handwriting was neat, rightward-slanted script with loops and connections which bore a strong resemblance to Grandma Harvey’s style.

Intrigued whether Jack was Susan’s lover, Georgie scooped up the pile, flipped it over and, with luck, back to its original order.

She plucked the topmost note, her posture a little more erect.

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,Little has changed since my last letter. Days are busy, albeit somewhat tedious. There is a lack of highlights in my life (self-inflicted, it is true), which is frightening. If it is already dull while I am active and able to drive, imagine when ageing gets the better of me.

Little has changed since my last letter. Days are busy, albeit somewhat tedious. There is a lack of highlights in my life (self-inflicted, it is true), which is frightening. If it is already dull while I am active and able to drive, imagine when ageing gets the better of me.Little has changed since my last letter. Days are busy, albeit somewhat tedious. There is a lack of highlights in my life (self-inflicted, it is true), which is frightening. If it is already dull while I am active and able to drive, imagine when ageing gets the better of me.I must say how sorry I am that Roly’s fate remains a puzzle. It is without a doubt a barrier to moving on. Not that you have to, of course. One good thing about growing older is that nobody can tell us what to do!

I must say how sorry I am that Roly’s fate remains a puzzle. It is without a doubt a barrier to moving on. Not that you have to, of course. One good thing about growing older is that nobody can tell us what to do!I must say how sorry I am that Roly’s fate remains a puzzle. It is without a doubt a barrier to moving on. Not that you have to, of course. One good thing about growing older is that nobody can tell us what to do!I will leave this note here and hope to hear from you shortly.

I will leave this note here and hope to hear from you shortly.I will leave this note here and hope to hear from you shortly.Jack

JackJack‘Well, hello.’ Between the lines, it appeared that Jack was besotted with Susan but she wasn’t ready for a relationship. But what did he mean by Roly’s fate? A biblical reference?

Roly’s fateGeorgie stamped a cramp from her left calf and grabbed the next letter.

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,You must be careful. Although you feel a need to know what happened to Roly, it may be dangerous to pursue it. Let it rest, my dear, as difficult as it may be.

You must be careful. Although you feel a need to know what happened to Roly, it may be dangerous to pursue it. Let it rest, my dear, as difficult as it may be.You must be careful. Although you feel a need to know what happened to Roly, it may be dangerous to pursue it. Let it rest, my dear, as difficult as it may be.Jack

JackJackGeorgie’s pulse accelerated in pace with her fingers. The left hand dropped a note onto the read pile. The right took a fresh one.

Was medical negligence associated with Roly’s death? But how could pursuit of that be dangerous?

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,It would be delightful to see you again. I shall look forward to that. I fear that you will find me a changed person now. From out of the blue, after my 65th birthday, my hair turned white and thin, like on a baby’s crown. Yet underneath, I am the same man. But can you empathise? I suspect you’d have changed little, spring chicken that you are.

It would be delightful to see you again. I shall look forward to that. I fear that you will find me a changed person now. From out of the blue, after my 65th birthday, my hair turned white and thin, like on a baby’s crown. Yet underneath, I am the same man. But can you empathise? I suspect you’d have changed little, spring chicken that you are.It would be delightful to see you again. I shall look forward to that. I fear that you will find me a changed person now. From out of the blue, after my 65th birthday, my hair turned white and thin, like on a baby’s crown. Yet underneath, I am the same man. But can you empathise? I suspect you’d have changed little, spring chicken that you are.Please take care. I hope your silence about Roly means that you have let the matter rest?

Please take care. I hope your silence about Roly means that you have let the matter rest?Please take care. I hope your silence about Roly means that you have let the matter rest?Jack

JackJackMaybe Jack held the answer; not the Roly stuff. Perhaps Susan was in bed with him right now. Where, though? None of the letters had a sender’s address. Clearly Jack was old and wrinkled, but he could live in Tyabb or Tokyo for all Georgie knew, although dips in the water tank hinted at country Australia.

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,Have you changed your mind about visiting? Of course, you are busy with Abergeldie and all your other responsibilities. However, if you feel inclined to visit, you know you are always welcome.

Have you changed your mind about visiting? Of course, you are busy with Abergeldie and all your other responsibilities. However, if you feel inclined to visit, you know you are always welcome.Have you changed your mind about visiting? Of course, you are busy with Abergeldie and all your other responsibilities. However, if you feel inclined to visit, you know you are always welcome.I hope you have taken heed of my advice. By the same token, I hope you have not taken offence at the interference of a silly old man. Your latest letter was so restrained, so out of character, that I fear I have upset you.

I hope you have taken heed of my advice. By the same token, I hope you have not taken offence at the interference of a silly old man. Your latest letter was so restrained, so out of character, that I fear I have upset you.I hope you have taken heed of my advice. By the same token, I hope you have not taken offence at the interference of a silly old man. Your latest letter was so restrained, so out of character, that I fear I have upset you.Take care and write soon. Oh, and by the way, I don’t believe for a minute that you’re looking old, too. A touch battle-scarred, yes.

Take care and write soon. Oh, and by the way, I don’t believe for a minute that you’re looking old, too. A touch battle-scarred, yes.Take care and write soon. Oh, and by the way, I don’t believe for a minute that you’re looking old, too. A touch battle-scarred, yes.Jack

JackJackPoor Jack; living in hope, waiting in vain? She read on.

Dear Susan,

Dear Susan,Dear Susan,Your letter came as a shock. You know I anticipate your notes, but your latest words frightened and saddened me. The truth does not always liberate but rather becomes a liability.

Your letter came as a shock. You know I anticipate your notes, but your latest words frightened and saddened me. The truth does not always liberate but rather becomes a liability.Your letter came as a shock. You know I anticipate your notes, but your latest words frightened and saddened me. The truth does not always liberate but rather becomes a liability.Please write again soon.

Please write again soon.Please write again soon.Jack

JackJackWhat the hell had Susan written that scared the guy? And really, how could truth become a liability?

After she’d scanned the rest of the letters, Georgie felt more confused than enlightened and squashed them back in the box.

She stared at the newer photograph of the Pentecostes; the dashing chap in his cardie, his plainer wife in her suit. Jack wanted more than friendship, while Susan remained devoted to the man she’d married. Had Susan succumbed to Jack’s charm, or was she still dealing with the manner of her husband’s death?

Was either the cause of her disappearance?

Though it was hard to see Jack as a stalker who’d abducted Susan, Georgie added it to her list of possibilities. The old man couldn’t be dismissed merely because he sounded civilised and lonesome.

Georgie picked up the ringing landline, frowning at the distraction.

‘How’s it going, GG?’ Bron asked.

‘How’s it going, GG?’Georgie responded absently, her thoughts on Jack.

‘What’s wrong? Are you and Adam fighting again?’

‘What’s wrong? Are you and Adam fighting again?’‘Nuh. It’s Susan Pentecoste. I’m still clueless. And Ruby will expect an update today.’ She filled her in on the letters.

‘So mysterious Jack’s either the key or a detour,’ Bron said.

‘So mysterious Jack’s either the key or a detour,’‘I’ve already spent hours on this.’

‘But you’re a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Georgie Girl?’

‘But you’re a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Georgie Girl?’