Sons and Scones
‘Hey, Poppy!’ Tyson appeared at the back door and did a sock slide across the polished timber floor to the kitchen, complete with squealing wheel and crash sound effects as he ploughed into his granddad’s legs. ‘Whatcha cooking?’
‘Hey, matey, you must’ve grown twenty centimetres overnight. Hungry?’
‘Are you making something for me?’
‘Sure am.’
‘Cool! What?’
‘He’ll have to eat and run,’ Blair told his dad. ‘Veronica’s on her way.’
‘That was a quick visit,’ John said. ‘Wasn’t she planning to be at Airlie Beach for two weeks and collect him on her way back?’
‘Bad weather’s predicted,’ Blair explained. ‘She’d prefer to get home before the rain hits. Dad, what is all this?’ Blair waved a hand at the mess on the work surface.
‘What’s it look like?’
‘You’re baking scones?’
‘Is that hard to do, Poppy?’
‘I think your grandfather’s interest in cooking is new,’ Blair quipped.
‘And I think your dad’s being a smarty-pants.’ John ruffled Tyson’s hair. ‘But to answer your question, matey, scones are as simple as three, two, one. Or so I was told recently.’
‘Can I have one, Poppy?’
‘Manners, Tyson,’ Blair reminded his son.
‘Please may I have one, Poppy?’
‘As soon as they come out of the oven.’ John looked at Blair. ‘You still coming for dinner tonight?’
‘Given I’ll be on my own again? Yes, please. Only one booking in the lodge and they cancelled. So, no guests, no Tyson, and no Nina.’
‘I hope you got her number.’
‘Yeah, Dad, thanks for the relationship tip, but I’m pretty up on all that stuff. I’ve also got her email, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—’
‘Okay, okay, point taken, son.’
‘I kind of wanted to talk to you about something before Veronica arrives for Tyson. Is now a good time?’
Blair had grown up asking his father that question. Once so preoccupied with his need to paint, John had alienated his family. Over time he’d mastered the more important art of self-control, but too late for Blair, who’d grown up mostly in the silent company of an obsessive artist while his mother worked towards world domination.
‘Yes, good, because I want to talk to you.’
‘Hey, Tyson, you want to take your quad bike back to the house? I have a jar of persimmon jam that’ll go great on Poppy’s scones.’
‘Cool, yeah.’
‘Put your helmet on, stick to the road and take it slow. Your mother will shoot me if you hurt yourself.’
‘Okay, Dad.’
‘And bring your latest creation back to show Poppy,’ Blair shouted after his son.
The elusive creative gene that had evaded the Tate bloodline for years had somehow snuck into the latest generation.
‘What did you want to talk about, Blair?’
‘Veronica gave me something to read and I’ve been stewing over it for days.’ He unfolded the note from a back pocket of his jeans.
‘And what does she want from you now?’
‘That’s just it. She doesn’t want anything. This is formal advice that my regular child-support payment is no longer necessary.’
John perused the contents. ‘That’s all?’
‘She’s not disputing access or cutting me out of his life. That’ll never happen.’
‘Then what’s the problem, Blair?’
‘Now she’s playing happy families with that jerk I’m wondering if… ’
‘Ah, yes, I see.’ John nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re reading too much into things.’
‘But what if he’s not mine and never has been? You know Veronica dated Eddie back in London before we met.’
‘Do you really want to go there? Besides, a son is yours from the moment you hold him in your arms. I remember your first smile and, not so warmly, your first projectile vomit.’
Blair was too serious to laugh. ‘Remember Veronica went back to the UK for a funeral not long after we settled here? Nine months later we have a baby. The next thing I hear is good old Eddie’s relocating to Australia from London six months out of every year and he’s our new best friend. He has some sort of dual citizenship, so he can come and go as he pleases and do bugger-all while he’s here except remind me of how wealthy he is.’
‘As I recall, Eddie was Veronica’s boyfriend at college before you met, right?’
‘Yep.’
‘And then you rock up in London, a good-looking Aussie with a cute accent, and meet her at a pub. That’s what you told your mother and me on the phone.’
‘I’m not sure I described myself as cute or good-looking, Dad,’ Blair tried a laugh, ‘but, yeah, Veronica and Eddie were an item before I was on the scene.’
‘And you charmed her away from him and the two of you fell in love, married, and settled down here to take over the business.’
‘And then came the funeral, followed by a baby nine months later.’
‘Happy coincidence,’ John said.
‘Not so sure about happy. Suddenly the honeymoon’s over and I can’t do anything right. Mum reckoned the mood swings were post-natal depression, but Veronica was only sad when she was here with me. We went to the Gold Coast a few times to catch up with friends and she snapped right out of her mood.’
John wished he knew what to say to make his son feel better. ‘She stuck out small-town life for as long as she could, Blair. No sense being in a place that makes you unhappy. Not everyone’s cut out for the country. My guess is she fell in love with the cowboy image and the romance people imagine comes with a life on the land.’
‘Country life is romantic, Dad.’
Fatherly love quashed John’s urge to laugh. ‘To some, Blair, some of the time. You and I have lived through every season. We’ve seen Ivy-May at her most magnificent and her most cruel. Those who truly love the land find the beauty no matter what.’
‘I’m not following you, Dad.’
‘A marriage, son, is like the seasons. Hot and wild one minute and the next so cold and dreary you need it to be over. But the seasons change, we learn to change with them, and the sun does come out eventually.’
‘I guess Veronica and I got stuck in cold and dreary, until Eddie showed up with his sunny smile and took her back.’
‘He was her first love, Blair, and those relationships can be the most intense. When circumstances bring the same two people back together, no matter how much time has passed, those feelings may reignite.’
‘To be honest, Dad, if not Eddie it would’ve been some other guy. Losing Veronica isn’t the issue. It’s what this letter implies that’s doing my head in.’
‘So, there’s no suggestion in it that the access arrangements will change?’
Blair shook his head. ‘I’m not even sure I want to stop financially supporting my son. I love him, Dad. He’s my responsibility.’
John laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘She knows how much money you already spend on Tyson, in addition to the child support. She probably also recognises that taking half of everything in the divorce was not only unfair but put you in a financial hole.’
‘Speaking of money, Dad, you do know you can’t sneak deposits into someone else’s account without them finding out, right?’
‘I didn’t ask because I figured you’d say no.’
‘Of course! It sort of defeats the whole idea of you taking out that mortgage and me paying you back monthly.’
‘Just think of it as a little extra to help. I sold a couple of paintings. I know you’re good for it, and that things are still a bit tight after buying the function marquee.’
‘If bookings keep going the way they are, I’ll be seeing a return on that investment sooner than anticipated, and there’s no reason why they won’t. Two bridal-magazine ads set me back a bit, but they’re already sending clients my way. Advertising is what I know, and word of mouth goes only so far when you’re selling something that’s in the middle of nowhere. Half my wedding enquiries are coming from city brides looking for a romantic country venue. Advertising is a necessity. I’ve even had the Queensland Weekender TV show producer contact me.’
‘You’re a good businessman, Blair, which is why I’m happy to help when I can. Just don’t tell your mother. Fathers do things for their sons. Like you do for Tyson. You’re a good dad.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence – and for the money. It was great to have the funds to get the marquee decked out. The chandeliers went up yesterday.’
‘I’ll pop down and take a look.’
John turned his attention back to the scones in case the word ‘LIAR’ was visible on his face. The truth was that he hadn’t sold nearly enough paintings of late, his motivation to paint replaced by an urge to be outside and get his hands dusty. He’d never be destitute, but, as was common in the country, he was asset rich and cash poor. To get through, he’d had to mortgage Ivy-May when the live-exports furore had brought graziers to their knees a few years back, but he wasn’t alone. Every cattle producer, exporter of livestock or not, had been affected in some way, either financially or emotionally by knee-jerk government policy that basically halted all live cattle exportation for months.
Blair had invested more than fifty grand to establish the wedding-reception side of the business and needed another fifteen to complete the set-up, a ludicrous sum for four plastic walls, a roof and some frilly stuff across the ceiling, but what did John know of such things?
‘Look, son, about Veronica, let’s say, worst-case scenario, Tyson isn’t your biological son.’ John’s hand stopped Blair interjecting. ‘Not that I think for one second it’s true. I’m only talking about this because I don’t want the thought festering. Either find out for sure, or remind yourself that there’s nothing anyone can tell you that would stop you loving your boy.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘If, again hypothetically, what you’re thinking turned out to be the case, we’d make sure Tyson knows how loved he’s always been and that will never change. Never. Do you hear me, Blair?’
‘I hear you, Dad.’
‘At ten, Ty is old enough to understand and deal with this stuff. Hell, kids these days cope with all sorts of family dramas. Have faith in the strong bond you two share. There’s no reason to think he’d cut you out of his life. The little guy has two men as role models – you and the jerk.’
‘I’ve been freaking him out all week, staring at him, trying to see my face in his. I needed confirmation from you, I guess.’
‘If nothing else, Blair, your old man has an eye for detail and there’s no doubt that he’s more you than his mother, both in looks and personality. Just love him like I love you, no matter what.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ When the hug ended, Blair was red-eyed. ‘Hey, did you want to talk to me about something?’
‘Let’s save that conversation for another time. Come over for dinner after Ty’s on his way home. We’ll cook ourselves something nice, crack open a bottle of port and make a night of it.’
‘You’re cooking an actual meal? Not out of a tin or a packet?’
‘No, not me. Us. I want to relearn how to cook and I need your help. A man cannot live on scones alone.’ With that, John opened the oven door. ‘I also need to ask if Charlie’s doing his regular trip south. If so, I’ll give him a parcel to deliver to Noosa.’
‘He’s going tomorrow,’ Blair said, poking at the hot scones. ‘This delivery and the desire to learn how to cook wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lady, would it?’
‘You concentrate on your love life, son, and I’ll take care of mine.’
‘Love life?’ Blair whooped. ‘About bloody time.’
‘Speaking of which, when might we have the pleasure of young Nina’s company again?’
‘At the weekend.’
‘Did you tell her about the weather and suggest she postpone?’
‘Ever tried talking a woman like Nina out of anything once her mind is made up?’
‘Yes, I tried to talk her mother out of a portrait.’ John grinned, but briefly. ‘I hear the predicted storm might not be contained to the coast.’
‘Yeah, and unfortunately that news is forcing cancellations left, right and centre.’
‘Might be worth trying again with Nina.’
‘I’ll try, but you don’t tell Nina she can’t do something. I learned that the interesting way the day we met. Besides, Dad, if the weather’s bad over the weekend there’s plenty of things to do inside.’
John raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m talking about odd jobs. If there are no guests I can hang those photographs in the cabin, the ones of Ivy-May in her heyday. If you’re looking for us, that’s where I’ll be.’ Blair glanced away, possibly because he could hear the quad bike carrying his son. ‘I hardly know her, Dad, but I like Nina. She’s real. We had a couple of early blips, but we can talk openly. What you see is what you get with Nina, and after Veronica, honesty and openness is everything to me.’
‘I know it is, son, and I like her too. She’s very much like her mother. Now…’ John tossed the scones one by one into a basket. ‘Let’s eat.’