Reboot, Force Quit, Restart
Nina had declined John’s offer of a drink, but he seemed to be taking a long time to mix one for himself, like he was giving her a chance to reconsider.
‘How was the drive up?’ he called from the kitchen.
‘Testing. Road crews everywhere on the final leg.’ Another terse conversation with her mother over the phone hadn’t helped Nina’s mood. ‘I was a bit wired when I got here, John, which is probably why I started rambling about Blair. When I feel nervous I tend to ramble.’
‘Blair makes you nervous?’
‘How he makes me feel does.’ Being here with you isn’t helping. ‘I’ve known Conrad for almost two years and I thought he was my future. I’ve spent so little time with Blair.’
‘Time determines love?’ Ice rattled into the glass. ‘And here’s me thinking all these years it’s about connection. So,’ he said, returning to the table with two glasses after all, ‘why can’t it be love with my son?’
Nina thought for a moment. ‘I’m definitely attracted to him and not just, you know, physically.’ She blushed.
‘You don’t have to understand attraction, Nina. If it’s mutual you have to believe it’s right and I can assure you my son is quite taken with you. But, as you say, your feelings seem to have developed quickly. That’s not to say instant attraction doesn’t happen – you walk into a room, see that one face and bam! Swipe right. Isn’t that the crux of this swiping business?’
Nina laughed. ‘I told you I don’t swipe. I prefer the old-fashioned way of seeing someone on a Friday night and thinking about them all week.’
‘Now that I can relate to,’ John chuckled. ‘In fact, I don’t think about much else since a certain woman knocked on my door a while back.’
‘My mother,’ Nina said. ‘Do you wonder why that might be so?’
John turned a chair to straddle it. ‘Not really, I wonder less about all sorts of things, these days. Like I said, not everything needs dissecting and not everything can be explained. People used to explain me by saying I was obsessed with art.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Obsession is the word other people use when they talk about me. They see the hype and not the man who was forced into a life he never asked for and never wanted. Being obsessed with something is not the same as being passionate. One controls you. The other, passion, you don’t want to control at all. That’s the very thing that drives you.’
To be polite, Nina sipped the whisky she didn’t like. ‘I’d forgotten how much I loved cooking until I was in Blair’s kitchen.’
‘Memory is precious. I know better than most.’
‘You would, yes, but what do you miss not remembering, John? Does that question even make sense?’
‘Sure does and I can tell you this.’ His voice livened. ‘No man ever wants to forget when he first falls in love, or the look on his girlfriend’s face when she says, “Yes, honey, I’ll marry you.” I also have no memory of conceiving my child. I miss not remembering that.’
‘Can I ask what you do remember from your late teens, before the aneurysm?’
‘I remember a girl called Suzy Stuckey, but that’s a story I won’t be sharing.’ John flashed a mischievous grin, reminding Nina of Blair. ‘I remember wanting to cook. My school report cards tell me I used to love it, but there was no time for it when I was young. Life revolved around cattle. My parents tolerated my interest in food, but they never wanted me to cook as a living. To Marjorie and Colin a man’s place was not in the kitchen. That’s why we always hired cooks. The irony is that all the cooks Marjorie hired were male.’
‘Actually, that’s not entirely true.’ For a few moments, the only sounds Nina could hear were croaking frogs and the rustling of leaves in the trees outside Ivy-May’s bi-fold doors.
Then John said, ‘Okay, Nina, you’ve got my attention. What is it you know?’
She looked up to face him. What she was about to tell John might ruin things between her and Blair but she couldn’t turn back now. ‘Not all the cooks at Ivy-May back then were men.’
‘And you know this how?’
‘Because, John, my mother was the cook at Ivy-May thirty years ago. She was twenty-seven when you weren’t yet twenty-one. You fell in love, but all memory of her was lost when you had the aneurysm. So you see—’
‘Whoa there, young lady, slow down.’ John stood up, unable to sit still any longer. ‘My brain computes things a little slower these days. I’m trying to understand. Are you telling me… You mean… Am I him?’
‘The man Mum never stopped loving?’ Nina nodded. ‘Yes.’
Luckily, he hadn’t strayed too far from the table and a chair was close by. He flopped onto it and cradled his head in his hands. ‘I knew there was something between us.’
‘You painted her with such a youthful face, with her hair hanging loose and everything that’s precious to her, including that white top with the satin lapels and cuffs. It’s still in her wardrobe. So, when the painting arrived Mum had no choice but to tell me about you: how she left the city, came here, met the man she never got over losing.’
John was stony-faced as Nina filled him in on everything she knew from her mother’s point of view: the interview at Ivy-May, their shared passion for cooking, their clandestine meetings. ‘I don’t know what my mother told you about her life after you, John, but I’m going to tell you about her, my way.’ Nina took a deep breath. ‘You see, it’s like this…’
*
Darkness had filled the room so Nina switched on a lamp.
‘Ava…’ John breathed.
Nina dragged a chair close so she could pat his knee. ‘You were both so in love. You wanted to be together, but circumstances forced you apart.’
John rubbed his eyes. ‘My mother and Katie told me I was in Brisbane when this happened to me, at a hotel where I proposed to my wife.’ He sounded annoyed. ‘I bought a ring at Angus and Coote. Katie had wanted a sapphire, like Princess Diana’s. That thing took me two years to pay off.’
Nina sat back to give him space. ‘You weren’t in the city with Katie. You were with Ava, and in the portrait you did of my mother you painted this on her wedding finger.’ Nina pulled up the photo she’d taken of the portrait. ‘Look there.’ She thrust her phone at John. ‘My mother has never worn a ring on that finger, and she’d never seen that one except in the painting, but you have, John.’
His hand rubbed back and forth over his scalp, a finger stopping on the line of scar over his ear. ‘I do seem to recall… ’
‘And look at this.’ Nina swiped to another photo. ‘There’s this picture of your great-great-grandmother, Ivy May Tate. A generation later, your great-granddad gave the same ring to his wife and it’s been handed down to each son ever since. You can see the design more clearly if you look at the picture. The ring you’ve painted is the same.’
John took the phone and flicked back and forth between photos while Nina told him about Sonya and the truth behind Peppi’s panna cotta myth.
‘The woman remembered you, John.’ Nina brought up the picture of his name in the Peppi’s reservations book. ‘Sonya said no one would dare walk into Peppi’s to make a booking for the same day, but you did, and she was so touched by your story she added a special table for two. She said you were so nervous, and so young and in love, but when you didn’t turn up for dinner, she had to keep the ring safe, always hoping it would get to the right finger one day. And, John,’ Nina took his hand in hers, uncurled his fingers and laid the ring on his palm, ‘here it is.’
At first John’s hand stiffened, as if he were afraid. Perhaps he was and the feeling added to a growing list: shocked, betrayed, manipulated, sad. Naturally he’d feel all those things, but as his fingers curled around the jewel, a wave of joy enveloped him, followed by an unstoppable swell of excitement, as if he was young again, in love again.
‘You see, John, by coming out here for the sitting, Mum said she was closing a door on a memory. She told me she had to see you one more time to know you’d lived a full life and were happy. She’d never stopped wondering. Deep down I was convinced she was hoping for a miracle, but when your memory seemed irretrievable she resigned herself to letting things be, as she’d done when your mother dismissed her before you were even discharged from hospital.’
‘Did she see me in hospital?’
‘She was forbidden, family only, so she returned to Candlebark Creek, lived at the pub and waited. She came back to Ivy-May once more, then made the heartbreaking decision to let your mother and Katie love you. Because they did, John. Mum said that explained their actions.’
Nina backed off, needing a break. She took his glass and refilled it with whisky. Nothing for her. When the right time came to leave John with his thoughts, she’d still have Blair to confront.
She slipped the glass onto the table. ‘Having seen how you painted Mum’s portrait, I knew you must remember something and I wondered if maybe you needed a nudge. So I’m here hoping the portrait, the pearl ring and the panna cotta will trigger memories of Ava. I couldn’t let Mum die thinking she was forgettable.’
John’s chuckle was sad. ‘The Ava Marchette who knocked on my door asking to sit for a portrait is anything but… I’m just not sure what I do with this information.’
‘The note you wrote with the basket is beautiful. You called Mum your Elizabeth Siddal. I googled her. You can look up just about anything on Google.’
‘Then maybe Google, or you, Nina, will be able to help me with something.’
John was walking with purpose towards the adjoining room. When he turned on the light, Nina saw his obsession with art all over the walls, but also the ceiling with its moon and stars.
‘Wow!’ How terrifying and intriguing to think someone could wake up one day and be another person. This person. ‘Blair tried to explain it to me but… Just wow!’
‘The reason I’m still single.’ John’s smile was brief. ‘I need a minute, Nina. Make yourself at home, grab a drink. There’s wine if you prefer. I’ll be back.’
Maybe another small drink might help. She wouldn’t be driving too far tonight. If things went pear-shaped with Blair, the Moo-tel was a short drive away.
‘Found it.’ John returned waving a yellowing sheet of paper.
‘Who wrote this?’ Nina said while scanning it. ‘It’s not signed.’
‘I thought you might recognise the handwriting.’
‘Handwriting’s a thing of the past. I wouldn’t know when I last wrote a note. Even my recipes are stored electronically. Mum still handwrites her recipe cards, though, bless her.’
A few minutes is all I asked for but they’ve told me only immediate family is allowed and since we’re not married a nurse offered to sneak this in to you. I want to be with you, always. I know that now. We’ll do all those things we talked about, and when you do come home I’ll be waiting to start a wonderful life together. I love you to the moon and back, John Tate.
Always yours…
‘Does it look like your mother’s writing?’ John asked.
‘I’m no expert, but I do know Ava’s A at the start of her name has always been a flamboyant version of the lower case letter. Even more important, John, is that Mum told me she’d asked a nurse to slip a note to you. She’d told her to hide it so your mother didn’t find it first.’
‘She did a good job. I didn’t find it myself for a number of years. It was screwed up with a napkin in the pocket of an old sports bag. By that stage I had to wonder… If Katie, my fiancée at the time, had written that note, what had happened to that loving woman and where the hell was that wonderful life?’
Nina took his hands in hers. ‘I think you know the answer, John. Your world is wanting to right itself. You’ve got nothing to lose and maybe some memories to regain by going with it. I’m the one risking everyone’s wrath by blurting this out. Mum’s likely to kill me, and if Blair was to see me as a meddlesome gossip, that will only add to his current opinion that I’m a lying, cheating, two-timing Jezebel who collects boyfriends.’
John didn’t seem to be listening. ‘This is a lot to take in,’ he said, fingering the ring.
Panic snaked through Nina, but she wasn’t about to give up yet. ‘Look, John, you were talking about our brains being like a computer with pre-installed programs. Nothing is ever truly deleted from a hard drive. It’s simply lost in a convoluted system waiting for someone to come along who knows how to retrieve the data. Blurting all this out is my feeble attempt to reboot, force quit, restart, whatever you want to call it. Trust me, and trust that Mum might wake up what’s lying dormant and you’ll remember how much you loved her. You did love her, John. You were going against what your parents wanted by taking her to Brisbane that weekend. You were risking everything, like I’m kind of risking everything by being here and not telling Blair first. So, I need you to help me believe in happy-ever-after.’
‘I don’t know what to do, Nina.’
‘Here.’ She held out her phone. ‘I have Mum’s number. Call her, John, and in less than 86,400 seconds Ava can be here, with you. You said it yourself. We never know what’s around the corner.’
The pair had been so focused on each other that neither John nor Nina had seen headlights approach, or heard Ivy-May’s front door open until the clop, clop of a woman’s footfall.
‘John, where on earth are you? Why aren’t you answering your—’ Katie loomed on the top step at the entrance to the sunken sunroom, her stare falling on Nina. ‘You! What’s going on here?’
John sat up, met her gaze. ‘I think you might already know the answer to that, Katie.’
Nina was never so grateful to see her brother’s name flash up on her mobile phone at that very moment. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, planning to escape to the next room to check the text message. ‘I need to, ah…’ She gave up explaining. John and Katie weren’t listening.
Nina wasn’t sure if she’d screamed as her brother’s message forced her stomach into freefall, but the house stilled. ‘Oh, no! I have to go! I have to get home to Mum!’
‘Nina, what is it?’ John asked. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘They called an ambulance. Mum’s in hospital. I have to go.’
‘Of course you do, but it’s a dangerous time to be driving country roads.’
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry, and please tell Blair I wanted to see him and I’ll call him when I can.’