Standing Strong (8 page)

One step at a time, Damo
, he told himself.
The universe is going to send what the universe is going to send
.
Sit back and let it happen
.

He walked on. That was the trouble with being raised by a control freak – you weren't very inclined to stop and let the plan unfold. It was taking some reprogramming, but he was getting better at going with the flow. He wished his mother would see how uptight she was and how life could be better, easier, if you just sat back a bit.

She'd phoned him last night, all miffed because Lucy still hadn't called her back. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask what she wanted him to do about it when she'd gone on to say that because of this she'd decided to take a tour rather than just book flights and do her own thing, and only spend two days and one night in London. The funny thing was that she'd said it in a haughty tone as if to say, ‘That'll teach her.'

Damien had come close to pointing out that Lucy probably didn't consider her mother choosing to not impose for a week or so the punishment that was clearly intended. He really was beginning to see just how his mum made everything about her. Most likely Lucy would whoop with joy at learning she only had to spend a dinner and maybe an hour or so over lunch in her mother's presence. It was all too funny.

‘People,' he told Squish, Bob, Cara, and Jemima, ‘are weird. Now you guys have it all sorted. Food, sleep, only get cranky for good reason and when necessary …'

Damien wondered if his mother was seeing Jacqueline professionally. He hoped not, because if she was, Jacqueline clearly wasn't making much headway. But then he wondered if people could change such a major part of their makeup. Was a control freak destined to always be a control freak?

‘All too much for me,' he muttered as he reached the boundary and his new little shed and enclosure. He checked the mobile and everything else before turning around and heading back home.

*

The phone rang when Damien was enjoying his first mug of coffee for the day and adding and subtracting things from his to-do list and copious sheets of notes. He didn't recognise the number.

‘Hello, Damien speaking.'

‘Hello. Damien, this is Irene Timms from the Wattle Creek Hostel. Your auntie Ethel tells me your baby joey and rescued Jack Russell might like to visit and add a bit of interest to the residents' day.'

Since the little roo seemed so happy in the company of humans and was still nice and small and manageable – not to mention cute – Ethel had suggested it might make a nice interlude to the oldies' day. Damien had wondered if there would be health department regulations against livestock in such places, but Ethel had assured him these things were at the discretion of the person running the facility and that she knew Mrs Timms well. ‘Of course you do,' Damien had said with a smirk. His auntie Ethel knew everyone around here well. He knew Mrs Timms by sight and to say g'day to, but no more than that.

‘We would. I mean, I'm sure they would.' He looked down at Squish and Jemima laying on the mat together. Squish gazed back up at him, wagging his tail. He was always up for any attention. ‘Jemima, that's the joey, has only been in contact with a couple of people at a time so far,' he warned. ‘But we can see how she goes. Squish – that's my little Jack Russell – loves everyone. He'd be great.'

‘So when would suit you? I'm thinking just half an hour for the first visit to see how it goes.'

‘Okay. Well, I'm easy. You choose a time.'

‘How would two p.m. Wednesday suit?'

‘That would be great. I'll look forward to it,' he said, scrawling a note on the nearest piece of paper.

‘As will we,' Mrs Timms said.

‘Is there any paperwork I need to fill out or anything beforehand?'

‘No, that's okay. We'll just play it casual.'

Even better, Damien thought. Esperance was already starting to generate a hell of a lot of paperwork. He hung up, feeling decidedly chipper. Another step in the right direction. Yippee! He'd take Bob and Cara too. They were just the right height to sit beside a chair or wheelchair for a pat. They'd never spent any time inside, but they were smart and followed basic commands – well, most of the time. Damien refused to entertain the notion that his visit could turn into something resembling a scene out of a National Lampoon movie. Though, if it did, the oldies couldn't complain they hadn't been entertained or hadn't had an interesting interlude to their day. He grinned to himself. He hoped Jemima wouldn't disgrace him by leaving a smelly deposit on their commercial carpet squares. Though she hadn't had any diarrhoea for days now and was regularly leaving nice piles of firm little pellet-shaped poo. And if Jemima wasn't keen to entertain the oldies of the district and submit to having bony, arthritic fingers poking and prodding her and being run through her fur, then Squish was sure to be happy to oblige. Damien idly wondered if he could teach the dog some tricks to entertain them with. And perhaps the facility might like one or two of the kittens when they were old enough and had been desexed. Jacqueline was all for pets as therapy.

He wished he could go and discuss these things with her. The more he thought about it, two years was a bloody long time. But he had no choice, he'd just have to keep busy. No worries there, he thought, picturing his growing to-do list. God he was getting good at lists. He couldn't believe he'd tried all those years to keep so much in his brain. No wonder he'd become a bit unhinged – his bloody head had been full of stuff it didn't need to be full of. He was probably actually becoming a little obsessive with his list-making, but figured there were worse problems to have. And anyway, they helped keep him organised. Organised? Him? Who would have thought? He wished again that he could share all these revelations with Jacqueline and get more of her insights. She really was a smart cookie, as his father would have said. Damien thought they'd make a pretty good team if given the chance.

God, I've really got to stop thinking about her
.

Chapter Nine

Ethel and Jacqueline set off nice and early for Hope Springs so they could have a bit of a tour of the area. Jacqueline had only visited the town the day she'd driven through on her way to Wattle Creek. Now, as they drove into the wide main street, she marvelled at what a pretty little town it was: lovely old homes and a few larger commercial buildings all in beautiful pale stone. The place was generally very neat and tidy, and the parking area in the middle of the street was adorned with large trees that she guessed were probably Norfolk Island pines. There were two old limestone hotels on corners – one at one end of the main shopping strip in the main street and the other overlooking the small harbour. It was really quite the perfect seaside setting.

As they drove around and explored the town more, Jacqueline became a little disappointed. Just a street or two back from the hub, the town became bare, paddock-sized blocks with brown weeds waving in the breeze or industrial-sized sheds in shiny steel and various shades of Colorbond. Everything was so desolate, brown and parched. She much preferred Wattle Creek, where more people seemed interested in gardening and keeping a green lawn.

They were too late for the local artists' exhibition running in the second storey of the institute and to visit the café-slash-haberdashery-slash-homewares store for a coffee. Ethel apologised profusely for not checking, she had just assumed that everything would be still be open later because of daylight saving. She explained that during the summer holidays, the town's population swelled threefold. Now school was back in, Hope Springs was back to being its sleepy self.

They went into the small convenience store that was also the takeaway shop and newsagent. They were greeted by a cheery ‘Good evening,' and a broad smile that Jacqueline couldn't help returning. It was infectious. Ethel brought a copy of
The Advertiser
and Jacqueline the
Woman's Day
to while away the next half-hour or so. The town didn't have its own paper – its news was covered by the weekly
Wattle Creek Chronicle
.

Being in the store with its creaking floorboards, grey and shiny from over a century of feet coming and going, reminded Jacqueline of her own summer holidays as a child, when she and all the other kids around her age in her street hung out together and would visit the corner store to blow their pocket money on bags of mixed lollies. She felt really old when she peered into the glass case behind a handwritten sign that read,
Mixed lollies $2
, and saw just how small the bags were. In her day, twenty cents would have bought more than that!

She licked her lips as she spied the stainless steel milkshake mixer and line of pump nozzles attached to huge bottles of flavourings.

‘Do you fancy one, dear?' Ethel asked, following her line of sight.

‘Sorry? What?' Jacqueline said.

‘Milkshake? You were licking your lips.'

‘Was I?' Jacqueline said, blushing slightly. ‘Oh, no, I couldn't.' Jacqueline hadn't had a milkshake since … Well, she couldn't recall when she'd last had a milkshake. Eons ago, most likely.

‘Well, I am,' Ethel said forcefully. ‘I haven't had one for donkey's years. Owen, I'll have a strawberry milkshake with the works, thanks – and a …?' she said, nudging Jacqueline. ‘Come on, won't kill you. My treat.'

Oh, why the hell not!
‘Chocolate, thanks,' she said to Owen, who was patiently waiting with a pink anodised aluminium milkshake cup in hand. ‘And let me get these. It's the least I can do, since you've driven me.'

‘Well, I'm not one to argue, so if that's what you prefer, thank you very much.'

Not one to argue, my foot,
Jacqueline thought with a smirk.

They drove to the end of the street and sat overlooking the harbour, watching a few boats come in – some small private vessels and some clearly larger commercial enterprises. Most likely belonging to the oyster farmers that had made the town famous right around Australia, and probably beyond. It was nice to sit calmly and watch the world go by.

Jacqueline was a bit nervous about her talk. She always was. Not hugely, just a little jittery; enough to keep her on her toes and not become complacent, she always thought. It had been what her dad had said when she'd once complained of nerves before one of her university tutorial presentations, despite having done several. He'd hoped she'd never totally quell the butterflies because if she did, it would mean she'd have lost her respect for her subject and her audience. She could see his point. A part of Jacqueline hoped the milkshake wouldn't leave her feeling sick. Another didn't care – it was oh so good.

Ethel was clearly enjoying her blast from the past as well. ‘Sorry in advance for my slurping like a child, but it has to be done,' she said with a grin as she sucked on her straw and moved it about, trying to get every last drop.

Jacqueline laughed. ‘I was wanting to do that, but thought I'd better not.'

‘Can't not, the best bits are at the bottom,' Ethel said with a laugh.

‘They are! Just hope my nerves don't cause me to throw it all up.'

‘You'll be fine. Might be good for you to have your stomach lined so well. Well, miss, guess we'd better present you before we start getting frantic phone calls,' Ethel said, starting the car.

Jacqueline was given a warm welcome by the CWA President, Mrs Lisa Bishop, who explained they'd opened the evening to all the women of the district, and any who were visiting for the summer holidays. She was then taken onto the stage and introduced to the audience of at least one hundred ladies of various ages seated on rows of old wooden chairs. The room was nice and cool – clearly the building had been shut up for several days and the warm weather kept out.

Jacqueline's spiel was similar to what she'd used for each of her other community talks, she just tailored it a bit to the particular audience with the examples or stories she told. She didn't use notes; she was talking about herself and the profession she was passionate about – she could talk for hours unaided. She didn't see herself as a comedian by any stretch, but was usually able to get a few chuckles from her audiences by uttering some self-deprecating stories. It was important for her growing business to be seen as down-to-earth and approachable. And she'd seen that country people saw through any inauthenticity and bullshit as quickly as a hot knife went through butter.

Tonight, as always, she talked about how a psychologist could help with a problem and that it wasn't the same as airing one's dirty linen. Everything spoken about within the walls of her office remained confidential. At least this time around, Jacqueline had the benefit of a little more knowledge of why she thought people were reluctant to seek professional help: they didn't like to show themselves as being weak. From what she'd seen – and heard from Ethel and Damien and a few others – country people generally seemed a very resourceful group. They wanted to sort out their problems on their own. To seek help was to show weakness or to complain. And another thing country people tended not to do was openly complain.

Once she explained that to seek help might actually be seen as being smart – using all the resources available – she left the subject so it might sink in, and turned to a lighter topic. She spoke about her tidy life, tidy mind principle and how lists could help to make an overwhelming amount of things to do feel a lot more manageable.

Finally she got to her favourite subject of learning to listen to one's intuition or inner voice more to avoid making mistakes that turned into regrets. Intuition, she explained, was there to protect you. It was your soul, governed by the universe – or God, if that's where your faith lay. Personally, Jacqueline detested organised religion – it was control through fear, in her opinion. But she kept her religious views to herself. She was very spiritual, it just didn't manifest itself in her through being Catholic, Anglican, or whatever. While she'd been raised to believe religious and political views should not be openly discussed, she'd also learnt that a high percentage of country people still went to church each week. It was important to have faith in something – even if it was yourself, your ability to get through what life tossed your way or that the universe – or God, if that was your view – would have your back. This she did say.