The Patterson Girls (9 page)

Charlie looked up from where she'd been polishing glasses behind the bar and her heart halted in her throat. Mitch McDonald—her childhood best friend and the only person she'd really missed aside from her parents since leaving Meadow Brook eight years ago. Dumping the glass and polish cloth on the bar, she ran around it and launched herself at him.

‘Long time no see.' He chuckled as he enveloped her in his muscular arms. She caught a whiff of his unique scent—a comforting combo of wood shavings and coffee—as they hugged in the way of long-lost friends. It had only been six months since she'd seen him at her mum's funeral, but it felt like a lot longer. After a few long moments, he peeled her off. She slithered to the ground and he looked into her eyes. ‘Hey kiddo.'

She rolled her eyes and punched him on the arm. He was five months older than her but he'd called her that as long as she could remember. ‘Lucinda said you were here last night. Why didn't you come into the house?'

‘I was letting you have time with your sisters.'

Another eye roll. ‘You know I'd rather hang with you over them any day.' At least Mitch understood her. He'd never made her feel lame because she chose to be a vegetarian, didn't have a university degree and had a few unconventional ideas. ‘Can I get you a drink?'

He winked. ‘Only if you'll have one too and come out into the courtyard with me.'

She grinned. ‘Does that line work on all the ladies?'

He shrugged an I-can't-help-it-if-I'm-gorgeous shrug. ‘Pretty much.'

Truth was Mitch had been the ugly duckling at high school and although he'd grown from a nerdy beanpole into a tall, dark-haired, muscular, hot truckie-cum-handyman of a guy, it still baffled him when women showed interest. He'd often joked to Charlie that aside from her and her sisters, he didn't know how to talk or act around women. But if the word about town was correct, he knew enough.

Grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge, Charlie called through to the restaurant where Madeleine and Lucinda were folding napkins for tomorrow's breakfast service. ‘Can you guys watch the bar for a few minutes?'

They looked up, nodded and then went back to their business. It wasn't a huge ask considering the restaurant was now closed and the bar empty besides Dad, a few of his old cronies, and Abigail who was playing pool with two young blokes in the corner. They either hadn't heard about the band on at the pub or had decided Abigail was better entertainment. Charlie wondered what her boyfriend would think about that.

She carried the bottles over to the door that led into the courtyard and Mitch opened it for her. As the door clunked shut behind them, they wandered over to the old cement picnic tables that had been the only furniture in the sparse courtyard for as long as she could remember. Although it was dark, the gentle breeze still held the warmth of the scorching summer day. Charlie perched on the table and Mitch straddled one of the benches. They each took a slug of their beers and then sat in silence a few moments, appreciating the time to just chill and be together again.

‘So, what have you been up to lately, Donald?' Charlie asked, using the nickname he'd gotten in high school. He hated it and she'd never use it in public but when it was just the two of them, she had fun riling him.

‘You call me that again and I'll throw you over my shoulder and run down the main street shouting, “You've been a bad, bad girl.”'

He would too. She curbed her grin. ‘Fine, what have you been up to lately,
Mitchell
?'

‘The usual … Driving, making stuff, helping Macca on the farm and visiting Dad in the nursing home.'

Charlie heard his voice hitch on the last bit. ‘How is your dad?'

Mitch shrugged. ‘He tries to keep his spirits up and so I try to be positive when I visit, but it's hell watching him slowly deteriorate. And I feel guilty that I don't get in to see him as much as I should. After everything he's done for me, I—'

‘Aw, Mitch.' Charlie felt a lump swell in her throat. Mitch had been inseparable from his dad ever since his mum ran out on them when Mitch was only four. Rick McDonald was a truckie, and had often worked long hours, so when they were growing up Mitch had frequently come home with Charlie after school and hung out at the motel. ‘You must get lonely at home on your own.'

He shot her a look. ‘You can put away your violin, Charles. I find
company
when I need it.'

‘Sex isn't the same as family.'

‘Nah, but it's a pretty damn good substitute.'

Charlie felt heat rush to her cheeks and thanked the Lord it was dark so Mitch couldn't see it. She found she didn't like thinking about Mitch's carnal encounters, but maybe that was just because she hadn't had any of her own for quite some time. ‘Lucinda also said you've been keeping an eye on Dad,' she said, wedging her beer bottle between her knees. ‘Thanks.'

‘Lucinda's a bit of a tattletale,' he said, taking another swig.

Charlie chuckled; Lucinda had always been the one to tell their parents if one of the sisters had done anything naughty. ‘Maybe, but the fact remains we appreciate it.'

‘It's nothing. Brian always treated me like part of the family. It's no hardship popping in and having a beer with him. It's my way of saying thanks for putting up with me all these years.'

She laughed, then sobered. ‘So, how do you think he's doing?'

There was a moment's pause, as if Mitch was deciding between telling the truth or protecting her from it. ‘Not that good. It's like he's on autopilot at the motel, and I'm not sure he's looking after his health that well either.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I don't think he's eating much—although Mrs Sampson tries her best to feed him up—and he's drinking a fair bit.'

‘Ah shit.' Charlie sighed. ‘Maybe I should have come home after Mum died.'

‘You did.'

‘Not just for the funeral. I meant for an extended period. We left Dad to cope with his grief by himself.'

Mitch reached up and put a hand on Charlie's knee. ‘Don't beat yourself up. Annette's death was a shock to all of you. I think your dad just needs a little more time. The stress of running the motel on his own probably hasn't helped.'

‘Exactly,' Charlie persisted. ‘I should have come home and helped with that.'

‘Hey, what about your sisters?' he reprimanded. ‘I didn't see any of them moving back either.'

‘That's different. Lucinda couldn't very well up and leave her husband and Madeleine and Abigail have more important jobs than I do.'

‘I object,' he said. ‘Playing the violin is definitely not more important than making coffee or uplifting the spiritual wellbeing of others through fitness.'

She laughed.

‘In fact,' he continued, ‘I would pay Abigail
not
to play the violin. I'd rather listen to an orchestra of tomcats fighting in the night. But I'd be quite happy to watch you and a bunch of other hot women hula-hooping.'

Charlie whacked him playfully again. ‘Don't let Abigail hear you saying that. She'll scratch your eyes out.'

‘Noted. So, aside from the dad issue, any other Patterson family gossip I need to know about?'

Charlie opened her mouth to say ‘nah' but the word died on her tongue. ‘Actually,' she said, leaning forward slightly, ‘there was a little bit of excitement this arvo.'

‘Do tell.' He grinned the grin that made women's insides quiver.

‘Apparently we have a family curse,' she announced, waiting for his reaction.

His hand froze on the way to his mouth, the bottle hanging there. ‘A what?'

She loved the way his eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Well,' she began, ‘Dad asked us to sort through Mum's stuff and we found this wedding card that kinda warned her to be careful of the Patterson curse. None of us had ever heard of such a thing before and so we asked Dad. He got a bit weird and told us he'd promised Mum never to tell us about it.'

‘Bizarre.' He cocked his head to one side. ‘Do you believe in curses?'

She pondered this a moment and then shrugged. ‘I think maybe I do, but I've never thought much about them. Madeleine and Abigail are desperate to find out but Lucinda thinks we should respect Dad's wishes and let it rest.'

Mitch pointed his bottle at her. ‘What do you think?'

She shrugged. ‘I'm vaguely curious but I don't want to upset Dad. And I'm not sure what good knowing would do anyway.'

‘I wonder what type of curse it is? Do you want me to ask my old man if he remembers any local gossip about it?'

‘Nah, it's okay.' Although she thought she believed in the possibility of curses, she'd meant it when she told Abigail that sometimes knowledge could be dangerous. Whatever the curse, it was unlikely to be a good one. How often did you hear about a curse that bestowed good luck upon its recipients?

They sipped their beers and over the next hour or so Mitch caught Charlie up on local gossip—who'd gotten married, had babies, left town, come back, run off with so-and-so's wife. Charlie sent birthday and Christmas cards and Mitch shot off the occasional text message, but they didn't see or speak to each other on a regular basis. Still, when they were together, it was like they'd never been apart.

Eventually the door to the motel opened and Madeleine appeared, her body a tall, slim silhouette against the light from inside. ‘Are you guys coming to church?'

‘Yes.' Charlie leapt off the table and grabbed Mitch's hand. ‘Come on.'

He groaned. ‘Do I have to?'

Before Charlie could reply, they heard the painful sounds of a very tipsy Abigail singing
Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
. Mitch snorted and laughed. ‘If she's coming, this should be interesting.'

The three of them went back inside to find Abigail dancing on the pool table, her two drunken suitors getting their jollies every time she twirled and her skirt flew up.

Lucinda was trying to yell at them over the top of Abigail's noise. ‘Closing time boys. Time to head back to wherever you come from.' She shooed them with her hands like they were a couple of pesky mosquitoes.

‘We're not ready to go yet,' one of them moaned.

‘Tough.' Lucinda glared at them. Her tone—the one Charlie imagined she used on naughty six-year-old boys—worked. Clutching each other for support, the young men staggered out to where Madeleine was now holding open the door.

‘Night, boys.' Madeleine waved as they walked past.

When the door shut behind them, Lucinda looked up at Abigail. ‘Get down,' she said sternly.

Mitch and Charlie exchanged amused glances. He leaned close to her and whispered, ‘I'd get down if I was her. Lucinda has always made me quake in my boots.'

Abigail obeyed, but voiced her objections loudly. ‘No one ever lets me have any fun. Those boys were cute.'

Lucinda grabbed hold of her elbow to steady her. ‘And is your boyfriend cute as well?'

Abigail looked momentarily nonplussed and then said, ‘Oh, yes, he is. Very much so.' She straightened up and dusted herself off. Her words were slurred when she asked, ‘Are we still going to church?'

‘Where's Dad?' Charlie realised he'd been quiet during the commotion. In years past if Abigail had even scraped a fingernail over the top of his pool table, he'd have burst an artery.

‘Over there.' Madeleine pointed to the corner, where he was crashed out in an armchair, his chest heaving slowly up and down and his mouth wide open. His friends must have gone home.

‘Do you think we should wake him?' Lucinda asked.

Charlie was torn. Midnight mass was their mum's thing and although none of them were very enthusiastic about attending, doing this together would be good for them. ‘Let's try.'

‘I think I'm going to be sick,' Abigail pronounced, rushing for motel's conveniences.

Lucinda frowned after her. ‘Maybe we should leave her behind.'

Madeleine sighed angrily and rubbed the side of her forehead as if this was all too much.

Charlie crossed the room to their father, knelt down next to his chair and gently shook his shoulder. ‘Dad, wake up. Do you want to come to church?'

Despite the softness of her voice, he opened his eyes, blinked. ‘Must have dozed off a moment. What time is it?'

‘Time to go to mass. Are you up for it?'

He took a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, I think your mother would expect us to.'

Halfway through the midnight mass, a chill ran down Lucinda's spine as she heard the piercing cry of a newborn baby in one of the pews behind her. What kind of parents brought a tiny baby out so late? She glanced along the row at the blank faces of her father and sisters—Abigail in her drunken stupor had fallen asleep—and past them at the families on the other side of the aisle.
Lots
of parents if the number of kids in the church were anything to go by. And none of those little cherubs looked comfortable. Half were fast asleep in their parents' arms, the other half were whining and squirming.

She let out a deep sigh. If only she and Joe would hit the pregnancy jackpot, she'd be such a good mum. As a good Catholic daughter-in-law, of course she'd take her children to mass regularly but she'd never bring them out way past their bedtime in the name of tradition. It would be a different thing if these people actually attended church regularly but, like herself, most of them were Christmas and Easter churchgoers.

She shook her head, disgusted at her judgemental thoughts and not wanting to feel like this tonight. Coming to midnight mass on Christmas Eve had always been a special occasion for her family and she'd wanted to feel the warmth of those memories, but being here without Mum only felt wrong. Although the five of them were almost squished into their pew, it still felt like there was a gaping hole where Annette had always sat.