The Quilt (8 page)

Chapter 6

“Jean and Sean Clarke”

The days were long and hot by the time the first shearing gang arrived at Twin Pines.  They took up residence in the new shearing quarters on a Friday morning and by that evening the shiny new wooden slatted floor was stained with lanolin from the thick wool fleece. 

Riv
ulets of sweat ran down the faces and stained the backs of the transient shearers. They expertly removed the clean fleece with sharp blades appearing to work without hesitation despite the stifling summer heat. The fleece was then pushed down through the sheds portholes to the waiting hands below and the shearer moved on to the next animal.

On the slatted floor below
the fleece was taken from the chutes by the wool handlers.  They sorted and removed any dirty fleece before pressing it into large brown bales ready for grading and sale.

Other workers he
rded the sheep in the pens, whistling to control the movement of their dogs.  Twin Pines was alive with the sound of thousands of bleating sheep, the whirl of clippers and the barking of working dogs with their pink tongues lolling as they jumped from one ewe’s back to the next.  The occasional curse or the sound of good natured teasing broke through the sound of the organized chaos.  

Sean returned late in the afternoon.  He had been fixing a fence that had been in need of tensioning for some time.  He had also moved the dwindling herd of Angus cattle to new fresh pasture.  They would soon be ready for sale, and beef prices were at an all-time high.

As always
, Sean saw to the dogs needs first.  He gave them each an individual few minutes of attention, a full bowl of food and checked their water was fresh and cool. He wearily made his way past the stacked brown bales, pausing to sniff the unfamiliar odour that assaulted him in the now damp trampled yards.   

The workers
sat sprawled across the linoleum floor.  Each man was holding cold beer with several surrounded by empty bottles.   The conversation paused briefly when Sean entered the building.  He stood in the doorway enjoying the familiar aroma of fresh hearty stew. He remembered a time when his mother had stood at the coal range stirring bubbling pans of fragrant meat. 

A woman stood banishing a wooden spoon.  She gave the impression of being in her mid-twenties although could have been much younger.    She was tall and athletic.  Her hair was wavy, unruly and the color of ash.

S
he turned around suddenly, laughing and pointing the wooden spoon at one of the men, firing back a quick response to the light hearted teasing she had received from the shearers. A lock of uncontrolled hair fell over her sharp intelligent almond-shaped eyes.  Sean’s gaze met their hazel depths.  Her round honest face broke into an open genuine smile and she extended a calloused hand.  Not the skin of a woman afraid of work. 

“Hi
, I’m Jean Hollingway.  My father, David, is building your house.  He thought you might need a hand.”

The s
hearing gang roared with laughter but neither Jean nor Sean were listening. 

Without question Jean arrived at Twin Pines to cook for the workers. Without complaint she slid easily into the routine.  She made delicious pots of stew, mutton roasts, cottage pie with the leftovers, baked loaves of bread, scones and cold meat sandwiches all good hearty food to keep the tired men happy.  She never asked for thanks, it wasn’t in her nature.  There was a job that needed doing and a person that needed help, she was more than happy to give her time.

When the shearing gang had moved on to their next job, Jean still turned up to help.  She always carried sweet smelling treats and nourishing meals.

As the framing for
the new house went up Sean politely listened to Jean when she shyly made suggestions for the building.

As the roof went on and the locals turned up for the traditional roof shout he
paid attention when she made suggestions.

As the bricks
went on and the insulation was installed, as the walls were gibed and stopped, Sean listened to her suggestions and encouraged Jean to choose the wallpapers, carpet and drapes. 

The spring lambs and dry stock cattle were finished and ready for the pre- Christmas sales. They drafted the lambs into two lots, with the larger and heavier mob fetching a local record price for the season.

The days shortened and
autumn’s slight chill came on the breeze.

Jean and Sean had found an easy familiar comfort in each
other’s company.  Jean no longer hesitated before speaking; she no longer spoke softly or spoke with any hint of shyness. 

I
t was in this first autumn that Jean put forward the idea of the large man-made ponds.  Of creating rustic private places, established and planted to allow thought and rest, with no compromise to practicality or profit. 

Before the first sp
ade turned the earth, she visualized the oaks, claret, elms and maples displaying their brilliant reds, gold’s and scarlet’s providing pleasure each and every autumn.

Autumn was tupping, repairs and maintenance.  They moved the dry stacks of macrocarpa, ti tree and pine firewood closer to the house in preparation for the bleak high country winter.

It was
in that first autumn that Sean had proposed to Jean. 

The
King Country suffered a harsh winter.  Stock was moved to higher ground as rivers raged and deep crippling snow seemed to be followed by relentless rain or gale force winds.  The huge fireplace in the house was stoked all day to provide a welcome refuge from the conditions outside.  Romance blossomed in front of the warm friendly flicker of that fire.  They had been a couple from the very first time they met. 

W
ith relief the end of winter approached and the ewes were brought in, vaccinated and crutched in preparation for spring lambing. The cycle was about to begin again.

In the early summer of 1951 Jean and Sean were married in the small local chapel.
There was no one in the Clarke family left to attend.  The Saunders remained too deeply affected by Anne’s unexplained disappearance to celebrate the marriage of their only grandson.  The jovial Hollingway’s filled the tiny room to witness the marriage and welcome Sean into his first real family. 

Chapter 7

“
Jean, Sean and Paul Clarke”

In the plan of nature, a species survival relies on the nurturing protective environments into which the young are born.  Why then, is it so often the couples most suited to parenthood, with the most well thought out plans and with the most to offer a child that have the most problems bringing new life into the world?

The months faded to years.   At last, just before Jean turned thirty years of age she tested positive for pregnancy.
The couple sat beside the picturesque pond looking at the reds and gold of the leaves.  The tree’s reflected on the surface of the still water as they sipped homemade lemonade and watched the dragonflies skimming across the shining silvered surface. This was their celebration. 

Five weeks later the couple again sat besid
e the reflective water of the pond. 

Already most of the spectacular leaves had fallen, leaving stark ghostly branches nude in preparation for winter. 
The dragonflies skimmed across the surface as Jean sobbed on her husband’s shoulder mourning the loss of their unborn child.

Now in her mid-thirties Jean sat impatiently in the office of the local doctor.  She had been vomiting for a few weeks and the constant nausea had pushed her reluctantly into town.

“Jean
,” the doctor repeated.

“You are pregnant.  And y
ou are already into your second trimester.”

“You must be mistaken.  We
decided not to try again after my miscarriage five years ago.  Are you sure?”

He smiled.  He liked Jean and Sean
Clarke and had always felt it was a pity they seemed destined to live without children of their own.

“Yes
, Jean, I am sure. You are definitely pregnant and we will want to monitor you carefully this time.  Don’t go overdoing it.  I know you are busy out there on Twin Pines and in the community.   But you have to look after yourself and your baby.  Even if that means others have to look after some of your work. OK?”

They were both cautious as they greeted the news.  Sean held his wife’s hand when she confirmed her pregnancy.

“Do you want to go and sit down at the pond?”

“No
, I don’t want to celebrate until he is born.”

“What makes you so sure that it is a he?”

“I just am.”

A universal sigh of relief greeted baby Paul as he entered the world, screaming to announce his arrival.  Wrapped tightly to ward off the evening chill, Paul made his first visit to the pond when he was only one week old.

If Jean was only to have one child it seemed nature had taken the very best of their features and traits and given them all to Paul. 

Paul
towered over his peers as an athletic teenager.  He inherited the Clarke’s broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes, his mother’s unruly mouse colored hair, the patience of his father, the intelligence and business sense of his grandfather and grand uncle and the humor of the Hollingways.

He was one of those rare individuals that excelled at anything he
chose to do.  Sports, in particular, but he was also a high achiever academically.  Paul was a natural leader and genuinely unaware of his good looks or popularity which seemed to make him even more attractive to the girls in the area.

The one thing he did not seem to have inherited was the families’ obsessive love of Twin Pines.  He enjoyed his upbringing, he enjoyed the rural life and working with the stock and the dogs,
he loved dangling his line in the crystal clear streams and smoking fat rainbow trout in brown sugar and salt over manuka sawdust, he loved hunting and the clean crisp air of the mountains, but he knew Twin Pines didn’t hold the answer to all his long-term dreams. 

It was in the fifth form of
high school that Leslie had come into Paul’s life. Demanding and spoilt, she skipped through college aiming to be the center of attention.  

Leslie
had always been accustomed to getting what she wanted.

Today was one of the first oc
casions that what she wanted had slipped out of her reach.

Paul stood motionless at a cob web covered window.  He watched the spiraling dust cloud of the taxi as it made its way out of the Twin Pines gate. 

He briefly
wondered why all he felt was numbness.  As his jumbled brain scrambled to make sense of the day, he opened the medical kit and washed down pain relief for his hangover.  He patted Jess softly on the top of her head and then crawled back into bed. 

Section Two
JOANNE

Chapter 8

“Joanne, Stephen and Sandy”

“Get out of bed you lazy sod,” snarled Joanne as she jabbed her long finger into her fiancé’s exposed ribcage.

Stephen
groaned and rolled over, slinging an olive skinned arm above his head.

“Come back to bed
,” he slurred smiling, lazy and, as always, seductive.

“Y
ou know Sandy is coming in today. I’ve explained how important this is to me.  She is my closest friend and she is only here for two days to be measured for her bridesmaids dress.”

She dropped her voice.

“
Please can you try and give her a good first impression? At least get out of bed and have a shower.”

Joanne glanced down at the delicate
watch that sat snuggly on her narrow wrist.  Hell is that the time already?

“
I’m already running late so I’ll see you when I get back from the airport.”

She sent Stephen a last pleading look but his eyes were closed and his lips pressed in a smug and irritating smirk.  Why did he always have to be difficult?

Perhaps a bucket of water would help.  She smiled at the thought, it was tempting but unfo
rtunately it would wreck her new bed and bedding. Another thing she had purchased, another thing Stephen had not contributed to financially.

Sandy looked down on the crystal aqua waters and white sand beach that stretched out like a horse shoe beneath her.  The small plane was making its final approach into Nelson airport.  It was only a short flight from Auckland city in the North Island to Nelson in the South Island but the rapidly changing landscapes made the trip feel much longer.  It was like a time lapsed film, dedicated to the diversity of the world’s fast changing terrain.

Half way t
hrough her flight, the vulgar and obese suited man sitting in the aisle seat, had finally irritated Sandy enough to cause a reaction.  She had to admit, she had been in a dark mood before she had even boarded.  She had emerged reluctantly from the warmth of her bed to meet the early morning flight and the previous night had had to work late, waiting on the drunks that frequented the inner city wine bar.   

He
was staring like a besotted puppy, fascinated by this colourful creature, flaming red hair in waves half way down her back, green eyes slanted like a feral cat, outrageous blue eye shadow and, truthfully, the biggest set of tits he had ever seen.

He certainly hadn’t been sensitive enough to read the messages Sandy’s body language had clearly sent. 
  In fact, he had smiled hopefully when her green eyes had fixed him with an acid glare.  His sweating jowls had parted slowly around greying crooked teeth and his tongue had suggestively run around the perimeter of his soft moist lips.

The vulgar smile had frozen when Sandy snarled abuse.  She was accustomed to dealing with the unwanted advances of elderly drunks and lonely souls at the wine bar.
  The startled looks from the stewardess and embarrassed glances from passengers did nothing to quieten Sandy.  Sandy really didn’t care.

The fat man retreated back
into his newspaper, positioning his huge frame into the smallest possible space it could occupy.

How dare she accuse him of being a pervert! Bloody tiger!

Joanne had dressed in her normal, tidy conservative clothing.  Tight blue jeans enveloped her long graceful legs, feet tucked into long spotless black boots, a crisp white tailored shirt tucked in to show off a thin leather belt worn elegantly around her tiny waste. 

At
over five foot ten inches Joanne could have had successful career as a model on the catwalk. Her long hair was streaked a natural honey blonde.  Like her mother, Joanne didn’t need dye to add highlights.  Joanne’s eyes were a startling slate grey.  Deep windows that reflected her moods and altered depending on what colour she was wearing.  Unlike her mother, she wore very little makeup and didn’t seem to notice the heads that turned to watch her.

The flamboyant Sandy erupted through the airport doors.  Sandy was a spectacular display of clashing vibrant colours parting the monochromatic sea of black, white and grey suits.   Her tiny  tube dress barely covered her generous backside, the scooping tie-died, hot pink top revealed a purple lacy bra, a chunky string of red  plastic beads adorned Sandy’s neck, sitting against her pale skin like plump ripe cherries.  To complete the eccentric display, fishnet stockings tucked into long, black cowboy boots.  All eyes were on this exotic creature mincing her way through the rows of plastic seats.  

Joanne
shuddered and scanned the waiting faces hoping none of her conservative clients were amongst the milling crowd.  Hadn’t she asked Sandy to make an effort to blend in? 

Near the line of customers waiting patiently to collect their rental cars was a
n unpleasant fat man.  He wore a suit that was far too tight, its buttons straining to maintain their fragile hold on the large expanse of flesh.  He nodded knowingly as Sandy shrieked and elbowed her way towards the statuesque blonde.

Political c
andidate, Brent Forward, swatted at imaginary lint on his sleeve.  He smiled as the confidence flowed back through his veins.  It all made sense. If the hostile redhead had been normal she would have responded to his advances.  He would certainly support that bill when he had influence.

A few minutes later he
waddled past, hesitating long enough for the crowd and a waiting reporter to recognize him.  It would be a missed opportunity if he did not issue a quick message showing his support of correct moral behaviour. 

“Lesbians,” he snapped, revealing his grey chipped teeth.  Joanne felt the warmth and colour rise in her cheeks and turned to respond to the unexpected and seemingly unprovoked verbal attack. The politician had already been absorbed by the crowd, guided away by a concerned public relations officer.

Sandy had arrived with the calmness of a meteorite landing on conservative Nelson city.

When Joanne had rung to say she had met someone special, someone who looked like a Greek God,
who was an artist and had recently held a public exhibition featuring his work, Sandy had greeted the news with caution. 

She had always imagined Joanne settl
ing down with a lawyer or a barrister like herself.  Someone that was solid, academic and educated.    A successful man that was confident enough not to be intimidated by her looks or ambition. 

An artist
, that was a surprize enough, but an artist that seemed to have achieved little success.  Surely it wouldn’t last.  Perhaps Joanne was enjoying a passionate relationship based on a wild sex life. 

San
dy giggled, no, that was not likely to be the answer.

Joanne had many qualities and talents. But
passion, spontaneous laughter and uninhibited fun were buried under the thick concrete exterior of her upbringing.

Sandy recalled it had been almost six months since the subject of Stephen had been introduced.  She had impatiently answered the telephone. Actually, she had considered not answering it but the ring went on and on insisting there was some urgency until she was forced to lift the receiver.

A
half-naked man with his arm draped over her massive breast had frowned disapproval at the interruption.

“
What do you want?” she had snapped.

“
Joanne, sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.  Hi how are things going?”

Sandy winked at the man lying next to her.
  What was his name again?  Michael, Mathew? No Matt, that was it.

“Congratulations.  Of course
, I’d love to be your bridesmaid!  Can I help design the dress?”

“That is hardl
y a fair comment!  It would not be orange or green!” she laughed loudly sending the half-naked man scuttling towards the far side of the massive bed.

The mention of commitment
in a conversation with an unknown stranger at the other end of the line was making him nervous.

“I’ll book my flights tomorrow and let you know when I’ll arrive. 
Work is slow and it’s about time I met this wonder man of yours.”

Sandy hung up.  The mood had vanished and
she looked reproachfully at the lean, wiry stranger lying across her filthy sheets.

“Michael
?”

H
e glanced up and frowned.

“S
orry, Matt.”

T
hat was  embarrassing. 

T
oo many men, too many names, what was a girl to do?

“I think you should leave.”

He didn’t question why, he just looked relieved.  A boy being dismissed from the headmasters office after a reprimand.  A few minutes later the door clicked firmly behind him.

He hadn’t bothered to speak to the crazy redhead again.

“It would be a lot easier if they were a
ll called Michael. Michael One, Michael Two, Michael Three,”  Sandy laughed without humour.

Sandy hardly stopped her conversation as they drove along the coast.  She spoke as she lived.  Fast, without any logical thought that connected her brain to her pouting mouth and seemingly oblivious to the offence she often caused.  Joanne sat back and listened, she had always marvelled at her friend’s ability to question without waiting for a reply and to spill numerous words without any indication she needed to breathe.

In truth
, the only thing the two friends had in common was their love of good pinot gris and New Zealand sauvignon blanc.  They didn’t look the same, they were from completely different backgrounds, had different early life experiences, different morals and different future expectations.  Despite this, their friendship had endured through many years.  In fact, it had often provided the only stable thread grounding them as they went through the difficult stages and the emotional turbulence of adolescence.

Months could pass without Sandy and Joanne talking.  But no matter what had changed, or how much time had passed
, when they were together they would pick up with the easy familiarity of true friendship.  They kept no secrets from each other and shared nothing spoken in confidence.  Every time they met, Joanne felt she had been transported back to the carefree days of boarding school and the time when the saw each other daily without the numerous complications of adulthood.

The small, conservative VW pulled up in a steep and narrow driveway that was retained with a solid moss-covered rock wall.  It widened to form a parking bay for the occupants.

Joanne had spoken only twenty words since they had left the airport.  It fe
lt refreshing to relax and let the nonsense and gossip wash over her.  There was no need to contribute or fill in awkward, stilted silences. She often found it hard to initiate and maintain conversation with Stephen.  He was disinterested in her work and much of her discussion was limited by a need for client confidentiality.  

Stephen and Joanne had rented the
arty little studio flat high above the white sand beach and rolling foam flecked breakers.  Stephen felt inspired by the view and the sound of the ocean and Joanne loved to walk the driftwood covered shoreline to relieve the stress of listening to her client’s problems and miseries.

How could anyone pack such a ridiculously heavy suitcase for just a weekend visit?   Joanne struggled to help unload the bulging bag.  No doubt it was filled with plastic baubles in an offensive rainbow of colour.

“So
, how is the job going?  Is that perv still causing you problems?”

Jo
anne glanced over and saw that Sandy had actually waited for her to reply.

“If I didn’t need this
position as much as I do, Kelvin Wade would be up on a sexual harassment charge.  I’m keeping a diary of the issues just in case I ever need it.”

Joanne cringed as she though
t about the features of the senior partner in the legal firm that employed her.  Her skin crawled when she remembered his “accidental” contact last week and the stale smell of his breath.   She knew it couldn’t go on indefinitely like this. 

Stephen had opened the front door and stood watching as they struggled with the heavy bag. He made no effort to help.  He was enjoying the spectacle of the two women wrestling with the luggage. He was also enjoying the view down Sandy’s top every time she leant over.  Stephen smiled and leant idly against the door frame, a cigarette was dangling from his fingers.  His hair was still in disarray and he smelt vaguely of sweat and sex, his eyes were sleepy and slightly unfocused as they settled, without shame, back on Sandy’s breasts.

S
andy felt herself tense as she summed up the man posing arrogantly in front of her.  She knew she didn’t need a weekend to get to know this creep.  He was just like the other creeps, the numerous ones she took home from the wine bar.    He was a replica of what she slept with when she needed comfort or company.