The Ripple Effect (29 page)

“I can see that, my darling,” Natalie replied.

Joelle sat with the love of her family a palpable force around her. How could she have turned her back on this? Why had she not considered the reasons behind the decision her parents had made? Nothing comes from nothing. There’s a reason for everything. Shay had tried to make her see how selfish and unreasonable she was being. Stan had succeeded. Or maybe it was simply that enough time had elapsed. As it had for her mother.

The secrets were out in the open and their family was the stronger for it.

Except, of course, for the one secret she could never reveal.

Shay returned to the surgery on Tuesday with leaden feet. Kavita greeted him with her usual cheer, the patients presented the usual array of infections, rashes, aches, bumps and lumps. His colleagues, when asked, didn’t produce any arguments against his proposed swap with Cathy O’Brian.

“We’d need to see her credentials, of course,” said Steve, and Jane commented on the desirability of another female doctor on staff.

So, there was no problem with his leaving. Except his own reluctance to put hundreds more kilometres between himself and Joelle. The week plodded on. He procrastinated about contacting Cathy and telling her to send her resumé to Steve. Next week would be soon enough. Cathy would be in touch if she was anxious to get things moving.

Joelle haunted him. In his dreams she wore the expression of dismay and confusion he had deliberately planted there by his carefully calculated indifference on the return journey. The tremulous way she’d asked if somehow she’d done something wrong, replayed itself over and over in his head. The brave smile when they’d said goodbye and she’d thanked him politely for taking her to visit his family insinuated itself into his memory. She was with him every moment of every day. So many times he’d come within a breath of snatching up the telephone to blurt out his love, but always he prevented himself.

Torture.

He lay awake at night telling himself he’d done the right thing, indeed the only possible thing, telling himself he should phone or email Cathy in the morning. He would.

But in the morning, he didn’t.

Almost a fortnight later, Cathy emailed him. When he read the sender name Shay’s heart sank like a stone. Crunch time.

Greetings Doctor Shay,

How are things back in the Big Smoke?

I have good news and bad news regarding our discussion about changing places—depending which way you look at it. The good news is, I’m engaged to be married. The bad news is ( for you) I don’t want to leave my job here after all. My fiancé is a teacher at Tamworth High and we want to buy a block of land in the area and build on it.

I’m sorry to do this to you when I know how keen you are to return to Birrigai but I’m sure something else will come up. You could set up pretty much anywhere you liked, I think.

Best wishes

Cathy O’Brian

Shay stared at the screen, reading and rereading her message. Good news and bad news. Which was it for him?

He pounded out a congratulatory reply with a ‘don’t worry about it’ sentence tacked on and sent it off.

Without the lifelong obsession of finding his sister, Shay’s life seemed almost devoid of meaning. In limbo. He went to work at the surgery and did his shifts at the hospital. He functioned adequately but all with a curious sensation of observing himself from a distance, detached. He thought perhaps it might be a type of grief. Separation from sensation.

Be careful what you wish for in case you get it.

In the paper one empty Saturday morning he read an article about the displaced feeling many soldiers endured upon returning from war. They spent the whole of the war wishing they could go home, yet when they were home the fighting raged on in their minds. Some poor, ravaged souls were never freed of the horrors.

His current situation was in no way comparable to that of a returned warrior but the elusiveness of the desired goal was what resonated. The disappointment of finally achieving the longed-for state, then discovering it fell short or was indescribably different to that which the inventive mind had conjured up in its absence.

Was it better to be living the hell and escaping to the dream of home as heaven or living in safety at home constantly immersed in dreams of hell?

His dream of a loving little sister, forged in childhood and kept pristine was nothing like the reality of the beautiful woman he now loved with all his heart and could never have.

It occurred to him at one point that the search for other relatives had either stalled or reached a dead end. His mother’s comment about the male and female Grayson lineage appeared to be correct by the lack of response to Mel’s mail out. His own advertisements in major metropolitan newspapers had so far failed to elicit a reply, but when several of these contacted him to enquire about continuing his run, he agreed to another month. If anyone at all replied, it would give him a good excuse to ring Joelle.

Did a brother need one to call his sister? Normally, no.

He spent most of that same Saturday afternoon trying to come up with a reasonable reason to phone her after nearly three weeks of silence. He failed but the house benefited from the thorough cleaning he gave it while thinking.

That evening Shay went to a party at a friend’s house in Bondi, a monster affair to cover a housewarming and two birthdays that fell within a week or two of the date. Copious quantities of wine and beer were consumed by all. Shay slept on a divan in the study which was a better fate than that of several other drunken guests who ended up on the living room floor on an array of cushions.

He arrived home at eleven the next morning and went straight to bed—stale smelling, rumpled, sick to the stomach, dry throated and head pounding with the mother and father of all hangovers. The theory of drowning one’s sorrows in alcohol proved incorrect. Joelle stayed with him constantly, drunk or sober, waking or sleeping and probably dead or alive.

At five, he emerged from his bedroom, stumbled downstairs to the shower, and considerably brighter and cleaner twenty minutes later, contemplated food.

A tin of chicken and vegetable soup plus slabs of toast under his belt and Shay was a newish, if slightly seedy, man. He washed and dried his dishes and went to flop on to the couch for the TV news and sports results. A quiet evening in tonight. No more parties like that one for him. For at least a few months. Good thing none of his patients had seen him in action. Or Kavita.

An hour later he got up to make coffee. The answering machine light was flashing. He hadn’t even noticed this morning when he staggered in—too many other coloured lights flashing in his eyes.

Two messages. Joelle? Always the immediate thought. Stupid. She wouldn’t call. He’d frightened her off. Unless something was wrong or they had some news.

He pressed ‘Play’.

“Shay, it’s Mum. I’m just calling to say hello. Nothing’s wrong. Bye, love.”

Shay smiled. She hated his answering machine and always sounded nervous and stiff when she left a message.

“Ring my mobile,” he told her but she argued that the calls were too expensive. “I will if it’s an emergency,” she conceded. This obviously wasn’t an emergency.

The second message clicked on. A man’s voice. Slow-speaking with the familiar, laid-back manner of the outback.

“Uh. G’day. I’m ringing about the ad in the paper? About Emily Grayson? My wife used to know her. I’ll call back later.” Then came a scuffling noise and Shay thought with horror the man was about to hang up. He flung out a hand, about to yell uselessly, ‘No, don’t’ when the voice continued, “Umm. The name’s Nolan. Andrew Nolan.” Another brief silence. “I’ll leave my mobile number. It’s 0402 40…” BEEP. Andrew was axed.

Shay cursed loud and long.

When had Andrew Nolan phoned? The date and time on his machine had long since given up reciting the correct details. This message was announced as 7–45 am Friday. Yesterday evening perhaps, or this morning? He should call again today some time. What if he didn’t? What if he called tomorrow and missed Shay again because he was at work? He’d give up, probably. He wouldn’t realise the importance.

A new message! That’s what he’d do—record a new message giving his mobile number. Shay wrestled with the buttons and instructions for fifteen minutes but successfully recorded another outgoing message. He then retired to the couch with the coffee he’d intended to make earlier. He placed the cordless phone on the coffee table within easy grabbing distance.

Andrew Nolan’s wife knew Emily Grayson. That would make the couple about William and Natalie Paice’s age—maybe younger. In their late forties. Perhaps they went to school together. Why was Andrew ringing instead of his wife?

He should tell Joelle. Shay swung his legs off the couch and was halfway standing before he reconsidered. No. Wait until he had something concrete to tell her. No point her getting excited until he had more information. If the Emily Grayson turned out to be the wrong one she’d be upset and disappointed. He relaxed against the cushions.

Seven-thirty. That would qualify as later if Andrew had rung yesterday evening. It would qualify as later if he’d rung this morning. Shay stared hard at the phone, willing it to ring.

At eight-fifteen he used his mobile to call his mother.

“Someone saw my ad and phoned to say they knew Emily Grayson.”

“Who?” she asked with a rising squeak of surprise.

“Andrew Nolan. Heard of him?”

“No. Hang on I’ll ask Stan.”

A moment later his father’s gruff voice said, “What did this chap have to say?”

“Nothing. My answering machine cut him off before he could leave a contact number.”

“Will he call back?”

“He said he would. He said his wife knew Emily Grayson.”

“Mmm.”

“What?”

“I’m thinking. Nolan. Vaguely familiar but it’s a fairly common name and I did deal with a lot of people on the force.”

“It’s unlikely you’d know him, surely? He might have been phoning from Brisbane for all I know. Anywhere.”

“True. You’ll just have to sit tight and wait for him to call back.”

“I know.”

“How’s Joelle?”

“I haven’t seen her for a while,” Shay said.

“She took my advice and talked to her parents. Got it all straight and things are fine now, she said.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Joelle hadn’t bothered to tell him such a momentous piece of news. His plan had worked spectacularly well. “How do you know?”

“She called to thank us for the visit. She and her sister went round to see the parents the night she got back from her trip out here.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you,” said his father.

“We’re both busy. Time flies. You know how it is,” he said lamely. His father didn’t comment. He accepted and deplored the fact that young city dwellers barely had time to say hello to each other.

“She sent us a plant from her shop as a thank you present. It’s a beauty. She’s a lovely girl.”

“Yes.”

“When will we see you two again?”

“Don’t know, Dad. The swap with Cathy O’Brian fell through.”

“We thought so when we heard about the engagement. She’s very happy. They had a big knees-up at the pub to celebrate. The whole town went.”

“I can imagine.” He injected a note of cheer into his voice to keep his father on this less sensitive topic. “I’m sorry I missed it. I’m sure I’ll find another position. Just might not be in Birrigai.”

“As long as you’re happy, Shay. We’ll be here for you to visit any time you can.”

His mother came back on for further speculation about the mysterious Andrew Nolan interspersed with praise of lovely Joelle and news of the goings on at Cathy’s engagement party. Shay listened and offered non-committal mutterings until she finally said goodnight and hung up.

At eleven, he decided the other call wouldn’t come. He went to bed.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Two agonising days of waiting. Each evening he rushed home from work to check for messages. Nothing. His mobile rang but not with the call he wanted.

By Wednesday, the eagerness of expectation had dulled to an acceptance that Andrew Nolan probably wasn’t going to call back. Perhaps he didn’t realise his message had been cut crucially short and thought Shay wasn’t bothering to return his call. How ironic that would be when here he was in a lather of impatience, which was fast sliding into despair. How lucky he hadn’t told Joelle.

Shay picked up take away Chinese on the way home on Thursday. He had to be at the hospital at eight for his shift. He ate immediately he’d dumped his bag and jacket. No messages. The answering machine sat blank and uncaring.

He forked in fried rice and crispy skin chicken, straight from the containers, without tasting any of it. Not that it mattered, he was only eating because he knew if he didn’t have something in his stomach he wouldn’t be able to concentrate tonight.

The phone rang. Shay swallowed a lump of chicken. Nolan? Unlikely. Probably Mum.

“Shay Brookes.”

“Uh. G’day. My name’s Andrew Nolan. I rang a couple’a days back about an ad you ran?” The laconic voice tailed upward at the end of the phrase, making it a query.

Shay gasped. Words gushed forth in an unstoppable torrent. “Yes, yes. Hello. I’ve been hoping you’d ring back. The answering machine cut the end of your message off or I would’ve called you. Sorry.” He realised he was babbling and came to an abrupt halt.

“That’s okay, mate. No worries.” Nolan’s calm carried through the wires.

Shay steadied himself. It may be a false alarm. “Thanks for ringing again. You mentioned your wife knew Emily Grayson.”

“Yeah. Megan. They grew up in the same street. Meg was older—maybe five or six years but they were pretty close apparently when they were kids. She used to mind Emily sometimes.”

“I wonder if we are talking about the same girl,” said Shay carefully. “The Emily I mean grew up in Toowoomba and her parents were very strict Christians of some sort. Joseph and Rebecca.”

“Yeah. That’s the one. Deal Street. Meg was at 54 and the Grayson’s were opposite at 55. Meg told me about that pair. Sounded pretty rough for young Emily. She was an only child and Meg felt sorry for her. Mind telling me why you’re interested?”