The Valley of Lost Stories Read online

  ‘I don’t think that feeling has ever gone away for me.’

  ‘Well, you have three kids.’

  Nathalie took a deep breath. She still didn’t want to go inside. It was teeming now, the rain a loud thrum against the car roof. She wondered if Emmie was just saying that about leaving. Probably. No one is as bad a mother as me.

  ‘Sometimes I wish I’d only had one, you know. My first is my favourite. You’re not supposed to say that, are you?’ God, she should shut up. Emmie didn’t want to hear what an awful person she was.

  ‘I’d love to have three kids,’ said Emmie, her eyes staring straight ahead. ‘I always wanted three. It was my number, you know?’

  ‘Yeah, it was my number too, until I had them.’ Nathalie laughed but the look on Emmie’s face told her she’d misread something.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Sorry Emmie, I didn’t realise.’ She reached out to touch her shoulder.

  Emmie shook her head fast and a sad smile played on her lips. ‘We’ve been trying for years.’ She laughed lightly. ‘So many babies that never made it.’

  ‘Oh no. I’m so sorry. Sometimes I’m so insensitive.’ She shifted in the car seat, trying to snap her body out of its stupor.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m used to mothers complaining about their children. Being told how smart I am only having one.’

  ‘That must be hard. Or people asking you why only one.’

  ‘Seraphine’s preschool teacher once lectured me about how having only one child was doing Seraphine a disservice. I couldn’t believe it. I let her have her rant and then said, “I’ve had six miscarriages.”’

  ‘Oh Emmie, no.’ Nathalie felt a wash of sorrow mixed with gratitude and guilt. She suddenly felt very sober. ‘I had no idea. How awful for you.’

  Emmie shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.’

  ‘No, no, it’s okay. You’re safe with me. Sometimes just saying it out loud takes the sting out of the pain, you know?’

  ‘I’ve actually started using contraception again. My husband has no idea. He would never in a million years want to give up. But I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t have the hope and then the pain.’

  Nathalie rubbed Emmie’s shoulder. Emmie was crying but her tears were silent, overtaken by the voluminous downpour outside. ‘I’m a terrible person. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.’

  ‘Probably because I said I wanted to just drive away from my life.’

  Emmie laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ She searched in her handbag and found tissues. ‘But I don’t understand how you can have a shit life.’

  Nathalie snorted loudly and shook her head slowly. If ever she was going to tell anyone about Mike, about the shambles she was living beneath the shiny veneer of their lives, this was it. Her inhibitions were loosened and in the cocoon against the downpour she felt safe. She opened her mouth to speak but it wouldn’t come. She closed her mouth. No. She couldn’t. It was too scary. Too close. Her heartbeat too fast.

  ‘Want to go to McDonald’s drive-through? I need a burger,’ she said.

  Emmie gave a teary laugh. ‘I’m more a chocolate thickshake kind of girl.’

  ‘Yeah, I could do one of those, too. I have to sober up.’ Emmie’s estimation of her was probably low now. Imagine, falling asleep in front of all the school mums. She felt a wave of self-loathing.

  Emmie started the car and pulled out from the kerb. The rain had eased.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend having three kids is perfect. I know it’s not. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on having another. I actually want to do something with my life.’ She shot Nathalie a glance. ‘Not that being a mum is not doing something, but if I’m not raising another child, I feel compelled to be achieving something else at least. But I’m not.’

  ‘You’re driving a drunk woman to get McDonald’s. That’s a pretty important public service.’

  Emmie laughed. ‘Maybe I could be an Uber driver for drunk mothers.’

  Nathalie shrugged. ‘Note that I’m not laughing. It would be a legitimate business concern.’

  Emmie went through the drive-through and ordered two burgers and two chocolate thickshakes from a server who sounded like he had just hit puberty. She stopped the car in the car park and turned to Nathalie.

  ‘You know what? I can’t damn well wait until February or whenever it’s going to be for this week away. We’re all desperate for some time away from our lives.’

  Nathalie took a large bite of her burger and spoke through her mouthful. ‘We’re clearly women in crises. Look at us. Well, look at me: drunk and eating burgers on a school night.’

  ‘Let’s get a selfie and text it to the others,’ said Emmie.

  ‘I’m hopeless at selfies.’

  ‘Don’t even. You’re going to look good even with mascara running down your face.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes, but it looks ironic.’

  ‘Oh, okay, is that good?’

  ‘Very.’

  Emmie took the selfie, making sure to get all the takeaway food in it, and captioned it: Clearly we are having a mid-life crisis. And on a school night! Can we just find an Airbnb already and keep our January dates?

  Pen wrote back immediately. Please. It’s going to be impossible to change my holiday dates with work. Oh, and I want burgers!

  Alexandra responded: Yasss, we need this, ladies. Had such a good time tonight. Emmie, are you on it? Glad to see you’re keeping Nat alive.

  Humiliation ran through Nathalie but it was overlaid by something warmer. The tiniest inkling of hope.

  CHAPTER 15

  Alexandra

  Alexandra sat in the back row of the gallery and took great gulps of her wine. The space was white, with shiny, parquetry floors and the air was cool and dry, a reprieve from the sticky heat outside. There were about 50 people arranged neatly on plastic seats nursing wine glasses and serious expressions. The walls were filled with vast canvases overlaid with earthy hues, paint that bubbled and cracked and sang with the textures of the Australian bush.

  The woman who Macie had found to do the designer talk instead of Alexandra was infinitely more eminent than she could ever hope to be. The hard, plastic seat bit into her thighs and a deep vein of regret, and relief, flowed as she listened. This woman had travelled to all corners of the world, done charity work with poverty-stricken children and as if that wasn’t enough, had dedicated herself to sustainable design. She owned and ran a five-star eco resort in the bush. Alexandra could feel herself shrinking, mortified at the thought she had even contemplated getting up and talking about her own meagre design interests. She was still bemused that Macie had even offered her the speaking role.

  Macie sat in the front row looking serene as usual. She had insisted on her coming along tonight. And after a long day at work, it was a rare treat to come straight out to have a drink, and brie on crackers for dinner. Sipping wine in art galleries listening to eminent artists speak was the kind of thing she had always imagined herself doing as an adult. But she still felt like an impostor next to someone like Macie.

  Some people appeared lit from within, their trajectory through life more otherworldly than others. Nathalie had it; Macie, too. What was that? Was it real? People said that Maxwell had ‘star quality’. Alexandra thought that probably meant he just had good grooming. He spent enough time in the bathroom. But there was something about Macie that she couldn’t put her finger on. She was beautiful, but it was something other than that.

  The audience was clapping, and the designer was doing some kind of namaste bow as though she was in a yoga class. She could probably put her legs behind her head as well. Alexandra chastised herself. She was such a bitch. She wished Nathalie was here, she would have laughed at that. Alexandra was worried about her friend. She was completely wasted the other night. She shuddered at the thought of a third child. It had obviously tipped Nathalie over the edge.

  S
he shifted on her seat and looked to see how much more wine was left on the cheese table behind her. She felt her glass being lifted from her hands. Macie poured sparkling wine into it and flashed her a smile. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  Her face flushed. ‘Thanks for inviting me. Oh my God, Tina is so accomplished. I can’t even believe you wanted me to speak.’

  Macie handed back her glass. She wore fine gold jewellery on her fingers. ‘Well, there’s a bit of a story there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Want to bring your wine outside? I need some air.’

  The gallery was by the sea and the evening was salt-laced and still warm. The soft, rhythmic wash of the waves greeted them. Macie took off her sandals and unravelled her hair from the French roll at the nape of her neck. The only light came from the reflection of the restaurants over the water.

  ‘Want to dip our toes in?’ Macie asked. She unwound the sparkly scarf at her throat and the skin on her chest looked pink.

  ‘Did you get some sun today?’ Alexandra asked, then immediately felt self-conscious for staring at another woman’s boobs.

  Macie touched the tops of her breasts lightly. ‘Oh God. I just went for a short walk at lunch, but the sun is so strong now.’

  She took a hand-rolled cigarette out of her pocket and cupped her hand to light it. ‘Sorry, do you mind?’

  The pungent smell of marijuana filled the air.

  Alexandra felt a little jump of something she couldn’t name in her stomach. She had no idea Macie smoked weed. It seemed so young and cool. She would have pegged Macie more as being part of the cocaine crowd. She took off her heels, wondering why she wasn’t wearing soft leather sandals like Macie and sank her feet into the cool sand.

  Macie walked ahead, wavy hair catching the breeze. Alexandra had the urge to reach out and feel its consistency between her fingers, feel its smoothness, so different from the wiry texture it had been at school. Her heartbeat accelerated. They reached the part of the beach where the sand was wet, and the salt foam fizzed between her toes. She shivered.

  Macie was holding the joint out to her. Alexandra hesitated. She hadn’t smoked since she was in her early 20s. But the heady curls coming out of Macie’s lips, combined with the salt in the air and the wine made her reach out and take the offering. Her lungs burned and she let out an awkward cough and then a grunt of embarrassment.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a smoker.’

  Macie took back the joint, her eyes narrowing against the smoke. ‘Terrible habit but I’ve taken to smoking when I paint. Some of the paintings in this exhibition had a little help from the old weed.’

  Alexandra took a moment to absorb this, to register appropriate shock on her face, as though she hadn’t Googlestalked Macie to find she was now an artist. What she was shocked about was that the paintings on the walls of the gallery were Macie’s. ‘The paintings in the gallery are all yours? They’re incredible.’

  Macie passed back the joint. ‘They’re all just a big messy experiment. I just have them laid out in my studio and come and splash some paint about when the mood takes me. I have no idea why people are willing to part with their money for them but who am I to judge?’

  ‘They’re so passionate. So raw.’ She wanted to say ‘Macie’ but Alexandra realised she’d never actually spoken her name. It felt somehow, too intimate.

  ‘You think so? My agent wanted me to have a proper opening, but I wanted to hear other artists talk about their own work rather than just me talking about myself.’

  ‘But you didn’t talk about yourself at all,’ Alexandra said.

  Macie shrugged and gazed out to sea.

  ‘Well, congratulations.’ Alexandra held her wine glass up in a toast. ‘I’m in awe of your artistic ability and your humility.’

  Macie scoffed. ‘Humility is the antithesis of art. If I were truly humble I would never subject other people to the crazy whims of my emotions.’

  Those are big emotions, thought Alexandra. Big emotions. Macie’s gaze was still trained seaward. It was too dark to read her expression. ‘So, you said there was a story with Tina, the sustainable designer who helps orphaned children? I wonder if she introduces herself that way. She absolutely should. I would. Oh my God, that woman is a saint.’

  ‘Try being romantically involved with a saint. Not as easy as it would seem.’

  Alexandra felt guilt churn in her abdomen. Her own taunting voice came back to her. Lemon cake, lemon pie, Macie likes girls and we know why. God, how had they all been so cruel? The words ran through her mind now like a demented carnival song.

  ‘Anyway, what about you?’ Macie turned towards her, a thin mist of smoke escaping her lips.

  Alexandra pushed the churn of her feelings down and looked at Macie. ‘Maxwell is–’

  ‘I don’t want to know about your husband. We all know about him.’ She flicked ash away, but her eyes didn’t leave Alexandra’s.

  It was, she realised, what she had become accustomed to. She was lost for words.

  ‘Do you get sick of everyone always talking about him?’

  Alexandra felt the hairs on her arms lift. She didn’t know what to say, or where to start.

  Macie touched her arm lightly and passed the joint. ‘Sorry, I’m so nosy about other people’s business. I mean, he seems like a very charming man.’

  Alexandra laughed nervously. This woman’s confidence was absolute. It made her so edgy and yet she was drawn to her. She took a drag and passed the joint back. The drug began to ease into her. She felt herself relax a little. ‘Charming is one thing my husband has down pat.’

  She wanted to share everything with this woman, who she intuited actually wanted to hear it, but she couldn’t traverse the chasm of what had happened all those years ago. Why couldn’t she just breach it? Say it out loud? Macie didn’t seem like the kind of woman to hold grudges. She was a free spirit, a bohemian. Probably if she had been a millennial, she would have been the coolest girl in school, not the one who was teased constantly.

  Alexandra’s phone buzzed in her bag. It would likely be the nanny. She fished it out, the world spinning a little from the collision of the drug, the wine and the memories.

  Emmie thought she’d found a great place for us, but our January dates are gone now! Noooo. It doesn’t look like we’re going to find somewhere at this short notice. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Sob. Nat x

  ‘Damn.’ Alexandra sighed deeply and closed her eyes. They felt dry from the salt and the smoke. She felt suddenly parched, dizzy.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Some friends and I – school mums – the ones you met at the studio for Melbourne Cup drinks . . . we won this random holiday in a school raffle, this great house up the coast. We finally all found a time that worked, took time off work. And the house fell through. It’s impossible to find another at such short notice and during school holidays. And of course, we’re all madly running around trying to organise everything for Christmas.’

  ‘How many of you are there?’ Macie dug her toes into the sand.

  ‘Um, about ten, I think. Four adults, all mums, six or seven kids, depending on who comes. Maybe a baby.’

  Macie squatted and stubbed the tiny nub of joint in the wet sand. The night was becoming darker, rain clouds looming at the horizon. Alexandra felt moisture mist her skin.

  ‘I’ve got a place you can stay.’

  ‘Really?’ She hadn’t realised just how desperate she was for this getaway until they’d had that great night at the bar. The thought of having a week alone at home with the boys instead of with Nathalie and the others depressed her.

  ‘It’s a hotel actually. Art Deco style. Built in 1939. Around 18 rooms. It’s been in my family for years. It’s a bit remote but that’s part of the appeal. Patchy phone reception. Pool that’s pure 1970s Hollywood. River to swim in. It’s actually a pretty amazing part of the world.’

  ‘It sounds extraordinary, but we couldn’t.’

  ‘No, ser
iously. You’re welcome to it. It’s got beautiful gardens for the kids to play in. It’s just over the Blue Mountains. About three hours away. You’ll love it.’

  ‘Really? And you’d have room in early January?’

  ‘There’s plenty of room and its remoteness puts the crowds off, even during peak seasons. I’ve been meaning to get back there myself. I split my time between Sydney and there.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want to put you out. It’s pretty short notice.’

  ‘No trouble. I’d love for it to be full of people again. We get a lot of fortieth birthdays and some weddings but it’s been a while since we’ve hosted a group.’

  ‘Sounds magical.’

  ‘It forces you to have a break from your real lives.’

  ‘God. I think we all need that. We’ll pay you of course.’

  Macie waved her hand. ‘Honestly, happy to help out. I’ll give you mate’s rates. It’s nothing flash.’

  ‘That’s so generous, thank you. But are you sure it’s not too much trouble?’

  ‘No, I insist. Serendipity works in mysterious ways.’

  Alexandra began typing back to Nathalie, relief and elation mixing with something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Jean

  1948

  Men fanned out across the green paddocks for as far as the eye could see. The search for Clara Black had resumed at daybreak. Jean awoke to the men calling out Clara’s name as they scanned the mines, the dusty roads, the surrounding farmland and the thick scrub. Police motorbikes left trails of engine oil in the air and Jean’s stomach twisted into knots from morning to night, praying Clara would be found. Hoping no one would find her dusty shoes abandoned under the chair in the hotel garden.

  A crowd of women gathered outside the hotel gate as though there was some spectacle to be seen, instead of quite the opposite – a woman gone. And Jean found she could not stay away either. After she dropped Liv at school she hovered on the edge of the crowd, standing back, under the shade of a gum tree. She didn’t want to have to get into another conversation about Clara Black. She observed some of the other women, their heads bent together, their whispers carrying on the hot wind. There was a buzz; that strange, misplaced excitement that even tragedy could conjure up in humans. It felt wrong, yet addictive. It was so rare for these quiet parts.