Book of Lost Threads (33 page)
‘Okay, Finn.’ Sandy kept his voice neutral. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, mate.’ He hung up the phone and turned to Mrs Pargetter. ‘Finn’s going bush for a couple of days. Do him good. As a matter of fact, I need a couple of days away myself. I’ll ask Nessie Ferguson to look in on you until Moss comes up for the weekend.’
The old lady clicked her teeth in annoyance. ‘I’ve managed alone for most of my eighty-three years, Sandy. I don’t need a babysitter now. Anyway,’ she added, ‘what’s wrong with asking Helen? Nessie Ferguson is a nosey parker.’
‘Helen’s going to be busy,’ he said, and disappeared out the door before she could protest any further.
I
N A NEAT LITTLE HOUSE just outside the country town of Shepparton, Rozafa Sejka leaned across the bed and opened the window. The weather was milder, she noticed; spring was her favourite season. When she’d first arrived, she thought the flowering of the wattle was the first harbinger of spring, but now she knew better and looked instead for blossoms on the fruit trees and the green spears of daffodils she had planted in her third year—the year she began to feel she belonged here. She and her daughters had come to this country town as refugees in late 2000. Their tragedy had almost overwhelmed her, and if it hadn’t been for Ana and Zamira, Rozafa would have given up long before they reached the relative safety of the refugee camp. Instead, she battled fear, hunger and fatigue to bring her daughters to this safe corner of the world.
Ana had always been so clever. At school in Kosova she’d topped her class, and Rozafa and her husband had hoped that one day she’d go to the university in Prishtina. ‘Ah, Jetmir,’ Rozafa murmured. ‘She did go to university—in Melbourne, a place we had never heard of. You would be so proud of your Ana.’
Rozafa roused herself from her reverie and continued to prepare Ana’s room. She had bought new yellow sheets and a doona cover in shades of sea-green. She ran her hand over the cover and frowned. What if Ana found this old-fashioned or ugly? What sort of furnishings was she used to now that she’d lived in New York?
‘Zamira,’ she called, and her younger daughter came running into the room, landing on the bed with a thump. ‘Miri! I’ve just made the bed for your sister.’ Rozafa shooed the young girl away, but she was smiling. ‘Come and help me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to prepare the
meze
for Ana’s welcome home feast.’
Twelve-year-old Zamira helped with more enthusiasm than skill, picking at the olives and pickled cucumbers as her mother attempted to arrange them on the plate.
‘Slice the cheese for me, wicked girl,’ her mother said, smiling in spite of herself. ‘And leave some food for your sister.’
‘I can hardly wait to see Ana,’ sang Zamira, dodging her mother’s wooden spoon. ‘She said she had a present for me.’
‘Greedy child.’ Rozafa’s reproof was mild. It was the Australian way to hide emotions but she understood the fierce bond between her daughters. They’d been through hell together, after all.
It was a long wait at airport customs, but eventually Ana rushed out to hug her Uncle Visar and looked around expectantly for her mother and sister.
‘I’ve had to come straight from a job,’ Visar explained, noting her disappointment. ‘Rozafa and Miri are waiting at home.’
As the truck approached Shepparton, Ana heard the faint call to evening prayer. She wasn’t religious, but the sound stirred her heart and echoed deep in her cultural memory.
‘Do you want to stop to pray, Dai Visar?’ she asked her uncle.
‘We’re nearly there,
xhan
,’ Visar said. ‘Allah will forgive a little tardiness.’ He stopped outside her house, and Ana’s eyes filled with tears as her mother and sister ran to the car from the verandah where they’d been waiting. They hugged and hugged again, finally moving Ana and her luggage into the house, where Visar discreetly left them to themselves.
As Miri clung to her arm, Ana felt her tiredness melt away. She loved her life in New York, but right here in Shepparton were the two people she cared about most. After her sister reluctantly went to bed, Ana and her mother sat sipping bitter black coffee and a little
raki
, talking well into the night.
When Ana recounted the strange story of Lusala Ngilu, Mrs Pargetter and the tea cosies, Rozafa shook her head. ‘Such a story! And the lady comes from here, in Australia?’
Ana had already quizzed her Uncle Visar, whose one-man truck-driving business took him all over the state. ‘It’s only a few hours away by road. I’m sorry, Mama, but I’m going to have to deliver the gift from the ambassador as soon as possible. Dai Visar is going up that way in a few days. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll only be away for a night, two at the most.’
Rozafa, who’d been looking forward to this time with her daughter for months, did mind, but said nothing. She was proud that the ambassador had trusted her Ana with his gift. ‘I’ve seen that man on the television,’ she said. ‘They say he may soon be chief of the whole United Nations.’
‘He’s a good man, Mama. I hope they’re right.’
Visar loaded his truck and drove around to his sister’s house. He’d had some problems with a late delivery and it was after one when he and Ana were finally ready to set off.
‘I’ve booked us in at the Opportunity Hotel,’ he told his niece. ‘I don’t think you should call on the old lady so late.’ He turned to Rozafa. ‘Don’t worry, Rozafa, I’ll take care of your baby.’
Ana smiled. She had lived alone in New York for eighteen months, and yet her mother and uncle were fussing about a couple of days in a country town. However, unlike many young women of her age, she was grateful for their concern. Her family was so small now, and all the more precious.
Visar’s plan was to stay overnight in Opportunity and continue north with his load the next day, returning to collect his niece two days later. They arrived at the old-fashioned pub just in time to unpack and go down to dinner.
‘Dining room closes at seven thirty,’ said Marlene, who acted as receptionist, barmaid, and even waitress on slow nights. ‘Your room key opens the bathroom—down the hall to the right. Toilet’s next to the bathroom.’
There were three other diners. They were all engrossed in conversation, and Ana was too shy to interrupt to ask if any of them knew Mrs Pargetter. Marlene was too busy to stop; tonight she was also in charge of cooking, as the regular cook had asked for the night off. Despite her curiosity, Ana had to wait until morning.
As she and her uncle left the dining room, Marlene called out after them: ‘There’s only one other overnight guest and he’s gone out, so now’s a good time to use the bathroom.’
Ana said goodnight to Visar, who decided to watch the TV in the bar. She was pleased to find that her room was clean, but noted that the sheets and towels were worn. She padded down the hall to have a shower and, returning to her room, climbed into bed. There was no television so she read a little then slept surprisingly soundly until, at five thirty, she heard her uncle leave the room next door. He’d mentioned an early start. Breakfast was from seven till eight, so Ana snuggled down and tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. At twenty to seven she got up and headed for the bathroom, surprised and embarrassed when a young man opened the door from the inside just as she was about to insert her key. They fumbled apologies and she slipped into the bathroom, clutching her robe to her throat. When she went down to breakfast, she saw that the young man was the only other diner.
‘Might as well sit you two together,’ the busy Marlene said. ‘Saves washing the tablecloths.’
‘Hello.’ The young man smiled. ‘I’m Hamish.’
‘Ana,’ she replied. ‘I hope you don’t mind . . .’ He had a nice smile.
‘My pleasure. I was lonely anyway and I wouldn’t dare defy Marlene.’
Marlene brought coffee and Hamish looked at the newcomer over the rim of his cup. ‘Can I ask what brings you to Opportunity? I’m not a local myself. I’m a landscaping student. I’m spending a few days here to work on . . . a project. ’
‘It’s an interesting town,’ she said politely. ‘I’m not a local either. I’m from Shepparton.’
He’d been listening carefully, but couldn’t quite pick her accent. ‘And before that?’
‘Kosova,’ she said briefly. ‘But I’ve just come back from New York.’ Anything to deflect questions about Kosova. ‘Actually, I’ve come to see someone. I was going to ask if you knew them, but if you’re not a local . . .’
‘I know a few people. Who are you looking for?’
‘A Mrs Pargetter. I have a package for her.’
Hamish did his double-take. ‘Talk about coincidence! A friend of mine stays with Mrs Pargetter when she’s in town. I can take you there after breakfast, if you like.’
Ana smiled her thanks, and they shared a grimace as they started on the lumpy porridge. ‘I’d like to let her know I’m coming first,’ Ana explained. ‘It’s a rather important package.’
‘I can call her for you,’ Hamish offered. ‘Can I ask why you’re delivering by hand? It’s a long way from New York.’
Ana felt the need to impress this helpful young man. ‘It’s from the United Nations,’ she said, then coloured. She thought she sounded a bit pretentious. ‘I mean, I happened to be coming home and the ambassador asked me . . .’ She trailed off. ‘I should wait until I see Mrs Pargetter herself.’
Hamish looked at her quizzically but didn’t enquire further. They spent the rest of the mealtime chatting pleasantly and were suddenly guiltily aware of Marlene hovering like a mascara’d vulture, ready to clear the table so she could move on to service the rooms.
Hamish rang Mrs Pargetter and told her he was bringing someone to meet her.
‘Come around eleven,’ the old lady said. ‘We can have some morning tea.’
Hamish reported this to Ana. He was enjoying her company and wasn’t ready to lose it just yet. ‘If you like, we’ll leave a bit early so I can show you around the town,’ he suggested with a proprietorial air. ‘New York it ain’t, but it’s nice enough, as these places go.’
‘I come from Shepparton,’ Ana replied, smiling. ‘That’s not exactly New York either.’
They set off down the main street, Hamish carrying Lusala’s package. ‘It’s quite heavy. What is it?’
Ana had to confess that she didn’t know, but she told him the story of Lusala Ngilu and the tea cosies.
‘Moss told me about the tea cosies,’ he said. ‘In fact, Mrs Pargetter is knitting one for me at the moment. Apparently it’s a sign that I’m approved of.’
‘Moss?’
‘A girl I went to school with. We’ve been working on something together.’ Hamish was being evasive. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to identify Moss to this interesting new acquaintance. ‘She’s not a girlfriend or anything,’ he added, wishing he hadn’t as he saw Ana’s embarrassed smile.
‘The gardens look nice and green,’ she said, randomly.
‘Astroturf,’ explained Hamish. ‘Thanks to Mrs Pargetter’s nephew. A strange sort of bloke.’ At the thought of Sandy, he stopped. ‘Look, I know it’s an awful cheek but if the parcel is some sort of presentation, I’m sure there are people who’d like to be there. Mrs Pargetter is a much-loved lady. Would you mind very much if we take it back to the hotel until we see who’s around at the moment?’
Ana would have preferred to return to her family but couldn’t help wondering what Lusala would have done. ‘You know her best. Whatever you think.’
So Hamish returned to the hotel with the parcel, asking 308 Marlene to put it in the safe.
Mrs Pargetter had been watching for them and opened the door before they knocked. She was a bit flustered to see Hamish with a young woman, and looked at him severely.
‘Come in. I’m not expecting Moss until the weekend. We’re going to practise her new song. Moss sings beautifully,’ she added for Ana’s benefit.
Hamish made the introductions, and Ana sat down shyly on the proffered seat. Without her parcel, she felt something of an intruder.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Pargetter,’ she began. ‘I’ve just come back from New York. I’ve been working for the United Nations.’
‘What a coincidence.’ The old lady clicked her teeth in amazement. ‘I work for the United Nations too. From here, you understand. I couldn’t go all the way to New York. There’s Errol to consider. And far too much crime, from what I’ve seen on television. How long have you been working for them, dear?’
‘About eighteen months. I was on a student internship.’
Mrs Pargetter gave a smug little smile. ‘I’ve worked for them since before you were born. But don’t worry,’ she added kindly. ‘We all do our bit in our own way.’
Ana nodded, not quite sure where to go next.
‘Ana knows the quartermaster, Mrs Pargetter,’ Hamish volunteered, eyeing off the pumpkin scones.
The old lady looked at her guest with new respect. ‘You know Mr Lusala Ngilu?’ she asked. ‘Tell me, what’s he like?’
Ana was happy to oblige. ‘He’s not tall, but he’s . . . a person of
stature
.’
Mrs Pargetter nodded, her own judgement confirmed. ‘Stature. Precisely. Go on.’
‘He’s very well respected and good at his job.’
‘I’m sure. Very thorough, I imagine.’
‘True. And he’s considered a man of great foresight . . .’