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A Sad Goodbye

A Sad Goodbye

Christie woke before sunrise after a restless night. Overnight, the rain had returned, leaving the bitumen outside glistening below the streetlights.

Over coffee, she downloaded the e-ticket to her phone and set a reminder for leaving Rivers End. When the soft light of dawn peeked through the clearing sky, Christie had enough of being in the gloomy room. She tossed her handbag into the car and got behind the wheel, glancing at the box on the front seat. When she got back from Queensland, she was going to get the painting framed and work out the significance of it. Of all of this.

The drive back to the cottage took little time, and Christie parked, thankful the drizzle had stopped. Instead of going up the driveway, she wandered along the road. From here, it was clear the garden continued well past the garage, extending alongside the railway for a couple of hundred metres. The fencing turned into old barbed wire and posts at odd angles but was part of the property.

She took a few photos with her phone. Perhaps when Derek saw them, he would soften his stance and be as intrigued as Christie was. Tonight she would be back in his arms and this awful day just a memory.

Old boom gates stood guard on either side of the railway crossing. A narrow stone platform housed an even narrower building. Curious, she followed a pathway up a slope to the platform. At least, it once must have been a pathway but weeds and time had taken over. The platform was a bit crumbly on the edges but otherwise solid. A sign hung from one screw on the wall of the building.

Rivers End Station

.

The building itself was little more than a covered waiting area and a boarded up ticket office. How sad that what once would have been a bustling little station had only ghosts to keep it company.

Years ago the station was vibrant and busy with the comings and goings of freight trains carrying timber to the city. Now though, it was quiet and overgrown. Like the cottage. Christie headed back to her car, wondering what happened in this sleepy little place all those years ago.

At 10 am, Dorothy Ryan went to her final resting place in the small clifftop graveyard. Her casket was the most elaborate the local funeral home had been able to source on short notice, with highly polished timber and gold fittings. White tulips—brought in from a Melbourne grower—covered the casket. All the arrangements were in line with instructions left by Dorothy and carried out by Angus, who was graveside with Christie, holding an umbrella over them both.

The return of light drizzle and grey skies fitted the occasion. Dressed in a plain black Armani dress and heels, her hair wound into a bun, Christie stood rigidly.

Gran had no other family to bid her farewell. No loved ones or friends who would mourn her passing. Apart from Angus, Christie only knew Jacob Bright, Gran’s attorney. In his fifties, Jacob was tall, bespectacled, and immaculately dressed. He listened impassively to the celebrant.

Her gaze stopped on a middle-aged couple standing opposite. A woman with curly brown hair, and a balding man, both in black suits too tight for their frames, arm in arm.

The celebrant was the wife of the undertaker, and her voice was so quiet Christie had to lean toward her to hear the words of the ceremony. The sound of waves below the cliff and the cawing of seagulls almost drowned her out at times. These moments were surreal. To be in this beautiful place and see Gran laid to rest was hard to comprehend and in her mind, she had her own tribute.

Dorothy Ryan, a woman of strong opinions and principles, wealthy and successful in business. Ostentatious, private, intelligent, and often intolerant of those around her.

Perhaps beneath the cold exterior was a warm heart and love for those who had been in her life, although Christie had never seen a glimmer of it herself. One could hope.

This was just like another funeral. As if yesterday, Christie remembered the worst day of her life.

The hot outback sun scorched the red dirt beneath Christie's feet, uncomfortable in too-small lace-up shoes to go with her black, cut down dress, both borrowed for the occasion. Trishi from next door had plaited her hair in tight braids and told her to be a good girl and listen to the priest.

She tried to, she did, but her feet and head hurt, and she wanted this stupid speech to be over so she could run home to Mum and Dad. Except, they were here in boxes being lowered into the ground, and her eyes kept crying. Her dress was saturated from the heat and flies buzzed around her face, but all seven-year-old Christie knew was she would never see her parents again. She was all alone.

Then, a tall man in a hat squatted beside her and smiled kindly. He took her hand and said he would look after her. His name was Angus.

“Be brave, little one,” he whispered.

Christie reached a hand out to Angus, and he squeezed her hand and mouthed, “Be brave.”

She tossed a handful of soil onto the casket with a whisper, “Goodbye, Gran. I love you.”

As she straightened, her eyes locked with those of a man standing back from the mourners. A shiver ran up her spine.

In jeans and a damp T-shirt, feet bare and metal bucket in one hand, he wasn’t there to pay his respects to Gran. Not if the hostility in his dark eyes was anything to go by.

Angus closed the umbrella as the drizzle stopped, and went to speak with the celebrant.

“Hello, lovey. I’m Daphne.” The woman with the curly brown hair appeared at Christie’s side and squeezed her arm as though they were old friends. She followed Christie’s line of sight.

“Oh, Martin’s back.”

“Martin?” Christie said. “He looks…angry.”

Daphne dabbed her eyes. “I imagine he is, dear. Today of all days. Anyway, we wished to pay our respects to your grandmother.” Close up, there were red streaks through her hair, and behind thick glasses, her mascara had run. “You must be so sad!” Daphne continued as she beckoned to her husband. “As I said, I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, John Jones.”

John reached his hand out to Christie to shake. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for coming. You knew Gran?”

Daphne beamed and took John’s arm. “John’s the local real estate agent. He knows everyone! Now, how long are you staying, lovely?”

“I need to leave within the hour. I’ve got a plane to catch this afternoon, so a short trip this time.”

Daphne glanced at John. “Oh. So, you’ll come back to settle the estate up? I’m sure we’d be most happy to handle the sale of the cottage if you intend to sell it?”

Angus smiled at Christie from the other side of the grave.

“Um, I have to go, I’m sorry. But thanks again for being here for Gran.” Christie shook both John and Daphne’s hands.

Daphne patted Christie’s arm. “It’s been so lovely to meet you, dear. Now, here’s John’s card, so don’t be afraid to call or drop in anytime.”

The drizzle returned as Christie joined Angus. “Jacob would like a few moments with us. When do you need to leave, Miss Christie?” He put the umbrella up.

Christie wound her arm through his. “I’ve got a little time.”

“We’ll go to the café on the corner near the motel? It shouldn’t take long.”

Christie nodded and dug her car keys out of her handbag as she walked beside Angus to the carpark. They passed Martin, on his knees at an unkempt grave. Beside him, gardening tools lay scattered. His hair and clothes were soaked through. Christie forced a small smile when he glanced up, but his expression was every bit as uninviting as before.

She glanced back from the carpark. He had collected the tools and strode away, disappearing down the steps to the beach.

The small café was quiet, colourful umbrellas folded and its outdoor seating dripping wet. Christie, Angus and Jacob sat inside, beside a condensation-streaked window.

Jacob extracted a large yellow envelope from an expensive leather briefcase. Christie nursed a coffee between cold hands, watching Angus stir sugar into his tea. Jacob had politely refused a drink and now removed a pile of papers from the envelope.

“Right, well Dorothy was quite explicit with her instructions.” Jacob began. Christie hid a smile, of course, Gran would have been.

“There has to be a proper reading of the will etcetera,” he continued, “but this is the overview. The vast majority of her estate is to be sold and the funds distributed to several charities she supported for many years.”

Gran never once mentioned charities. Christie was pleasantly surprised.

“Angus will receive an income equivalent to his current pay for the rest of his life, plus the choice of either the Bentley or the Range Rover. Of course, you are entitled to contest this.”

“I won’t be contesting her will.”

Jacob shuffled through the papers. “Now, Dorothy made it a condition you attend her funeral, and you visit the old cottage. You have done both, so it will now become your property.”

“Why? I mean, what about her sister, Martha?”

“She’s not mentioned in the will. Dorothy left you the cottage.”

“What will I do with it?”

Jacob shrugged. “Sell it. Live in it. Rent it out. Dorothy signed a change of ownership several weeks ago on the basis the conditions were met, so once I action it, the cottage and its land will be yours.”

Angus leaned forward. “If I may say so, Miss Dorothy left it to you for a reason. There are secrets in that cottage. Questions needing answers.”

Jacob closed his briefcase and stood. “I must go, so thank you both for your time. I’ll be in touch.” After shaking hands, he nodded and left.

Christie turned back to Angus. “What secrets, Angus? What’s in the cottage?”

“All I know is they concern your Great-Aunt Martha.”

Christie glanced at her watch.

“Before you go, Miss Dorothy left a note. For you.” Angus reached into a pocket and withdrew a neatly folded page of ivory paper. He held it out to Christie, and after a moment, she took it.

“Read it when you are ready. It was…unfinished. Left at the motel.”

“Gran died at the motel? Not…” Christie gulped.

“No, not in our rooms. I’m so sorry, I should have told you.”

“But why? Why did this all happen, Angus?”

“She had her reasons for coming here, and once she made her mind up, there was no changing it. I do know she wanted to see her sister again.”

So Martha was alive. What had Gran wanted to tell her? Why had Gran thought Christie could uncover some old family secret in a cottage? The reminder on the phone interrupted her musings.

“Please keep in touch?”

“Of course I shall. I’ll be packing up Miss Dorothy’s belongings to dispose of as she wished. Should I come across any information on your great-aunt, I will let you know.” Angus stood and offered Christie his arm.

As they walked to Christie’s car, she didn’t want to let go of his arm. She took a deep, steadying breath. Angus was one of life’s gentlemen, and she had forgotten how much she cared for him. She made a silent resolve to visit him more often.

“Well, here we are. Now, you have a safe drive back and enjoy your holiday.” Angus hugged Christie so tightly she was breathless. If there were tears, she blinked them away before he could see them.

A few moments later, Christie slowed the car as she passed the graveyard on the cliff, glancing across to where she had farewelled Gran. It was deserted, except for a woman who leant on a walking stick at the grave where that man, Martin, had been.

The phone rang, and Christie touched the button on her steering wheel to answer as she increased her speed on the open road.

“On your way, baby?”

“I just left Rivers End, so will get to the airport with time to spare.” Christie passed the turnoff to the cottage.

“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think you might not have wanted to come with me.”

“Oh, that’s not true. I miss you so much.”

“Well, it’s been a bit rough without you, Chris. A bit embarrassing, arriving here without you. I mean, this is a couple’s paradise, and there I was more like a single.”

You’re joking. Right?

“A few more hours and I’ll be there, honey. What’s the plan for tonight?” The road started to curve.

“I made an appointment at the spa for you. Facial and hair first. We’ll get you into something sexy for dinner and take you to meet some people I’ve met. Well, I already knew Ingrid from a conference in London and her husband, um, oh yeah, Leon, he’s with her. Don’t know what he does but you’ll get on alright with him.”

The phone went silent, and Christie realised a response was expected. “But, we’ll have dinner alone, won’t we?”

“It’s already arranged for us to have dinner on the terrace with them. Champagne, lobster, the works. We can go dancing afterwards if you want.”

“I was hoping to spend some time alone with you. I’d like to tell you what’s been going on.” Nothing sounded worse than having to meet strangers tonight.

There was silence from Derek’s end. Christie took advantage of a wide shoulder to pull over. “Derek?”

“I think you’re being a bit selfish, Chris. You know, I’ve been tolerant about you taking off for a road trip rather than come with me. The least you can do to make it up is meeting my friends when I ask.”

“Road trip? It was my grandmother’s funeral, Derek! How can you begrudge me one day to pay my respects to her? I’ve apologised for my change of plans more than once, but how is it selfish to want to spend tonight with my own fiancé?”

Christie turned the motor off, and the sounds of the nearby ocean filled the air. Her heart thumped uncomfortably, and her shoulders tightened.

“Don’t get snappy with me.” Derek’s voice was hard. “It was your choice to go, and it’s my choice who we’ll socialise with and when on the holiday I paid for.”

I can’t lose you, too.

“Please don’t be angry.” She kept her tone even. “I feel bad about the poor timing, but I’m on my way now. Honey?”

“If a person you barely knew, and a pile of junk in a backwater town mean more than I do, well, of course, I’m angry. And hurt.”

Christie started shaking as bewilderment swept through her, hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

“Are you there, Chris?”

“Christie. You know I prefer to be called Christie.” The shaking stopped as a heavy stone dropped into her stomach. “I’m going to have to call you later.”

“And I expect you to be in a better frame of mind once you arrive. Understand?”

He hung up.

No, she did not understand. Not one bit. A weak sun forced its way through the clouds as Christie started the motor. After a moment’s hesitation, Christie did a U-turn and headed back to Rivers End.

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