Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

Thanking Georgia, they left, feeling elated. They hadn’t reached that dead end yet. Moss returned to Opportunity to await developments, and Hamish went back to his studies. The interruption had been welcome. He needed to come up with an idea for a major project to support his thesis, but time was running out and ideas were elusive.

Finn was worried about Moss. She seemed so dejected, and her interest in her music had waned again. She was too young to drift into the lassitude that infected so many in Opportunity. She needed cheering up, but he was at a loss. What did young women enjoy nowadays? She didn’t have a boyfriend; Mrs Pargetter had mentioned this a couple of times. The problem was that he didn’t know any suitable young men. He’d have to come up with something else. Women always like a nice dinner , he thought. Some hopeful calculations indicated that it must be close to her birthday. A present too, then. Dinner and a present.

He was due to meet with the Commission for the Future next month, but, impatient to execute his plan, he brought the meeting forward and travelled down to Melbourne by bus and train.

Wandering aimlessly around the shops, he had a sudden inspiration. Jewellery. Women loved jewellery, didn’t they? He slid diffidently into several jewellery stores and was finally captured by a well-dressed young man who looked doubtfully at his customer’s dishevelled appearance.

‘May I assist you, sir?’

‘Yes. Yes. I’m looking for a gift. For a woman.’

‘Our selection is very fine. Many items are hand-crafted.’

The assistant’s tone implied that Finn couldn’t possibly afford such merchandise.

Finn stood his ground. ‘I was thinking of a pendant. You know-a thing on a chain. Gold. I want gold.’

Now there was a tinge of impatience underlying the studied politeness. ‘All our gold is eighteen carat or more, sir.’

‘Show me what you have. She’s only twenty-four, so I don’t want anything old-fashioned.’

The young man raised his eyebrows and Finn blushed. ‘My daughter,’ he snapped. ‘Do you have anything to show me?’

Finn looked at the various lockets, heart-shaped, oval, with and without gems. There were tiny gold dolphins ( Very popular with young girls, sir ). Finn rather liked the pearl drops, but thought they might be a bit middle-aged. He felt helpless and wished he could ask a woman’s opinion. Then he saw it. A gold filigree treble clef hanging from a finely wrought, tubular chain.

‘That one. I’ll have that one.’

The sales assistant sniffed. ‘It’s one of a kind, sir. Hand-crafted. Very expensive.’ He indicated the price tag.

‘Gift wrap it, please,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve got a train to catch.’

Finn was pleased with his find and couldn’t keep the smile from his face as the train sped through the familiar countryside. When he got home, he carefully unwrapped the parcel to look at the pendant again, then rewrapped it before clumsily retying the bow.

When Moss came in from walking Errol, her father was waiting at the door.

‘Are you doing anything on Saturday night?’

Moss was surprised. When she was in Opportunity, she never did anything on Saturday night. ‘No. Why?’

Finn hunched his shoulders and looked at her from under his eyebrows. ‘I’d like to take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice. Chez Marie, in Cradletown.’

Moss was surprised and touched. ‘Thank you, Finn. I’d love 217 to come.’

She was unsure what to wear. Mrs Pargetter assured her that Chez Marie was indeed a very nice place. ‘Very fashionable. It’s won the regional Fine Dining Medal five years in a row. It said so in the local paper. The couple who do that cooking show own it. You know the one-on Wednesdays: Classic Chefs .’ When she heard this, Moss was glad that she’d brought a few more clothes back with her.

At the agreed time, Finn appeared, squirming self-consciously in a suit and tie. He looked at his daughter in her black scooped-neck dress. She was even wearing high heels.

‘You look beautiful, Moss,’ he said in genuine admiration. ‘I’ve got a taxi waiting. Let’s go.’

Finn ordered wine, and Moss was surprised to see that he tasted it and allowed the waiter to fill his glass.

‘Special occasion, Moss. I’m not an alcoholic. I just choose not to drink most of the time. But with a good meal and good company…’

They touched glasses. The restaurant was in the old assay building, and the renovators had kept the mosaic floor tiles, the intricate timber panelling and Art Nouveau stained glass. A fire was burning in the grate and individual lamps cast a glow on fine glasses and silver.

Moss was impressed. ‘What a wonderful place, Finn.’ She was even more impressed by the ease with which her father ordered. Clearly, he’d been used to this at some time in his life.

Finn’s response to his surroundings came from the subliminal impulse of memory. He didn’t stop to think about how he should act, and his natural courtesy gave him a dignity that charmed his daughter. As they waited for their soup, he lifted his glass again.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘happy birthday, Moss.’

‘It’s not…’ Moss began.

‘I know,’ her father said gently. ‘But I’ve missed so many; you’ll have to allow me this one.’

Moss grinned to cover her emotion. ‘As long as I don’t have to age another year.’

Finn reddened and fished in his pocket. ‘I’ve got a present. For your birthday.’ He looked on apprehensively as Moss fumbled with the now awkwardly tied parcel. ‘I hope you like it.’

Moss was embarrassed and took longer than necessary to unwrap the gift. Presents always made her feel uncomfortable, and a gift from the undemonstrative Finn would take them a step further in their relationship. She finally opened the box and took out the pendant, which caught the light of the table lamp. Her eyes widened. It was exquisite.

‘Finn, you shouldn’t have…’ She saw the disappointment in his eyes. ‘But it’s wonderful. Beautiful. Truly, I love it.’ She took off the silver chain she was wearing and clasped the pendant around her neck. ‘There. What do you think?’

The old charm surfaced as Finn smiled at his daughter. ‘You look like a princess,’ he said.

As the meal progressed, Finn ventured a question about her plans. ‘Did you catch up with your course supervisor?’

‘I’ve got till February to decide,’ Moss replied shortly.

‘I’m sorry, Moss. I didn’t mean to pry.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s Linsey, Finn. I know I should continue for her sake as well as my own, but I feel so bad about the way I treated her and-I don’t know… I went to the memorial wall and… She asked for me to sing, you know? That’s a good sign, don’t you think?’ She looked at her father hopefully.

Finn was appalled to see her tears. This outing was supposed to cheer her up. He searched his mind for things to say: wise, compassionate things that would smooth the tension from her face and, most of all, stop her from crying. But he’d always been at a loss when women cried.

‘I’m sure you’ll get back to your singing,’ he said, ignoring her last question. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful. You’ll never guess what Sandy’s been up to.’

Moss sighed and brushed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me we’re getting a giant cockatoo as well!’

EAGER AS USUAL TO GET his plans underway, Sandy asked Moss and Finn to meet him at the pub for lunch. ‘I don’t want Aunt Lily to know for now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some information, and I need to discuss where to go from here.’

‘It’s like this,’ he said after they’d ordered their meal. ‘There are identifiable places where babies were buried, but there’s no record of Aunt Lily’s baby anywhere. The woman from SANDS suggests taking her to the Church of England section of the cemetery. It might comfort her to see the burial place and the memorial-give her another focus. What do you think?’