Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

Wiser to seek beyond your guilt. Listen to your heart.

The old priest’s voice faded, and Finn stirred the fire. Sandy’s words had shaken him, and he needed time to work things through. Ashamed of his outburst, he picked up the phone.

‘You’ve given me a few things to think about, mate,’ he told the relieved Sandy. ‘I’m going to go bush for a couple of days. No, I need to be alone, but I’ll be okay. Tell Moss and Mrs Pargetter I’ll see them when I get back. I’ll get a few things together in the morning and hike along to the Two Speck- you know, the usual camping spot-near old Jim’s.’

‘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.

IN 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.