Song for Emilia. Julia Osborne

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СКАЧАТЬ idea. Her father would never dream of leaving the cat! ‘What about Ginger?’ She watched her father’s face. ‘We can’t just leave him alone with bowls of food.’

      Don hadn’t thought about the cat and he frowned. ‘Perhaps we can find someone to mind him,’ he suggested, sounding doubtful.

      ‘Why Lake Eucumbene?’ Angela asked. ‘If you want to go bush for a week, why not go back to Curradeen?’

      He hadn’t thought of that, either. ‘Curradeen? I suppose—’

      Suddenly excited, Sandra leaped at the chance. ‘That’s a great idea, Dad. Why not go back to Curradeen, and I can come with you. The next uni break in June?’ And, she thought, Nick will be at home too. Nick, at Wilga Park! ‘I can stay with Emilia—’ her words were falling over themselves.

      ‘You could stay with one of our golfing friends.’ Angela got up to fill the kettle, relieved that another option had unexpectedly arisen. ‘You know how you miss your golf,’ she said. ‘Prue and Ginger and I can stay here, and you two can have a nice time in the country.’

      Don brightened. ‘You’re right. I’ll take some time off now, and the rest of my leave I’ll add to the Queen’s birthday weekend. My goodness, a week of golf ... ’ He leaned back in his armchair, satisfied with the outcome.

      ‘Anyway,’ he said, as if in conclusion, ‘with such a widespread drought, water in the lake might be quite low – all those dead trees poking out of the water.’

      Gleeful, Sandra took her glass of milk back to the bedroom. This was getting better and better. She opened the zipped writing case she’d got for Christmas, and took out her pen. A letter to Emilia, plus a letter to Nick: Dear Nick, my father and I are going on a holiday together, and we’ll be coming to Curradeen for a few days over the uni study break. Will you be home then?

      Up at dawn on their day of departure, Sandra shoved an extra pair of socks into her suitcase. Nights in June could be cold out west, so an extra jumper ... slacks, skivvies, jeans and desert boots, her beanie. They’d be gone for a week, so better be ready for everything.

      Angela was already up and had put breakfast on the table. The kitchen smelled of bacon and eggs.

      ‘Let’s eat and hit the road,’ Don said with a big smile as he stowed his golf bag in the boot beside their suitcases.

      Prue hadn’t cared about going to Curradeen, saying she’d rather visit her friends – the ‘gang of girls’ as her mother called them. Goody, Sandra thought. We’ve never done anything like this before. Just me and Dad. And Nick at Wilga Park.

      The rising sun was behind them as they reached the open road travelling west. Angela had packed a box with morning tea and a thermos, and they knew where to find the best Chinese café for lunch, from their countless journeys to Sydney. It would be dark before they reached their old town.

      ‘Father and daughter, eh?’ Don remarked as they left behind the city traffic. ‘An adventure.’

      Sandra nodded, happy for her father. He loved his golf and hadn’t played since they arrived in Randwick. This was going to be better than some silly old lake, she thought. I don’t care how important it is or how big it is. We’re going to Curradeen, and it’s all going to be wonderful.

      As the miles ticked over, she recalled her letter to Nick. Their last afternoon together was weeks ago. Now he was home for uni break, and he’d made a suggestion that was so delicious, she took his letter out of her handbag for the sheer pleasure of reading it for the thousandth time.

      Dear Sandra,

      Thanks for your letter. It’s a great idea for you & your father to visit. I’ll be home over the study break. There’s a lot for you to see on our place that will be new to you. I’ll get Toffee back from where she’s agisted & we’ve got a nice, quiet horse for you, so we’ll have that ride I promised.

      He’d remembered his promise ... at the polocrosse match, at least three years ago – the unforgettable day they’d first met.

      Mum still has the old piano of course, some things don’t change, & you can play Winter’s Day for us, & maybe some more of the compositions you’ve told me about. Have a safe trip, it’s a long drive. Don’t I know it!

      ‘Yours, Nick,’ she whispered. Oh Nick, whenever I see you everything seems to go better.

      She slid the letter back in its envelope. For a while, they drove in silence, winding up and up the road to the Blue Mountains. The sun was high, and as they arrived in Katoomba, Don said, ‘Morning tea time, Sandy. Shall we say hello to the Three Sisters?’

      ‘Oh yes, we always stop there. I like to imagine what it was like when the first explorers crossed it, like Blaxland, Lawson and Wentworth. To walk and walk and suddenly come to that enormous cliff, and a valley, blue as blue.’

      Don poured the tea into plastic cups. ‘You should write a story about it. Or a song?’

      ‘Yes! A landscape song. The blueness of the valley ... I love the line of sandstone cliffs in the distance,’ Sandra said, scattering crumbs from a biscuit. ‘And I want to write a song for Emilia too, because she’s still my best friend.’

      ‘What a nice idea. How’s the study going these days?’

      ‘Good. My tutor said now I’ve done eighth grade piano, I should think about sitting the A.Mus.A. exam – the Associate Diploma in Music.’

      ‘Really? You haven’t mentioned it. That’s a very good qualification.’

      Sandra had been silent on her progress since being accepted at the Conservatorium. Busy with studying piano and composition, she was flying through the work. Restless, she badly wanted to put into practice all she’d learned, and longed to spend the time at her piano – filling her score sheets, filling her box of compositions – unfettered.

      ‘Enrolments for the exam close soon ... I’m not sure.’ She packed the empty cups back in the box with the thermos. ‘I think I’d rather just study.’

      ‘A few days away might help you decide. Talk to Mum and me about it.’

      Don started the car and they drove up the hill to the township, and on to the highway. ‘Next stop Blayney. Do you think we can find our favourite café again?

      ‘You know,’ he said, the lines around his mouth framing a smile. ‘I feel better already. Your mother was right, I needed a holiday!’

      A lowering sun dazzled on the windscreen as they began the last long miles of their journey. Wallaby grass grew by the roadside, eucalypts and casuarinas. Drought was creeping across the countryside, and beyond the boundary fences, paddocks were brown with winter grass; here and there the dark shapes of cattle. Soon they would be in sheep country. Soon they would arrive at Curradeen.

      Don parked at the gate to Ferrari’s Farm as Emilia came running out the door, curls bouncing.

      Squeezing Sandra tightly, she cried, ‘Sandy! I’m so happy you’re here, I could burst.’

      Mrs СКАЧАТЬ