Chapters (48)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Also by Tricia Stringer
- Title Page
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Excerpt
- One
Later that night, alone in the spare room after dinner, Natalie rummaged in her case for her nightie and found the old book she’d tossed in. Once more she was drawn to it. She flipped it open to the chapter on looking after your husband’s parents. At the bottom of the page she’d written AND YOUR OWN in big letters. She’d written those words and stuck a photo of her parents on the blank page opposite just before Christmas one year when the girls had been small and she’d had words with Olive.
It was the time her parents were travelling back from interstate and were having Christmas at Victor with Bronwyn. They’d wanted Natalie, Milt and the girls to join them. It wasn’t a big ask, they’d had few Turner Christmases together since Natalie had married, but Olive had planned a particularly big King Christmas that year, with Clem’s brothers and their families, and she’d almost demanded Milt and Natalie’s presence at home. Natalie had been angry. Her own family get-togethers were so rare she’d been determined to get to that one.
Milt hadn’t been much help: it had been a late harvest, he and Clem were both working around the clock and he was bone tired. In the end he’d had to stay home to finish reaping and she and the girls had driven to Victor alone. It had been a terrible trip. Laura was still a baby and had cried all the way, Kate had been carsick everywhere on the last leg of the journey, and Bree had spiked a temperature Christmas morning and come out in a rash and Natalie had spent part of the day in the hospital waiting to see a doctor.
Bronwyn and Karl didn’t have children then and their house was small. After a couple of days with fractious children and little sleep, Natalie had packed up her girls and driven home. The family that had waved her off had tried not to show their relief but she’d seen it, even on her parents’ faces. Her mum had been the one to encourage her to go home, saying the girls would soon settle in their own beds and give Natalie a chance to sleep too.
This afternoon she’d seen that same look on her mother’s face as they’d said their goodbyes. “It was lovely to see you,” Althea had said, “but don’t feel you have to stay for long. We know how busy you are and we can manage, can’t we, Ray?”
Her parents lived their lives perfectly well without her. She felt just as much an outsider here as she had in her own home.
Twelve
Twelve