Don and Angela returned to their comfortable armchairs after dinner. When Rawhide finished, the house relaxed in a mood of peace and quiet: a beautiful evening, warm enough for cicadas to sing. Tonight there wasn’t any argument about whose turn to wash or dry the dishes, and washing up done, Sandra and Prue went to their bedrooms to read or finish homework.
Don breathed out a little cloud of smoke, tapping his pipe on the ashtray. ‘Since we moved to Sydney, we’ve spent all our holidays at home. I’ve been thinking maybe we should do something different.’
‘Now we live near the beach, it’s not as if—’
‘Angela, dear,’ Don said, ‘it hasn’t been easy for me. You know the new branch is a big workload, and it’ll get worse with decimal currency coming in ’66. I’d like to get out of the city at least for part of my holiday, breathe some bush air again for a week or so.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘We can drive down the coast, then go inland to Adaminaby and Lake Eucumbene. The whole Snowy hydro scheme will be fun to visit and an education for the girls. The lake must have filled by now. We can camp, or stay in cabins or a motel. How about it?’
‘I’ll leave it for you to investigate,’ Angela said. Really, she would rather stay at home. The garden needed attention – the new zucchinis might die in her absence. Disappointed at the thought, she agreed. ‘It sounds a very nice idea.’
In her nightdress, Sandra came from the kitchen with a glass of milk. ‘What sounds a nice idea?’
‘Your father wants to take us on a holiday to Lake Eucumbene, before school goes back.’
‘Why do we want to go to some old lake out in the country? We can have our holiday at home,’ Sandra said, innocently echoing her mother’s opinion.
‘It’s a new lake,’ Don said. ‘Part of the grand Snowy Mountains scheme for hydro-electricity. You’ve heard how to make way for the dam, almost every building in Adaminaby, even a church, was moved by truck or picked apart and rebuilt brick by brick and stone by stone. Now the lake is famous, people can go fishing for trout—’
‘Dad, we don’t go fishing for trout, or anything, ever!’ Sandra heard herself whinge. ‘I’ve got things I want to do.’
‘Now now,’ Angela interrupted. ‘Those things will still be here when you get home.’
‘Great,’ Sandra muttered. ‘Drowned houses. Sounds terrific fun.’ Then an idea occurred to her, a brilliant 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