The Long Weekend, page 1
About the Book
Six captivating stories from Australia’s master storyteller Judy Nunn.
THE LONG WEEKEND Tracy, Eve, Jet, Mel and Danielle are looking forward to a weekend away in a remote mountain shack. One rule: no phones, no laptops. What could go wrong?
THE WARDROBE When Nancy buys a rundown terrace house, she knows nothing about the previous owner – until an old wardrobe reveals the lives, loves and losses in the world of Emily Roper.
THE OTTO BIN EMPIRE: CLIVE’S STORY To the homeless men and women who gather near the docks, Clive cuts an enigmatic figure. ‘I’ll be back on my feet soon . . .’ he tells himself.
CHANGES As she celebrates her 65th birthday, film producer Jackie looks back on her seven decades – and all the many changes in her life. Not least the most surprising one of all . . .
THE HOUSE ON HILL STREET It was such a respectable address – the perfect home for Professor Jameson and family. But why has no-one seen Eileen Jameson and the boys for quite some time?
JUST SOUTH OF ROME When actor Jane Prescott visits Rome and stumbles upon the Hotel Visconti, a grand 18th-century villa, she has no idea that it will change her life.
Together in print for the first time – including two brand-new stories – this collection is an intoxicating mix of suspense, history, romance, supernatural and mystery!
CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
A Note from Judy
The Long Weekend
The Wardrobe
The Otto Bin Empire: Clive’s Story
Changes
The House on Hill Street
Just South of Rome
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Imprint
Read More at Penguin Books Australia
To the memory of Jenny Coleman
A NOTE FROM JUDY
Hello, and welcome to this eclectic assortment of stories. It’s true, unlike many collections, these stories share no particular theme. They do, however, have one thing in common – they’re a personal trip into an author’s mind. In this case, the mind of one Judy Nunn.
I’m sure all writers play around with ideas for novels and that they constantly make notes – I know I certainly do. These stories are the result of some particular notes having ended up taking on a life of their own. They didn’t result in a huge novel, or even become a part thereof as intended. Instead, they demanded a smaller canvas that belongs just to them.
This being the case, I’ve included a few personal words at the end of each story about its specific source of inspiration, which I hope you’ll find interesting.
With warmest regards,
THE LONG WEEKEND
The long weekend was Melanie’s idea. Not the long weekend itself, of course, but the way they should spend it.
‘No mobile phones, no social media, no computers or devices of any sort,’ she said, ‘just the five of us alone in the wilderness, living the way people did forty years ago.’
‘Sixty, more like,’ Tracy remarked drily.
Mel ignored the comment. Trace was always the cynic among them. ‘Three days in a remote mountain cabin – communing with nature, hiking along bush tracks, gathering around log fires . . .’
‘Burning fossil fuel –’
‘Wood’s not a fossil fuel,’ Eve interjected.
‘Polluting the atmosphere anyway –’
‘Oh shut up, Trace,’ Danny said good-naturedly; she was all for Melanie’s idea. ‘Go on, Mel,’ she encouraged.
‘If we leave straight after work on the Friday, we could be up there by seven – it’s only a couple hours’ drive.’
‘A long-weekend Friday?’ Tracy again. ‘The traffic’ll be hell.’
‘Then if we’re prepared to get up at sparrow’s on the Tuesday and come directly into work, we’ll have three full days,’ Mel rattled on. ‘And I tell you what, a full three days up there feels like a week. Even more.’
Tracy’s sceptical glance said, I’ll just bet it does, but in her droll way she was only being amusing. A sophisticated thirty-two, she found twenty-five-year-old Mel’s childlike enthusiasm quite endearing.
‘At least it did when I was a kid,’ Mel concluded.
They all took a swig of their drinks and gazed out at the view from the yacht club’s balcony as they gave the matter a moment’s thought.
‘Do we dare?’ Jet was the only one not looking at the view. Glancing up from the Facebook posts she’d been idly scrolling through, she voiced the uncertainty that now prevailed among them – with the apparent exception of Mel. ‘I mean, do we really dare? I mean, like, you know . . . no phones?’
‘There’s a landline at the cabin.’
‘She means no iPhones, Mel.’ Tracy exchanged a look with the others. Jet and Eve nodded, and Danny, who had so embraced the idea, now dubiously eyed the phone that sat on the table beside her.
‘Definitely no iPhones,’ Melanie replied firmly. ‘That’s the whole point.’ There was an element of accusation in her tone as she continued. ‘That’s what we agreed, isn’t it? We’re all “Zoomed out” – that’s what we said. We’ve had enough of virtual team meetings and events and staring at each other on screens. “Whatever happened to human connection?” That’s what you said yesterday, Trace. In fact, if I recall, those were your exact words.’
Tracy gave a careless shrug – yes, she’d said that.
‘And you,’ Mel turned to Danielle. ‘You said, “Now that the Covid rules are relaxed, we should get away from it all – just the five of us.” Don’t you remember?’
‘Yep, I remember.’ Danny’s acknowledgement, unlike Tracy’s, was tinged with a touch of guilt.
‘So what’s suddenly wrong with Nonna and Pops’ cabin in the mountains?’ Mel demanded. ‘When I came up with the idea yesterday you were all for it. What’s happened? What’s different all of a sudden?’
‘No iPhones! I mean, like . . . Are you for real?’ The query in Jet’s eyes spoke for them all. A second-generation Vietnamese Australian and the granddaughter of boat people who’d arrived in the country following the Vietnam War, Jet was an interesting mix of contradictions. She was extremely attractive yet surprisingly ‘ocker’ (as was her brother, who played AFL). She happened also to be fiercely intelligent – at twenty-six years of age Jet was already one of the most highly regarded editors at Albatross Books Australia, which made her turn of phrase at times odd. She didn’t talk like someone who worked with words on a sophisticated level. But Jet was Jet, a true original who never conformed to anyone’s expectations of her. Except, as it now appeared, when it came to iPhones.
‘I dunno if I could live without my phone,’ she admitted, meeting the eyes of the others unashamedly. ‘I mean, like . . . it’s a lifeline, isn’t it? You’d be severing your connections, wouldn’t you? Pretty brutal. And for a whole three days!’
‘Brutal is what we agreed yesterday,’ Melanie insisted, ‘and severing our connections is just what we need.’
The five women all worked for the small but highly successful publishing company, and it was true that just the previous day they’d bared their souls in no uncertain manner. Finally allowed to return to their workplace, they’d decided they were thoroughly fed up with the constraints that had been forced upon them working from home, not to mention the unrealistic expectations that could never be realised given the regulations imposed during the pandemic.
At lunch break, gathered in the recreation area over the takeaway meals they’d bought at the food hall across the road from the ABA offices, it had become a real whinge-fest.
‘How were we supposed to sell books when the shops weren’t open,’ Mel had demanded – pleasant, good-natured Mel, who rarely complained – ‘readers need to browse! They need to wander between shelves and read back-cover blurbs . . .’ Mel was an account manager.
Twenty-seven-year-old Danny from marketing had taken up the argument in seamless fashion. ‘Exactly!’ she’d exclaimed through a mouthful of tacos with double jalapeños, which she still managed to eat with elegance. Stylish and fashionably androgynous, Danny was always elegant. ‘And what about the groundwork we put in to dump bins and posters and lightwalls – and for what? No-one was travelling, no-one was shopping.’
‘It’s all right for you lot . . .’ Not to be outdone, Tracy had joined in with a vengeance. ‘You haven’t had to wrangle imbecile authors incapable of linking up to Zoom. God almighty, what is it about authors! Don’t they know the world’s gone digital? Electronically useless! Dinosaurs, every one of them!’ Even in her exasperation she recognised the need to clarify herself. ‘Well, the older ones anyway.’
Tracy actually adored authors, and authors adored Tracy. As publicity director, she loved nothing better than being out on the road with an author, travelling the country, counting the crowds that turned up and the numbers of books they bought, but above all basking in the bond between readers and writers. Book tours really were Tracy’s ‘thing’. But a virtual tour was something altogether different, and the endless Zoom events necessitating links between authors’ homes and multitudinous libraries where technicians were sometimes reliable, sometimes not, had proved a source of immense irritation.
Having had her rant, she dived guiltily into her bowl of kale and tofu salad. Traitorous words. God, if anyone heard me call authors ‘imbeciles’ my life wouldn’t be worth living. But she knew she was safe among her mates.
‘Whatever happened to human communication,’ she grumbled as she gamely gathered up another parcel of kale with her chopsticks. She didn’t care much for kale, but maintaining a svelte body like hers demanded she make the effort.
Eve was ABA’s fiction publisher, a pretty, petite woman who at thirty-four was the oldest of the group. She had followed on with her own pandemic whinge about homeschooling. With three children under the age of ten the situation had certainly been a challenge. She didn’t add the fact that her husband, Jason, had not shared the burden as fairly as she’d hoped he might. In fact, Jase had been a right pain in the arse, but she’d decided to keep that opinion to herself – for now, anyway.
Then another voice chimed in.
‘Well, let’s face it, the whole world’s suffering, isn’t it?’
They all halted in their tracks and turned to Jet, who was lounging back in her chair wolfing down a massive hamburger with a side serve of chips that she was dunking in tomato sauce. Slim as a whippet, Jet ate a lot of junk food. ‘I mean, we don’t have things too bad in Australia, do we?’
The dagger looks from the others didn’t bother her in the least. Sure, she was single, no kids to worry about, and as an editor she hadn’t had to go through their hellish online experiences, but hers was the voice of reason – they must realise that. Aware of their irritation, however, she was prepared to placate.
‘There’s a long weekend coming up,’ Jet said, flicking her glossy black hair over her shoulders and flashing them an amiable smile. ‘We could go on a holiday.’
Her suggestion had been flippant, but Danny had pounced on it instantly.
‘Why not? Now that the Covid rules are relaxed, we should get away from it all – just the five of us.’
As a rule, the close ABA female fraternity numbered seven, but two were currently absent. Jodie wouldn’t be back from maternity leave for another two months, and Kylie was due to give birth any time now. There was nearly always someone off on maternity leave.
Working in different departments as they did, the women might not have been drawn into such close contact had it not been for Lauren. Lauren, the company’s previous publishing director, had bonded the women together right from the start, and with potent purpose.
‘Strength in numbers,’ she had declared. ‘There’ll be no misogyny in the workplace if we stick together, my friends. Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno.’
ABA, having been founded by two brothers, was headed solely by men, and Lauren had been the only female executive with any form of senior rank. A confirmed feminist, she’d used her charismatic powers of leadership to full advantage, although not in a militant fashion.
‘Civility at all times,’ she would say. ‘No need to wage war when a show of strength will suffice.’ And she’d flash that devilish grin of hers. ‘Strong women are a formidable force, particularly when they share an unbreakable friendship. As we do,’ she’d add meaningfully.
The female fraternity at ABA had adored Lauren; she’d been their hero. But Lauren was dead. She’d been dead for just over a year now – a Covid-related death from ‘complications’ apparently. But what complications? Lauren had been fit and strong, not one of those deemed ‘vulnerable’ with ‘underlying conditions’. And she’d only been forty. How could she have died from Covid? But doctors evidently didn’t give out any details apart from ‘complications’.
A new publishing director had been appointed, a man this time, but it hadn’t altered the bond that had been forged between the ABA women. All for one, one for all was their motto, and it always would be. Their friendship remained unbreakable, and Lauren would always be a strong presence in their midst.
Danny now invoked their hero. ‘The five of us off on an adventure,’ she said. ‘Lauren would approve.’ With an enthusiastic fist-pump she hurled out several of Lauren’s many quotes. “Think large” . . . “Live big” . . . “Get out amongst it while you can.”’
And that was when Mel, fired up, had gone one step further. Her grandparents had a cabin in the mountains, she said, and they’d be away over the long weekend. In fact, they’d be away for a whole fortnight.
‘They’ve booked a railway trip on the Ghan,’ she explained, ‘Adelaide to Darwin, and they’re staying several days either end. Nonna and Pops wouldn’t mind us having the cabin for the long weekend.’
‘Nonna?’ Tracy asked with the arch of an impeccably sculpted eyebrow.
‘That’s right. She never wanted to be “grandma”, and she loves Italy, so we opted for Nonna instead.’ Mel smiled fondly. ‘Nonna’s seventy-five, but she’s still frightfully groovy.’
‘Frightfully groovy’, Tracy thought, how quaint. There was something so old-fashioned about Mel. Tracy wondered whether this might perhaps be due to her relationship with her grandparents. Nonna and Pops? Only Mel would retain the childish titles of her grandparents. Tracy’s own grandparents had been Wendy and Pete since she was ten years old.
‘She and Pops usually do a river cruise in Europe,’ Mel went on, ‘but because of the pandemic they’ve settled on the Ghan. Nonna just loves trains.’
A flurry of excitement ensued as they agreed that a long weekend in the mountains would be a wonderful idea. Eve said she might even be able to borrow her parents’ kombi van so the five of them could travel together without having to take two cars.
‘How fab,’ Mel enthused. ‘We’ll be just like the Famous Five.’
‘The what?’ Danny asked.
‘Enid Blyton,’ she explained as they all looked at her blankly. ‘Nonna used to give me a Famous Five book every Christmas. I adored them.’
Of course you did, Tracy thought, which explains everything.
Lunch break over, they’d left the discussion there.
And now, the following day being Friday, they found themselves seated at their favourite watering hole. Or rather, it had been before Covid had closed the city. The picturesque little yacht club down the hill from ABA’s offices had only recently reopened, and they were seated out on the balcony overlooking the bay.
On arrival, they’d laid claim to their favourite table outside, purchased their bottle of wine with four glasses – plus a beer for Jet, who never drank anything else – and toasted their newfound freedom. Talk soon returned to their plans for the following weekend.
Mel had phoned her grandparents the previous evening, and they were more than happy to loan the group the cabin.
‘Nonna said the key’ll be under the doormat,’ she announced.
‘Original,’ Tracy remarked.
And Eve had scored the kombi van. ‘It’s twenty years old,’ she warned them, ‘but Dad has always kept it in mint condition.’ Eve was the eldest of six siblings, and for many years the kombi van had been an essential vehicle for her busy parents.
Then Melanie waxed rhapsodic about the rustic return to nature she envisaged – ‘Just the five of us alone in the wilderness, living the way people did forty years ago’ – and within only minutes the reality of being without their smartphones hit home.
‘But I’ll have to be in touch with the kids,’ Eve said.
‘There’s the landline,’ Mel replied. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
Without FaceTime? Eve thought, but she didn’t say anything.
‘What about Covid check-ins?’ Danny demanded with a ring of triumph. ‘What if we need to show proof of vaccinations?’
But Melanie had all the answers. ‘We won’t be checking in anywhere,’ she explained. ‘There isn’t a shop within twenty kilometres of the cabin, and we’ll take everything we need with us.’ Aware Danny was on the verge of interrupting, she continued, ‘You can carry a printout if you’re worried. Pops says everyone should be doing that anyway. He says there’s too much reliance on mobile phones and that everyone should carry documentation.’
Good old Pops, Tracy thought.
As if to add personal emphasis to the argument, two phones suddenly sounded, Eve’s pinging with an incoming text message and Melanie’s giving off its tinkly melodic ringtone. While they responded, the others gravitated to their own phones, each scrolling through their own sea of content, particularly Jet, whose phone never left her hand.
