The Patterson Girls (11 page)

‘You should put your name down,' Aunt Mags had told Mum and Dad when she'd first announced her decision.

‘Over my dead body,' had been Dad's response, with a few more colourful words interspersed in between. Or so Mum had told Madeleine later on Skype. But apparently Mags was having the time of her life. She sent regular emails about her adventures and it sounded like she had many fans in the retirement village, including a few gentleman friends. Madeleine couldn't blame them; there was just something about Mags that uplifted all those around her.

It was a blessing for all of them that she'd chosen to spend Christmas at the motel instead of heading out to the farm to see her nephews. Hopefully with Aunt Mags knocking back the gin and tonics at the kitchen table, conversation would flow more easily than it had the last few days. If anyone could make Dad smile, it was his much-loved, eccentric older sister.

‘I can't wait to see her,' Abigail said as they climbed the steps of the retirement village's reception. Neither of them had been here before so they needed directions to Mags's villa.

‘Me too.' Madeleine pushed open the door and held it while Abigail stepped into the foyer.

‘Wow, not bad.' Abigail's words echoed Madeleine's thoughts as they glanced around what seemed more like the reception of a five-star hotel than, let's face it, the entrance to what was essentially a dressed-up nursing home.

‘Hello? Can I help you?' A terribly thin, tiny woman behind the desk stood up and peered at them over the top of her steel-rimmed spectacles. She didn't look pleased to be working on Christmas Day.

‘We're here to pick up Margaret Patterson,' Madeleine told her.

The woman's face lit up at the mention of Aunt Mags. ‘She's in villa 2B. Just outside this door—' She pointed to her right ‘—and across the courtyard, then turn left and you'll see it.'

They thanked the woman and then followed her directions, walking through what felt like a tropical oasis. If Madeleine didn't know better, she'd have thought she was in Bali. If all retirement villages were like this, she wouldn't mind getting old.

‘It's quiet, isn't it?' Abigail noted as they approached the first row of little houses.

‘I guess most people are off visiting their families.'

Before Abigail could reply they heard a loud, ‘You-hoo, over here!'

They both laughed as they caught sight of Mags standing outside 2B waving her arms like someone needing to be rescued from the sea. She was dressed as Mrs Claus and wore a ridiculous smile.

‘Oh, Aunt Mags.' Abigail launched into a jog, closing the distance between herself and their aunt. She threw herself into the older woman's arms and rested her head on her gigantic bosom. ‘It's so good to see you.'

‘Dear, dear child, enough of the theatrics,' Aunt Mags scolded, patting Abigail on the back. ‘You'll embarrass me in front of my friends.'

‘What friends?' Madeleine asked, looking around and seeing no one.

Mags gave her a look. ‘Enough of your cheek, young lady, I have plenty of friends, but their families were less tardy about collecting them. I almost got heat stroke waiting for you two.'

Madeleine thought the costume might have something to do with that, but she knew better than to suggest such a thing to her crazy aunt. ‘Let's get going now then,' she said instead.

Aunt Mags beamed and offered them each an arm. ‘Grab my bag will you, Madeleine.'

She did as she was told and as they walked to the van they listened to Mags chat about a Christmas Eve party one of her neighbours had thrown last night. Apparently one of the residents had gotten so drunk on sherry that she'd sworn it was snowing.

‘Esme went outside, lay down on the grass and tried to make snow angels and nobody could get her back up. In the end we had to call the nurses. But enough about me,' Mags barked as she clicked her seatbelt into place and settled her hands on the dashboard like she needed to hold on for dear life. ‘What's new with you two?'

‘Nothing much,' Abigail said from the back seat where she was checking her phone—no doubt on Facebook.

‘I suppose you don't have much time for a life outside the orchestra.' Mags sounded only slightly sympathetic.

‘She's got time for a boyfriend.' Madeleine laughed. ‘She went all the way to London to find a man who comes from Adelaide.'

‘No! Really?' Mags peered her head around into the backseat. ‘You must tell me all about him.'

Happy to be the centre of attention, Abigail prattled on for the next little while about her boyfriend. Madeleine thought he sounded too good to be true.

‘What about you, Madeleine?' Mags said, when Abigail seemed to run out of puff. ‘Anyone warming your sheets these days?'

‘My electric blanket. Better than any man. I can switch it on or off whenever I please.'

Mags snorted.

The truth was, the only man Madeleine could imagine putting up with on an ongoing basis was Hugo, and he was all set to marry someone else. She pushed that thought aside and decided it was time to enact the ambush she'd been planning since yesterday afternoon. Although she thought the whole curse thing a big joke, her dad's reaction had sparked her curiosity and she thought if she could drag the truth out of anyone it'd be Mags—she'd always liked spinning a good yarn.

‘Aunt Mags, yesterday we started clearing through some of Mum's things to help Dad get the motel ready to put on the market.'

‘Aw,' Mags sighed, ‘what a horrid task.'

‘Yes. But you'll never guess what we found.'

‘Ooh, yes,' shrieked Abigail from the back seat. ‘Tell her.'

‘Sex toys?' Mags suggested, her tone wicked.

Madeleine blushed and Abigail giggled.

‘Please, Aunt Mags.
No
.'

‘We found a wedding card with something about a Patterson curse,' Abigail blurted.

Madeleine looked sideways just in time to see a weird expression cross Mags's face. She couldn't quite work it out. ‘Know anything about that?'

‘About what?' Mags asked, pretending to be a doddery old woman, which she most definitely was not.

‘About the curse. Surely you've heard something about it before?'

Mags shook her head. ‘Can't say it rings any bells. Have you asked your father?'

‘Yes,' Abigail said. ‘He said he promised Mum he'd never tell us.'

‘That is odd. Did you say your father is selling the motel?'

Madeleine's fingers tightened around the steering wheel at Mags's less than subtle attempt to change the subject. Did she really know nothing about the curse? Or was she hiding something?

‘Yes, but forget about that a moment,' snapped Abigail from the back seat. ‘What do you know about this curse?'

Mags sighed deeply. ‘I promised your mother I wouldn't say anything either. She swore us
all
to secrecy.'

Madeleine didn't like her aunt's uncharacteristically serious tone. ‘Okay, now you're scaring me,' she said. And the truth was, nothing much scared Madeleine. ‘If there
is
such thing as a Patterson curse, don't we—as Pattersons—deserve to know about it?'

‘Probably; and after all, these things only have power if you let them.'

‘What things?'

‘Tell us, Aunty Mags,' Abigail pleaded.

‘To be honest, I always thought Annette was a little precious about keeping it a secret. Especially since she swore black and blue she didn't believe a word of it.'

‘A word of what?' Abigail asked, sounding more and more frustrated.

Madeleine gripped the wheel so hard her nails dug into her palms. ‘Whatever it is, do
you
believe in it?'

Again Mags was quiet for a long while. Finally, she sighed. ‘I wouldn't like to say either way.'

Madeleine's jaw clenched in frustration. What kind of answer was that? But before she or Abigail could say anything more, Mags spoke again. ‘Do you really want to know?'

Charlie's words flashed into Madeleine's head.
Sometimes a little knowledge can be dangerous
. But Madeleine had never been the kind of person who could let something lie. ‘Yes. I do,' she said and Abigail agreed.

Aunt Mags reached over and patted Madeleine's knee. ‘If I tell you girls,' she began, ‘you must promise never to tell your father. He'd never forgive me and the last thing he needs right now is more stress.'

A chill scuttled down Madeleine's spine. ‘Agreed.'

‘Promise,' came Abigail's reply from behind them.

‘As I said, it's probably nothing, but the story goes that my grandfather, your great-grandfather, James Patterson, had a brief liaison with a girl from a gypsy type family before he met his wife, Laura. The girl—Doris was her name—fell head over heels for him but apparently she thought she meant more to James than she actually did. He just saw her as a friend. The girl's family were travellers, and when the others moved on, she and her sister stayed in town. I guess she hoped James would change his mind. But when he married Laura, the gypsy girl committed suicide.'

Abigail gasped. ‘Oh God. Poor thing.'

Mags tsked. ‘Poor James. Can you imagine the guilt? It wasn't his fault. You don't choose who you fall in love with.' Although initially reluctant to talk about the curse, once she started Mags got caught up in the tale, loving the drama of imparting some old family gossip. ‘Anyway, Doris's sister got a real bee in her bonnet about it and blamed Laura for her death. The story goes that she visited Laura in hospital when she had her first child and cursed all her female descendants. Since that day …' She paused. For a second Madeleine thought she'd changed her mind, but then she finished, ‘no Patterson-born women have ever had children.'

‘Huh?' Madeleine tried to get a grip on what Mags had just told her. The cynic in her spoke first. ‘Why curse the women when it was a man who broke her sister's heart?'

‘Because,' Mags said dramatically, ‘women get blamed for everything. Just look at Adam and Eve. Besides, who says curses have to make sense?'

Madeleine racked her brain, thinking back over their family tree. She'd never paid much attention to be honest, but if she thought hard enough, she knew Mags was right. Her dad and Aunt Mags had one brother—Uncle William—who'd had four sons. Going back a generation, their grandfather had been one of three children, hence the two aunts, who were widowed young and lived out their lives like a couple of spinsters. But that was only two generations of Pattersons and as far as she knew Aunt Mags had never wanted kids, never married, never tried for a family. So, her mum was probably right—coincidences and codswallop.

She felt a little let down. She was hoping for something a
lot
more exciting.

‘What happened to the woman who gave the curse?' Abigail asked as Madeleine turned the car into the main street of Meadow Brook.

‘Oh, she stayed in town,' Mags said, seemingly happy to tell all now she'd started. ‘Drove Laura wild, following her, shaking her head and uttering mumbo jumbo whenever she could. In fact, her daughter still lives here. You probably know her. She lives out on the edge of town all by herself, well, except for her cats. There's been stories abounding about her for years.'

Madeleine almost swerved off the road and into the local Australia Post mailbox at this news. She recovered, brought the car back into the middle of the lane and then looked in the rear-view mirror.

‘You mean Wacky Wanda?' Abigail asked. Her face had gone deathly pale.

Oblivious, Mags continued. ‘Her real name is Lorraine. She was the same age as my father but never attended school. She and her mum kept to themselves until her mum died and as far as I know she's always lived alone. I feel sorry for the old girl. She must be in her nineties and I'm not sure she's ever left Meadow Brook. Some say she's not right in the head.'

Madeleine met Abigail's gaze in the mirror and saw her look of utter horror. ‘Sounds like the
whole
family weren't right in the head,' she said.

Mags laughed. ‘Mad as cut snakes I'd say.'

‘But what if …' Abigail's question died on her tongue as Madeleine turned the van into the motel car park and saw an ambulance out the front.

‘Goodness gracious, what's going on?' Mags asked, leaning forward as if doing so would give her a better view.

At that moment the front door of the motel opened and Charlie emerged, a stricken expression on her face as two men in ambulance uniforms wheeled out a stretcher, Lucinda bringing up the rear.

‘Dad!' Abigail gasped.

Madeleine flung open the door and almost tripped in her efforts to get to him. ‘What's going on?' she demanded to no one in particular as she stopped alongside the stretcher, glancing at the oxygen mask and defibrillator attached to him

‘He had some kind of turn. They think it's his heart,' replied Lucinda, her voice shaky. ‘They're taking him to Port Augusta.'

Madeleine looked from her dad's ashen face to the serious expressions of the volunteer ambulance officers. ‘Mitch,' she said, recognising one of them. ‘Have you given him Aspirin or a GTN spray?'

‘Yes. We'll look after him, Mads.' He offered her what she guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

Mitch might be good at driving trucks and fixing
things
but what did he know about fixing people? And as for the other volunteer, he didn't look old enough to buy his own underwear. She puffed out a breath. ‘I'm coming with you.'

Chapter Seven

‘It can't be too bad or they'd have the lights and siren on, right?' Abigail asked, sounding like a five-year-old in need of reassurance.

It was the first time any of them had spoken since getting in the van almost ten minutes ago. Charlie took her eyes off the ambulance ahead of them and reached over to squeeze her sister's hand. ‘I'm sure he'll be fine.'