Under Ten Thousand Stars

Contents

Prologue

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

Acknowledgements

About the author

Copyright

For my mother – who gave me armfuls of books, and changed my life …

Prologue

MICHAEL DIDN’T KNOW. How could he? Julia had ended up in hospital trying to keep this from him. Now he sat beside her. All the while she could still feel Christopher’s touch – the memory of it like an electric current that passed right through her.

She stared up at the ceiling. The harsh fluorescent light made her eyes water. Somewhere nearby a machine pinged. There were voices too. She was in a shared room, the faded green curtains around her bed drawn closed. They matched the colour of her gown. Everything was coming into focus: the memory of that day, her injuries.

Julia looked over at Michael. He smiled gently.

What? she asked.

You’ve got a big crease right down the middle of your cheek. It looks like it’s been drawn on.

She rubbed her cheek. How long have I been asleep?

About ten hours. I got back here around nine thirty and you were already asleep.

Oh. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Michael leaned forward and rubbed the back of his neck with his fingertips. Then he sat up and crossed his arms above his head, each hand cupping the opposite elbow, and stretched. She thought he looked uncomfortable in the plastic chair and wanted to ask if he’d slept in it all night but didn’t have the energy. It hurt to breathe.

Want some water? he asked.

No.

Hungry?

She shook her head.

I’m just going to grab some coffee. When he got to the curtains he hesitated and turned back to her. Sure you’ll be okay?

She nodded, felt a wash of guilt.

When he smiled again it was only with his mouth, tiredness etched in deep lines either side of it. Back soon.

A moment later the curtains opened again and a nurse walked in. Julia recognised her from brief moments of wakefulness throughout the night.

Good morning, Julia. How are you feeling?

Julia looked down at the cannula in her wrist. It was itchy where the needle went in and she wanted to scratch it. Um, good. She tried to sound upbeat. A bit tired.

Well, that’s to be expected after what you’ve been through.

Her words touched the hurt inside and unfurled it violently. Julia wanted to cry.

The nurse had already moved to the end of the bed where she was reading Julia’s chart and talking at the same time. I saw your husband in the corridor. Goodness me, he’s a handsome fellow. She looked up and laughed.

In spite of herself, Julia laughed too, but it was a strangled noise that sounded like it had come from someone else.

Right then, the nurse said, putting the chart back. She squeezed Julia’s foot. Try to get some rest. If you need anything just buzz.

Julia closed her eyes and almost immediately was falling asleep. It was a euphoric feeling, like floating, but then a briny smell filled her nostrils and she was back by the sea. Her heart skipped when she saw the beach house outlined faintly against the dark, and the man standing in the doorway. She wanted to run but her feet wouldn’t move. She stood frozen to the spot, her breath heaving, until just as suddenly the dream spat her out.

Julia, a voice said. Michael sat down on the end of the bed, resting his eyes on her. He had a coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. You okay?

Yep.

He gave her a doubtful look.

Really, she said. She knew he didn’t believe her. He was saying something but his words seemed to come at her through water. She tried to listen but her eyelids were heavy.

He kicked off his boots and lay down beside her, his six foot plus frame fitting awkwardly on the bed. He took her hand in his and she felt the calluses on his palm, gnarled against the smooth texture of her own. Up close, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, his drawn face.

Have a sleep, she said. You look exhausted.

He yawned. Mmm, maybe just a little nap.

He fell asleep still holding her hand. She stared at the far wall, wanting to sleep too, but even with her husband beside her she was afraid. She knew what was waiting for her. It was in her sleep that he came slowly into focus, the night closing in around them, all her senses swallowed up by the darkness. But what frightened her most was the way his arms were outstretched towards her, beckoning. And she stepped forward into them, smiling.

One

THERE WAS SOMETHING CLANDESTINE about the whole thing. It started in the laneway with a trail of footprints stencilled onto the cobblestones. The big white feet led from the corner of Flinders Lane down to where a young woman dressed in a black cocktail dress stood by a door. The gallery wasn’t signposted – it looked like just another doorway among the industrial buildings which lined either side of the street. The only indication of the woman’s role was a small clipboard she held in one hand.

Julia stood further down the laneway and watched people arriving, enjoying their delight as they saw the footprints leading the way like a trail of breadcrumbs. Some of them she recognised – art collectors, some overseas dealers – but most were unfamiliar faces. New buyers, she hoped. She was eager to get back inside to greet her guests, but was still trying to get hold of Michael.

Liliana caught her gaze, and Julia signalled she wouldn’t be much longer. She tried Michael again. Why wasn’t he answering? Why wasn’t he already here?

She hung up and walked to the door.

No luck? Liliana said.

Julia shook her head. Still no answer.

Never mind. Tonight’s all about you.

Julia gave her a tight smile. It was true, which was why he should have been here by now. She felt a sudden well of tears and pushed them down. Not tonight. Not now.

She went down the handful of stairs into the basement space. It was a former factory with blank walls and painted concrete floors, tracks of recessed lighting in the ceiling, and strings of fairy lights wound around the rustic wooden rafters; a perfect space for a showing. The exhibition had been sudden, after another artist cancelled two weeks earlier and a spot had opened up. Her original show wasn’t scheduled for another three months so it had been a mad scramble to dry a handful of paintings, but she’d managed it. She’d even bought herself a new dress, a dusty pink floor-length gown with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt. It had seemed too much when she’d tried it on in the shop – pure silk, and with a $1000 price tag – but here in this room, with the soft lighting bouncing off the walls and the clinking of champagne glasses, it felt perfect. She smoothed it down and made her way to the bar.

There you are. A man’s voice. I wondered where you’d gone.

Julia turned to see her art dealer, Anthony, grinning at her. He was wearing a blazing neon green T-shirt with the words BACON LOVE written in large black letters, khaki shorts and red sneakers. Despite being in his mid-forties, the look suited him. His curly red hair was frazzled, cheeks flushed by the wine.

I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet, he said. Looks like we might have our first sale for the evening.

Already? I just walked in the door.

When you’re hot, you’re hot.

Julia reached for a flute of champagne and followed him across the room. She’d only taken half a dozen steps when her passage was blocked by a woman coming towards her. It was Adriana, her sister, smiling, slightly breathless and holding a flute of her own.

I won’t keep you, she said, clinking her glass against Julia’s. I just wanted to say well done. All your hard work is finally paying off.

Julia wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck, smelt the musk of her perfume. Thanks for being here, she murmured. I love you.

Adriana smiled again, one hand holding onto Julia’s bare arm. Me too. Now get out there and be fabulous.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. There were people to meet, and discussions about commissions, including one with an influential Japanese art dealer who bought four of her paintings and commissioned two more. A Sydney collector with a waterfront mansion in Point Piper commissioned a large-format work. Don’t care what, just make it big. Her glass was constantly refilled, and while she felt a flush creeping up the back of her neck, she didn’t feel drunk. She didn’t want to admit how relieved she was to be out of the house, how she revelled in this atmosphere, cushioned by the reception to her work. It was a wonderful feeling, after all her efforts, to be rewarded in this way. Her shoulders loosened as the hours passed, and her limbs felt fluid, as though they were floating through water.

When the last guest had left, Ant came over from where he was leaning against the bar, an aquamarine-coloured drink in his hand. Four sales and two new commissions – congratulations are in order.

Don’t get me wrong, but thank goodness that’s over, Julia said.

I know, right. Who would’ve thought that the painting is the easy bit.

She yawned. I don’t think I can drive home.

You should stay. There’s a nice guest bedroom at my place, fancy sheets … Come on, let’s get out of here.

It was a crisp evening. The air was chilled but still, and traffic sounds wafted from the bottom of the laneway. They walked around the corner to Ant’s apartment.

Inside, Julia unzipped the dress, allowed it to fall to the floor. She thought she should hang it up but was too tired – too drunk – to bother. Instead, she sat heavily on the bed. Her head pounded. She reached for her bag on the bedside table and fished out her phone. She hadn’t checked it all evening. There was a message alert. It was from Michael: Sorry, something came up at work.

Julia felt the lump rise in her throat, swallowed it down. Why hadn’t he tried harder to come? He knew it was an important night for her. The winery had been getting in the way of their personal life more and more these last few months.

She looked at the screen, trying to think of a reply. She knew she couldn’t call, knew how her voice would sound, and that she would say something she’d regret. Instead she texted: Staying at Ant’s. See you tomorrow.

She threw the phone aside, and got into bed, shuddering at the cool, crisp sheets on her skin, dropping her head onto the pillow with a long sigh.

He should have been here.

Two

MICHAEL SAT IN HIS ute outside the plant, watching the rain come down. Unease sat in his gut like a dull ache. They were scheduled to harvest the shiraz grapes today, had a bunch of pickers coming in at nine. This kind of rain, heavy and insistent, could destroy a crop in a matter of hours. It was 6:45 am. Still time for it to clear, but he wasn’t hopeful.

His phone beeped in the centre console. He picked it up, read the message: On the way. J.

As he scanned the cursory words, he felt a wash of guilt. He imagined Julia the night before, talking with art collectors and friends who’d come along on her big night, glancing at the door, waiting for him to arrive. He’d planned on being there, but the call had come in just as he was about to leave – Hao Jiu & Co, a Chinese wine distributor and one of his biggest clients, checking on the coming vintage. By the time he’d gotten off the phone he’d already missed the opening and a bunch of Julia’s calls. He couldn’t bear to hear the disappointment in her voice and so he’d texted instead. Then spent the rest of the evening doing paperwork.

He texted a reply now: I love you, baby. But as he went to press send he hesitated, didn’t even know why. He deleted it, then typed another: See you tonight.

He looked out the window again, past their little dog, Luca, who stood with his front legs up on the window sill, nose pressed to the cold glass. The poplars on the ridge were swaying now, and the clouds overhead had darkened. His heart sank at the sight of the approaching storm. Orders had already been placed from Europe and North America, and there were rumblings in wine circles about whether this vintage would be entered in the International Wine Challenge. He’d sunk a small fortune into new French oak barriques, and a state-of-the-art perfusion machine, like the ones used in heart surgery, to cleanse the wine of impurities. Everything was riding on the success of this crop.

He put the phone in his pocket and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, Luca was watching him, as though wondering why they were still sitting in the ute.

Come on, then, he said. Let’s get inside.

The rain was coming down sideways, splattering his jacket, as he walked towards the plant. It was a massive corrugated-iron shed with two roller doors large enough to fit the roll cages of the industrial tractors. On either side stood two aspen poplars that, in summer, were covered in an explosion of blooming yellow leaves. Julia had planted them a few years ago. Back when she used to come over to the winery. Back when she used to care, he thought sadly.

He shunted away the thought. He couldn’t think about her now – not when he had so much to do.

The plant was empty. He went upstairs to his office and sat down at his desk, stared out the window. The rain had worsened, the clouds at full cover, everything black. How likely was it to clear in the next two hours?

His mobile rang. Daniel, his business partner. Not Julia. He felt a wash of disappointment. At that moment all he wanted was to hear her sweet voice saying, Everything will be fine. You’ll see. The way she sometimes murmured to him when they lay on the couch in the evenings, his head resting in her lap, her fingers stroking his hair. But she hadn’t done that in a while.

He swallowed and answered. Mate.

Seen the rain? said Daniel.

I’m looking at it now.

Might clear up.

Doubt it. Looks like it’s settled in for the day.

Daniel exhaled. What do you want to do?

Not much we can do. It’s too late to cancel the pickers, and they still have to be paid regardless of whether they pick a grape.

Might just be a watch and wait, said Daniel eventually. I’ll do an inspection when I get there.

Michael walked over to the window. Outside, a blanket of clouds. Forgot to mention, he said, Hao Jiu called last night.

What did they want?

To find out how the vintage is coming along. When they can expect their order. Trying to firm up a delivery date.

Did you tell them the grapes are still on the vines?

Yeah, that would’ve gone down well. I just said I’d keep them in the loop. Took some convincing, though.

Michael went back downstairs. He could hear the rain drumming on the corrugated roof of the plant and wondered if it would ever stop. Needing something to do, he took a broom and went to clean one of the fermenters.

Daniel arrived when he was almost done. Wanna come for a walk? Inspect the damage?

Michael climbed out of the fermenter. Yeah. Not looking forward to it, though.

You and me both.

Outside the roller doors, they veered right towards the plantings. The rain had eased to a light drizzle but the dark clouds on the horizon threatened still. Even from the top of the hill they could see the battered vines, their leaves scattered across the wet grass, a carpet of orange and yellow. They walked in silence, followed by Luca, a small shadow at the corner of Michael’s eye.

As they drew closer, he saw the pock-marked grapes. Every bunch was damaged, even those that hung lower on the vine; their stems twisted at impossible angles.

Daniel led the way to the bottom of the row, then back up another. At the end, he put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and squeezed. I’m so sorry, mate.

Michael didn’t know what to say. He stared at the destroyed crop, the ragged vines. What are we gonna do now?

Daniel didn’t meet his eyes. I’ll make some calls, let the customers know what happened. That we won’t be able to fill their orders. But we’ll make it up with the next vintage. Dunno what else we can tell them.

Insurance might cover payroll next month, Michael said.

Do you think it’ll come in time?

Dunno. We might not even be eligible. Acts of God and all that.

Daniel shook his head. So we’re fucked?

Pretty much.

A long minute passed before the sound of an approaching vehicle broke the silence. They turned in unison, saw the bus pull into the car park.

Michael sighed. Pickers. Their timing couldn’t be any worse.

I’ll go let them know.

Thanks, mate. I don’t think I can face them right now.

Daniel walked up the hill, his head down, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. He looked how Michael felt. Defeated. Luca trotted along after him.

Michael’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He saw the screen: MUM. She’d texted late last night, but he’d forgotten to call back. Now he scanned the message: Dad’s got to have some tests. Tricky heart. Nothing to worry about, love.

Tricky heart? He didn’t even know what that meant. He felt his own heart lurch, unnerved by the idea that his strong, healthy father might be unwell. Could this day get any worse? He walked back up to the plant, already exhausted.

Three

JULIA WAS HALFWAY HOME when the storm arrived. The rain pelted the windscreen, obscuring the road ahead, making the wipers useless. She pulled over to wait it out. An unearthly light filled the car and made her look up sharply. The landscape was aglow, lightning skipping off the top of the mountain. Down at the Shoreham Road turnoff, the pine trees had almost disappeared behind a blanket of fog. And the view, usually bathed in light, began to darken.

Her mobile rang. She felt the nausea, the dryness in her mouth. She waited another ring, breathed in sharply before answering it.

Hi, she said, deliberately neutral, even though her resentment over last night bubbled.

Where are you?

Near Merricks, just pulled over until the worst of it passes.

Yeah, well, you would’ve missed it if you’d come home last night.

His voice was strained, sharp. She didn’t rise to it. Are you okay?

Stuck inside because of this rain.

Julia could barely hear him over the sound of it drumming on the car roof. She knew what the storm meant for the harvest. Had known the moment it arrived. Michael’s latest vintage – a pinot noir – was already being written about in wine magazines, even before the grapes had come off the vines. If the rain got too heavy it could destroy the entire crop in a matter of hours.

Are you sure you’re okay? she said