Chapter Twenty Five

The first thing she did when she got back to Jerinja was fetch her rifle.

Her family watched from the balcony, Tilda and Richard looking alarmed, Justin and Daz understanding.

She took out every wire in Toks’ Steinway and then she shot the ropes out too. The whole thing splashed into the dam and sank out of sight.

Daz gave a cheer.

Tilda came cautiously up beside her and they sat on the end of the stone jetty amid the duck poop. It was too cold to dangle their feet in, but they watched the dragonflies skim the surface of the water and leant against each other. A chill sea breeze billowed over the escarpment.

Peering through the lilies into the bright-dark water, they could just see the gold frame of the piano half embedded in the mud.

“Did she make you that angry, mum?”

Polly huffed a secret smile. “Not this time. She was pretty wonderful actually.”

Tilda wrinkled her nose. “Eew.”

A few moments slipped by.

“Then why—?”

“I just don’t think I need it any more,” Polly said. There was a fledgling confidence in her chest that hadn’t been there for a long time. “Toks is going to come home. Soon as she can. And we’re going to be okay.”

“Really?”

Polly’s smile widened. “Yeah,” she said. “Really.”

Three days later, the family gathered again on the balcony when a simple text message told Polly ‘ten minutes.’

As they watched, the flash of a red Porsche Taycan streaked between the trees on the access road.

Polly rolled her eyes. Toks always took that road way too fast. The car spun into the Jerinja driveway with Toks’ usual alluring blend of impatience and control. The woman’s confidence had always thrilled Polly. It looked infinitely more stylish in a Porsche. Polly smiled.

“Nice,” murmured Daz.

Polly nudged him. “Told you she’d come. You like her now?”

He grunted. “She can drive.”

“You’re so shallow.” Polly couldn’t stop grinning. Her heart was exalting. Toks was here! She’d flown across the world to get to her.

It was a long, twisting route through the foothills to the Jerinja big house and Toks took it at top speed. When she slid to a halt at the foot of the steps to the balcony it was with a flamboyant spray of pebbles.

Magpie fell out of the passenger door, staggered to the grass and threw up noisily.

“Fucken psychotic bitch,” she moaned.

The family applauded.

Polly didn’t even hear them. Her eyes were on the striking blonde who unfolded herself from the sports car, casually resettled her sunglasses on the top of her head and smiled smugly up at the house, one hand in the pocket of her deliciously skinny jeans.

Polly wanted to fall down the stairs into her arms. She wanted to stumble, run, throw herself at Toks and never let her go. She wanted to kiss that smirk away with her own lips. The beat of her heart syncing to hers.

But she held herself back. She’d be a needy, greedy mess later. Right now, she needed Toks to come to her utterly – all the way – just to be sure.

Toks just stood and looked at her, the smirk blossoming into a slow, warm smile, her head tipping slightly to the side as she gazed. With a small nod, she bent and leaned into the car again.

She emerged with a dozen red roses.

Polly’s heart cracked.

Halfway, she told herself. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t be proud. You hurt her too.

She felt her family pull back and she stepped slowly down the stairs. Toks met her there – Polly on the last step, Toks on the ground, sixteen years between them.

“I’m sorry,” Toks whispered, all her posturing gone.

“I know,” Polly murmured. “I’m sorry too.”

Vulnerability shone out of her face, and Polly cupped her cheeks in her hands and kissed her sweetly. It was a soft, loving kiss with all her forgiveness in her lips and all her hope on the tip of her tongue. She felt Toks fight the urge to make the kiss her own, felt her surrender and fall against her body. Polly kissed away the years of sorrow and regret. She danced her fingers on Toks’ neck and felt the woman quiver, and she kissed the loneliness away too.

She pulled back for a moment, her thumbs still lightly caressing her cheeks. Toks’ eyes were closed, her lips were open – and she looked so beautiful. Absolution like bliss on the hush of her breath.

The roses fell to the ground.

It was a long moment before Toks realised she was being watched. Redemption turned cunning, then wicked, and suddenly their positions were reversed. Toks stepped up and thrust her feet between Polly’s. One thigh pushed between her own, and her grip on Polly’s body was considerably greedier. Strong fingers threaded into Polly’s hair, an urgent tug tilted her face to hers. Toks fixed her eyes on Polly’s lips for one determined moment, licked her own lips, then pulled her in.

The kiss was home. Every hurt and every doubt was powerfully swept away. Time wound itself backwards and the years had no meaning. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of Toks’ mouth on hers.

Polly clung to Toks’ shoulders and let herself be kissed.

They only pulled apart when a heavy vibration struck the wooden step they were standing on.

“I have no idea what you see in her, Polls,” Magpie drawled, looking exceptionally green around the gills. “This woman is the most obnoxious bitch I’ve ever had to share a private jet with.”

Polly blinked, then giggled.

“Drives like a fucking maniac.” It was clear Magpie was going to be salty for a long while yet.

“I was in a hurry,” Toks protested mildly, but Polly could see the mischief in her eyes. “To get to you,” she added, smiling at Polly.

“Puke,” said Magpie.

“You just did,” jeered Toks.

“Fuckin—”

“Children,” called Justin from the balcony.

Toks’ fingers slotted into Polly’s and she didn’t ever want to let them go.

“Lunch is ready,” Daz said, as if this was any other day and not the beginning of a whole new life.

Magpie gave a pained moan and Toks laughed.

The sound tripped and bubbled at the edges of Polly’s mind, happiness and potential finding all the brightest frequencies and spinning them into joy. Toks shot her a wink and pulled her up the stairs, at home at Jerinja as she’d ever been. She even ruffled Tilda’s hair as she walked in the front door.

It was all going to be okay.

Later, Toks propped herself up on one elbow and brushed the back of her fingers over Polly’s cheek. The pad of her thumb traced her lips and Polly kissed it. She breathed deeply as the touch trailed lower, down her throat to her breasts. Fingertips swirled a featherlight spiral over her softest curves and all her skin contracted in goosebumps. Toks watched, pleased. A tiny bit apprehensive.

They were naked in Polly’s bed. Polly had taken Toks’ hand and led her away from the lunch table utterly ignoring the cheers from the others. That had been hours ago. Now, slightly sleepy and glowing with their love, they both knew it was time to talk.

“I’m ashamed,” Toks murmured.

“You don’t need to be. We were both stubborn and stupid.”

“I was stubborner,” Toks insisted.

“You always have to be better?”

“And stupider.”

Polly caught her hand and kissed her fingers. “How about we allow ourselves equal measures? One year of stupid each and fifteen years of stubborn. Can we move on now?” She nipped at a knuckle. “I’m really keen to move on.”

Toks smirked, then frowned, serious again. “You’ll tell me, won’t you? I mean, one day, whenever you’re ready? Please? I used to know everything about you, my darling Pearl, and now I only know your most defining moment from decades old newspaper clippings. I want to share your pain, help you carry it—”

“Oh, Toks.” She was so earnest, so eager and determined. Polly was sure she would resurrect the entire Korovinjan Securitate just to protect her from it single handedly. “My life is defined by much more than those six weeks. They were a very long time ago. I’m just glad you still like the woman I am now.”

Toks dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Love the woman you are now,” she vowed.

There was a silence. In it, Polly watched Toks panic.

“And you love the woman I—”

“I can put up with you,” Polly promised.

That was too much for Toks. She seized Polly’s wrists, pressed them into the pillow above her head and rolled on top of her, the whole length of her body a divine weight on hers. Polly’s legs fell open, her hips tilted up and Toks slotted into the spot she was meant to be in.

Toks whispered against her smiling lips. “I’m trying to be noble here. You might regret that cheek, my darling.”

“Never,” Polly said, then squealed as Toks’ teeth found her throat.

Much later, they padded out to the kitchen wrapped only in Polly’s quilts, and hunted through the fridge for the dinner they’d missed. They ate reheated chicken curry on the swing chair and stared out over the escarpment at the neverending stars.

“I made you meet my cousin.” Toks was still beating herself up. “I was so clueless. I swear I would never have put you through all those things if I’d known.”

Polly leaned into her. “Shh. Your cousin was nice. Though we barely had a chance to talk.”

“But you knew him. From before…”

Polly nodded and realised Toks couldn’t see her in the dark. She could feel the need to know fizzing and boiling inside Toks. It was going to spill over any moment, she knew.

“Polly, it was my uncle who did this to you! My own family. My name, my blood, my country— and then my neglect! My selfishness.” There was so much pain in her voice. “I can’t bear what I’ve done to you— I’m so sorry—”

Polly hushed her. “It was your cousin who saved me.”

“What?” Toks hiccupped. “He said the same thing about you.”

“I guess.” Polly gave in and told Toks everything. Why wait? They’d waited long enough. She let the woman cuddle into her chest and cry into her neck. She knew the pain was new for Toks. Toks would need room to heal too.

And then she told Toks the last bit.

“Your cousin, Nikoloz, looked so much like you. The others called him ‘Leytenant Tokarycz’ but I’d have known who he was even if I hadn’t heard his name. He was the only decent one among them.”

She felt Toks nod – tiny, flutterby things – against her throat. Poor, silly thing.

“It was right near the end, though it had felt like the end for weeks. I didn’t know it, but the UN team was already outside. It was making the Securitate soldiers nervous, angry – well, angrier than usual. And careless. They set my friend Violet free then screamed at me that they’d killed her. I believed them. They said I was next.”

“Christ.” It was just an exhale of breath. Polly hummed a small smile into Toks’ hair. She’d made her peace with all this ages ago, but she could help Toks through it too. She was strong now. She had her heart back.

“They were boys. Young men damaged by violence and scared for their own skins by that point. One put his gun down to untie my hands and another pulled a wire from the piano.” She paused. “Your cousin winks just like you do.”

Toks pulled back. “What?”

“He kicked the gun toward me and time stretched out like treacle. I shot two of them there and then, and grabbed one’s rifle as he fell. I rolled off the edge of the stage into a snowdrift and ran for my life.”

Toks gaped.

“I know theatres. And I knew I was leaving a trail of blood. I couldn’t hide. Running would get me shot like Violet. So I figured I had to go high and finish things. Properly. I found my way up to a box—”

“Which box?”

Polly nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. The same one I watched your concert from.”

“Oh, god.”

“And I picked off the rest of the Securitate one by one.” Polly hadn’t told anyone that. Not even Tilda. “I killed them,” she said, quietly. “I killed them all. I had Nikoloz Konstantyn Tokarycz in my sights with my finger on the trigger when two soldiers from the UN burst in. Justin and Daz. I nearly killed them too. I’ll never know what I might have done if Justin hadn’t had such a gorgeous Australian accent. He took the weapon from my hands.” She sighed at the stars. “So you don’t need to feel too sorry for me, Toks. I’m not exactly innocent myself.”

“Self defence, Polly!”

“Maybe. They were kids and they were following orders.”

“They were murderers.”

“So was I.”

“You can’t really blame yourself for—”

Polly shrugged. “For a while I did. That’s why I never found you. You were conducting the Vienna by then and I was broken with an awful secret and a kid I hated. You didn’t need a mess like me even if we could have forgiven each other.”

“Bloody hell, Polly,” Toks sniffed. “I always needed you.”

They leant their foreheads together and wept.

After a while, Toks stirred again. “And Tilda?” She swallowed. “Was it— was it my uncle?”

Polly stiffened slightly. That had been hard too. General Konstantyn Tokarycz had looked just like his brother – Toks’ dad – the kind guy who’d named each of the cows at 613 and patiently held Milica the horse when Toks and Polly had scrambled onto her back.

“I haven’t done the DNA tests,” she said.

Toks’ face crumpled. “So, it was … possible?”

Polly cupped her cheek and raised one shoulder to her ear. “Likely, when I think about it. The girl is as determined as you are. Bossy. Competitive. Pig-headed.” She smiled at Toks’ mock-outrage. “Wouldn’t be surprised if there was Tokarycz in her blood.”

“I like her,” Toks declared.

“Of course you do.” Polly laughed. “So you see, don’t you? It was like the fortune teller told us. I think I had to go through all those things with the piano and the firearms to get to you.”

“She was a rubbish psychic.”

Polly stood and pulled Toks to her feet. She opened arms and the quilt she had wrapped around her naked body and tapped her foot until Toks did the same. She stepped into the warmth of Toks’ embrace.

“Come back to bed, Maestro—”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

Polly tickled her ribs. “Come back to bed and be my ruin, my passion and my salvation.”

Of course, Toks had to go back to work.

“Come with me,” she begged Polly.

“No piano concerto this week,” Polly said. “You don’t need me. And I have work to do here. I have the retreat to run, and I’ll have to tune the B?sendorfer Imperial for your mum soon.”

“Daz runs the retreat, Poll,” drawled Magpie, “and Draga doesn’t like that old bomb anyway.” Magpie still wasn’t talking to Toks but she wasn’t above talking around her. Toks looked suspicious. “Apparently the maestro has some posh place up on the Quay. View of the Bridge, and all that. And you know she loves showing off. Like a tree falling in a forest, how will she know how brilliant she is if she doesn’t have you to tell her?”

“There it is. Knew it was coming,” muttered Toks. “Why don’t you go play with your crayons, Chook?”

“Are you two ever going to be nice to each other?”

“Nope,” said Magpie, popping the P, but she gave Polly a wink and a grin. “Go on, darls,” she said, when she knew Toks wasn’t listening. “It’s only up in Sydney. Go have some fun.”

Life settled into a gentle pattern.

Toks returned to Sydney to lead the orchestra through the next series of concerts. She and Richard drove up the coast in the Monday dawn, and back down again at midnight on Saturday.

Sometimes Polly went too, evenings after rehearsal strolling the Quay with Toks, dinner at a pub in the Rocks, ice cream on the walk back to her apartment. Late nights listening to Toks studying at the piano until she could pull her to bed with soft hands.

Every night Polly wasn’t in Sydney, Toks called her on the phone, both of them under the blankets watching their screens as they talked.

“How is this going to work when I’m back in Europe?” Toks asked. She sounded tentative, like she was scared that simply asking might threaten Polly’s balance.

“I’ll be coming with you,” Polly declared. “Don’t think you’ll be getting away from me that easily.”

“But— but Korovinja. I’m Music Director there. I will need to be in Severin every other month.”

Polly nodded. “I think I’ll be okay now. Just— maybe no piano concertos for a while.”

Toks grimaced. Polly could see her running through her schedule in her head. “Shit. I’ve got the Clara Schumann and Saint-Sa?ns’ fifth coming up. Maybe I can re-programme—”

“I’ll go shopping with Artis on those days. I’ll lounge around your apartment and watch Netflix.”

“Sacrilege!” Toks looked pleased to have something to tease her for. “While I’m out working my fingers to the bone—”

“Oh please, you wave a little stick around.”

“Pearlie Paterson, you are not getting away with that.”

Polly giggled. She was hoping Toks would say that.

On the third week of their brave new life together, Toks spun up the Jerinja driveway in her hot red car with a moving truck in tow.

“Polly!” Magpie screeched from the balcony as Toks reached the steps. “Tell me the busker isn’t moving in.”

Toks waved hello with her middle finger and a ridiculously wide grin. “Get over it, Magpie. You’re going to love me for this.” She bounded up the stairs and kissed Polly with her fingers under her chin and way too much cockiness in her lips. “Bought you a present, babe.”

She was in jeans, a linen shirt and a leather jacket. Her straw-blonde hair was perfectly tousled, her green eyes glittered with wickedness. Silhouetted against the sweep of the escarpment and the sea and the sky it was hard to tell which was the more magnificent. Toks knew she was extraordinary. Polly loved her for it.

Two men and the forklift on the back of the truck lowered a large wooden crate to the ground. Toks took charge.

“In the workshop, mate. I’ll show you where.”

Polly followed with a curious feeling in her chest. The whole Jerinja family trailed after them.

It was the ruined piano from Korovinja.

“It took a bit longer than I’d hoped to convince the Board at the Dom Harmonja, but they came around to my way of thinking in the end,” Toks said. “There are better ways to memorialise a shitty hostage incident from sixteen years ago, I told them. And besides, I thought you might like it.”

Polly wasn’t quite sure what to say. She stared at it for a long time. She could feel the others stirring behind her – Justin tense, Daz murmuring in his ear, Tilda twisting her fingers, and Magpie and Richard watching cautiously from the side. Toks had no such qualms. She stood at Polly’s side, strong, confident and intently focused on Polly. She linked their hands and waited.

It was surprising how little power the instrument had here.

“What will I do with it?” Polly asked, eventually.

The piano didn’t make a sound.

Toks squeezed her fingers and burst back into life. “I thought you might like to tune it. Or not. Whatever you want. It’s yours.”

Polly lifted its lid and peered inside. A mortar shell, assault rifle fire and sixteen years hadn’t been kind.

She rolled up her sleeves.

“Right, you lot,” she said cheerfully. “Out. I’ve got so much work to do.”

It took three months, but she did spend four weeks away with Toks.

The piano turned out to be a Zlatanov, a Korovinjan brand with a long, proud history, though the years spent behind the Iron Curtain meant few Zlatanov pianos made it out to the west. Parts were tricky to source. More than half of the wippens were beyond repair, and every hammer needed to be built anew. She cut corners with the keys, sourcing all eighty-eight from a half decent Yahama she found on Gumtree that was just as good for its wires.

Tilda came to help and they lightly sanded the keys together. Justin and Daz cut and wound wire.

Restringing the Zlatanov was the part of the process she was looking forward to the most.

Toks sat with her whenever she could. Polly gave her various jobs with chisels, mallets and screwdrivers, but Toks was precious about her hands and wary of doing anything that might damage her piano fingers. Polly blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes, then found herself squealing when Toks lifted her up on her own workbench and showed her what else her fingers were good for. Polly came with a cry that made the piano ring with a tone she’d never heard before and they both stopped, eyes wide, panting, listening.

Toks snort-giggled and fucked her again.

The woman was also supremely annoying when it came to restringing the Zlatanov and bringing it roughly into pitch.

“Flat,” she yelled from a stool in the corner. Polly was pretty sure she’d angled it to get a good view of her arse. “So flat. What are you even thinking, Polly?”

“It’s a rough tune,” Polly said, for the fiftieth time. “The frame is still on chain blocks, for heaven’s sake. Relax.”

In the end, she set Toks the only job the woman would tolerate – cutting small squares of felt for the jacks, regulating buttons and backchecks, a task that had Magpie hooting with derision.

“Look at you with your little sewing kit, Maestro. Do you embroider too?”

“Fuck you, old lady,” Toks said, though she happily sipped at the gin and tonic Magpie had brought to the workshop in a jug. Polly pretended not to notice a little while later when she saw Toks teaching Magpie the correct way to size the felts against the dampers. Richard stuck his head in later and Polly got him reassembling the actions.

The piano was coming together.

And then, one Sunday, bright in the gathering warmth of spring, the piano was finished.

Wholly in tune.

As a group, they heaved it out onto the grass in the middle of the garden, right next to the fire pit, with the view and the ocean and the shade of the eucalypts. Daz threw on a barbecue and Justin fetched Draga from the Nerradja Gardens Aged Care and Assisted Living Village. Sumi arrived looking relaxed and casual. Richard tucked his viola under his chin, Tilda seized her violin, and Polly brought out her cello.

Toks sat at the piano.

Polly held her breath.

The exploratory cadenza Toks drew from it – dazzlingly virtuosic with a wink that made Polly flush – was smooth and mellow like a bell, warm like the sunshine, free as the currawongs on the wing.

Polly breathed out.

“Show off,” Magpie said and Draga tutted.

Tilda told them both to shoosh.

It was an afternoon of exquisite music. Dvo?ák’s first piano quartet before lunch, one Polly and Tilda had both been practising hard. Brahms after lunch, and even Draga approved.

And then Polly simply let Toks play harmony back into the instrument – sublime sounds at the hands of an artist. Toks played for an hour, the sun in her hair, brilliance in fingers, restoration in her smile.

The piano sounded beautiful. It sang of peace and healing. Under Toks’ touch it sent airs and rhapsody to the sky. It set Polly’s memories free – Violet, Luka, Marc and Jak – and they soared away on the breeze, down the coast, past the sweep of Thirteen Mile Beach and on to forever.

Polly watched them go.

The rest of the family sat back in garden chairs and sipped wine until Toks stilled her hands and Polly stood and slapped her thighs.

“Enough?” she asked.

Toks nodded.

“I’ll get the tractor,” Polly said.

They dragged the piano to the top of the escarpment.

It lost its legs early in the trip. The lid twisted off on the gate between Jerinja and 613. The pedal lyre snagged on a boulder.

The sandstone cliffs were a sheer two-hundred metre drop to the forest below.

It took a bit of help from everyone, but they pushed the remains of the piano to the top of the cliff and settled it there with a rock and a branch as a lever.

“You mad buggers,” Magpie said, affectionately. She hugged each of them and left them to it, calling the others away with her. “I think it’s pavlova time, Daz. And another bottle of red. Sumi, you’ll help me finish it, won’t you?”

Toks chuckled as Magpie’s lurid orange and purple muumuu disappeared into the trees. “She’s not bad.”

“You’re winning her over.”

“I owe her. I’m not sure what would have happened if she hadn’t taken me in hand.”

Polly slipped her arm around Toks’ waist and rested her head on her shoulder. “I’d have chased you down,” she said. “We’d be complete idiots if we messed this up a second time.”

They watched the view for a while, the sun setting behind them and the shadow of the escarpment creeping over the sea. The evening noises of the forest drifted up to them – cockies and corellas screeching in the trees, the warbles of the bowerbirds, the ringing chimes of the bellbirds. The soothing hum of the wind and the distant surf. Toks’ body was warm beside her, solid and undeniably there, and Polly knew the moment was right.

“I’m ready now,” she murmured.

Toks kissed her forehead, smiled with her heart and let her go, and Polly moved cautiously to the edge of the cliff and the branch lever they’d arranged earlier. She was going to cast it all away, end it and begin something new.

She leant her weight on the branch.

Sixteen years were heavier than she thought they’d be. The piano didn’t budge.

“I need your help, Toks.”

She was beside her in an instant. Strong and loving, with the hint of a grin on her lips. “It will be my honour,” she vowed.

Polly kissed her over the branch and then they heaved – and the piano tumbled over the edge.

She thought it would scream as it fell, but it sang. The noise of its crash was drowned by the outrage of the cockatoos.

And it was all over.

Toks held out her arm and Polly slipped underneath it.

“I love you,” Polly told her. There wasn’t much else to say.

Toks sucked in a sudden breath that sounded a lot like a sob, but she covered it with the swagger Polly loved her for.

“I’m pretty irresistible,” she murmured.

Polly smacked her ribs. Toks kissed the side of her face but her lips were pulled tight in that smug bloody grin.

“Come on,” Polly said, already loving the rest of the life she’d found. “Let’s go home.”