Inside she quickly committed it to paper while waiting for the kettle to boil. She had to pack up the jam so it would travel safely, find the most reliable and cost-effective method of transport, and buy a bottle of wine for dinner with her parents. When Enid had said there was no need to bring anything, what she really meant was nothing other than the customary bottle of wine or box of chocolates that well-brought-up guests appeared with. Emily wouldn’t dare turn up empty-handed, even to her parents’ home.
She added a list of groceries to the right-hand side of her note and doodled while she waited to see if anything else would come to her. Suddenly the phone in the light jacket beside her began to ring and she fumbled in the wrong pocket before dragging it out while pressing the accept button.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Em. It’s me, Barbara. Have I got you in the middle of something?’
‘No, just back from a walk with Grace. I was thinking about calling you, actually. Are you up for a trip to town today?’
Barbara laughed. ‘I was ringing to ask you the same thing. I need to do a few things for the funeral. It’s all booked for Thursday at two o’clock. Anglican Church, then graveside, then back to the bowls club for afternoon tea.’
‘How’s David holding up?’
‘Okay. He’s pretty worn out from all the driving. It’s going to be a tough few days, but we’ll get through it. Any special reason for you heading to town?’
‘Yes, actually. I’ve got to sort out sending a couple of boxes of jam to Melbourne. Jake rang and …’
‘Wow! That’s brilliant news. Woohoo! You go girl!’
‘Barbara, are we still talking about jam?’
‘If you like.’
‘Well, apparently it sold like hotcakes because Jake’s sister served samples on scones with cream. Wasn’t that nice of her?’
‘Very. So how is Jake?’
Emily censored her first response, and instead said, ‘Good. I told him we were impressed with his website.’
‘Now there’s a come-on if ever I’ve heard one. “Hey Jake, love your website. All that stone and glass. Be still my beating heart!”’
‘Barbara!’
‘Oh, come on, Emily, lighten up. It’s just a bit of fun. Anyway, you’re smitten, just admit it.’
‘I could be, but I hardly know the bloke. And for all I know, he’s shagging my cousin.’
‘That isn’t exactly a denial, now is it?!’
Emily was glad Barbara wasn’t there to see the red racing its way up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘He is rather lovely,’ she said with a sigh.
‘But?’
‘But he lives in Melbourne …’
‘Geography, smeography. He’d be up for living in the country with the right woman. I’d put money on it.’
‘And he’s sophisticated, wealthy and successful.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Well, I’m not – sophisticated, wealthy or successful, that is.’
‘So?!’
‘What do I have to offer a man of that calibre?’
‘Bloody hell, Emily. How about charm, wit, personality? And for all I know, you might be dynamite in bed.’
‘Barbara! Anyway, I’m not.’
‘Only because you haven’t met the right bloke.’
‘Why are we even having this conversation – the last thing I need is …’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know: another relationship. But you do need a distraction, and I think Jake Lonigan is just the man for the job!’
‘Fine, whatever. Can we just get back to sorting out today?’
‘If you insist. How about I pick you up at ten at the mailboxes?’
‘Perfect. See you then.’
‘Righteo. See you.’
As she hung up, Emily thought how right Barbara was. Jake was a good distraction. And there was nothing wrong with some harmless wishful thinking. He lived in Melbourne. She’d probably never see him again, anyway. Meanwhile she was free to dream with the safety of distance.
Visiting town no longer inspired the same level of anxiety in Emily. Everywhere they went, Barbara received condolences and offers of a ‘plate’ for the wake. Emily found it a nice change to be ignored as she stood beside her friend. Occasionally someone would ask, ‘And how are you bearing up, dear?’, to which she always answered, ‘Fine. Thank you.’
Emily felt a strange mix of emotions as she paid for the freight and then pushed the two boxes of jam across the transport company’s counter. On the one hand she was excited, but on the other she was a little nervous. What if it didn’t sell?
‘Then Jake and Simone will be eating their way through dozens of jars of lovely apricot jam,’ Barbara said when Emily voiced her concern.
‘You’re right – I’m worrying over nothing.’
‘Now when has that ever stopped you?’ Barbara said, grinning at her friend.
Emily slipped her arm through Barbara’s and tugged playfully. ‘Right, come on. We’re eating at the pub. I’ve been far too good for far too long.’
‘Finally, the girl doth make some sense!’
After pressing and hanging her best black pants, Emily positioned her favourite charcoal shirt on the ironing board. She’d have much preferred to just throw on some comfy jeans and a t-shirt, but Enid had phoned two hours earlier specifically to tell her to dress up; jeans were a no-no.
The charcoal shirt always garnered comments about how well she looked because of the way the colour reflected in her eyes. As she started to iron, Emily noticed that one of the small faux-pearl buttons was missing. Damn it, when did that happen? She checked her watch. There would almost be enough time to sew another one on – if she had one.
There might be one in Granny’s lot – it looked common enough. But the thought was fleeting. No matter how much Emily wanted to wear her favourite shirt, there was no way she could bring herself to take a button from Granny’s collection.
No, she thought with a sigh, I’ll have to wear the pink one instead. She crumpled the black shirt into a ball on the end of the table, made a mental note to take it with her next time she went to town, and went back to her bedroom.
As she did, her thoughts returned to Gran’s buttons. Why couldn’t I just use one of them? She smiled at the ridiculousness of the tradition that she just couldn’t bring herself to break.
It was somehow nice that she stuck to it, even though she found herself thinking of the old lady less often. It wasn’t that she had forgotten her, more that the memories were settling, shifting like sand over time.
God, I miss her, Emily thought, pulling the pink shirt from its hanger and willing herself to stay focussed on getting to her parents’ on time and getting the evening off to a good start.
She had no idea what the night would hold, or why she was being asked to dinner with the Lucases. But at least there was no confusion over what to wear.
Chapter Fifty-four
Emily was right on time when she pulled up outside her parents’ house, and was relieved to see no other cars. Her father greeted her at the door with a firm hug.
‘Chaos in the kitchen, foul temper, beware,’ he warned. He continued in a whisper, ‘You have to say the pumpkin soup is brilliant. I’m in trouble because I only said it was nice. Apparently “nice” is not nearly good enough.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ Emily said, breaking away and pecking him on the cheek. Walking into the kitchen, she steeled herself for the tornado.
‘Hi Mum.’
‘Thank God you’re finally here,’ Enid said and thrust a spoonful of pumpkin soup at her. ‘Quick! Try this!’
Noticing the steam rising, Emily pulled her head back, took hold of the spoon, and made a big show of taking in the aroma.
‘Smells absolutely divine, Mum.’
‘Hurry up, taste it. They’ll be here any second,’ Enid said, flapping her hands. Emily hadn’t seen her mother this uptight since Gran’s wake.
Emily took a sip. It was indeed
very nice, which is what she would have said if she hadn’t already been warned by her father.
‘Mmm, lovely. Just perfect.’
‘Does it need anything – more pepper, salt?’
Emily shook her head while putting on a show of looking deeply thoughtful. ‘No, I think it’s absolutely perfect just the way it is.’
‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘No, there’s a nice subtle kick to it. What is that, ginger?’
‘Yes. But there’s not too much, is there?’
‘No.’
‘You can taste it, right? But it’s not overpowering?’
‘Yes, I can taste it, and no, there’s not too much. There’s just the right amount.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Mum, it’s perfect,’ Emily said, trying not to snap. What she wanted to say was, ‘For Christ’s sake, it’s only bloody soup!’ But it was never only anything with her mother.
As Enid turned back to the pot of soup, Emily watched and wondered how she had got herself in such a state. Just who were the Lucases in the scheme of things, anyway? Then it came to her – this wasn’t about food, it was about Enid’s standing in some unspoken, unseen hierarchy of womanhood. Emily found herself actually looking forward to what so far was pointing to an interesting evening.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Oh shit! They’re here!’ Enid cried.
Emily almost said, ‘Mother, language!’, but one look at Enid and she swallowed it quickly. ‘Anything I can do?’ she asked with fingers crossed. It was another perfunctory part of the ritual; whatever she did would be wrong.
‘Stir that soup – gently. Just keep it moving,’ Enid said, thrusting the wooden spoon towards her. There was a flurry of voices at the door – exclamations and compliments becoming louder as the group moved inside.
Emily turned from the stove to see a couple of her parents’ vintage, and a younger man standing next to her father but a good head taller. He was trendily dressed in a bright striped shirt, designer jeans with fancy panels and long, square-toed cream shoes – obviously he’d missed the ‘no jeans’ memo.
‘Emily, come and meet the Lucases,’ her mother crowed with an outstretched hand.
‘But …’ she replied, shooting the soup a stricken look.
‘Come on,’ Enid beckoned. ‘So rude, children these days,’ she whispered to Mrs Lucas, but so loudly that the cat next door would have heard.
Trying not to feel like a scolded fifteen year old, Emily lifted the pot off the hotplate and placed it onto a cold one, then turned off the stove and walked across the room.
‘Hello Mr and Mrs Lucas,’ Emily said, holding out her hand first to Mrs and then to Mr Lucas. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’
‘Oh, please, I think you’re a little old for that, dear. It’s Bill and Nancy,’ Mr Lucas said jovially, giving Emily’s arm a solid pumping before letting it go. She couldn’t bring herself to repeat their names. Enid would have had a fit.
‘And I’m sure you remember Nathan,’ Enid said, practically shoving him into her chest.
‘Hi Nathan,’ Emily said, grasping his outstretched hand.
Nathan Lucas’s broad smile but dull eyes told her he was as thrilled to be there as she was, and a slight connection passed between them.
She had a flashback of him as the overweight kid at her tenth birthday party who’d pulled her hair and then tried to kiss her cousin Elizabeth. It had ended in tears – his – when Liz had simultaneously punched him in the face with one hand and in the stomach with the other.
The ‘adults’ moved away and left Nathan and Emily standing there alone. Definitely a set-up, she thought. Otherwise they too would have been shepherded to the table.
Emily was trying to think of a way to break the ice when Des called out, ‘What can I get you to drink, Nathan? How about you, Em?’ Her father’s shout was cut off by another hiss from Enid.
‘Let them have a few moments to get reacquainted, Des. Just give them both a glass of bubbly.’
‘Get the feeling we’re being set up?’ Nathan asked, grinning.
‘Wherever did you get that idea?’ Emily said, putting on her best sugary voice and smile. ‘I really should tell my mother that the point of whispering is that it isn’t heard right across the room.’
‘Your mum’s not real subtle, is she?’
‘About as subtle as a sledgehammer.’
‘So I take it you’re divorced? Or are you still on the shelf?’
‘Speaking of subtle. Is that how you talk to all the girls?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, colouring a little.
‘That’s okay. Newly separated. Mum probably thinks if she gets me paired up again quickly enough no one will notice. Shall we play along?’
Before he could answer, Emily’s father appeared and handed them both a glass of bubbles.
‘I hope this lolly water stuff is okay with you,’ he said with an apologetic grimace to Nathan. He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes at Emily, and mouthed a silent, ‘Sorry’.
‘Cheers,’ Emily said loudly, raising her glass towards Nathan. ‘Nice to meet you – again.’
‘Likewise,’ Nathan said, clinking his glass against hers. This time his smile included his eyes, which were a nice hazel colour. He was actually quite good-looking.
‘So, you were going to tell me your story,’ she said, after taking a sip of champagne. ‘Divorced, widowed, or sad sack?’
Nathan coughed, putting his hand over his mouth.
‘Sorry, I so didn’t mean to say that.’ Emily blushed slightly, which Nathan had the good grace to ignore. He dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief.
‘Divorced. What about you – kids?’
‘No, thank God. Not that I didn’t want them, just not with him. And thank goodness for realising that early on. Much easier to start afresh without that level of complication, don’t you think?’ Emily suddenly realised she was rambling and abruptly shut her mouth.
‘Yes, I quite agree. Well put. Come on, we’d better join the others before they start making wedding plans.’
‘Or set us up on a kids’ table in another room,’ Emily said with a chuckle.
‘I thought that only happened in our family.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Emily said, grinning.
‘After you,’ Nathan said, stepping aside.
Emily and Nathan sat in front of steaming bowls of soup and exchanged subtle smirks across the table. Enid had placed them opposite each other but next to their respective mothers.
‘Please start, before it gets cold,’ Enid said, picking up her soup spoon.
Emily coughed quietly to try to quell the giggle rising up in her throat as she watched Nathan. While his mother paused in her eating and turned away to wipe her mouth with her napkin before answering a question from Enid, Nathan made a childish show of slumping down into his chair, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. Because his legs extended so close to her chair, Emily couldn’t resist putting on a scowl of her own and giving him a gentle kick.
‘Ow!’ he exclaimed.
Both their mothers turned and glared at them, and this time Emily had to actually bite the inside of her mouth so she didn’t laugh.
‘Stop it, you two!’ both women said at once.
‘He started it!’
‘No, she did!’
The mothers frowned at them and looked a little puzzled before returning to their conversation, which was punctuated with the careful consumption of soup. As she tore her bread roll apart, Emily poked her tongue out at Nathan, and he did the same in return.
Des cleared his throat quietly before speaking. ‘So, Nathan, your dad tells me you’ve followed in his footsteps and gone into banking.’
Emily took the opportunity to start her soup. Thankfully Enid had only served up a small amount – the weather really was far too warm for it. She cast a glance around the table. Clearly she’d been deemed too plump that evening, b
ecause hers was the smallest serve.
‘Yes,’ replied Nathan.
Emily swallowed her mouthful and let her mouth drop open slightly in surprise. She’d picked him for a graphic designer, advertising executive or something else in the creative arts. Definitely not a banker.
‘I’ve actually put in for a posting at Wattle Creek – Assistant Manager. I should hear in the next few weeks.’
‘You’d come back out here after the city? God, you’re either mad or desperate.’ Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
‘Emily! Manners!’ Her mother shot her a fierce scowl.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, taking a less than ladylike gulp of champagne, which took a few moments and considerable concentration to swallow lest it come back up and out her nose.
‘Neither, actually. A country stint is usually a good career move,’ he said without hint of being unsettled.
‘Hmm. So, tell me, Nathan,’ Emily said after composing herself, ‘are you in favour of helping struggling farmers stay on the land, or would you prefer they walked off completely? I met a financial planner the other day who’d have them all sold up and moved away.’
‘Emily,’ Enid warned.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Oliphant,’ Nathan said.
‘Enid,’ Enid corrected, patting her hair.
‘Enid,’ Nathan said to her with a smile and a nod before looking straight at Emily across the table. ‘Wow, usually I get asked if I can get someone a good discount on their home loan,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I can’t, by the way.’
‘So what about it?’ Emily persisted.
‘No idea. I don’t think I’ve ever even met a farmer. I’ve been based in the city, remember? Ask me again when I’ve got the job out here.’ He chuckled again.
Emily took the opportunity to tuck back into her soup.
‘But seriously, without knowing a person’s individual circumstances, I couldn’t give any specific advice. Sorry,’ he added, shrugging.
‘What, not even an opinion?’
‘Nope. Afraid not.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Emily noticed Mr Lucas nodding with approval.
‘Do all bankers have splinters in their butts from sitting on the fence? Ouch!’ Emily cried as her mother pinched her leg.
Saving Grace Page 30