The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock
Page 28
‘I’m sorry about your sister,’ she said. ‘How she was never spoken about.’
I shrugged. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. ‘I didn’t even realise myself until recently what silence in the face of tragedy does to people. Most of the people I know don’t even realise I had a sister.’
She touched my arm. I stared at her hand. And then it happened again. I entrusted Edie with my deepest feelings and opened up to her about Lily in such a way and in such detail I had never done to anyone before, not even with Andy. I told her how Lily died, how it was never spoken about, how she was never spoken about. How I often wondered what sort of person Lily might have been, what sort of sister, and what sort of person I would have been, had I grown up with a sibling. How, if I’d known about Dad, I could have been there for Mum. How we could have talked together, reminisced secretly amongst ourselves, laughed at the toy elephant I stole and comforted each other whenever there was a lightning storm.
Edie squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m very glad I could help in some way and, you know, I’m always here to listen.
I turned away, cleared my throat. ‘Anyway,’ I said, composing myself, ‘enough about me. How’s your dad? Is he doing OK?’
‘He has his good days and his bad days.’ She shrugged.
‘Have you made any progress on his candle?’
‘I’ve gone through so many iterations, particularly to do with his love of fishing and camping. The fish smoker in the back garden, seaweed, insect repellent, trees and cigars, but nothing has been right.’
‘You’ll do it,’ I said. ‘It will hit you when you’re least expecting it to.’
‘I know, but you know what? I’ve decided to wait. You’re right, I should concentrate on being with him and not worry about memorialising him just yet.’ She paused, looked at her feet.
‘There’s no rush, is there?’ I said.
‘I have thought about making a candle for you, though,’ she said.
‘Me?’
‘I was conjuring scents of chocolate cake, freshly pressed linen, the cologne you wear and marmalade.’ She tilted her head as if to summon the scents into the room with us.
‘Marmalade?’
‘You seem like a marmalade kind of a guy.’
It was then that I realised the strange effect Edie was having on me. I wasn’t solely admiring her ability to transform candles into something so much more, or her easy-going, friendly nature. Or even her femurs. I was falling for her, really falling, as if the speed at which it was happening meant a safety cushion would be needed to protect my landing. It was a terrifying thought. Sweat formed on my temples. I felt a lip twitch coming on. We were going to be working together. You can’t mix business with pleasure. It was foolish. Nonsensical. Risky. I wanted to run. To skip out the door and not let her see my fear. Not let her see the effect she was having on me. My heart quickened, my mouth turned desert-dry, tongue sticky-tape sticky.
Then I remembered the new Oliver Clock. The Oliver Clock who could dip out of his comfort zone every now and then and embrace a new zone. The Oliver Clock who could make decisions based on what was right for him, who didn’t need his mother to cover his wounds with embalming foundation or talk to cadavers to make sense of the thoughts in his head. The Oliver Clock who could let go and face his fears. I wiped my brow and looked at Edie, her green eyes flecked with yellow like the feathers of a lorikeet. She smiled. I think her lips had moved. Had she said something?
‘Oliver?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Would you like me to make a candle of you?’
As I stood like a shadow in the darkening room I could already feel tomorrow’s sun rays beckoning a new future. ‘Well, that’s very kind,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think I’m ready to be immortalised into a candle just yet.’
‘Not even scented like chocolate ganache cake with cherries on top?’ She laughed.
‘Not even that,’ I said. ‘I’ve got more living to do.’
And the new Oliver Clock came up with a brand-new resolution he vowed to start immediately: Thou shalt give chase and get the girl.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Immersing yourself in your imagination is one of the joys of being a writer, but bringing a work of fiction out into the world requires so much more than that. This book could not have emerged alive and kicking without the help, advice and encouragement of the following people: my agent, Ariella Feiner, whose enthusiasm and positivity is infectious and whose keen editorial eye worked wonders, as well as Georgina Le Grice and Molly Jamieson at United Agents, who also championed my book from the beginning. The amazing Sammia Hamer and the team at Lake Union Publishing, as well as the wonderful editorship of Sophie Wilson. The sage creative counsel and rigorous mentoring of the effervescent Kathryn Heyman.
My early readers and unwitting support crew: Sandy Leen, Catriona Ling, Sandra Rigby, Nicola Gates and Jane Liggins. My mum, Joceline Wilson, who encouraged grammatical correctness and a love of books from an early age. My dad, Dennis Wilson, whose ability to invent fantastical bedtime stories and silly limericks knows no bounds and who bequeathed me a very ‘Wilson sense of humour’. Simon Tebbutt for introducing me to Paul Tobin, who provided insider knowledge of the funeral world. My daughters, Hannah and Amy Riley, who indulged in my made-up letters from the tooth fairy for longer than was believable.
And, most of all, to Will Riley. His unwavering belief in me from when I first put fingers to keyboard, as well as his honest feedback, not only encouraged me to make real the crazy characters in my head but helped make the birth of my third child possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jane Riley began her career in public relations before moving into publishing and later launching an online e-commerce business. She has freelanced as a writer and editor and wrote a design blog interviewing makers and creators. She volunteers as an English language tutor for the Adult Migrant English Program in Sydney. The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock is her first novel.
You can find her on Twitter @JaneRileyAuthor.