by Fleur Beale
‘She’s too damn spooky for me,’ Charlotte said. ‘That reiki stuff. She doesn’t even drink real tea.’
‘Unfetter your soul, Charlotte,’ Clodagh said.
That earned her a snarl. ‘Don’t you dare do a Hamlet on me. There’s nothing wrong with my philosophy, thanks very much. I don’t care if there are more things in heaven and earth than I’ve dreamt of. It’s not real. You can’t prove it. You can’t—’
‘But you can’t disprove it either,’ Clodagh said. She stood up. ‘That’s enough for now. The prisoner may stand down. She is allowed a drink and chocolate.’ With one hand she pulled me up, tugging Charlotte upright with the other.
We went down to the kitchen, collected Clodagh’s hidden stash of chocolate along with a jug of iced tea — a specialty of her house. She steered the conversation onto topics Charlotte was happy with, and we spent an hour laughing and retelling all the Facebook gossip. I made a bit of a story about meeting Sol at the tennis courts and, as I hoped she would, Charlotte seized it with both hands. ‘What’s he like? Is he a babe? Is he built? D’you reckon he’s boyfriend material?’ Her face fell. ‘He’s not hitched up to that Harriet chick, is he?’
‘Didn’t seem like it,’ I said, thinking back to Harriet’s exasperation with him. ‘Doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a different girlfriend, though.’ I didn’t mention the drop-dead dreamy but unavailable Nick. Nor did I speak of olive grove guy.
Clodagh held her peace. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.
The weekend flew past, helped by swims at the beach, firing up the barbecue in the backyard, singing and keeping out of the way of Clodagh’s twin brothers as much as we decently could.
By the time I left late afternoon on Sunday, we hadn’t mentioned the unmentionable again. It was only when I was in the car, goodbyes all said, that Clodagh leaned in to ask, ‘You’re seeing Gwennie again, Bess?’
‘Next Friday. Can’t stay, though. Mum would slay me.’
‘I’ll be in touch.’ She closed the door, and I drove away knowing that Charlotte would be bending her ear about how she absolutely had to persuade me to see a proper doctor. Fortunately for me, Clodagh wasn’t persuadable if she didn’t want to be. I trusted her, and I trusted too that she’d reassure Charlotte. It isn’t pleasant when one of your oldest friends thinks you’ve lost your mind.
Chapter Sixteen
I CALLED IN TO VISIT Dad but he’d been discharged. I rang Mum to tell her I’d be late because I wanted to see how he was.
‘If you paid me a quarter of the attention you give to That Man, I’d die a happy woman,’ she said, ice spiking from her words.
No you bloody wouldn’t. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Well, don’t expect me to prepare a meal for you.’
So, nothing had changed. The odds that Gwennie would ever be able to show me how to get along with my mother weren’t high.
Iris, by contrast, greeted me with an enveloping hug — balm after Mum’s tanty. ‘Come in, love. Your dad’s itching to talk to you. How was your weekend?’
‘Great, thanks. It wasn’t too scary, once I got started. I’ve got another appointment next week. Iris going to help me with Mum.’
Iris squeezed my hand and led me out to the deck where Dad was sitting at the table, podding a basin of peas.
He shoved back his chair and sprang to his feet, all energy and zest, just like the Dad he used to be. I got the breath-depriving hug, then he started issuing orders. ‘Sit down. Sit down. Fill me in on the factory. How was Auckland? You left the men to themselves on Friday?’
‘Charlie! Stop!’ Iris bent forward, arms akimbo, glaring at him.
‘All right, all right. Damn it, woman! No need to go off like a banshee. I’m just asking a few questions.’ He sat down, though.
‘Now listen to me, you big dope,’ she said. ‘Bess is in charge. If she thinks the men won’t destroy the place if they’re left to their own devices for a day, you’ve got no business even hinting that she shouldn’t have done it. Understand?’
Dad rubbed a hand across his hair, down his face, tugged his nose a couple of times, grunted and mumbled, ‘Sorry, Bess. It’s hard, letting go the reins after all these years.’
‘You can start picking them up again if you want.’ I shook my head at Iris, knowing how she’d feel about that. ‘There’s a few things it’ll be best if you do. Like this new guy …’
He sat up as if he’d been electrified. ‘What new guy? We don’t need anyone else. God almighty, Bess — I can’t even pay the men I’ve got now.’
‘Dad, shut up and listen.’
Iris sat down beside me so that he was faced with both his glaring women. ‘We’ve got these new orders, so we need a finisher. Bernie’s training up a sulky kid who can’t stand females. We don’t know yet if we’ve got a winner or a dud. But it’ll be best if you do any contract stuff with him. Okay?’
But did my father fall on my neck with cries of gratitude for his wondrous daughter? Nah.
‘Beverly Maketawa will foreclose the second she hears about this!’
‘No, she won’t, actually. She gave me all the paperwork. Advised me to take him on for three months, renewable if both parties are happy after that.’
Iris got up, picked up the pea bowl with one hand and swiped the other across Dad’s head. ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Charlie Grey.’ She stalked off to the kitchen.
My unrepentant father leaned back in his chair, grinning at me. ‘Well, well. My little girl. Who’d have thought it, eh? You bring that young lad to see me, Bess. We can settle the business between us.’
‘You need to do it at the factory, Dad. Have a look at his work. Really examine it. Don’t say anything at all while you’re looking at it. Then, if you’re satisfied, you do the man-to-man thing, shake his hand and say you’d like to have him on board for a three-month trial.’
I waited while he rolled all that around in his head.
‘Humph,’ he said, after a solid minute of cogitating, ‘you could be right. Young blokes can be sensitive about their manhood. When should I turn up?’
‘Give Bernie a ring. He’ll be able to tell you if he thinks Jason will be a winner or not.’ I went inside for the phone. ‘Here. Ring him now. I’ll give Iris a hand with dinner.’
Iris, though, was banging cutlery onto the table. ‘Stubborn, pig-headed man. And,’ she wagged a fork at me, ‘you know what really gets my goat? You’re saving his ungrateful hide, and he still sees you as his little girl playing factories.’ Thump, bang, slam.
‘Stop! You’ll be having a heart attack next!’ I straightened up the place settings, replacing the tablespoons with dessert spoons. ‘I reckon if you weren’t here, his attitude would bug the hell out of me. But you understand what I’m doing, so somehow it doesn’t bother me. Slightly ironic, wouldn’t you say?’
She burst out laughing. ‘Bless you, Bess. Sounds like we’re keeping each other sane, in that case. Go and tell Charlie dinner’s ready.’
We had to wait while Dad finished his shouting conversation with Bernie. He sat down at the table, looking well pleased.
‘Bernie says we’re onto a winner in young Jason. He’s got the eye. Likes being one of the men. He’s—’
‘You’ve forgotten something, Charlie,’ Iris said.
‘Don’t be daft, woman. I’ve not been near the place for days.’
She did the arms akimbo stance again. ‘No. And who’s been running it for you? Who’s dragging the place out of the mire, inch by inch? Think about it, Charlie.’
I got busy carrying food to the table — a huge salad, lean steak, steamed potatoes with a touch of olive oil.
‘Um, err,’ Dad said. ‘Bess, Bernie says the men reckon you’re the best thing since sliced bread.’
He seemed to think that was enough. Iris pointedly didn’t send any of the food in his direction. I was stoked to have her, gloves on, fighting my corner.
Dad came up trumps, though. He turned square to
face me. ‘Bess, I owe you. If the factory pulls through, it’s all because of you.’ He choked up a bit, but ploughed on. ‘You’ve surprised me, got to admit that. But damn it, girl, I’m that proud of you I could bust.’
I leapt at him, almost landing in his lap as I hugged him. Iris calmly served up the meal.
‘Well done, Charlie. Now let’s eat.’
Chapter Seventeen
AT BREAKFAST next morning Mum didn’t respond to my four attempts at conversation. I left for work as soon as I could and let myself into a factory that was tidy, ship-shape and not in need of any input from me.
Outside, Lisette had her caravan set up beside the fence so that customers could stand on the footpath to order their drinks. There was gravel under it, and grass seed sown on the land behind it. I introduced myself to her barista nephew.
‘Kent Brand,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Bess. Have a coffee on the house. We set all this up over the weekend. It’ll take a while for people to know we’re here, I guess. But we’ve got plans for the lawn to bring in the punters. Tables. A putting green. A few croquet hoops too could be fun. And a big sandpit for the kids.’
‘Sounds exciting. It could be good for the factory too. Great coffee, by the way.’
Kent Brand. Friendly, not exactly a babe magnet, but not bad. Could he be the olive grove boy? He sort of fitted, except that I hadn’t known him since I was ten. Oh, for heaven’s sake — was I going to go around for the rest of my life trying to make every man I met fit the slot of OG boy? Pathetic.
I used the couple of minutes before the men arrived to morph myself into Bess, Competent Factory Boss. I fired up the computer to check the bidding on the table: $599. Close, but no sale. The slacker could come up with the last dollar or forget it. Then, as I watched, the bid changed to $600. I left it. Let them sweat.
Clint was the first one in, and stopped by the office to fill me in with more Jason details. ‘Bernie and he have arranged it between them. He’ll do this week for work-experience wages. Same hours as Bernie. Friday afternoon’s decision time. You’re going to have to decide if you want to hire him.’ He looked worried, and this time I didn’t blame him.
‘Dad’s going to come in and do that. I’ll keep right out of the way. Come to think of it, I won’t be around on Friday anyway.’
Clint nodded. ‘Good thinking, boss. Dunno why, but you’re not in the kid’s fan club.’
‘Should I buy lunch for him again today?’
‘No. You’re paying him. Don’t overdo it. He needs to be one of the men. We sort our own lunches. He’s got to do the same.’
‘Clint,’ I said, ‘you are one wise man. That’s a very valuable lesson in boy-brain.’ He didn’t reply to that, just went off to start his day looking chuffed. He’d be an expert on boy-brain, thanks to Nick. He’d been such a ghastly kid, and now— Stop it. Do not go there.
Eddy, thank god, provided me with something else to focus on. ‘Morning, Bess. Come and have a gander at this.’
He sounded excited, and led me over to where the men were clustered around the jigsaw, looking at something that pleased the lot of them. They made way, watching me, half expectant, half anxious.
‘Oh wow!’ I picked up a delicately made donkey. Its lugubrious expression, painted with such care, was instantly endearing. I put it down, picked up the pair of oxen, then the figure of Mary. Her expression was both weary and proud. ‘These are amazing, Maurice. I absolutely love them. I know you made them — but who painted them?’
The guys all beamed at him as he said, ‘I did. Can’t paint on paper. I can do this type of thing, though.’
‘They’re utterly gorgeous.’
‘Thing is,’ Maurice said, ‘can we sell them? The set, I mean.’
I couldn’t stop looking. ‘It seems a crime to put them up for sale.’
‘Harden up, boss,’ Eddy said. ‘Put it on Trade Me. Nativity scene. We put a price on it of … How many hours did this take you, Maurice? Counting the painting.’
‘Eight,’ Maurice said. ‘Nine, maybe.’
‘Right. We cost it out at nine hours’ work, full commercial rates.’
I goggled at him. We’d never sell it at that price, but I wasn’t going to go against him, not when he was being all decisive and showing leadership. ‘Okay. I’ll take them back to the office to photograph them. Clint and Eddy — you’re okay with the tables? Good. Maurice and Alton, can you keep working with the docked ends? Make whatever you like.’
I set up the scene for the photographs with care. I also took close-ups of each of the pieces — it was probably a waste of time, but there wasn’t anything else much for me to do. When it was all done and on line, I checked the table sale. It still sat at $600, but what the hey, it was Christmas. I clicked sold and posted the last one up. Two down, two to go.
When the men stopped for their morning cuppa, I stayed in the office. I’d let Jason settle in for another day before I joined them. It could get lonely, being the boss. But I got to work on the email instead, deleting spam, ditching junk, writing replies to three queries about Dad’s health — and damn near deleting the request for a quote from an insurance company.
I skimmed through it, printed it and ran out to catch the guys as they were heading back to work. ‘What do we do about this?’ I waved the paper at them.
Deadpan, Eddy said, ‘Swat flies with it?’
‘Funny guy. It’s a request for an insurance quote.’ I ran my eyes down the page. ‘Ladder-backed chair to match the remaining seven. This is a replacement for one smashed in the Christchurch earthquakes. They can supply a piece of the broken one for colour matching.’
‘Let’s see.’ Alton took the paper and put it on the table so the others could look at it too. ‘You’re the chair man, Alton,’ Clint said. ‘How many hours, d’you reckon?’
Alton raised his voice. ‘Bernie, could you and Jase match the colour? Not much point making it if we can’t get the finish right.’
Bernie, bless him, turned to Jason. ‘What do you think, mate? It’ll be a hard call. You reckon we’re up for it?’
Jason turned so that I was completely out of his sight before he said, ‘I reckon we are.’
‘That’s great, thanks,’ I said. ‘Can you let Eddy know how many hours you’ll need for the finishing?’
There was a silence as we waited for Jason to repeat my request to Bernie, but all he did was turn another few degrees away from me and keep his mouth shut. What the hell was biting him?
Eddy stepped in. ‘I’ll get the costing to you a.s.a.p., Bess.’
Damn it. I foresaw trouble ahead with Jason. In the end, there wasn’t much I could do except avoid confrontation, be polite and do my best to treat him the same as I did the others.
Hostility was turning out to be the lesson of the year.
My desk was tidy, all the emails dealt to. I was logging on to Facebook when Alton knocked and came in. ‘You busy, Bess?’
‘My friends can wait.’ I waved him to a chair. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well, I wondered …’ He put the miniature table he’d made on my desk. ‘I’ve got nothing on at the moment. I thought … how about I take this, go back to those places in town that Eddy went to? The ones that said we weren’t up with current trends. I can show them this. I’ll show them Eddy’s drawings again too, and tell them we’ve got orders from Auckland.’
‘Alton! That’s a brilliant idea. When will you go?’
He grinned. ‘No time like the present. I’ll scoot home, get tidied up first.’
I thought for a moment. ‘You’ll need the drawings. I’ll have to print them out, though they won’t look nearly as professional as they do onscreen.’
‘What about the tablet? Eddy said that was great.’
‘It’s Mum’s. She wasn’t pleased when she found out I was using it here.’
‘Ah,’ he said. There was a lot of understanding in that ah. ‘It’s not going to be a good look, though, fronti
ng up with just photocopies.’ He frowned. ‘Listen, I might be able to borrow a tablet from my neighbour for today. But would the budget stretch to us buying one for the firm?’
‘Oh, man, why didn’t I think of that ages ago! We need it, we’ll buy it. Can you pick one up while you’re in town?’
‘Sure can, boss.’
He rang the neighbour, who said yes, just bring it back in one piece. I emailed the file to Alton’s address, and he left with the firm’s credit card in one hand and his beautiful little table in the other.
At lunchtime the men sat outside in the shade of the tree at the back of the premises. I took myself off for a run — a circuitous route to the rose gardens and back — then bought a coffee and a filled roll from Kent in the caravan.
‘How’s it going?’ I asked.
‘Slow but okay, I think. How’s things in there?’ He tipped his head towards the factory.
‘Slow but okay, I think,’ I said, and we laughed.
I checked Facebook while I ate, but there wasn’t any real news that Clodagh, Charlotte and I hadn’t talked about over the weekend. There was the usual nothing from Hadleigh. Surely he’d contact me for Christmas? It hurt even to think that he mightn’t.
To cheer myself up, I posted the photos of Maurice’s nativity figures on my page. Check these out, guys. They’re beyond-words beautiful. After that, I couldn’t think of anything more to do. It was all very well keeping up a front of being in control and knowing how to steer the ship, but in reality I didn’t have a compass, or even a bloody map.
‘HEY, MUM. Do you want me to cook tonight? I could make a quick—’
‘If you want to eat, then you’ll have to. I won’t be in.’ She looked up from where she was kneeling in the garden. ‘Surely you know by now that I always dine out on Mondays.’
I’d not observed this pattern myself, but never mind. ‘That’s nice. Is it a meeting or social?’ I strove for a friendly tone, despite the surge of rising blood pressure and the itching desire to ask if she had a boyfriend.