Lawson's Bend

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  Janey reached over the table and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I know, kiddo—I know.’

  Henny sniffed and then dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘Anyway,’ she continued with a quick breath, ‘Mum’s paintings were next to a box with a load of stuff that I’d sent home from my trips and it got me thinking. Maybe I could sell prints of Mum’s works and interesting things from overseas—you know, like silk scarves, bangles and exotic knick-knacks. I’d really like to share her artwork with the world and I think she’d like it too. I could turn the garage into a warehouse and open an online business.’

  Janey was silent for a minute.

  ‘You don’t like it, do you?’

  Janey shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that, I was just thinking. It’s a fabulous idea, but why online?’

  ‘It’s not as expensive as a physical shop. It’s still going to take some money to get everything up and running. Mum left me the cottage and there’s a little bit of money but I want to be clever about this—there’s a chance that the whole thing will crash and burn.’

  ‘Well, it will if you think that way.’

  ‘Aunt Janey, I’m not being pessimistic, just honest. A lot of new businesses fail before they’ve really started. Mum’s artwork is fantastic and I think there would be a market for it, but I’m not psychic. I don’t know how this will go down and I may have to supplement it with a real job.’

  ‘You won’t know if you don’t try.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Henny said with a shrug.

  ‘But I think we can do better than an online store.’

  ‘No, I want it to be online. You can reach a whole lot more people—more than there are in Lawson’s Bend.’

  ‘Okay, then why not do both? Sell online and have a shopfront for all of us relics of the past who like going to physical shops.’

  ‘It’s a nice idea,’ Henny said as the image of an actual display space flashed across her mind. It was more than tempting but she couldn’t get carried away. ‘But as I said, I don’t think I can afford the rent and other overheads, at least, not at the moment.’

  ‘What if I said there wouldn’t be any rent?’

  ‘I’d say that you mustn’t be feeling well. Nowhere is rent-free.’

  ‘The Matchbox is if you want it.’

  Henny narrowed her eyes. The Matchbox was a tiny shopfront on the main street, the last in a row of four Victorian-era stores. It was tall and skinny and Henny couldn’t remember the last time it had been open for business. As a kid she had thought it was haunted. The other three shops in the row were always busy: one was a chemist, the next was a bookshop and the third was Aunt Janey’s newsagent. ‘The Matchbox?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s what I said. It’s just sitting there—no one uses it.’ ‘But that doesn’t mean whoever owns it wouldn’t want rent,’ Henny countered. ‘And I’m not sure what sort of condition it’s in.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll need a fresh coat of paint and probably a nail here and there but other than that it’s in pretty good nick, especially for its age. It was rewired two years ago and the roof was replaced last spring. At the moment it’s only being used for storage, which is a shame because it would be nice if it was a shop again.’

  Realisation dawned on Henny. ‘You own it?’

  Janey nodded. ‘I own the entire row. It’s taken me quite a few years to buy the whole thing but it’s mine. I bought The Matchbox at the same time as the newsagent. It’s so small no one wanted it back then.’

  ‘I never realised.’

  ‘No, I suppose you didn’t. It was just after you left. Anyway, if you want to use it, it’s yours—rent-free. All you’ll have to pay for is the utilities and maybe a tin of paint.’

  ‘But, Aunt Janey . . . I mean, that’s so kind of you but I can’t, I . . .’ she stammered.

  ‘Of course you can. You’re my best friend’s only child and my goddaughter. You’re the closest thing I have to offspring, apart from Napoleon and Josephine. The shop’s just sitting doing nothing. Why not use it and bring it back to life? What do you say—want to have a look?’

  A smile blossomed on Henny’s face as she nodded. ‘Yes, please, I’d love to take a peek inside The Matchbox. Maybe I should start calling you fairy godmother?’

  ‘I like the sound of that. Ah, and here’s our food,’ Janey said with a clap of her hands. ‘Excellent.’

  Chapter Eight

  Henny stepped through the front door of The Matchbox and let out the breath she’d been holding. The store was old and dimly lit as the large window had been partially partitioned off by a screen. The only light came from the small round window positioned high on the back wall. The afternoon sun filtered through the rose-coloured stained glass and cast a soft pink beam of light onto the centre of the shop floor. Dust particles danced through the coloured light and made Henny think of a hundred fairies spinning and floating through the air.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Aunt Janey.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it,’ Janey answered with a laugh. ‘But personally I’d call it quaint and interesting and very small.’

  Henny’s gaze travelled up the incredibly high walls to the ornate mouldings and the original ceiling rose.

  ‘This rooms looks as if it was meant to have a second floor,’ Henny said.

  ‘I think that was the plan when it was built. I found a couple of old letters from the original draughtsman in the historical society’s archives. Apparently there was a miscalculation and two of the shops were made too big, leaving this one too small, so they just didn’t bother putting in the second floor. Not enough room for a stairway, I guess. I read a couple of disparaging remarks in the local newspaper at the time implying the builders had been paid handsomely for their “mistake”.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Aunt Janey frowned for a moment. ‘I think it was in the early 1890s or something like that. Anyway, according to the Lawson’s Bend Times it was a bit of a scandal. The shop has always been limited by its size. Do you think this would work?’

  Henny smiled as she looked at Janey and nodded. ‘Oh yes—I think this could work.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, the shop is here whenever you’re ready for it. As I said, it’ll need a lick of paint and sprucing up.’

  ‘And I’m more than happy to do it. Thank you, Aunt Janey, I can’t tell you what this means to me,’ Henny said as she reached out and squeezed the older woman’s hand.

  ‘Oh pish—enough of that. Happy to do it and I would be offended if you didn’t ask for my help. Now come on, kiddo, I’ve got a shop to run and you’ve got a business to plan.’

  ***

  The next morning Henny pulled out of the drive at Wattle Cottage and made her way through town. She had a million things to do if she was going to move her life back to Lawson’s Bend. First thing, she had to go back to Melbourne and tell Mr and Mrs Anastasi that she wouldn’t be coming back to work. They had both been great in giving her time off so she could sort out her mother’s affairs. But The Delphi was one of the most popular restaurants on Lygon Street and they would need to fill her position quickly.

  The next thing she had to do was talk to her real estate agent about the bedsit. Her lease wasn’t up for a few months but she was hoping she could get out of it early. Normally this could be a problem, but all the universities were about to start and there would be a bunch of kids looking for accommodation, especially furnished, so maybe, just maybe she’d be in luck.

  As she stopped at the traffic light in Lawson’s Bend she spotted Stephen getting out of his car outside the post office. She gave him a smile and a wave before the lights changed and she drove off.

  Stephen watched Henny’s car go until she disappeared down the road. So that was it then. He sighed and turned away. He knew it was going to happen but had just hoped it wouldn’t be for a while. With Henny in town there had been possibilities—most of them crazy, but there had been the chance of a miracle. But now Henny was gone
and miracles didn’t exist.

  He tried to shake off the empty feeling that threatened to engulf him. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. Nothing was ever going to happen between you and Henny—it hasn’t in the past and it sure as hell isn’t going to happen now. Some dreams you just have to let go. He glanced back over his shoulder at the empty road. Wherever she goes, I hope she’ll be happy.

  He blew out a breath and headed into the post office to collect the mail. He’d been up since dawn feeding the sheep and there was still a heap of things to do. Stephen opened his post box—nothing but a bit of junk mail and a few bills. Well, that wasn’t worth the drive in. He grabbed the handful of letters and headed back to the car. As he was stepping back in he paused for a second and looked down the road that headed out of town. A wave of disappointment went through him: I just wish she’d said goodbye.

  ***

  For the next three days in Melbourne, luck finally seemed to be on Henny’s side. She’d expected the worst when she walked into the real estate office but it went surprisingly well, and they were happy to let her out of her lease.

  When she gave her resignation at the Delphi, Mr Anastasi had wished her well and Mrs Anastasi had cried and given her some takeaway meals. She also made her promise to keep in touch. As Henny agreed she realised that her perception of being alone and friendless in the city might be a little faulty. While she tried to be friendly, she never got too close or let anyone into her heart. But as she left in a shower of tears and hugs from the other staff members, she realised that leaving was going to be harder than she thought it would be. The staff of the Delphi had somehow become more family than acquaintances and for a moment Henny wondered if she was doing the right thing.

  By Friday afternoon, her meagre flat was all packed up. It had been a bit of a struggle but Henny finally managed to get four boxes of books and kitchenware, one overstuffed suitcase, two bags of bedding, a wok, a sapphire-blue glass vase and a large pot of rosemary into her little car. She smiled as she shut the hatchback—it was time to put down some permanent roots. She only hoped that this idea didn’t crash and burn.

  With a dash of hopeful enthusiasm, Henny climbed into the driver’s seat and headed back to her true home.

  ***

  ‘Hey, Dan, you here?’ Stephen called as he walked through the front door, giving a half-hearted knock in the process.

  ‘Stephen? I’m in the kitchen—come through,’ came Dan’s voice from the other end of the house.

  Stephen walked down the corridor into the bright and sunny room at the back of the house. ‘Hey, I was just driving past and thought I’d stop to see if you wanted to catch a movie this weekend.’

  ‘Sure, that sounds like a thing,’ Dan said as he cleared the kitchen table, putting his lunch plate and the remnants of last night’s dinner on the sink.

  Stephen leant against the bench. ‘Great. We could go up to Bendigo or across to Ballarat, or see what’s playing at The Pit in Castlemaine.’

  ‘I don’t care. As long as it’s got big explosions, I’m there. What’s the occasion? You’re normally a beer, pizza and DVD kind of guy. Speaking of beer,’ Dan said as he wandered over to the fridge and yanked open the door. He grabbed two stubbies and handed one to Stephen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I guess I just need to get out.’

  ‘You going a bit stir crazy?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Maybe, I don’t know. Dad came back a couple of days ago and let’s just say I really enjoyed having the place to myself.’

  ‘You need your own space. I get it.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong—Dad and I get on just fine. It’s just . . .’

  ‘Lack of privacy.’

  ‘Something like that. Anyway, I’ll find an action movie for us to check out.’

  ‘Sounds good. How about Friday night?’

  ‘Done,’ Stephen said with smile.

  ‘So I suppose you heard about Henny?’

  Stephen nodded. ‘I saw her drive out of town the other day. I guess that was enough of Lawson’s Bend for her.’ Dan stared back at him for a moment too long. ‘What?’

  Dan slapped him on the back and grinned. ‘So you haven’t heard! Well, let me enlighten you, my friend. Yes, Henny did leave, but only to go and pack up her stuff. She’s moving back here and opening a shop in The Matchbox.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I was chatting to Janey at the newsagent. She said that Henny was moving back home.’

  Stephen momentarily forgot to breathe. ‘You’re sure about this? I mean, you’re not winding me up, are you?’

  ‘Nah, I stopped doing that in Year 9—you always take everything so damn seriously, so where’s the fun in that?’ Dan said with a laugh. ‘After all these years you actually get another chance, mate. Don’t screw it up.’

  ‘Come on, we both know that Henny isn’t interested in me. She never was.’

  ‘People change. Besides, I remember the two of you talking before the platform went down. Maybe there was something there.’

  ‘Yeah, a hell of a lot of wishful thinking on my part,’ Stephen said with a smile and a shake of the head.

  ‘Listen, you were young and stupid back then.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Hey, I’m just calling it how I saw it. You were young, stupid and totally in lust with Henny.’

  No, lust wasn’t it. Stephen went to say something but stopped.

  ‘Anyway, time’s moved on and you’re both adults now.’ Dan gave him another jab on the arm. ‘So act like it. Show some guts and ask her out before someone else does, otherwise I’ll have to put up with you moping about for the rest of my life.’

  ‘It’s not—’

  Dan didn’t let him finish. ‘Yeah, it is. Talk to her, and not in a creepy “I’ve been stalking you since we were sixteen” type of way. Talk to her—invite her to the memorial.’

  ‘Well, that’s not exactly a first date, is it? “Hey, Henny, want to go out to the memorial service that remembers the night a heap of our friends were killed?”’ Stephen said as he pushed away from the bench and sat down at the table. ‘Yeah, I’m sure she’d jump at that.’

  ‘Not a first date, you idiot. The memorial reminds us of a shared experience, one that we all want to forget but we can’t. Any of us that still live in the area will go, so she’ll be able to catch up with whatever is left of our class. And maybe she’ll remember who it was that pulled her out of the damn water.’

  ***

  On Saturday, Henny decided it was time to take stock and try to come up with a business plan. It was fine to have imaginative, creative ideas of a fuzzy goal but if she was actually going to pull this off she needed to be serious about it. She had a couple of aces up her sleeve, the first one of course being that she could use The Matchbox, and the second that the owner of the small gallery in Melbourne remembered her mother and was intrigued about Henny’s new venture. She said that she would be willing to put on another exhibition and stock some of the prints as long as Henny was willing to put up a couple of original pieces for sale. Henny thought of the stack of her mother’s artwork at home and agreed.

  It was time to sit down and plan everything she had to do. She settled down at the kitchen table with her tablet, a brand new notepad, a bright-blue highlighter and hot-pink sticky notes, all courtesy of Aunt Janey, and a large cup of coffee. Her mind was a little scattered as excitement bubbled up inside her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this way.

  Henny fired up the tablet and wrote down the first thing she needed to do: find a decent printer who was capable of supplying not only great art prints but also greeting cards. She spent the next half hour narrowing down her search until she had the names of two printers, one of them fairly local, who could possibly do the job. She looked up some wholesalers and pulled up the info she needed to get her Australian Business Number. She then looked down at the notepad and her ever-growing list: Monday was shaping up to be a busy day
.

  As she picked up the phone to call Aunt Janey to see if she could swing by later and answer a few questions there was a knock at the door. Funny, she’d been so wrapped up in what she’d been doing that Henny hadn’t even heard a car pull into the gravel drive. She opened the door and found Stephen Drake on the other side. He was wearing dark jeans, a bottle-green shirt with sleeves rolled up and workboots. She stood there for a second, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Um . . . hi, Stephen,’ she said as she stood back to let him in.

  ‘Hey, Henny. Look, I know this is unexpected—hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘No, not at all. Come in. Would you like a coffee?’

  As he walked through the doorway he seemed to fill it; it was strange that she’d never noticed that before.

  ‘Coffee sounds great,’ he replied. ‘Oh, have I caught you at a bad time?’

  Henny shook her head. ‘Nah, I was just doing a bit of work. I’m trying to open a shop here, but the whole idea is in its infancy and there’s a lot to do.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘You’re not—sit down. How do you have your coffee?’

  ‘White with one, thanks.’

  ‘No trouble. So, what can I do for you?’ Henny said as she walked over to the bench and clicked the kettle on.

  ‘I, um, came over to ask if you’d heard about the memorial service.’

  ‘Yeah, Dan mentioned something to me, but I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, the council has planned a memorial because it’s ten years since the accident at Killop.’

  At his mention of the res, a frown furrowed Henny’s brow and she became intent on making the coffee. She could feel his eyes on her back but she needed a moment to pull herself together.

  ‘Anyway,’ Stephen continued. ‘The memorial is being held in a couple of weeks, just in case you wanted to go.’

  ‘But the date would be wrong—we were there on the second of February, which is next week,’ Henny said as she walked over and placed a coffee mug in front of Stephen. ‘I thought the town just let the date slip by without any fuss.’