About Three Authors

by Patti Roberts

  “Move over,” Mallory whispered, as she edged closer to Elise by the window. “I can’t see properly.” Mallory pushed back the curtain a fraction farther, then peered out through the kitchen window. After a moment, she turned to look at Polly. “Oh, Poll, I think you’re right.”

  Polly leaned up against the kitchen counter and folded her arms resolutely across her chest. “Of course I’m right. I know what my son looks like when he’s in love. I’m like a freaking divining rod when it comes to this stuff.”

  “You really should try your hand at romance novels,” Elise murmured. “You’ve got a natural talent for it. You know what they say. Write what you know.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer to write about bloodsucking monsters. I can do really gruesome things to monsters, like chopping off their heads, or staking them through the heart,” Polly said, rubbing her face in her hands.

  “Are you thinking about a particular ex-boyfriend right now?” Elise asked.

  “Ha,” very funny, Polly retorted.

  Mallory looked over her shoulder and smiled at Polly. “They look so cute together, don’t you think?”

  “They do, and that’s what worries me. What happens when she leaves, goes back home to London? He’s just got over that whole fiasco with Wendy. He’s been angry for weeks.”

  “Angry, yes. But not heartbroken. I never saw him look at Wendy like that,” Elise said. “Look at him. Did you ever, in the whole time he was with Wendy, see him smiling at her like he smiles at Becky?”

  Polly shook her head. “Never. So it’s going to be even worse when Becky leaves, because I have a feeling he is going to be heartbroken. I just don’t want to see either of them get hurt, that’s all,” she said, filling up the jug with water.

  Elise turned and looked at Polly. “I guess it will just have to play itself out. They’re both adults. You know how it goes. Who of us here hasn’t had the odd holiday fling? Perhaps it’s nothing, just a rebound thing?”

  “Me,” Mallory said in a sombre voice. “I’ve never had a holiday fling.”

  Elise tilted her head. “That’s different. You’ve never had any kind of fling.”

  Mallory shrugged. “There just wasn’t any point. No one could ever replace Philip.”

  “You never gave anyone else, or yourself, a chance, Mal,” Elise replied, not taking her eyes off Becky and Gary.

  “I wasn’t the only one,” Mallory said.

  Elise looked at Mallory. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice slightly rising.

  Mallory shot Elise a quick glance. “You know exactly what that means,” she replied, looking back out the window. “You’ve been waiting all this time for him to… Oh, Gary’s just left. And now Becky’s sitting down on the eski, and she’s taking her phone out.”

  Elise squinted out the window. “Do you think she’s texting him? Telling him that she misses him already?” She looked skyward as clouds the colour of ripening bruises obscured the horizon. “We’ll get rain pretty soon if those clouds are anything to go by.”

  Mallory pulled the curtain closed quickly, nearly knocking Elise out of the way. “Shh. Quick. Look busy,” she whispered, turning around and looking around the kitchen for something to do. “She’s coming inside.”

  Elise dashed away from the window and sat down at the breakfast bench. She opened up a cookbook and stared at it, as though it were the most interesting book she had ever come across.

  Mallory picked up a broom and began sweeping.

  Becky pulled open the screen door. She was carrying the blanket and towels in her arms, a broad smile on her face. “Shall I put these in the laundry?” she asked, indicating the two damp towels, and the blanket piled up in her arms.

  “Pardon?” Mallory asked, busy in her pursuit of sweeping imaginary dirt on the kitchen floor.

  Becky frowned as she watched Mallory with the broom.

  “What?” Elise said, pretending to be engrossed in a particular recipe in the cookbook.

  Becky looked at the cookbook on the breakfast bench, then back at Mallory.

  “I’ll take them,” Polly said, switching on the jug and glaring at Mallory and Elise. “How was your lunch with Gary?”

  “Wonderful. Thank you. You went to so much trouble. The food was excellent,” Becky said as she handed the towels and blanket to Polly. “I’ll just go get the eski now. Gary had a job he had to go take care of.”

  “Did he?” Polly asked. “That’s a shame; having to cut your day short, I mean. And how did you enjoy the hike? Quite a view from up there, isn’t it?”

  Becky dragged her eyes off Mallory’s obsessive sweeping. “Spectacular,” she murmured. “But I think it was pretty good timing, really. It has just started to sprinkle. And if those clouds keep heading this way, we could be in for a very wet afternoon. I’d better go get the eski before the heavens really open up. Once I unpack it, I think I’ll take a quick shower, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s more than okay with me,” Polly said, walking over to stand by Elise. “Do you have plans for tonight?”

  Becky shook her head and looked down at her feet. “Just working on the article,” she replied nonchalantly. “Maybe an early night to catch up on some reading?”

  Mallory stopped sweeping for a moment. “I think a movie night is in order. Perfect for stormy nights.”

  Polly smiled. “That sounds like a great idea. I need a lazy night off.”

  Elise nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, okay,” Becky said, turning towards the doorway. “I’ll just go grab the eski before the rain get any heavier.” Once outside and out of earshot, she said murmured to herself, “please don’t rain. I really want this.”

  As soon as the screen door closed behind Becky, Polly whispered, “Could the two of you look any more ridiculous?”

  “I don’t think she suspected anything,” Mallory said, leaning the broom up against the wall. “I’ll get the milk for the coffee.” She walked across to the refrigerator and opened it.

  “The cookbook’s upside down for starters,” Polly hissed at Elise. “And you, Mallory, were sweeping like a crazy person on wet daddies.”

  “Wet what? What the bloody hell are wet daddies, for goodness’ sake?” Mallory asked, with a horrified look.

  “Speed, crystal, crank, meth, black beauties, bennies,” Polly rattled off.

  “Jesus,” Mallory said, giving Polly the once over. “Is there something you need to tell us, Polly? You sound like a street-corner drug dealer.”

  Elise dug around in her shirt pocket for her glasses. “Where did I leave my glasses this time?” She glanced around, scanning the kitchen benches for them. “I had them a moment ago.”

  Polly shook her head. “They’re on the top of your head.”

  “Oh, right. Silly me,” Elise said, plucking them off her head and placing them on her nose. She looked at the cookbook, then sheepishly turned the book around. “Do you think she noticed?”

  “Do you think she noticed? You’d have to be Blind Freddy not to notice the two of you nutters. The pair of you make Mr. Bean look like a flipping rocket scientist,” Polly said. “Now, I’m going to put these towels in the laundry. Please try not to do or say anything too demented when Becky comes back inside. She’s a journalist, remember, and we don’t want the title of the article to read, Three Crazy Authors, do we?”

  “I’ll make us a nice cup of coffee,” Mallory said enthusiastically, pouring hot water into three mugs which were already lined up on the kitchen bench. “And there’s some of Joan’s nice custard slice left over from lunch.”

  Elise closed the cookbook and stood up. “I’ll get the custard slice,” she said, glad to have something constructive to do when Becky returned.

  Chapter 14

  Stargazing.

  The rain had come down in bucket loads the moment Becky had stepped foot back into the house with the eski. It had lasted all of fifteen minutes, then abruptly stopped, as if a switch had been flicked off
.

  BECKY JENSEN’S FACEBOOK STATUS: I’m looking at the most amazing rainbow right now.

  Up in her bedroom, Becky began to undress for her shower, then paused, a smile spreading across her face. Sliding her hand into her shorts’ pocket, she retrieved the flat, white stone that Gary had given her and gazed at it, turning it on the palm of her hand with her fingers. She walked over to the bedside table and put it down, her index finger lingering on it for a moment longer.

  Who would hold this stone fifty years from now, she wondered. One of her future children packing up her belongings after she had died? At the end, her life comprising of nothing more than packing boxes full of trinkets, Christmas and birthday cards from loved ones, and piles of old ladies’ clothes that smelled of talcum powder and old age.

  There would be stacks of photo albums, of course, a photographic chronicle, proof that she had once been young and beautiful. What if she never married, never had children – just an old lady with a house full of cats or dogs? Who would find her little piece of Australia then, her little piece of Gary?

  She thought about her mother’s things. How many of her mother’s trinkets had held a special place in her heart, which no one else knew about? Memories of places, people, and cherished things that she would never know about? All of her mother’s memories, her hopes, her dreams, had died with her. Her mother’s thoughts would never be spoken aloud again. Becky quickly brushed away a tear that found its way down her cheek.

  She made a promise to spend more time talking with her father, with her Uncle Steve, with Grandma. She wanted to know about their hopes and dreams, their stories, before it was too late.

  The clock in the hall outside chimed, jolting her from her reverie. She headed towards the bathroom, pulling the singlet over her head as she went.

  After a quick shower, she brushed her hair and dressed in a floral sundress, a short sleeved crochet jacket, and a pair of flat sandals.

  The mobile buzzed on the bed, and she quickly picked it up. Clive. She quickly read the message, contemplated replying, then turned the phone, and tossed it back on the bed. She would text him back a little later.

  After an early dinner of beer-battered barramundi fillets, red claw, and a garden salad, eaten out on the patio, Becky and the three women retreated into the lounge room to watch a movie. Each of them carried a glass of wine and a secret smile. A stickler for Christmas movies, Mallory chose The Holiday with Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz.

  Elise produced four Christmas-themed plates on a matching red and gold plastic tray. “Leftover Christmas cake,” she said, holding out a plate to Becky. “And that’s homemade brandy custard, by the way,” she explained, handing Becky a spoon.

  Elise sat down, plate in hand. “We should take a trip down to Cairns tomorrow and find you a dress to wear tomorrow night for the New Year’s Eve party,” she said. “Polly and Mal have things they have to do here, so it’ll be just the two of us.”

  “That would be great,” Becky said. “We can make a day of it.”

  “We most certainly can,” Elise said eagerly, spooning a mouthful of Christmas cake into her mouth. “Turn the movie on, Poll, before we all fall asleep.”

  Two and a half hours later, as the end credits began to roll, Becky sat forward in her lounge chair and peered from Polly to Elise, and then to Mallory. All three women had their heads slightly tilted to one side, and they were all fast asleep.

  Mallory had dozed off first, and her soft snoring was just audible over the volume of the television. Polly had her bare feet up on a large square ottoman, while Elise had her legs crossed at the ankles. Her arms were loosely folded across her chest, an empty wine glass clasped precariously in her hand.

  The clock on the wall said eleven forty five. She had fifteen minutes before she was to meet up with Gary down by the jetty. She stood up, then walked quietly over to Elise, carefully prising the empty wine glass out of her hand. She walked from the room, leaving the television on. She had learned from experience that turning the television off would wake up the three sleeping women.

  Her mother had been exactly the same. The sudden silence of the television being switched off would always wake her immediately, whereas she could sleep for hours if it had been left on.

  Becky picked up the remote and restarted the movie from the beginning, then collected the remaining empty wine glasses and plates, stacked them on the tray, then took them into the kitchen. She quickly washed the glasses and plates, then ran down the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she applied a lick of lip gloss and squirted herself with some perfume.

  Outside, the temperature was fresh, but it wasn’t cold. She gazed around the lighted garden, then made her way down the grassy decline. Gary was nowhere in sight. She walked along the jetty, her arms behind her back, her head tilted upward.

  The ink-black sky was dotted with stars. It was lovely, but not spectacular. Nothing that she hadn’t seen before. She looked out across the still water, the moon’s reflection a ghostly apparition.

  Suddenly, all the lights went out in the garden behind her, and she was alone in the darkness, with only the ghostly glow of the moon, and the chirping sounds of crickets and frogs for company.

  A moment later, Gary was standing beside her. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. He smelled of toothpaste and cologne. She felt her heart flutter. “Look up now,” he whispered.

  Becky titled her head skyward again. This time the stars sparkled like billions of polished diamonds that had been scattered across an endless, black satin sheet. She gasped. “Amazing.”

  “You have to turn the lights off,” he said, taking hold of her hand. With her head still tilted skyward, he guided her slowly down to the end of the jetty. “Light pollution, it’s a side effect of industrial civilization,” he explained. “It competes with starlight in the night sky. Especially in suburban or built-up areas, like big cities. Growing up in a city like London, I bet you’ve never seen the stars quite like this.”

  She shook her head, then, turning, she stared up into his eyes. “I’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful before.”

  Gary smiled. “Wait right there,” he said, picking a blanket up off a cane basket and spreading it out on the end of the jetty.

  Next to the basket, she saw his guitar. “What’s all this?” Becky asked.

  “You can’t stargaze without champagne and song.” He lifted the lid of the basket, retrieved a bottle of champagne, and then two crystal champagne flutes. Handing Becky the two glasses, he began unscrewing the wire encasement. After a few moments the cork shot off through the air like a missile, before landing with a splash in the water.

  Gary filled the two glasses as she held them, then he set the bottle down on the jetty.

  “To stargazers all over the world,” he said, lifting his glass, then gently tapping it on the side of Becky’s glass.

  “To stargazers,” she replied.

  “Madam. Your viewing platform awaits,” he said, bowing slightly and holding out a hand.

  She took his hand, then sat down. “This is divine,” she said, taking another sip of her champagne.

  He joined her on the blanket. “And you can’t have champagne without strawberries,” he said, extracting a bowl of strawberries from the cane basket and offering them to her.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, plucking off the leaves, then popping the strawberry into her mouth. “Delicious,” she said, taking another sip of the champagne and gazing back up into the night sky. “It’s as though someone has sprinkled billions of diamonds across the universe.” Becky sat her glass down, then laid back, her folded arms behind her, cushioning her head. A peaceful, uncomplicated feeling washed over her, and she let out a long breath. When had she ever felt this content? she wondered.

  Gary plucked a strawberry out of the bowl that sat between them, removed the leaves, then held it above her, waiting for her to open her mouth. When she did so, he placed it into her mouth. He held her gaze fo
r a long moment, then smiled.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, not trusting her voice.

  He laid down beside her, his arms behind his head, then said, “It’s really something, isn’t it, the night sky?”

  Becky nodded. “It truly is.” She turned her head to look at him. “When did you organize all this?” she said, indicating the champagne and strawberries.

  “I gave Mum a call,” he said. “The guitar, I brought with me.”

  “You mean to say they know all about us being here tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised if they were up there spying on us right now,” he replied, his face tilting to meet her stunned gaze.

  “But they were sound asleep when I left.”

  “I highly doubt that.” He turned his face, staring back up into the night sky. On the distant horizon, veins of lightening zigzagged soundlessly across the sky. “They eat up this kind of stuff.” He sat up, then grabbed his guitar. “Best I give them a show, hey, make it worth their while.” He strummed the guitar softly with practiced fingers. ““Heart On Fire”. Do you know it?”

  “Yes. Jonathan Clay. I love it.” She sat up, pulling her knees up under her chin, then wrapped her arms around them.

  Gary’s voice was warm and caressing in the still, humid air. She closed her eyes, listing to the timber of his voice, and getting hopelessly lost in the words of the song.

  Up at the house the three authors huddled together, secreted behind a pillar on the patio.

  “That brings back bitter-sweet memories,” Elise whispered, tiny hands squeezing her heart.

  “Do tell,” Polly asked.

  “Come on. Let’s go back inside and give them some privacy,” Mallory said, tugging on Elise’s arm. “You can tell us all about it over a nice cup of camomile tea. I always love listening to your stories, no matter how many times I’ve heard them. Make it a romantic one. You’re so good at those.”

  “Pff,” Elise snorted. “I want something a lot stronger than camomile tea. Do we still have some of that Irish cream left? I could do with a nice mug of Irish coffee.”