by Nova Weetman
Frankie’s grandma taught her to sew when she was really young. She used to work the pedal on the machine while her grandma moved the needle so they sewed straight. As she got older, Frankie started making her own things with her grandma’s offcuts. She mostly made little bags or tops for her doll. When her grandma died, Frankie got her machine and she liked playing around with it. She wasn’t great at finishing and she always imagined her gran somewhere, horrified at seeing the things Frankie would wear out, with their falling down hems and puckered zips. Then her mum hocked the sewing machine when they were really broke one time, and Frankie never got it back. Now she had to hand sew if she wanted to alter anything.
Two of the tops are fine, but the other two aren’t her colour. She decides to buy one for Joely, along with the dress, to make Joely realise how much she thinks about her when they’re apart. The jumper is a total winner and Frankie grins as she slides it over her head. It’s cream and thick and has a great leafy pattern on it, like someone knitted it years and years ago. It even smells nice and, if it weren’t so hot, she would leave it on.
But it’s when she slips on the leather coat that she knows she’s made a good find. It would be worth hundreds she thinks as she tightens the belt around her waist and stands against the wall so she can really see how she looks. She feels older. Glamorous even. Like she knows things. There’s no price so she hopes it won’t cost too much. Even if it does, she has to buy it.
As she steps back into the kitchen with her pile of clothes, she really wants to grab a biscuit. It’s a big tin so nobody would notice. They were those shortbready ones with sugar crystals that her grandma sometimes bought. She reaches out for one, but something stops her. Instead, she walks through the shop and piles her finds onto the counter.
‘You finished then, love?’ says the woman, barely looking up.
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘Big pile you’ve got.’ The woman starts sorting through the clothes and Frankie is terrified she’ll say she can’t have the coat. But when the woman gets to the green leather, she looks up and checks Frankie out.
‘You going to sell this?’
‘No. I’m going to wear it. It’s beautiful,’ says Frankie unable to contain her excitement.
‘Well, in that case can I see it on you?’ says the woman.
Frankie feels strange sliding her arms into the coat. She knows she’s blushing. As the woman looks her up and down she feels the value of the coat fading.
‘You know what,’ says the woman. ‘I’ve waited nearly three months for someone to see how beautiful that coat is. I think you’re the first person to try it on.’
‘Oh.’
‘And you know what else? It used to belong to me.’
Frankie looks up.
‘Yep. Bought it in London in 1967. Looked bloody great in it, too.’
Frankie laughs. ‘I bet you did.’
‘You can have it. On the house, as they say. It looks even better on you than it did on me.’
Embarrassed, Frankie starts to undo the belt. ‘No. I can’t, really. I’ll pay.’
‘Nope. It’s yours. If I had anyone to give it to, I would have. So now I am. Make sure you wear it as much as you can.’
The woman grabs her hand and squeezes it tight. Frankie’s surprised by how soft her skin is, and almost imagines it’s her grandma.
‘Come on, hand it over. I’ll put it in the bags with the rest. You’ve got good taste, love.’
Frankie doesn’t know what to say as the woman jots down a list of what she owes. It’s not even thirty dollars. Frankie feels like she should pay more.
‘Thank you,’ says Frankie.
‘My pleasure,’ says the woman handing over two very full plastic bags. ‘Hope to see you again soon.’
Frankie smiles at her, but she’s already gone back to her knitting.
Outside the sun is so hot that Frankie fears she might melt. She can’t wait to tell Joely about the coat. She loves the idea that it once belonged to the old woman who had a whole amazing other life before ending up here, in an op shop in Payne.
She just has to get Joely’s stuff from the chemist first.
Chapter 26
‘You’re out of practice, Joely,’ says Jill, looking at her pathetic attempt to make the butter and flour into dough.
‘Sorry, Jill. Everything hurts, even my fingers.’ Joely wonders why she didn’t just stay in bed all day instead of offering to help.
Jill laughs and pulls the bowl over to finish the job. ‘Turn the stove on for me. One hundred and eighty degrees, please.’
The stove is one of those black cast-iron things from another time. You have to turn on the gas and hold the match inside at the back until it ignites. The first time Joely lit it, she singed the hairs on her arm and her mum lectured Jill for nearly an hour about the inappropriateness of giving a child matches. As she’d rubbed the acrid stubbled hairs from her arm, Joely was happy that Jill had trusted her to help out. She wasn’t allowed to do anything at home, not even reheat pasta.
Now she lights it without burning anything, then takes out the old steel tray and starts dusting it with flour. Jill’s finished mixing the dough and is cutting it into perfect circles.
‘Don’t think these would win any prizes,’ says Jill, brushing the mounds with milk and tucking them close together on the tray.
Joely remembers Jill explaining how scones like to be huddled together when they cook. The ones in the middle always rise the most, just like people.
‘You missed that one,’ says Joely, pointing at a scone.
‘See. That’s why I need you here!’
Joely slides the heavy tray into the oven and sits at the kitchen table waiting for her cup of tea to steep. There are so many routines and traditions in this house. Jill adds milk to the cups, but doesn’t sit down. She never really sits. She’s always wiping, cutting or cleaning something. She’s just about the busiest person Joely’s ever seen.
‘So where’s Frankie today?’
‘Gone to get some makeup for my face.’
‘She’s a good friend,’ says Jill.
Joely nods and her brain feels like it’s slamming around in her head. ‘Yes. She is.’
‘I had a best friend at high school. Rebecca McLean. Thought she was the bee’s knees. And she was. For a while. Then she tried to date Ged after I’d already spotted him. That was the end of her.’ Jill laughs.
It always amazes Joely to hear about her aunt and uncle falling in love when they were just a bit older than she was. But at the same time she doesn’t like what Jill is trying to say.
‘Frankie’s not like that,’ says Joely wanting to defend her friend against the possibility.
‘Course not. But Rebecca was. Told her what was what and we never spoke again.’ Jill laughs, but Joely doesn’t join in, worried now that Jill doesn’t think her friend is worthy. And she doesn’t know how to make her understand that she is. Luckily Jill starts hand-whipping a bowl of cream. Joely likes the clunking of the beaters turning against each other and moving through the cream. It’s much nicer than the buzz of the electric mixer her mum uses to make her green smoothies.
‘Grab us the jams.’
Joely can’t believe she forgot. She’s always the jam getter. Moving slowly, she goes to the fridge and takes out six different jars, all with labels noting the date and the fruit that’s inside. She lines them up in the middle of the table. Then she takes out six delicate spoons that were given to Jill and Ged on their wedding day. They’re real silver and the handles are so thin that you have to hold them poshly between two fingers.
By the time Jill’s finished beating the cream, the scones are dragged from the oven, hot and plump and smelling all buttery. Joely can’t believe how hungry she suddenly is. She wishes that Ged and her cousins were here to eat them too. But it’s always been
like this. The boys off working outside, while Jill and Joely bake inside.
When Joely’s mum used to come to the farm, she’d go on and on about how sexist it was because the men were outside in the world and the women were trapped inside the kitchen. She said it was the reason she’d never live on the farm. Joely remembers Jill laughing at her and saying the real reason she wouldn’t live on a farm was because she hated farming.
‘Just hang on a sec,’ says Jill disappearing outside.
While she’s gone, Joely places the best plates on the table and spoons the cream into a glass bowl. The scones wait to be eaten.
‘Pretty?’ Jill comes in with a bunch of flowers and herbs. ‘It’s called a tussie mussie,’ she says, arranging the posy in a blue vase.
‘A tussie what?’
Jill laughs. ‘Mussie. It’s a nineteenth-century term for a talking bouquet. Each flower or herb is picked to say something to the person receiving it. It’s like a secret code.’
‘Really?’ Joely pulls a face, unsure if her aunt is being honest or joking.
‘Really. It was the way people told each other how they felt. Before all you young people and your phones.’
Joely laughs. ‘You sound ancient when you say things like that. Besides, you have a phone.’
‘Two scones or three?’ Jill arranges the scones on the plates.
‘At least three. I’m starving. I didn’t have any dinner last night remember?’
Jill drops a large spoonful of cream onto a scone and pops it in her mouth. As she chews, she says, ‘Nope, they definitely wouldn’t win a ribbon. Too dry. Not enough butter.’
‘I think they’re yummy,’ says Joely shoving half in her mouth and making Jill smile.
As Joely eats, Jill buries her face in the flowers and breathes in.
‘So what does this tussie mussie say?’ says Joely through a mouthful of scone.
‘Well, this is rosemary for remembrance and you know this one, don’t you?’ Jill points to a long purple flower.
Joely frowns. ‘Obviously the rosemary isn’t working. No remembrance here.’
‘It’s lavender. It’s for devotion.’
Joely laughs. ‘Nice. And what’s the mint for?’
‘Ah. That’s to say don’t worry about the small things.’
‘Oh, I like that one.’
‘Yes, it’s sweet isn’t it. And this is a daisy for innocence.’
‘What’s that one for?’ Joely says, pointing to a cluster of pale blue flowers.
‘Those are forget-me-nots. They’re for true love.’
Joely pretends to swoon like she’s in love, making Jill smile. ‘You watch. You’ll fall in love one of these days.’
‘Maybe …’ Joely says. She thinks about kissing Rory on the road in the dark, how her heart raced and her legs felt weak. She wonders how it will feel the next time they kiss.
‘I loved your uncle from the moment I saw him. He was demonstrating how to milk a cow.’
‘Ew. Gross.’
‘He was handsome. Still is.’
This kind of conversation makes Joely embarrassed. She never hears adults talk about love. Not in the way Jill does: easily and unashamed. Her mum never tells her anything much. Joely doesn’t think she even notices men. She’s just never recovered from hating her dad.
Jill leans close. ‘Must get a bit quiet in your house.’
‘It’s like a tomb.’
‘You know you can always come and stay here. I can fix it with your mum.’
Joely doesn’t want to speak, so she nods. She feels weird talking about her mum to anyone else. Even Jill. As much as it sucks living with a mother who hassles her about everything, she still doesn’t want to think badly of her, at least not out loud.
‘Can I get some more Panadol? My head feels like it’s going to explode.’
‘Go hop into bed and I’ll bring you some.’
‘Thanks, Jill.’
As Joely shuffles out of the kitchen, she wonders how much longer Frankie will be, and hopes she manages to get all the stuff to make her face better. She can’t go to the party looking like this. Rory would think she was hideous.
Chapter 27
Chemist still not open! x
Frankie presses send as she sits down on the stinking hot concrete in front of the chemist, sliding the bags from the op shop down next to her. Obviously eleven o’clock in the city means something entirely different to eleven o’clock in Payne.
She knows she should call her mum again to check in and make sure everything is okay, but the distance is changing everything. Today, instead of feeling worried, she just feels free. Her phone beeps. It’s Joely.
Get jellybeans too.
Black?
xx
Two kisses. Frankie smiles. She was right.
‘Buying up big?’ says a voice from above.
Rory. She doesn’t want to meet him here. Not with all her things from the op shop. She doesn’t want him to dismiss them, laugh at her, or just not get it.
‘Hi,’ she says, looking up. He’s not looking at the bags of shopping at all. He’s looking straight at her. ‘I was hoping I’d see you today.’
‘Oh. Why?’ says Frankie deliberately being coy.
‘You know why.’ He sits down close to her, sharing the window of the chemist.
‘What’s in the bags?’
‘Stuff.’ Frankie grips the bags tighter.
‘Want to see something?’ says Rory.
Frankie looks at him, wondering what it is he’ll show her. ‘I’m waiting for the chemist to open.’
‘It’ll be open by the time we get back.’ He’s already standing.
‘Sure,’ she says, pretending she feels as certain as she sounds.
Frankie has to walk fast to keep up with him. The two bags of clothes bang against her legs, making her hot and irritable. She hopes it’s not far, whatever this thing is they’re seeing. People look at her as she passes, and she wonders if that’s why Rory is walking ahead of her, so nobody knows they’re together. She hates feeling like this, so she skips to catch up and slips her hand into his. It’s not even sweaty. He gives her a strange look. It’s surprised, worried even, a look she hasn’t noticed before. Not that she really knows him. But he doesn’t pull away and she’s pleased.
They walk towards the train station, not talking, down the dusty road, and further still. Frankie’s sweating and the flies are annoying her. She can sort of understand why Joely gets cross that she’s never bothered by the sun. That’s how Frankie feels walking along with Rory.
‘Is it always this hot?’ says Frankie, channelling her best friend.
‘Nah. Sometimes it gets even hotter.’ Rory jumps onto a gravel road behind the train station. He pulls her arm. She jumps down and crashes into him, too close. She waits for him to kiss her, but he doesn’t. Instead, he whispers, ‘Close your eyes.’
Without thinking, Frankie screws up her eyes, and doesn’t even peep. If she was at home in the city, and a boy she barely knew had led her somewhere quiet and asked her to close her eyes, she’d run. But here she feels weirdly safe because it’s not like anything she knows.
His hands take hers, forcing her to drop the bags. For a second she’s worried, not wanting anything to happen to the green coat, but he starts pulling and tugging her along, until he stops and lets go of her hands.
‘Open your eyes,’ he says, and she does. Blinking away the glare, she stares at the concrete wall at the back of the station, and sees a beautiful colourful painting of a creature. She looks closer and sees tentacles wrapped around something, hugging or strangling it maybe. The one eye that looks out bores straight into her. She can’t speak. She just looks. She knows Rory is watching her and she wonders what he wants her to say.
‘Wow,’ is all she manages as she n
otices intricate details of tiny wings across the green body and large, pointed horns.
‘Did you …?’ she asks even though she knows there is no way a boy like Rory could paint something so huge.
He laughs. ‘Nah. Just thought you’d like to see a bit of city in the country. It’s the only good graffiti we have.’
Disappointed, she turns to him. ‘What I like about being here is that it isn’t the city.’
He shrugs and she wants to punch him. He doesn’t get it at all.
Frankie starts walking away. ‘I’ve gotta go.’
She knows he’ll chase after her. She knows because he’s trying to impress her. She feels his hand on her arm and she lets him spin her around. They bang into each other and kiss, furiously and angrily, and not at all like Frankie wants to be kissed. But she lets him because, despite it all, she likes him.
As he stops and lets her breathe, he smiles, and his eyes look real. Frankie touches his face, pulls his mouth down towards hers and kisses him properly.
‘You taste like ice-cream,’ she says quietly, their faces still together.
He doesn’t answer, just kisses her again, and this time it’s almost tender.
‘You going to the party tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Frankie.
‘You should.’
She smiles at him. ‘Okay. I’ll bring Joely, too.’
‘Sure. Just try to lose Mack on the way, will ya?’
Frankie laughs. ‘Why?’
‘Long story.’ He kisses her again, sliding his hands over her bum. She counts in her head: one second, two seconds, three seconds. When she reaches five, she steps away, not wanting him to touch her wherever he likes. It’s the only thing she’s learnt from watching her mum: not to be used, not like that.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ says Frankie. She skips away, grabbing the bags from the ground. Squinting into the sun, she remembers the new sunglasses and pushes her hand into a bag to find them. It takes a few goes and Rory’s caught up by the time she slips them on.