But Simone was a survivor. And this shop in London was her chance to finally go home.
‘If Simone was so useless, then why did you ever agree to be a financial partner in the first place?’ Kate asked now.
Judy glared at her. ‘Look, Kate. You don’t like me and it’s no secret I’m not your biggest fan. So let’s just sign these papers and we’ll never have to see each other again.’ She thrust the papers and a silver pen at Kate.
Kate took the pen and the papers and lay them on the kitchen sink. She hesitated as a memory suddenly opened.
It was the day after Judy had first criticised Kate’s zodiac tea idea. She’d gone to Simone’s house to see her, only to find that Simone wasn’t down with the flu but had crashed her car and had whiplash. The accident had occurred after a drinking binge, but that was something Kate only found out years later. After this, her opinion of Judy had improved slightly, due to her loyalty and protection of Simone’s privacy. It also went some way towards explaining Judy’s bad attitude the day they’d discussed the zodiac tea.
Kate had sat on Simone’s plush eggshell couch, looked at the Brisbane River and poured out the story of her meeting with Judy. Tears flowed down her face.
‘So I’ve decided to resign,’ she finished.
Simone snorted, sitting stiffly with her neck in a brace while wrapped in an elegant crimson satin gown, a glass of brandy (‘for the pain’) beside her.
‘Nonsense. Judy hasn’t the first idea about what makes a business successful. You’re a talented artist, Kate. I don’t care if you don’t have the profit projections and statistics and the boring-as-bat-doo-doo evidence to back it up. You have instinct. You have intuition. And you, my dear, are going to be a star.’
She’d smiled at Kate and handed her a box of tissues. ‘You just need to trust yourself.’
Now, Kate stood up in the storeroom to face Judy. Simone had been right. Her instincts were good. The zodiac tea had been the most profitable line in years. She didn’t need stuffy suit-types telling her what would be successful. She just knew.
Just as she knew that signing these papers was wrong.
I will support whatever you decide. Mark might not like it, but he’d given her his blessing. There must have been some small part of him that believed it was possible.
She dropped the pen on the sink with a clatter.
‘I won’t be signing these papers today,’ Kate said, turning back into the shop. A customer in the sweets section collected fudge and coconut ice.
Judy stomped after her. ‘What do you mean you’re not signing?’ Her voice, normally so deep and raspy, was high-pitched with outrage.
‘I own half this business, Judy. And it’s time I started acting like it. I’m not selling. I’m not dissolving it. I’m going to England and I’m going to make this work.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Susan’s expression change from surprise to delight.
Judy’s face twisted and turned and puffed and grimaced, finally settling on an ugly sneer. ‘And what about your family?’
Kate had to hand it to her; Judy knew exactly where her vulnerabilities lay.
‘We’ll be fine, thank you. Mark can look after the boys.’
Judy lashed out. ‘You think you can run an international business? You think you can go to England and build a new store from scratch before the money drain sinks the entire company? You think you can sell tea to the English? You think you can keep a family and marriage together and you have the balls to deal with people in the cold, hard world of business? And you think can do all of this by yourself? Well, you’re in for a shock. You’ve no idea what it takes to run a company. You’re a tea designer, Kate.’
It was true. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t a business mogul. She’d never even been out of the country. She was a foolish little girl.
But then Simone’s words cut through the jangle in her mind.
Trust yourself. She’d said it that day in her apartment and she’d said it again in the note the solicitor read out. Sometimes, someone else could see something in you that you couldn’t see yourself. Maybe, even if Kate didn’t quite trust herself, she should trust Simone.
‘Who do you think is going to deal with the hard side of the business, Kate? Because it certainly won’t be you.’
Kate took a deep breath, smoothed down her shirt and straightened herself. She spoke quietly, forcing Judy to concentrate on her words.
‘Yes, I will need help if I’m going to be doing what I do best.’
‘So who is this person going to be then?’
‘It’s all sorted, Judy,’ she lied. ‘You’ll find out about it when they start next week.’
Judy stormed past her and ripped open the door, sending the bell into crazy action and shattering any peace left in the shop.
‘Do you know what I’ve realised?’ Mark said.
He came bouncing in the door, startling Kate as she packed the dishwasher. He was sweating profusely, with a dark V-shaped patch on his shirt and pools beneath his armpits. He’d obviously run up a lot of the steep hills that surrounded their home to get his emotions and thoughts in order.
That had been his response to her news that she’d decided to go to London. After a few exclamations of shock, tinged with anger and even a touch of betrayal, he’d screwed up his face and declared he needed to run. Kate had been silently pleased. At least he’d be calmer when he said what he needed to say.
Now she braced herself, a plate held limply in her hand halfway to the rack, and waited for his declaration, whatever it might be. That she was selfish. That he didn’t want to be in this marriage anymore. That she was a total fool and he was an idiot for trusting her to make the right choice.
‘I’ve turned into my father,’ he said.
That was unexpected. ‘What?’
He paced in circles. ‘I’ve become grumpy. Conservative. And worse yet, last election I actually voted Labor instead of Green.’
‘Well, that is alarming. You didn’t tell me that. We always vote Green.’
‘I know. And do you know why I voted Labor? Because I’ve turned into my father. I’m channelling him, obviously. He’s somehow possessed me.’
‘All the way from Melbourne?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Thank goodness you got on top of it now,’ she said, smothering a laugh. Really, it was difficult to take him seriously at this moment.
She put down the plate and passed Mark a handful of paper towels, motioning to the sweat dripping from his forehead.
‘Money was never my priority,’ he said. ‘You know that. I was the one who told you not to take the job at The Tea Chest for money but only for love. Only for passion. That’s what we believe. That’s what we want our kids to believe. And here I am trying to convince you not to follow your passion but to play it safe. What the hell’s wrong with me?’
Kate shrugged. ‘We had kids. Got a mortgage. A bigger car. Health insurance.’
‘Don’t get me started on the rort of health insurance.’ He looked stricken. ‘See—I’m my father.’ He pretended to strangle himself. ‘And another thing; I used to be funny.’
‘It’s called growing up, I guess,’ she said.
‘I used to have hair.’
‘You still have hair,’ she said, ‘it’s just not on your head.’
He grabbed her by the arms, his strong fingers holding her so she could feel his energy coursing into her body. ‘We’re not those people, Kate. And I think you know that. Somewhere inside, you managed to keep that optimism and strength.’
‘I did?’
‘Yes. But me?’ He let her go and flung himself down on the couch.
She wrinkled her nose and refrained from telling him not to get sweat all over the fabric.
‘I turned into a grumpy old man. I’ve been focusing on the wrong things. I’ve been so busy building up my practice, thinking I’d finally got my chance to reap the financial rewards of all the hard work I’ve
put into it.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Because part of me has been jealous of you and your success. I’m still a man in a western capitalist culture and even after all these years it’s still hard for me not to be the biggest breadwinner. And honestly, I hate myself for that.’
He looked utterly stricken. She wanted to rush to him to soothe his fears but his stiff shoulders told her he just needed to accept and deal with them on his own.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s okay to feel like that.’
‘It is. But it’s not okay if I let that feeling dictate my decisions. So, thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For reminding me what my priorities are. And I promise you that grumpy old Mark is gone.’ He swept his hand from left to right, drawing a line in the air. ‘Finito. You won’t see him again. Not unless the guy from the 7-Eleven looks at my belly pityingly again when he next hands me my block of chocolate.’
‘Perhaps, if you’re going to go back to voting for the Greens, you should get a new supplier. Maybe an organic food store with fair trade chocolate? Gosh, Mark, I didn’t realise you’d become such a consumer. Voting Labor and buying secret stashes of chocolate. Should I be worried?’
‘No. But I should. This is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve become so mainstream.’
‘Are you saying you think I did the right thing?’ she said, getting back to the discussion at hand.
Mark jumped up, his shoulders a couple of inches above hers, his breath caressing her face. He let his eyes wander lovingly over her lips. ‘Yes.’ He smiled, his previous angst vanished. She’d always admired how quickly he could do that—come to a conclusion about himself he didn’t like, accept it, decide to change it, and move on. It took her days to wade through the complexities of those sorts of emotions. But he could do it in minutes. It was quite a skill.
‘Unequivocally, you did the right thing,’ he said. ‘In a totally surprising event, you were right and I was wrong.’
A delicious quiver as her skin came alive under his gaze.
‘Then we should celebrate,’ she said.
‘Indeed.’
‘Let’s get you into the shower.’
After their shower, Kate and Mark lay in bed together, their limbs entwined, their breathing in sync with each other’s. She felt pleasantly heavy, a deep sense of peace melting her skin into the sheets and into her husband’s body so she wasn’t sure where hers ended and his began.
Mark played with her fingers, stroking them lightly and twisting them through his.
‘Why don’t we all come with you?’ he said. ‘To London. We could visit Madame Tussauds and walk the trails of Jack the Ripper.’
‘That’s not exactly what we want our boys to be doing,’ she murmured sleepily.
‘Then we’ll ride the London Eye and wave to the Queen. I’ve been meaning to visit her for a while, actually. She’s been on my to-do list. It was my New Year’s resolution to invest more time in my relationships. I’ll start with her.’
‘The boys could try and make those freakishly stiff guards laugh, the ones at Buckingham Palace with the fluffy hats who act like they’re statues who’ll topple over if you poke them.’
‘And we could eat spotted dick and bread and butter pudding.’
‘What is spotted dick?’
‘I don’t know.’ His voice drifted off, his eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. Kate waited for him to continue, to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t realistic. But Mark was floating away to dreamland.
She sat up quickly, and his eyes jerked open.
‘You’re not serious, are you?’
His chest rose beneath her hand as he took a deep breath to regain consciousness. He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘But what about your business?’
‘Ah. Yes, that. I guess that’s complicated. This working for yourself thing is a bit of a drag when it comes to wanting time off. No holiday pay or sick pay or conjugal-visits-to-your-wife-in-London pay.’
‘And we need your income right now to keep everything going here in Australia. You know, bills and other such annoyances. Until this current crisis is sorted out in some way.’ Guilt needled her. ‘See, you’re an important hunter and gatherer too.’
His fingers moved to her hair, playing with the long gentle curls.
‘And it would be really disruptive to take the boys out of school,’ he said.
‘Yes. But then again, they’re only small. What does it matter if they lose a few months of Australian school time? Wouldn’t the experience and worldly adventure be a trade-off?’ she said, momentum gathering for the plan.
‘True. But we’d be in your way. And it’s expensive. We’d have to spend so much more on flights, and accommodation, and living expenses.’
‘Money we can’t really afford right now with the risk we’re taking.’ She could almost see Mark’s dream cloud above his head disintegrating into wisps of smoke and floating away. Tinges of disappointment hung in the air instead. ‘But you wouldn’t be in the way,’ she said. ‘You’re never in the way. Though it’s true I wouldn’t have much time to spare. And it could be rather stressful. I’d hate to be cranky with you all the time.’
‘You’re never cranky. Only ever slightly less happy.’
‘And it would be awful if I failed,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. ‘It could all be over and done with in three weeks and we’d have to come home with our tails between our legs.’ It was a truly terrifying thought having the boys watch her attempt such a huge task only to have it fall over.
‘Impossible,’ Mark said. ‘You’re already the most talented and inspirational person in this family. The boys adore you. Nothing could change that.’
‘It would be nice if that were true,’ she said.
‘So I think we’ve agreed the boys and I should stay here. Do you need to write a list of pros and cons?’
She groaned and rubbed at her eyes, a huge yawn expanding from somewhere deep in her chest, suddenly weary beneath this weight of responsibility and adulthood.
‘No. I think we know for sure.’
He nodded. ‘Yep. No warm beer in stuffy pubs for me.’
From nowhere, her eyes filled. ‘But how will you cope on your own?’
‘Probably badly,’ he said.
‘You’re supposed to be making me feel better.’
‘It’ll be fun. We’ll be bachelors. A frat house. The Fullerton Frat House. We’ll sleep in tents and make fires by rubbing sticks together and learn how to bring down the crazy postman by throwing boomerangs at his head. And we’ll eat pizza every night. Vegetarian, to make sure the boys are getting their daily quota.’
‘Maybe we should rethink this plan after all.’ She moved to roll away from him and turn on the light, mentally composing her pros-and-cons list for the notepad beside the bed. Instead, Mark grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, making her laugh under his roving hands.
‘We’ll be fine,’ he said with authority. ‘You should go and have a wonderful time making your dreams come true. Now perhaps you could come here and show me how very grateful you are.’
Leila’s rate of chocolate consumption and wine (she’d downgraded to buying it by the cask, on account of being unemployed) increased in accordance with how far and wide the news of her fall from grace spread.
Her younger brother called from the barracks in Darwin and offered to put her in touch with an army recruitment officer.
Andrea from her Zumba class had taken her for cocktails and sushi in New Farm and enthusiastically maintained that she’d done absolutely the right thing and Carter had it coming and she was far too good for that place and she didn’t need them anyway, she was perfectly capable of something much bigger and better so she should drink up and enjoy her impromptu holiday while she could.
Gemma, an executive assistant at Strahan Engineering, had emailed her sympathies and support with a lot
of exclamation marks and promises of catching up for coffee, which Leila knew would happen once and never again.
And on it went. Phone calls and emails from people excited by the flush of fantastic gossip and scandal but who wouldn’t be there in a week’s time when Leila was pacing the apartment in the middle of the night and eating discarded chocolate cake from the kitchen bin.
Which she was doing now.
She’d thrown away the rest of the cake that afternoon in a flash of motivation to pick herself up and get over it. She’d also cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the lounge room and bought the paper for the jobs section liftout. Finding nothing appropriate there, she’d turned to the online job ads and shortlisted and highlighted and uploaded her résumé to a few places, but had ended the day wholly disheartened. Editing jobs were few and far between, especially ones that paid as much as Strahan did, as her mother was so fond of reminding her.
She’d gone to bed anxious and restless and got up again around midnight, itching for something comforting to eat. Sadly, the fridge only contained pots of jam and jars of nuts, a bag of slimy lettuce, some suspicious-smelling milk and bottled sauces. If only she hadn’t thrown away the cake.
Perhaps if she just checked the bin. Perhaps it was still wrapped in plastic and hadn’t touched anything else.
She carefully lifted an empty can of soup, damp paper towels from her kitchen cleaning, an apple core and some tissues to find the cake was buried there and at least half of it hadn’t been touched or soiled by anything else. She pulled it out and cut off the bits that were still okay and ignored the voice in her head telling her it was rather disgusting and she must have hit rock bottom.
She tucked in, squeezing all the crumbs together, inhaling the smell of cocoa, and licking the icing from her fingers.
She washed her hands and face and went back to the laptop. Maybe she should be looking for something other than a straight editing job. She had a diverse set of skills that someone would want, surely. So she searched in business categories and came across an interesting ad. Better yet, the job was based in London. What a fabulous way to escape the depressing confines of her current life.
The Tea Chest Page 6
