Lola had given her plan a great deal of thought. First, Jim and Geraldine badly needed a break. Or, more accurately, Jim was due a break and Lola badly needed a break from her daughter-in-law. She loved Jim dearly but there had never been any love lost between herself and Geraldine. It had never been open warfare, for Jim’s sake—more subtle, underlying hostility. Lola herself could talk to a stone on the road if the occasion warranted it, yet in all the time they’d known each other—almost forty years—she and Geraldine had never managed a single lively, interesting conversation. The tragic events in the family nearly five years earlier had prompted a thaw, a brief closeness between the two of them, mothers both, but it hadn’t lasted. Lola thought Geraldine was a narrow-minded humorless milksop, and Geraldine thought—well, really, who cared what Geraldine thought of her? As Lola liked to say airily whenever she caught Geraldine giving her a disapproving glance, “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be able to pack me off to a home for the bewildered any moment now. I’m sure I lose more of my marbles every day.”
Lola’s opinion of Jim and Geraldine’s daughters was a different story. She didn’t just love them. She adored them. Anna, Bett, and Carrie, her three Alphabet Sisters.
Theirs had been an unconventional childhood, living in motels, moving from town to town. Lola had taken over their care while their parents both worked. She’d reveled in all three girls, filling their lives with fun, adventure, and especially music. She’d even coaxed them into a short-lived and frankly unsuccessful career as a childhood singing trio called, of course, the Alphabet Sisters. A young Anna had taken it seriously, Bett had cringed through it, and Carrie had basked in the attention. Lola herself had been thoroughly amused and even more entertained. Everything about her three granddaughters had amused and entertained her.
But where there had been three, now there were two. Like a line from an old poem, so true and so heartbreaking, still. It was almost five years now since her oldest granddaughter Anna’s death from cancer at the age of thirty-four. Years of pain, sorrow, tears. Lola knew they were all still coming to terms with it, each in their own way. Even now, thinking of Anna sent a too-familiar spike of grief into her heart, less sharp now, but ever present. She knew Anna was gone, visited her grave once a month if not more often, yet sometimes she found herself reaching for the phone to call her, wanting to tell her a story or be told a story in return. Share a memory. Laugh about something. Simply hear her beautiful voice one more time.
Lola knew it was no coincidence that her other two granddaughters had stayed in the Valley, close to the family motel, since Anna’s death. There’d been a need to be near each other, to talk often and openly about Anna, to cherish and celebrate good times and happy events. The missing link was Anna’s daughter, Ellen, now aged twelve, who lived in Hong Kong with her father, Glenn. In the years since Anna’s death, Glenn’s work as an advertising executive had taken him and Ellen to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and now Hong Kong. It hadn’t been easy on any of them, Anna’s only child being so far away, but they had all understood that it was best for her and for her father to be together.
A family never completely got over a loss like theirs, Lola knew. The Quinlans hadn’t. Instead, they’d changed shape. It was the only way they’d been able to go on. And what better way for any family to change shape than with the arrival of babies, to help fill the gap Anna had left behind? Lola smiled even at the thought of her great-grandchildren. Carrie and her husband, Matthew, now had three children, Delia, aged four and a half, Freya, three, and two-year-old George. They’d kept up the family tradition of alphabetical names. Ellen had already bagged the “E” spot. Lola’s middle granddaughter, Bett, and her husband, Daniel, were the proud, if exhausted, parents of seven-month-old twins, Zachary and Yvette. They’d kept up the family naming tradition, too, although from the other direction. The twins were, in Lola’s opinion, the two most glorious babies on the planet, but heavens, the racket they made! Like echo chambers–one making a noise would set off the other.
An old friend of Bett’s had invited them to celebrate Christmas with her and her husband at their beach house near Robe, volunteering their teenage children for twin-sitting, meaning sleep-overs for Bett and Daniel. Lola had seen the longing in Bett’s eyes at the idea of it. Lola also knew that Carrie and Matthew and their little ones hadn’t spent a Christmas with his family in New South Wales yet. It was definitely time they did. The two girls had also expressed concern that Lola would be on her own in the motel at Christmas, but she’d argued just as forcefully with them that it was what she wanted. “I’ve had zillions of family Christmases,” she’d said. “Let’s all try something new this year. And I’ve been managing motels since before you were born. I can easily handle a few days on my own.”
She checked her delicate gold wristwatch. Good, nearly ten A.M., the time she’d arranged to be collected for her stint at the charity shop. Her alleged stint. Oh, she would do a bit of sorting and selling while she was there, but, frankly, she had bigger fish to fry these days. One step through the ordinary faded curtain at the rear of the shop and it was like being in a NASA control room, not a country thrift shop storeroom. There was not just a computer, but a modem, scanner, and printer. Even a little camera.
“Ladies, we have ourselves a portal to the World Wide Web,” Lola had announced the first day it was in operation, enjoying the look of surprise her young friend and computer guru, Luke, gave her. But of course she knew about the World Wide Web. And emailing. And blogging. She spent hours during the night listening to the radio, poring over newspapers, watching TV documentaries—how could she not know about new media? She’d been dying to give it all a try herself. And once the equipment was in place, she’d taken to it like a, well, not duck to water … What term would be more appropriate? Bill Gates to money-making? Luke had been amazed she’d heard of Bill Gates, too. Honestly, did he think she’d spent the past eighty-four years in an isolation unit?
She couldn’t wait to get onto the keyboard again today. She had so much to do. Catching up on the motel Christmas situation was a priority, but she also had an email to write to Ellen in Hong Kong. Lola didn’t get to see her nearly as often as she’d like, once a year at most, but the letters, phone calls, and lately emails they exchanged kept the bond between them strong. They had a regular correspondence going these days. Lola had even learned how to email photos of herself to Ellen. At Ellen’s request, in fact. For some reason, Ellen seemed to find Lola’s fashion style amusing.
Wow, Really-Great-Gran! she’d written in her last email. Pink tights and leopard-skin dress as day-wear? Watch out, Lady Gaga!
Lola Googled this Lady Gaga and rather than being insulted, had been inspired. Which reminded her—she wasn’t fully dressed yet. Fine for around the motel, but not spruced up enough for the shop. She made her way to her current room—number eleven of the motel’s fifteen rooms, the one with the beautiful view over the hills with just a glimpse of a vineyard. It was part of her arrangement with Jim and Geraldine, that she lived in her pick of the motel’s rooms rather than share the managers’ quarters with them. She’d just finished adding the final touch to her day’s outfit of purple pantsuit and gold belt—a large pink flower pinned in her short white hair—when she heard the sound of young Luke’s old Corolla straining its way up the drive. Ah, that lovely boy. So reliable. So clever, too.
It was twenty-three-year-old Luke who’d organized the entire computer setup in the charity shop. After finishing his apprenticeship with a local electrician, he’d moved to Adelaide, trained in IT, and was now rising through the ranks of a successful computer installation firm. The shop computer was what he called his “after-work work,” a labor of love whenever he was back in Clare visiting his mother, Patricia, another of the volunteers. There’d been opposition at first from some of the other ladies, but once they’d seen it in operation, well, it had become quite a computer club. Lola had needed to set up a schedule to be sure she got enough time for her own activities
. Between Lola’s oldest friend, Margaret, and her online bridge club; Patricia and her Etsy handicrafts addiction; and another volunteer, Kay, with her eight hundred Facebook friends, it was sometimes hard to get even an hour at the computer to herself. There was also Joan, who loved posting videos of her cat on You-Tube; another lady who Skyped her son in Copenhagen every Saturday; and even Bill, the shop handyman, who made a big deal of not having a TV at home but spent hours each week watching reruns on TV network websites. Remarkable all around, really. Their average human age was seventy-five. Average computer skills age mid-twenties, according to Luke. “You oldies pick things up quickly, don’t you?” he’d said admiringly, early on in his training sessions. “I wasn’t sure you’d get a handle on all of this.”
“I’ll have you know I used to run my own accountancy business,” Margaret announced, piqued.
“I was CEO of a local council,” Joan said.
“These hands helped more than a thousand cows give birth,” Kay the dairy farmer said, holding them up.
Luke had looked quite shocked.
As Lola pulled the door to her room shut behind her now and made her way to the front of the motel, she thought she saw Geraldine look out the dining room window. She gave her daughter-in-law a cheery wave. If Geraldine saw her, she didn’t respond. No manners as well as no personality, Lola thought. “Bye for now!” she called to whoever else might be watching. “Off I go into town. Off I go to do some useful charity work.”
An hour later, Lola’s mood wasn’t so bright. She’d been mistaken about the response to the Valley View Motel’s online Christmas offer. Yes, there had been more than a dozen inquiries via email, but not a single follow-up booking. God forbid she would actually have to spend Christmas alone. She peeked through the curtain separating the office from the shop itself—only one customer browsing and Margaret was well able to handle her.
Lola frowned as she checked the emails again. No bookings at all? Why ever not? She clicked on one of the queries at random, and noticed the mobile number under the person’s name. Was it standard business practice to make a follow-up call? Perhaps, perhaps not, but how else was she to find out? She took out her mobile phone. Luke had been astonished to see that as well. “You use a mobile?”
“Only for the time being. I’m saving up for an iPhone,” Lola told him. It was true, she was.
Her call was answered on the third ring. Lola put on her most polite voice. “Good afternoon. My name is Lola Quinlan and I wonder if you can help me. I’m doing a marketing survey into a recent online advertising campaign. No, please, don’t hang up. I won’t be long. Let me cut to the chase. You inquired about but didn’t book the Valley View Motel. Why not?” She listened for a moment. “But it’s not expensive. Not compared to other places. Really? You did? For three nights and Christmas lunch included? My word, that is a bargain. I’d have gone there instead myself.” She made three more calls. Two gave her the same answer—they’d found cheaper packages elsewhere. The third person had decided to stay home for Christmas.
Lola clicked on the different computer files until she found the wording for her Valley View Christmas Special online ad. Jim had given her his version before he’d sent it to the online accommodation sites. She’d tinkered with it a little bit before sending it out to some more sites of her own choosing, but obviously she’d not tinkered enough. Luke had given her a lesson in something he called meta-tags, words that people might use when going searching—”Surfing, you mean,” she’d corrected him—online. She’d rewritten Jim’s ad until it included nearly every Christmassy word she could think of. Christmas. Pudding. Santa. Carols. Holly. Come stay in our lovely ho-ho-hotel! The Valley View was actually a motel, but still … The special offer included three nights’ bed and breakfast and a special three-course Christmas lunch—turkey and all the trimmings! She’d also added a line about a surprise gift for everyone. They would be surprising—so far they included a travel clock, a wooden picture frame, a jigsaw puzzle that she hoped had all its pieces, and a rather alarming red tie, all chosen from the bags of donations left for the thrift shop. Lola had paid for them, of course. Above market price, too.
She peeked through the curtain again. The customer had left and Margaret was now dusting the bookshelves. “Everything okay, Margaret?” Lola called out.
“Counting down the minutes, Lola,” Margaret called back.
Drat, Lola thought. She’d hoped Margaret would forget about her turn. She quickly sent an email to Ellen, sending her lots of love and asking for all her news, then turned her attention back to Christmas. She shut her eyes to concentrate hard for a moment, trying to remember marketing tips from the online course she’d completed the previous year. Eye-catching headings, tick. Clear, concise offers, tick. Irresistible offers. That was obviously where she’d gone wrong. Her current offer was too easy to resist. What would make something irresistible?
If it was free?
It took her only a minute to compose the new ad. Just as well, she had only eight minutes left before she’d have to hand the computer over to Margaret and her online bridge game. If Lola had followed Luke’s instructions correctly, the next group of people who emailed asking for extra details about the Valley View Motel’s Christmas package would receive this automated email in return:
CONGRATULATIONS!
You are the lucky winner of the Valley View Motel’s special Christmas package draw! Three nights’ accommodation, breakfast each day, and a slap-up Christmas lunch—all completely free! Simply reply to this email within twenty-four hours and include your contact details and I’ll get right back to you.
For extra authenticity, she added her own signature—she’d recently learned to scan it—and her mobile number. She pressed Send, sat back, and smiled. The bait was out there. All she had to do now was wait.
DON’T MISS
Monica McInerney’s
NEXT NOVEL
SPIN THE BOTTLE
AVAILABLE IN 2009
Lainey Byrne is a woman in control, juggling a hectic job; her boyfriend, Adam; and a family with more than its fair share of drama. When she is wrenched from her life in Melbourne to run a B&B in Ireland for a year, bed-and-breakfast quickly tumbles into bed-and-bedlam, especially when a reunion with a handsome childhood friend sparks an unexpected dilemma…
CHAPTER 1
Stop the music please!” Lainey Byrne shouted, waving her arms as though she were fighting off a swarm of bees. The background music stopped with a screech. On the stage the ten dancers dressed in giant sausage costumes came to a wobbly halt.
Lainey quickly climbed the steps, looking for the lead dancer. It was hard to tell who was who when the entire troupe was dressed from head to toe in pink foam. “They look more like hotdogs than sausages,” the sound technician had muttered unkindly that morning. Or something ruder, Lainey had thought privately. But it was too late to get new costumes and she could hardly scorch each of them with a cigarette lighter to get authentic grill marks. The fabric was far too flammable.
She spoke loudly, hoping they could all hear her clearly through the foam. “Can I just remind you again how it’s supposed to go? You run on after the barbecue’s been lowered, not before. Otherwise half of you will get squashed, which isn’t exactly the look our client wants for his big event.”
There were a few muffled laughs. Lainey turned and nodded at the sound man, and the opening notes of the Beaut Barbecues jingle filled the East Melbourne venue once more. As she moved off the stage and into the middle of the room, Lainey winced again at the lyrics.
Oh, believe me, mate,
Sausages taste great
On a beaut Beaut Barbecue-oo-oo.
She’d tried to gently talk the managing director out of the jingle three months ago, when they’d first met to discuss the gala party celebrating his tenth year in the barbecue business. But it turned out his eight-year-old daughter had written the words and he wasn’t budging. Lainey wondered now if his eight-year-old daught
er had come up with the idea of the dancing sausages as well. Or perhaps it had been his four-year-old son. Or his dog. Lainey just hoped none of today’s guests would think it had been Complete Event Management’s idea. Still, it was her job to give her clients what they wanted, and if Mr. Barbecue wanted dancing sausages, he was going to get dancing sausages.
Lainey’s mobile phone rang. She took a few steps back, keeping an eye on the stage. “Complete Event Management, Lainey Byrne speaking.”
“Lainey, have I rung at a bad time?”
It was her mother. “Ma, of course not. Is everything okay? Is Dad all right?” As Lainey spoke, the dancers moved to the front of the stage to pick up the first of their props. Lainey held her breath as one of the fatter sausages teetered a little close to the edge.
“He’s grand. Well, no, not grand, no change there. This is a brand-new problem.”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s to do with his sister’s will.”
“The will? I thought that had all been sorted out. Don’t tell me she left the B&B to the cats’ home after all?” The sausages were now making waltzing movements, each holding a giant plastic bottle marked Tomato Sauce. At the launch later that day the bottles would be filled with red glitter. For now the sausages were just puffing air at each other.
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