by Kayte Nunn
Twenty four- and five-year-olds were due to descend on Kalkari at 3pm. Rose still had the party bags to stuff with party favours and sweets and then about a million balloons to blow up. If she was lucky she would have time to put on a clean dress. Isabella was also coming to the party. Well, of course she was – she was Luisa’s mother, not that she’d done anything to help prepare for the day. She hadn’t even offered. She probably thought her presence was enough, thought Rose sourly.
Rose was already intimidated enough by Isabella without wanting to look like something the cat dragged in, so she’d washed her hair earlier that morning, putting in a burgundy dye to add some shine. For now her hair was all piled up inside a plastic shower cap, but she was planning to rinse it out as soon as she’d finished the party preparations.
Today was also a big day at Kalkari for another reason: Matilda was coming to stay, though for how long Rose wasn’t sure. Mark had been vague on the subject, but mentioned that she’d be recuperating for several months at least and was in need of plenty of TLC. He had left the house the day before, staying overnight in Sydney and then was driving to the airport to pick her up that morning. Rose was excited at the prospect of meeting Mark’s little sister, and hoped that having her to stay with them would work out. It would certainly be nice to have some more female company about the place.
Rose cleaned up and then headed over to the barn to make sure everything was ready. She wanted to put some fresh flowers in a vase as a welcome. Stealing across to the vines at the left of the long driveway, she used her kitchen scissors to snip a few of the roses blooming there. Roses and vineyards went hand in hand, she’d discovered, with roses acting like the canary in the coalmine, alerting winemakers to signs of disease before anything showed up in the vines. She liked to think that, as her name was Rose, she was also meant to be living surrounded by vineyards. Pretty fanciful, but the thought made her smile nonetheless.
‘Oi, what are you doing there?’
Rose looked around in surprise and then her expression changed to one of relief. ‘Oh, it’s only you. I thought I was in trouble there for a moment,’ she laughed. ‘I know Jake wouldn’t be too thrilled with me stealing his blooms.’
‘Hah, nearly got ya,’ said Dan, Mark’s right-hand man and Kalkari’s assistant winemaker. ‘Pick away, for all I care. There’s plenty more. He won’t notice.’
Dan was right. Looking down the rows of vines that stretched into the distance, Rose could see lush velvet-petalled red roses blooming at the end of each one. ‘Are you coming over this afternoon? Lulu specially asked me to make sure you were there.’
‘Wouldn’t risk missing out on one of your cakes. I’ll even brave a room full of yummy mummies,’ he said, grimacing.
Returning to the barn, Rose looked around with pleasure. No longer the dusty, spider-strewn scene that had greeted her when she had first moved in, the place had been transformed. Mark had called in a local builder to give it a facelift: the plaster walls were snowy with fresh paint, and new windows had replaced the old rotting ones that used to let in a howling draught in winter and the mozzies in summer. Rose had ordered new linen and thick quilted bedspreads for the two bedrooms, and a couple of large sofas scattered with bright cushions had been positioned either side of a wood-burning stove. Rag rugs in muted tones covered the slate floor. The effect was minimal, but comfortable and welcoming. Placing a glass vase containing the roses on a rough-hewn timber side table, she opened a couple of windows to let in some fresh air, then hurried back to the main house.
‘Holy shit!’
Rose looked at herself in the bathroom mirror in absolute horror. She glanced at the packet of hair dye she’d applied earlier that morning.
Much earlier that morning.
Tahitian Sunset. I’ll give you Tahitian freakin’ Sunset, she thought grimly as she squinted to read the instructions again. To say that the dye had somewhat over-delivered on the promise of subtle burgundy highlights was putting it mildly. Her hair was purple. Katy Perry purple. Kelly Osbourne purple. It was definitely not the effect she’d been after. Re-reading the instructions, she discovered that the dye was only supposed to be left on for thirty minutes, not the three and a half hours that had elapsed since she had applied it.
Four scalp-tingling washes later and the colour had barely dimmed. Nice one. Just the thing to make her look like a prize idiot in front of Isabella, never mind what Mark’s reaction might be when he saw it. Rose groaned inwardly. Scrabbling through her wardrobe, she found an old turquoise scarf. Wannabe pop star or cancer patient? It wasn’t much of a choice. She went with the latter, and wrapped the scarf tightly around her temples, tucking her hair up inside it. That covered up the worst of the purple – and at least the scarf matched the party theme.
It was gone two o’clock and Rose was pretty sure she had everything under control. Her cheeks were sore from blowing up what felt like a hundred and one turquoise and white balloons, and they were now bobbing merrily from the trees at the bottom of the Kalkari drive. Lolly bags had been filled with jelly snakes and Caramello Koalas, bread was buttered and scattered with sugary hundreds and thousands – Mrs B, Kalkari’s former housekeeper, had impressed upon Rose the importance of fairy bread at a birthday party, though Rose was still not convinced by the multicoloured slices – and a huge piñata in the shape of a snowman dangled from the back verandah. Rose glanced at her watch. She would have expected Mark and Matilda to be back by now. She hoped he would make it in time, not least for Luisa’s sake. Hosting twenty sugar-hyped little girls and their mothers didn’t faze her in the slightest. But having Isabella there, in the house that used to be hers and without the buffer of Mark’s presence, was another thing altogether. Add to that her disastrous purple hair and she felt unease grow like a lump in her throat.
‘Ooh, nice scarf,’ said Astrid, coming into the kitchen, carrying Max on one hip and trailing Luisa behind her. The little girl was hopping from one foot to the other. She either needed the bathroom or she was excited about the party. With a five-year-old it was hard to tell.
‘Rosie, we got a pretty dress. It’s so, so beautiful. I love it!’ Her eyes danced. ‘Did you see all the balloons outside?’
Rose gave her a hug. ‘I know, aren’t they pretty? What a clever balloon fairy we must have. I can’t wait to see your dress.’
‘It’s an Elsa dress,’ she said proudly.
‘Oh, it must certainly be very beautiful then.’
The little girl nodded her head emphatically.
‘Okay, Miss Lulu, how about we go upstairs and change before everyone arrives, hey?’ said Astrid.
A few minutes later, Luisa stepped regally down the stairs, calling to Rose to come and see her. Dressed in a pale turquoise gown, its gauzy overlay embroidered with tiny snowflakes, she was every inch the birthday girl. She wore matching satin shoes, and Astrid had let her wild dark curls tumble down her back. With her rosebud lips, plump cheeks and a plastic silver tiara atop her head, she looked like a little Spanish Infanta.
‘Hopefully the Marquesa will approve, no?’ said Astrid.
Rose really didn’t want to talk about Isabella. She looked at her watch again. Still no word from Mark. ‘She thinks she looks beautiful and that’s all that really matters.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The air hit Mattie like a wall of molasses. Warm and sticky. Her shirt immediately clung to her ribs and beads of sweat formed on her brow. Her hair, lank from nearly twenty-four hours of travel, began to spike in the humidity. Although she had not forgotten the heat, it was something else to be so forcefully reminded of it. And the light. The searing, bright light and cloudless blue sky. She took a deep breath. Even the smell, of eucalypts and, over the pungent whiff of avgas, the faint tang of salt, was comforting and familiar. Despite herself, her spirits lifted. The familiar accent and welcome greeting at passport control had been a good start, and now, at last, she couldn’t help but smile. She felt like she’d been living in a world of shad
ows and had suddenly emerged into the light.
But where was Mark? He’d sounded so happy when she’d called to take him up on his offer of coming to recuperate with him that she’d been convinced she was doing the right thing, despite leaving her London life behind. Bianca had been surprised by her news, but pragmatic. She needed to keep the business going, after all. ‘You’ll be sadly missed, darling, of course you will, but now you need to go home and heal. You’ve been through a lot,’ she’d said.
Home. She was home. It was almost as if the ten years she’d been away had never happened. It was a disconcerting feeling, especially as there was, at the moment, a welcoming committee of precisely zero. Mark had promised to meet her at the airport, so where was he? Because she was still unable to walk very far, she’d been given the invalid treatment and whisked straight off the plane. An airport minder had helped her through customs with her bags, retrieved her wheelchair from oversize luggage, and been only too happy to wheel her straight outside. ‘It’s a bonza day,’ he’d said cheerfully. It was only at her repeated assurance that she was fine on her own that he’d left her side.
After she’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, Mattie’s revived spirits at arriving back in Australia were flagging. The sun was climbing in the sky and the small patch of shade the wheelchair was parked in was rapidly diminishing. She also really needed to pee, not an easy task when she had two large bags next to her. She didn’t fancy causing a security alert by abandoning them, but she was fast running out of options. She squinted across to the carpark, suddenly spotting a tall, rangy figure. She’d recognise that long stride anywhere.
‘Tilly!’ he said, rushing up to her. ‘So sorry I’m late. Had to drop off some samples in the city this morning and got stuck in traffic. Then when I eventually did get there, they insisted on sitting down for coffee and having a yarn. I couldn’t get away; you know how it is. Anyway, I made it, and more importantly, you made it.’ Mark leaned forward and gave her a hug, carefully avoiding the arm in its sling. ‘How was your flight? Are you absolutely buggered? You must be.’
‘It’s Mattie, you boofhead,’ she said narkily, angry that he’d made her wait for so long.
‘Right, sorry, sis. And sorry again about being late, really I am. Can you forgive me? Are these yours?’ he asked, releasing her and pointing to her bags.
‘Yep.’ Mattie blinked back sudden tears that pricked at her eyelids. Honestly, what did a bit of jet lag and the smell of home do to a girl?
‘Aw, come on, it’s not as bad as all that, surely?’ he said, trying to tease her out of it. ‘Listen, I’ve got one more stop to make before we can head home. There’s a new place that’s opened in Manly, right on the water, and they’re thinking of listing our wines. I promised the distributors I’d pop in and sweet-talk them, help get them over the line. Do you think you’re up to it?’
Mattie looked down at her rumpled travelling clothes and ran a hand through her wilting hair. She felt like a hundred kinds of shit, but well … ‘Could I change my shirt first? I’m also busting for a pee.’
‘That’s the sister I know and love.’ Mark grinned at her. ‘Up for anything. Come on then, let’s get you sorted.’
*
‘How about an ice-cream?’ Mark asked later as he pushed her along the beachfront in Manly.
‘Are you kidding?’ Mattie protested. The restaurant, a Spanish-style bodega, had plied them with tapas. She hadn’t eaten so much in weeks.
‘Not even a Golden Gaytime?’ he teased.
‘Oh well, if it’s a Golden Gaytime, then that’s a different matter. Do you remember the time when Mum paid us for helping clean out the winery? I think I must have been about six.’
Mark nodded.
‘How you took me to the Eumeralla milk bar? I never thought there could be too much of a good thing until that day. Three Golden Gaytimes later …’ She groaned at the memory.
They found a convenience store and Mark pulled two ice-creams out of the freezer. Wheeling her back across to the beachfront, he solemnly unwrapped them, waiting to gauge her reaction. She took a bite. It was the taste of summer. Of long, dry days schooling Shakira over jumps that Mattie’s dad had set up in the paddock – ‘Come on, angel, you can do it,’ he’d called out, always encouraging her to go higher. Of opening up the big chest freezer that Mum had in the shed and diving into the box of ice-creams kept for treats. ‘That’s the best thing I’ve had in ages,’ she said giving him a wide grin.
Mark turned to look at the waves that foamed on the sand beyond the path. ‘Gorgeous, huh?’ he said.
Mattie drank in the view. ‘Not too shabby, mate.’
Once they’d finished their ice-creams, Mark turned the wheelchair in the direction of the car. ‘Come on then, we’d better get a move on or we’ll miss Luisa’s birthday and then there’ll really be trouble.’
‘Oh,’ said Mattie, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘I haven’t had a chance to buy her anything. Can we stop somewhere so I can get her a present?’
‘I know the perfect place – a princess and fairy store. We stopped there last time we were all in Sydney – couldn’t get her out of the place. It’s on the way home.’
Half an hour later, as they drove up the highway, Mattie felt her head lolling on the headrest. She was sitting awkwardly, her broken leg stretched out along the back seat and propped up by pillows, but lack of sleep and the warmth from the sun beating on the windows – not to mention the painkillers she’d taken as they set off – made keeping her eyes open almost impossible. Kalkari was still several hours’ drive away.
‘Don’t fight it, sis,’ said Mark, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. ‘I’ll let you know when we get there.’
She was already spark out.
What seemed like only moments later, Mattie felt her shoulder being gently shaken.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ said Mark.
The rattle of the car, which had lulled her to sleep, had stopped and all she could hear was the faint hum of distant music, an insistent drumbeat. She blinked, not knowing where she was. Then she saw that they had pulled up at outside the house. Kalkari. Its honeyed sandstone walls glowed in the late afternoon sun and leafy vines stretched either side of it, curving over the hill to the horizon. It was beautiful.
‘We’re home,’ he said.
Mattie thought for a minute, mulling over the word as she took in the view. The Shingle Valley. Home.
Didn’t look like it had changed at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The doorbell rang and Rose went to answer it. The first of the partygoers had arrived, a harried mother flanked by two identically dressed curly-haired blonde cherubs – both also miniature Elsas. ‘Hi, this is Anise and this is Syrah. All right if I leave them with you? I’ll be back later to pick them up. Five o’clock, okay?’ she said, thrusting a beribboned present at Rose and not giving her a chance to reply. Christ alive. Naming your child after a grape variety? Whatever happened to normal names like Anna and Sarah, Rose briefly wondered, ushering the pair into the house.
Soon there was an influx of little girls, all similar incarnations of the ice princess. No sign of Isabella. Honestly, she’d be late to her own funeral, thought Rose sourly.
‘How about we play pass the parcel, everyone?’ suggested Astrid, shouting to make herself heard over the excited chatter and squeals. She turned on some music and the girls obediently formed a circle, all eyes expectantly on the large newspaper-wrapped parcel. Several of the girls’ mothers had stayed – ‘Is Jake coming later?’ asked one carefully made-up thirty-something mother – and Rose was doing her best to keep them fed and watered, topping up glasses of sparkling wine and handing round smoked salmon sandwiches. She sent a silent thanks to Mrs B again for warning her that she’d need to be prepared for the parents as well. The music had paused on Anise, who was attacking the parcel with savage intensity, when Isabella made an entrance. Rose smelled the heavy perfume seconds before she spied the elegant
Spaniard. She was dressed to the nines in a cream suit with a tight pencil skirt that stopped several inches above the knee and revealed impossibly long, impossibly smooth brown legs. Scarlet lips, a flawless complexion and clouds of dark hair all added up to an extremely glamorous effect. It wasn’t exactly kids’ party attire though, Rose thought, touching her head to make sure the scarf was still in place and she wasn’t showing too much purple.
‘Darling Luisa, there you are,’ Isabella said in her strongly accented, husky voice. She sashayed over to where Luisa was sitting cross-legged on the floor and bent down to her, flashing plenty of leg as she did so. ‘Mama’s here now, my angel.’
Luisa gave her mother a shiny smile, but then waved her away. ‘We’re playing a game.’
Dismissed but not discouraged, Isabella walked over to where Rose had set out champagne flutes together with several bottles chilling in an ice bucket. Pouring herself a glass, she moved over to talk to some of the parents, who had gathered outside. She didn’t acknowledge Astrid or Rose, who were supervising the parcel unwrapping, and proceeded to spend the rest of the party chatting away on the verandah, oblivious to the goings-on inside.
When all the games had been played and party food eaten, Rose fetched the cake. She was beginning to wonder what might have happened to Mark and Mattie. Surely he wasn’t going to miss his daughter’s birthday party? She was torn between annoyance at his tardiness and worry that something serious might have happened to delay them.
As promised, Dan had made an appearance, bringing Jake over from the winery with him as well. The handsome Kalkari viticulturist had been immediately dragged out to the verandah by one of the mothers, and he now stood surrounded by women who were seemingly drawn to him with the same inevitability as iron filings are to a magnet.
Astrid shushed all of the girls and led them in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ as Rose carried the Olaf cake into the room. Luisa’s eyes were round with wonder.
