The Boy In the Olive Grove

by Fleur Beale

  IRIS WOULD’VE SAID something by now if Dad had told her about his deal with the bank, so I guessed she still didn’t know about it. It wasn’t my place to tell her, I knew that, but if I was in her shoes I’d be steaming furious at being kept in the dark. It looked like it was up to me to enlighten her. I texted: Can I come to dinner tomorrow? Pls!

  A reply shot back immediately: You are welcome any time. xx

  I shelved the tangles of my current life and immersed myself in the familiar world of my friends via Facebook. I only went to bed once I’d fully caught up with my previous world.

  The next morning there was still nothing from my brother. I thought Mum would greet that news with silence, seeing she wouldn’t want to criticise him, but as usual I could never second-guess her. ‘Your brother will have his reasons for not staying in touch. You should respect that.’

  I gaped at her, imagining the hell that would erupt if I tried the incommunicado trick.

  She put a bowl of strawberries on the table. ‘He’s a young man. I’m delighted he’s so independent. I’ve no patience with mothers who demand constant news of their adult children.’

  I got my mouth shut. She was a star, no doubt about it.

  ‘I’ll be at the factory all day today, Mum. Iris has asked me to dinner tonight, so you won’t have to bother about cooking for me.’

  ‘Kindly do not mention that woman’s name in my house.’

  ‘Sure, Mum. I’ll refer to her as the woman whose name must remain unspoken.’ I ate the strawberries without savouring them. When I mushed a few on my plate, they ran red with blood.

  I couldn’t get to the factory quickly enough. The first thing I did was boot up the computer and open Eddy’s promised email. I sat back, amazed at what he’d produced. I reached for the phone. ‘Hey, man, these are fantastic!’

  ‘Thanks, boss. One problem, though. We need to get brochures printed. Not sure what that’ll cost or how long it’ll take.’ He sounded despondent.

  I wasn’t in the mood for despondent. ‘How about we put them on a computer. A tablet would be even better. You could take that around to show clients.’

  I waited while the cogs ticked away in his brain — didn’t have to wait long. ‘Right. I’ll try it. Don’t have a tablet, though. Have you got one?’

  ‘Mum has. Meet me here in thirty.’

  ‘Right you are, boss.’ No despondency now. He seemed to find me being his boss hilarious.

  But now came the really tricky part — wrangling the tablet from Mum. Luck was with me: she was deep in the garden. ‘Forgot something,’ I called, rushing inside and stuffing it in my backpack. Sneaky, but I knew pigs would be jetsetting all over the sky before she’d lift a finger to help Dad and the woman whose name must not be spoken.

  Eddy, driving a surprisingly tidy Honda, turned up two minutes after I got back. ‘Wow! Look at you!’ He’d got the haircut already. ‘Turn around. Let me admire the rep standing in all his glory before me.’

  He grinned, and shuffled his feet in embarrassment. ‘You get the tablet?’

  ‘Stole it,’ I told him. ‘Do your best not to lose it or break it. Come on, let’s upload the images now, then you can get going. Which shops are you going to, any ideas?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple in Hamilton. One each in Matamata and Cambridge. I think I should head for Auckland tomorrow.’

  ‘Report back when you’ve done the rounds today. We’ll have a better idea by then whether the tablet is a goer or a dead duck.’ I took Dad’s credit card from the safe. ‘Have this. You’ll need petrol. Get a receipt.’

  That suppressed hilarity again. ‘Yes, boss.’

  I waved him goodbye. He was right to go instead of me. If he found me hilarious, then for sure no shop owner worth a peanut would take me seriously.

  While I waited for the others to arrive, I searched online for turned products Bernie could make, but I found none we could integrate into our furniture production. I gave up and typed in past life experiences. Who would have thought? Cyberspace is swarming with those who claim to have lived before, and those who, for a fee, offer to help you find out who you’ve been. I scanned the case studies and letters from grateful clients. Most of them seemed to have been in the French Resistance or the American Civil War. How unimaginative is that? You’d think they’d at least vary the script.

  The squeaking door jerked me back into the sanity of ordinariness. Alton and Maurice came in, with Clint, the blueprint for his handsome son, a minute behind them. Stop it. That way, madness lies.

  ‘Finish the fence today, boss?’ Maurice asked.

  Ah, yes. I had a factory to run.

  ‘We could do with a gate,’ Alton said.

  ‘Been thinking, ’bout that. Bernie could make a gate. Put turning into it.’

  Wow! Something positive from Clint! I threw my arms around him, kissed his cheek, and managed not to wish it was his son’s. ‘Clint! You’re a marvel! That’s a fantastic idea.’

  He smiled. ‘Ring him up, Bess. He’s a bit down, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Can you do it, Clint? He can’t hear me. Makes no difference how loud I shout.’

  ‘Sure, boss.’ Clint went into Dad’s office and came back with the phone up to his ear. He hardly raised his voice as he explained to Bernie what was happening — it must have been something to do with pitch, because Bernie heard him all right.

  We all heard his reply. ‘I’ll be right there. You can rely on me.’

  ‘Will he be able to design the gate as well as build it?’ I asked.

  Clint laughed. ‘Just wait and see. He’ll be happy as a pig in clover. I reckon there’s a good couple of weeks’ work there for him.’

  The men took themselves off to build a fence. Alone in the empty workshop, for a few moments I could indulge in a dream where it was Nick out there working, and not his father who looked so like him. Idiot.

  I went into the office and put two of the unsold tables on Trade Me. Bernie turned up just as I finished. The squeaky door announced his arrival, and I ran to hug him, bellowing, ‘Bernie, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming in.’

  We laughed, both of us fully aware he couldn’t hear a word I said. I took his arm and we went outside. I called, ‘Clint, can you tell Bernie what we’re after?’

  I hung about, trying to work out why Bernie could hear Clint’s voice perfectly. Yet another unsolved mystery in my life.

  At the end of the day, Bernie strode off looking jaunty and purposeful. I watched Clint get into his car and thought about his son. Nick had the same strong bone structure, same swarthy colouring, the same dark eyes. He’d been such a rotten kid, so full of himself, and his sense of humour was pathetically basic. Who could have known he’d grow into a drop-dead dreamy, sensitive man? I didn’t blame Lulu for attaching herself to him. Lucky cow.

  I locked the place up, doing my best to lock up thoughts of Nick and Lulu as well. I concentrated instead on how I’d break the bad news about the house to Iris. I drove there, trying to think of a gentle way to do it and came to the conclusion that there wasn’t one.

  She was home, in the kitchen and singing along to Elvis. Better than Abba, I guess. She looked happy, she sounded happy. Dad’s heart must be mending, just when I was about to put a crack in hers.

  She shut down the noise, then kissed my cheek. ‘He’s so much stronger today, Bess. It’s all thanks to you, you darling.’

  I pulled a stool up to the bench. ‘Would you say it was justice? I burn you in one life, save your husband in another?’

  ‘You could go back to take a look for yourself,’ she said. ‘You never know, Charlie might be in that life too.’

  I held up my hands. ‘No. Not doing it.’

  She didn’t look surprised. She wasn’t offended either. ‘Those pictures haven’t reappeared?’

  ‘No, thank god. Look, Iris, there’s something — has Dad talked to you about money?’

  ‘Ah,�
� said my stepmother. ‘No, he hasn’t. I’ve suspected for a while that business hasn’t been the best. He, of course, refuses to talk about it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything, but you might need a slug of gin.’

  Iris put a hand over her heart. Damn, now it was me scaring her. I jumped in before her imagination could come up with something even worse that what I had to tell her. ‘He’s borrowed sixty thou from the bank. This house is the security. First repayment is due the second week of the new year.’

  She didn’t reach for the gin. She made a cup of mint tea and all the time she was doing it she said nothing.

  ‘Iris?’

  ‘It’s not good to become attached to things. To places. But bugger it, Bess — I love this house! It’s got such a positive atmosphere. Good bones and good vibes.’ She gazed out the window. ‘My garden too. There’s a lot of love gone into that soil.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I promise you I’ll do everything I can think of to save the business. I’ve had one of the guys out there today, scouting for work—’

  Oh my god, Eddy still had the tablet. If he took it to Mum’s house the floors would run red with my blood.

  Iris seemed to be in a place far away, so I snuck into another room to use the phone to warn him.

  Sure, he said, he’d bring the tablet to Iris’s house, no sweat.

  That was it, no hint of how he’d got on or when he’d be here.

  Back in the kitchen, Iris was still gazing out the window.

  ‘Iris? Are you okay? Are you going to tell Dad that you know about the loan?’

  She sighed ‘A good question, and I’m not sure of the answer yet. Anyway, there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Let’s just get on with organising dinner, shall we?’

  I set the table, fuming over Eddy’s non-appearance. If he’d gone straight home to his mummy and was busy feeding his face instead of letting me know how he’d got on, I’d bloody deck him. Half an hour later, though, he rolled up the driveway. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Be nice, Bess.

  Getting out of a small car when you’re a tall bloke looked to me like an exercise in reverse origami.

  Before I’d sorted out which question to ask first, Iris was there asking him if he’d like to stay for a meal.

  ‘Would I ever! Thanks, Iris. I was going to open the baked beans when I got back to the flat.’

  He noticed my swiftly concealed astonishment.

  ‘I’ve been flatting for a couple of years now,’ he told me, his hand patting the air above my head.

  ‘Bully for you, you great big adult.’ I beamed my most admiring smile at him. ‘Now, how did it go today?’ Tell me, tell me. And make it good news.

  He shrugged. ‘Not great. I visited Charlie first up, got him to check the figures. He gave me a few pointers about what to say to people.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me you’d been in,’ Iris said. ‘How do you think he was looking?’

  ‘Better. He doesn’t believe we can save the business, though. Didn’t say as much, but you can tell.’

  ‘So what happened today?’ I swear if he didn’t tell me soon, I’d choke it out of him.

  Iris shooed us to sit down at the table. Eddy put the tablet in front of me. ‘This worked great. But I didn’t get any orders. Not even a nibble.’

  ‘Shit.’ I hadn’t realised how much I’d been hoping — expecting really — that everything would fall into place. ‘What did they say? Did they give a reason?’

  Eddy looked uncomfortable at that, but Iris said, ‘Tell it like it is, Eddy. We can’t fix it if we don’t know the full story.’ She gave me a meaningful, fiery witch-type look as she said that.

  ‘They said they’d lost confidence in the products. They all said we’re not where it’s at.’

  ‘But didn’t they look at these?’ I waved the tablet at him. ‘Couldn’t they see? These are exactly where it’s at.’

  Eddy just looked depressed.

  ‘We’re not giving up. We are not! Do you hear me, Eddy?’

  A big fat unconfident sigh was all I got by way of a reply.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ Iris said.

  Chapter Eleven

  THAT NIGHT I DREAMED of fire. The unsold tables were the pyre, and Iris was burning.

  I woke up with Mum shaking me. ‘Bess! What on earth’s the matter with you?’

  The light was dazzling and I flinched away from it, still in the grip of flames.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Mum demanded. ‘What was all that about? You were shouting loud enough to wake the dead.’

  The dead. Oh dear god. Iris wasn’t dead, not in this life. I sat up, leaning forward with my hands over my eyes.

  ‘Bess? Answer me, please.’

  I tried to speak. It took a couple of attempts before I could say, ‘Just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you up.’

  Iris would have hugged me. Hadleigh would have tipped me upside down over his shoulder. Dad? He’d at least have asked what the nightmare was about. Then he’d have made me a cup of strong tea — his answer to everything. Mum didn’t touch me again after she’d shaken me into consciousness, but she delivered a parting shot as she left my room. ‘You’ll have to see the doctor if it happens again. I sleep badly enough as it is. I can’t afford to have you waking me like this every night.’

  I slumped down into the mess of tangled sheets. Yes, I’d like to see a doctor: I’d ask if there was a name for the it’s-all-about-me syndrome.

  I was in a half-doze, too terrified to fall asleep properly, when I remembered my promise to Miss Wilding about seeing a shrink if the images came again. I spent the rest of the night trying to convince myself that a nightmare was different and therefore my promise didn’t count.

  I shouldn’t have wasted the effort. I knew I would have to see somebody about it. A doctor would more or less have to prescribe antipsychotic drugs. Or suggest counselling, and that would involve talking for weeks and years about how I didn’t connect with my mother, about how I’d always held my distance from my stepmother, about how I’d yelled a pack of lies to my departing brother. And according to Iris, none of that had the least relevance to me in this life. There was a certain grim humour to be had at three in the morning from imagining Mum’s response if I told her all the Iris stuff.

  The only person who seemed likely to be able to help was Iris’s pet shrink, Gwennie. I wished I’d asked her more about exactly how Gwennie worked, how she’d helped Iris, but all I could remember was something about deep relaxation. I couldn’t see how that would clear the pictures out of my head.

  At five I gave up the idea of sleeping, got up and posted three of Eddy’s designs on Facebook. I wrote: A taste of the furniture produced at Charlie Grey and Daughter, makers of quality furniture. I tell you, guys — we rock!

  We didn’t, not yet. But we could. We just needed a chance.

  FOR ONCE I was glad of Mum’s silent treatment over breakfast and I escaped early to the factory, scooping up the tablet again on the way. As soon as I got there, and before I chickened out, I rang Iris to tell her about burning her up all over again. I took my courage in both hands and asked, ‘Could your shrink make it all go away, do you think?’

  ‘I’ll ring her right now. I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Wait! I’m at work. Don’t ring home.’

  ‘Bess, darling, I do realise you wouldn’t be ringing me from your mum’s house.’

  I put the phone down. With any luck, Gwennie might refuse to see me. ‘Oh, just get it over with!’ I muttered. I couldn’t go on having Iris in flames popping up from wherever. She was tricky enough to deal with in this life. And what about OG boy? Should I mention him too? Oh my god, I couldn’t believe I was going to spill my soul to a shrink. I decided to keep OG boy to myself.

  The men arrived. Eddy reported on his day as a rep. Down went the spirits of everyone except Bernie, who didn’t seem to do gloom when there was work waiting for him, and he bustled off to start making the gate.

  Eddy asked,
‘What do you want me to do, Bess? Shall I try Auckland?’

  I surveyed the four slumped pictures of dejection sitting at the table. ‘No. I will.’

  He actually had the gall to laugh. ‘Nobody’s going to take any notice of a kid, Bess. No offence.’

  ‘Listen. All of you.’ I waited till they straightened their spines enough to look at me. ‘I’ll do a hell of a lot better than some adult who doesn’t believe we’ve got a show of selling what we can offer.’ I kicked Eddy’s chair, although what I longed to do was give him a right royal boot up the backside. ‘You’ll be wasting your time if you droop around Auckland looking like you do right now. I wouldn’t buy a stick from you, let alone put in an order for one of your designs.’

  There was a shocked silence, then Clint let out a snort of approval. ‘By hokey, lad — that’s telling you.’ He pointed at me. ‘The girl’s got balls. She’ll do a better job than you ever will.’

  In my head I was laughing fit to split, but outwardly I kept up the tough approach. ‘Well, Eddy?’

  He stood up, determination in every fibre. ‘For your information, boss, I did not droop around Hamilton yesterday. I believe in these designs. I can sell them.’

  With that he stalked out.

  Clint watched him go, a definite grin on his face. ‘Lucky you’re a little slip of a lass, Bess. If you’d been a guy, he’d a thumped you into next week.’

  But he, Maurice and Alton all looked more positive as they walked off to finish the fence. Would I have to throw a wobbly every flaming morning to get them going?

  Flaming. Watch your language, Bess.

  But what was I meant to do now? I checked on Bernie. He was deep in drawing intricate lines on paper and didn’t even notice me. Outside, the others were making short work of fencing off the area that had once been lawn. They’d be finished before the end of the day. We’d have to put it back into grass if we wanted the place to look like a prosperous business again. On the other hand, it seemed hard to justify chucking precious cash around just for that. Dad had always intended to build a finishing workshop on the land, rather than having to lease the shed across the road, but it seemed unlikely that would happen now.