The Boy In the Olive Grove

by Fleur Beale

  For once, Christmas Day dawned beautifully sunny. For form’s sake, I asked Mum if she would like me to help her with the meal. She simply raised cool eyebrows. I took that as a negative, and fled to the tennis club on the off-chance some other no-friends-sad-sack would be there looking for a game.

  Harriet’s non-friend Sol turned up after I’d been bashing the ball at the practice board for about five minutes. He was keen for a game, but he mucked around with the scoring so much it was impossible to keep track. I didn’t care. It was such a relief to laugh.

  ‘Why aren’t you at home celebrating with the parents, the siblings, the in-laws, the aunts, the great uncles, the grandparents and the seven nieces all under the age of five?’ he asked as we flopped down on the veranda after the game.

  ‘Escaping from my mother. You?’

  ‘Escaping from the rellies outlined above.’

  ‘Seven nieces?’

  ‘And all under five.’ He looked gloomy. ‘You’ve no idea how loud they are. How energetic. And the little ones howl and stink and throw up on you.’

  ‘Sounds pretty good to me,’ I said. ‘My mother hasn’t spoken to me since Tuesday except to yell at me.’

  That wiped the lazy expression off his face, but he didn’t ask for details. No, what he asked was, ‘You got a boyfriend?’

  ‘Nope. You offering?’

  ‘Might be. Wanna go out?’

  ‘Gee, what a romantic!’ I was going to refuse, but then I thought why not? ‘Okay. Sure. That’d work.’

  ‘You’re a glass-half-full kind of girl. I like it.’

  And he was so laid-back it’s a wonder he didn’t walk with his feet in the air, but he was funny and I desperately needed a friend. We stayed chatting till it was impossible to delay the delights of Christmas dinner any longer.

  So that was how I found myself with a boyfriend before midday on Christmas Day.

  ‘You’ve been playing tennis?’ Mum asked as I came in.

  Was this a thaw? ‘Yes. Had a hit with a guy I’ll be at school with next year. His name’s Sol. Solomon.’

  ‘Solomon Drummond?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Might be. Yeah, I think that’s it.’

  I do believe my mother actually smiled. Her lips certainly stretched sideways for a millimetre on each side. ‘I know the family. You could do worse than cultivate young Solomon.’

  For crying out loud! I’d done something she approved of? ‘We’re going to a concert at New Year.’

  That got me a regal nod, though it struck me that a single meeting with Sol could well blast her idea of a suitable suitor right out of sight.

  ‘You’ll be needing clothes for school, Bess,’ she continued. ‘The sales will be on after Christmas. You can take my credit card to get what you need. Now, come and eat. Dinner’s ready.’

  She began slicing the meat. ‘Ask Solomon to go shopping with you. He’ll know what’s appropriate school clothing. Kindly remember you’re my daughter. I don’t want you running around town in tattered jeans. Or shorts. Absolutely no singlets.’

  ‘Sure, Mum. I’ll ask Harriet to come with me too.’

  The meal, as always, was delicious even if it was far too heavy for the summery day — roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with gravy so full of flavour that my toes curled.

  ‘Man, that has to have been the best meal ever,’ I said. I meant it, but I was keen to maintain the unaccustomed harmony of the day too.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not good manners to exaggerate, Bess.’

  Other than that, the meal passed without me putting my foot into any hidden holes. I cleared up, washed up and stacked the dishwasher. At two on the dot we sat down to do the presents.

  As expected, she didn’t like my peace offering. ‘You know I never grow roses. Please change it for an azalea or a daphne.’

  ‘I’m sorry you don’t like it, Mum.’ And bugger exchanging it — I’d give it to Wally Earl, if I could find out where he lived.

  My mother turned her mouth down and, with great ceremony, handed me my present. As always, it was precision-wrapped in green and gold paper. What was different was the shape. It was the size of a shoebox, but there was no way she’d have bought me shoes. If there was jewellery in there … oh my god, don’t say she’d bought me a tiara! No!

  ‘Be careful. It’s fragile.’

  Not a tiara then. I pulled off the paper. The box inside was plain white cardboard. I extracted layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap then stared, dumbfounded, at what she’d given me. I was looking at a china ornament — longer than my hand and with six old-fashioned women standing around a dude on a throne, for the love of heaven.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘It’s valuable,’ Mum said. ‘You can start a collection. Figurines are very collectable.’

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say — not anything tactful at any rate.

  She lifted it from the box. ‘This is Henry the Eighth and his six wives. A lovely piece.’

  I stared at it and said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Shouldn’t a couple of them be without their heads?’

  Oops, not funny apparently.

  ‘You have no taste, Bess. And no business acumen either. Pieces like this increase in value every year.’

  Any thaw was freezing solid again. But hell on earth, I had to stop this idea before I got swamped with dust-catching collectables.

  ‘Mum, neither of us has hit the mark with our presents this year. I appreciate the thought, I really do, but this sort of stuff just isn’t me.’

  She rose to her feet, took Henry and his wives from me, and sailed from the room. I suspected she wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the year.

  Collectable figurines! I couldn’t wait to tell Dad and Iris.

  DAD GREETED ME with his usual anxious expression. ‘How’s the day been, love?’

  I kissed him. ‘Merry Christmas, Dad. Fair to middling so far. You’ll never guess what Mum bought me. Gotta hand it to her, she’s excelled herself this time.’

  They had presents for me too. Dad gave me a jewellery box he’d made himself. It had a hinged lid, compartments and tiny drawers. It was way too stunning to contaminate it with any of the stuff Mum had bestowed on me over the years. Iris’s present was an amethyst ring, a narrow circlet set with five tiny stones. I sat gazing at it, too choked up to speak.

  ‘You can change it if you don’t like it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ My voice was all husky. ‘But I won’t be keeping it in my jewellery box.’ I slid it on my little finger. It fitted perfectly. ‘Only a witch could guess the right size.’ I jumped up and hugged her, then Dad. ‘You two are the best.’

  Dad cleared his throat. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, my girl. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get myself organised out there on the barbecue.’

  ‘We’re having a bunch of friends over,’ Iris said, watching him leave. ‘Come and chat while I make salads. I’m glad you like the ring, love. Amethysts are healing. They’ll be good for you.’

  The friends arrived. There was lots of talk, lots of laughing, and Dad looked cheerful and optimistic. He’d looked like that ever since Eddy had told him he’d be bloody proud to take over the factory when Dad wanted to retire, which he and the men all hoped wouldn’t be for a while yet.

  I was the only person present under the age of fifty. I handed around nibbles, collected dirty plates, stacked the dishwasher and tried not to think about Nick and Lulu on a beach in Queensland.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I SPENT BOXING DAY with Sol, and discovered that Harriet was right — he was annoying. The third time he flicked sugar into my cup, I said, ‘Do that again and our romance stops here. And I’m not impressed by that kicked-puppy look either.’

  The rest of the afternoon wasn’t much better. We went to the pool where he ducked me twice and dripped on me when I got out to lie in the sun. When we left, he walked behind me and trod on the backs of my sandals. Back in the car, he sc
reeched like a siren all the way to his house. I said, ‘Sorry, Sol, but the boyfriend/girlfriend thing is a dead duck. I’ll end up doing you serious damage if I have to spend another second with you.’

  He didn’t seem surprised. ‘You’ve broken the record anyway. A day and a half. That’s my longest romance so far.’

  ‘Your only one then?’

  ‘Nope. Kara lasted for an afternoon. Jody from five o’clock till eight. Harriet for twenty-three minutes.’

  ‘You’re a nut. Quite a nice one, in very small doses.’

  ‘New Year’s off, then?’

  ‘Not if Harriet will come too.’

  He slammed the door but it didn’t seem to be an angry slam, because he stuck his face against the window and made a blowfish mouth. I pushed the windscreen washer, hoping it would drench him. Ha, Sol Drummond, got you.

  And so the holidays passed. As expected, Mum didn’t talk to me for the entire week between Christmas and New Year. She placed her credit card on the table in front of me at breakfast the day after Boxing Day. I thanked her, rang Harriet and asked her if she’d come shopping with me. No way was I going to take Sol. I wafted into a daydream where I was cruising round the shops in Nick’s company until sanity kicked in.

  ‘Your mum just handed over her credit card?’ said Harriet. ‘No limits? You’re so lucky! I wish my mother would do that.’

  ‘Hard to set a limit when she’s not talking to me.’

  ‘Jeez! Man, that’s mega weird.’

  We had a good day and I was glad she was with me. I left the dockets on the table for Mum to find when she got home. She hadn’t, I noted, left me a message about where she was or when she expected to be back.

  MOST DAYS I PLAYED tennis, or ended up at the pool with Sol and Harriet, who introduced me to a bunch of others I’d be at school with. Hadleigh wrote more often now, and always bland emails for public consumption. I Facebooked my friends regularly, too, making sure I was cheerful and chatty. They liked the story of my short romance with Sol.

  The men went back to work amped and ready to rock after the holidays. There wasn’t a lot for me to do. I went in every morning to deal with emails and snail mail, stayed for a cuppa, then left them to it.

  In the final week of January, Dad started coming with me in the mornings. The men were pleased he was back, he was pleased to be back — but I discovered I was sorry to lose my project.

  Iris, as she always did, picked up that something was bothering me. I so wasn’t used to having a mother-figure who did that. ‘I miss the factory,’ I told her. ‘It was the challenge, I think. Dad had just given up and it didn’t seem right.’

  ‘You’d better go for a career that challenges you in that case,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, but what?’ Right now I’d settle for being Nick’s wife.

  Iris gave me a particularly witchy look. ‘You’ll need work that’ll satisfy you. Even if you marry, you still need a life of your own.’

  ‘Especially if I don’t,’ I muttered.

  But she heard me, and tugged my hair quite hard. ‘Look forward, not back.’

  ‘I’m trying! Okay!’

  ‘How many times have you looked at him on Facebook?’

  ‘Only once. Twice.’

  ‘Twice too often.’ She eyeballed me, and said with emphasis and deliberation, ‘He’s not the one for you right now. Accept it and stop wishing things were different.’

  ‘I’m trying. You haven’t a clue how hard it is.’

  ‘And don’t flounce.’

  ‘I was bloody not—’ But I caught her eye and had to laugh. ‘All right! I hear you.’

  That got me a hug and a cup of something prob ably designed to mend a broken heart — which it didn’t.

  At the end of January, on a cloudy, humid morning, and in the face of Mum’s disapproval, I dressed myself in my new shorts, shirt and sandals, and took myself off to school.

  It turned out I should have enrolled earlier, but the dean simply frowned, sighed and said, ‘Welcome, Bess.’ I had a moment’s panic that she’d ask me why I’d left St Annie’s, but all she did was ask me my subjects. Perhaps it was lucky I hadn’t enrolled when she had plenty of time after all.

  I rattled them off. ‘History, chem, physics, calculus and Maori.’

  ‘An interesting mix,’ she said. ‘Fortunately for you, they all fit.’ She printed off a timetable and sent me on my way.

  The day was strange, so different from St Annie’s, and yet so much the same. The teachers didn’t treat me as if I was a crazy drunk, and the kids I’d met over the summer were friendly. Being back at school, though, did make me think differently about Nick. I was a school kid. It was dumb to be thinking I’d lost the love of my life. It didn’t stop me from grieving over losing him, but in some peculiar way it eased the distress of it. He was out of my league.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  MY BROTHER SENT ME a text at 3.16 on a Monday afternoon in the middle of February. Pick me up from Auck airport sis. Have just landed. Don’t tell ma.

  The rat! He hadn’t ditched his sim card at all. And not telling Mum would get me in so much trouble. Too bad.

  I sent Dad a text: Going to airport to pick up Hadleigh.

  Iris texted back: Both of you come to dinner.

  Yes! And it being a Monday, I wouldn’t have to leave a message for Mum.

  My brother was sitting in the sun waiting for me. He swept me up in a massive hug, then whirled me in a complete circle twice.

  ‘Good to see you, kiddo. Open the boot, will you?’ We loaded his luggage, but he waved the keys away when I tried to hand them over. ‘You drive, Bess. I’m bushed. Been a long day.’ He settled himself in the passenger seat — and immediately went to sleep. He didn’t wake up till Dad hauled the car door open.

  ‘Hadleigh! Good to see you, son. Good to see you.’

  It was better than good. The missing piece of my world was back where it should be — one of the missing pieces anyway. He gave us presents, including a lapis lazuli pendant and a Peruvian-style hat for me.

  ‘To keep your ears warm in winter. Made from alpaca wool, fur, hair — whatever.’

  ‘Hey, I hope you got Mum one too.’

  ‘Yep. Sure did!’ He scrabbled round in his pack and pulled out the hat. It was a mix of brick red, mud brown, sickly green and bilious yellow.

  Iris and I stared at it. ‘It’s perfectly, sublimely hideous,’ I said.

  ‘Took me a week to find that,’ he said. ‘Not bad, if I do say it myself.’

  ‘Will she wear it?’ Iris asked.

  ‘Yes!’ Hadleigh and I chorused.

  ‘I hope I see her in it,’ Dad said.

  That was the only time my mother intruded into the conversation all evening. In typical bloke fashion too, neither Dad nor Hadleigh mentioned the factory.

  Tired as he was, Hadleigh drove me back to Mum’s, where I had to say farewell to the use of his car. We talked about his travels through South America, and not about airport meltdowns or abandonment. I didn’t mind. He was back and he was Hadleigh — loving, kind and imperfect.

  ‘You’ll have to come in or she’ll kill me,’ I said.

  ‘She mightn’t be home,’ he said — and she wasn’t.

  ‘You’re such a tin arse,’ I told him, but I made him write her a note. Hi Mum. Just got home. Sorry to miss you. Love Hadleigh.

  ‘Liar,’ I said.

  ‘The love bit, or the sorry bit?’

  ‘Both.’

  He tweaked my hair, jumped in the car and was off. Mum must have passed him on the road, because half a minute later I heard her coming into the house. I raced to my room and spread homework all over the desk.

  It took her all of ten seconds to arrive in my doorway. ‘You’ve seen Hadleigh?’

  I swivelled around to look at her, one finger placed artistically on a random line in a history book. ‘He was pretty jetlagged so he didn’t stay long. He said he was sorry you weren’t here.’

  She
nodded majestically and departed. I thanked gods of all varieties that my brother had the nous to arrive home on her night out.

  I sat at my desk, not attempting to do any of the looming assignments, just staring at nothing. I was thinking about Hadleigh, about the evening we’d all spent together — about nothing in particular — until I found myself looking at the olive grove lovers again. I knew them instantly.

  They were frightened. The girl was pale and she clutched her lover’s arm as if to anchor him. The pair of them stood on a hilltop, the olive grove at their backs, gazing at the town below. In my twenty-first century life I understood that a sickness, some sort of fatal contagion, was rife in the town. The boy disengaged his arm so that he could put it around her to hold her close.

  The girl pointed to the town, then swung round to look to the east. She and the boy studied the terrain, then simultaneously they shook their heads. For some reason, they couldn’t escape by that route. There seemed to be no way they could leave — or, if there was, they chose not to go for reasons unclear to me as I was now.

  Older people appeared behind them. A clutch of young children too, and I understood that family was the reason they would not leave. They turned, holding hands now, and walked towards the elders, who embraced them and took them into the house.

  I saw a wedding. The girl wore flowers in her hair. The boy stood tall and had eyes only for her. There was laughter and music and food, but there was also fear. The contagion was spreading.

  Mum knocked on my door and the scene vanished. I ignored the knock, dazed by what I’d seen.

  She came in. ‘You’re not asleep. Have the courtesy to answer when I knock.’

  Have the courtesy not to come in if I don’t answer. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘My tablet. And please do not take it again without asking.’

  I handed it back. She didn’t say thank you and I didn’t say goodnight. How like her to turn up at exactly the wrong moment. Now, perhaps, I’d never know what became of Nick and me in that long-ago life. There was no doubting that we were the couple. It wasn’t just wishful thinking, because I didn’t wish for it. My life would be much less complicated if that boy wasn’t Nick — but he was, just as surely as I was the girl.