The Boy In the Olive Grove

by Fleur Beale

  ‘No, Mum. It’s sweet. Deirdre’s borrowed it.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, I must say.’ She took out her car keys instead of the chequebook. ‘Can I drop you off anywhere?’

  ‘No. But thanks for the offer. Good to see you.’ Somehow, he manoeuvred her to the door, where she touched a finger to his cheek and said goodbye.

  There was no farewell for me, and nothing for Su Lin.

  ‘I foresee storms ahead,’ Su Lin said in the voice of a soothsayer.

  ‘Let’s go and eat,’ Hadleigh said.

  Three days later I borrowed Iris’s car to drive to the airport so that I could spend two hours with Nick who’d factored in a break in Hamilton en route to Tokyo.

  Stolen moments. Precious moments.

  We met again five days later on his way home. We stayed in the airport, him collapsed into a chair. ‘I’m so over being photographed. And that bloody manly glower. I’m over that big-time.’

  I clapped my hands. ‘Show me!’

  He sighed mightily but struck the pose. I shrieked with laughter.

  ‘I’ll have you know,’ he said, ‘that look is designed to make damsels swoon.’

  I kept bursting into giggles the whole time we were together. He didn’t mind. He tucked my hand in his and said, ‘I quite like you, Bess Grey.’

  We talked, as we often did, about the year to come. I’d be with him, studying science at Massey. ‘I’ll find us a warmer flat,’ he said. ‘The current one’s a fridge.’

  ‘Won’t our love keep us warm?’

  He considered that. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Nick, these holidays — are you going to be staying around in Palmy?’ I held my breath. I wanted to go down there to spend the two weeks with him. I didn’t let my mind dwell on what that would mean.

  I got a very long look, one that sent my sinews into meltdown. ‘Give me the dates.’

  I knew them by heart. He whipped out his phone to check his diary, and groaned. ‘Bollocks. I’m helping with a science discovery programme. Young kids. It’s live-in. That’s the first week. The second week I’m doing a shoot in Samoa. But there’s always the next holidays. Tell me the dates. I’ll block out every single day.’

  We looked at each other, our eyes full of promises.

  They called his flight. It was wrenching to say goodbye. I watched as he turned to wave in the doorway of the plane and I didn’t leave the airport until I could no longer see the dot in the sky.

  I missed him. Every second of every day was filled with the awareness of his absence. It was the same for him, he told me. Winter hit hard, and when we talked on Skype he was always wrapped in a blanket, usually with the kitten on his lap. Sometimes he helped me with a tricky chemistry problem, but I didn’t want our talks to become coaching sessions so I’d only ask if I was really stuck. Always, he’d finish with, ‘Dear girl, I love you beyond the years.’

  ‘I love you now, and for always.’

  The olive grove lovers had been put to rest by the joy of our present. There had been no more images, and I didn’t need them or want them. The present was so much more vivid. No shadows hung over us now.

  I spent the July holidays at home studying, and every second there was the yearning to be with Nick. Clodagh was in Australia, Charlotte didn’t invite me to her place, and Maddy had stayed at school to get extra tutoring. Nick phoned me every evening from the camp and I could hear the voices of excited kids in the background. ‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘Not near as good as being with you, but these kids are a hoot.’

  Samoa, on the other hand, was a washout. ‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ he said over a scratchy connection, ‘this is the dry season and it’s rained every day.’

  I drove up to Auckland to be with him for the three hours between when he landed and when he had to catch his flight back to Palmy. He held my hands tight.

  ‘How many weeks till the next holidays?’

  ‘Ten. Eleven.’ Such a long, long time.

  We went outside the terminal to find a secluded corner.

  AUGUST CAME. Mum tried another trick. ‘Bess, I want you to vacuum the house tomorrow. Wash the bathroom floors and clean the showers.’

  ‘Didn’t the cleaner come yesterday?’ I knew she had.

  ‘I want the house cleaned twice-weekly. Get it done before ten.’

  I felt tired at the prospect of another battle. ‘Mum, I’m not going to do that. The house doesn’t get dirty, Lily’s an excellent cleaner.’

  That went down as well as expected. ‘You’d do it without a blink if That Man asked you for a little help. I wonder at you, Bess. I really do. You are utterly lacking in generosity of spirit.’

  ‘Thank you for that, Mum. Now please go away and let me study.’

  That earned me two days of silence, spiced with the cooking of meals she knew I didn’t like. Corned beef that night, and liver on Saturday. But on Sunday to my astonishment, she was back to talking to me again. I discussed it with Dad and Iris, and we figured that it was Gwennie’s rules that were making the difference. Mum also seemed to more or less accept me dining with them a couple of days a week. Nor did she kick up a fuss when I stayed with them for the weekend.

  I thought Dad was back to his old self, and Iris too was becoming confident enough about his recovery to relax her dietary regime now and again. A couple of weeks after the liver and corned beef episode, she cooked roast chicken followed by feijoa crumble. ‘It’s a treat for Charlie,’ she said. ‘He’s doing so well that I figure we can push the boat out now and again.’

  ‘And,’ said Dad, lifting his wine glass in a toast, ‘thanks to that Facebook, we’ve solved the problem of what to do with Bernie.’

  I gulped a bigger mouthful of wine than I’d meant to. ‘What? Why? How?’

  He laughed. ‘A woman saw the photo of the gate. She rang up right away, asked if she could order one.’

  I lifted my glass to him. ‘That’s wicked, Dad. He’s pleased?’

  Iris said, ‘Pleased? He’s like a dog with three tails!’

  ‘It might only be a one-off,’ Dad said. ‘But it’s a start. And Maurice had the idea of putting a sign up. Bespoke gates and other wood turning. Orders taken. It’ll be ready next week.’

  The three of us sat there grinning at each other.

  ‘How’s Nick?’ Dad asked then, not quite succeeding in removing traces of anxious father from his voice.

  ‘He’s good, thanks,’ I said. Here we go. ‘I’m going down there next holidays. All holidays.’

  His face went red, and he took the deep breath to blast me, but Iris put her hand on his arm. ‘Relax, Charlie. She’s nearly nineteen. She’s a young woman, not your little girl any longer.’

  ‘Humph,’ said my father. He glared at me, ground his teeth, glared some more and finally just said, ‘Well, I don’t like it and I don’t approve. Can’t stop you, I suppose. But by god, I’d like to lock you up in a convent for the next ten years.’

  I caught Iris’s eye and we struggled not to laugh.

  A week later, I found Dad immersed in worry, just like he’d been before he got sick. Oh god, surely he can’t be that upset about me and Nick?

  ‘What’s up, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing’s. Everything’s fine.’ He got out the lawn mower. Cunning. You can’t have a conversation over the noise of a two-stroke motor. I had one with Iris instead.

  ‘Something’s eating him,’ she said. ‘But will he tell me? Don’t answer that!’

  ‘Is it Nick?’

  ‘No. He’s not happy, but he sees he’s got to accept the inevitable. If not Nick, it’ll be some other boy, and at least he knows Nick.’

  ‘It’s got to be the factory then?’

  ‘You might get it out of him,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried. Might as well talk to the kitchen sink.’

  We had afternoon tea on the table as soon as the mower stopped. Dad came in, all hearty and cheerful.

  ‘Dad, it’s something with the factory, isn’t it
? What’s wrong?’

  The good cheer hit the floor. ‘The factory’s fine, I tell you. Stop nagging, girl. I can handle it.’

  ‘Remind me,’ I said, ‘the partnership. Did it have a use-by date on it, by any chance?’

  Iris smiled, but held her peace.

  He glared at me for a moment before he gave in. ‘All right! You’ve made your point. Look, somebody’s put in an offer to buy the finishing shed. Wants the land for development, the agent says.’

  ‘Oh, Dad! That’s awful. What are you going to do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t know yet. And before you ask, yes I have told the men. Told them to come up with ideas about what we can do. We’re going to have a pow-wow tomorrow.’

  ‘Between you all you’ll sort it. Bet you.’

  He frowned at me. ‘That’s as may be. We’ve got a hell of a problem on our hands. They’re not so optimis tic, I can tell you.’

  ‘Sure, Clint won’t be. But Eddy really wants the place to succeed. He’ll bust a gut to keep it going.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Dad said, looking every bit as gloomy as Clint. ‘But you’re very cheerful these days, my girl. Seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses, that’s you.’

  ‘And the problem with that would be?’

  He was right. The world was a magical place, full of sunshine even in the face of gloomy factory news.

  ABOUT THREE WEEKS before I was to fly south to stay with Nick, the past life we’d shared came back. While it answered my questions about what had happened to them, it made me jittery — why turn up now? I’d been so sure I’d put both those lives to rest — left them to settle back where they belonged.

  I hadn’t been doing anything unusual when they appeared. It was an ordinary school night, and I’d just sat down at my desk. I reached out to draw the curtains, then left them alone so I could watch the light fading from the day. It was that odd, witching light you get sometimes at dusk when the colours turn sharp and clear. And, without any warning, there were my olive grove couple. I didn’t move, concentrating on staying in the zone, staying focused on them and their story.

  They were in a sparsely furnished room. The boy fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. The girl rushed to help him, but he held out his hand to stop her. I couldn’t hear any words but he was plainly telling her to leave him, to go away. She didn’t. She helped him to his feet. They struggled from the room to a bigger, lighter one. There were mattresses on the floor. Lying on them were children, an old man, a young woman with a baby at her side. The girl lowered her lover onto a mattress. She bathed his forehead, held the bowl while he vomited. Again, he tried to make her leave him. She kissed his forehead, got to her feet and began tending the others.

  The scene changed. It seemed to be later, perhaps several days later. She knelt by her lover, keening and rocking back and forth. He was dead, and she too was ill. She slumped onto the mattress, unable — or unwilling — to move.

  I felt sick, watching her, feeling her anguish. I was helpless and I experienced that powerlessness all over again, there in my twenty-first century bedroom. Then, just as the scene began to dissipate, I remembered Gwennie’s instructions. I imagined taking off the cloak of that life, shaking it and letting it drop. It’s in the past. It’s done with.

  All the same, I was shaking and felt weirdly cold. I closed the curtains, turned up the heater and Skyped Nick.

  ‘I saw what happened to them,’ I said.

  ‘The olive grove couple? What? Did he slay a dragon for her?’

  If only. ‘No. He got ill and wanted her to leave him to die.’

  ‘Let me guess. She was a stubborn wench, went against orders and died as well?’ His eyes laughed at me from the screen.

  ‘Yep, exactly right. So be warned.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I rather fancy being hitched up with a girl like that. Fate, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘There’s no escape. Our love is written in the stars.’

  ‘Bess, hon — seriously, are you okay? Seeing us die back then hasn’t freaked you out? You’re not worrying it’ll happen again?’

  ‘I’m okay while I’m talking to you. While I can see you. I think I’ll be okay. I’ll ring Gwennie if I have to.’

  We talked for an hour, stopping only because Kitty wanted to be let out. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘Only twenty more sleeps and you’ll be here. Don’t forget to get on that plane!’

  As if I would.

  Later that week I called in at the factory on my way home from school to see if they’d found a solution to the problem of the vanishing finishing shed.

  ‘It’s not looking good,’ said Clint.

  Eddy was much more positive. ‘We’ll get it sorted, Bess. I’ve got an idea. Need to talk to the bank, though. Keep it to myself till I know if it’ll be a starter.’

  Jason said, ‘I wanna give that bastard the bash.’

  ‘Actually, who is the buyer?’ I asked.

  Dad shrugged. ‘The agent won’t say. Bloke wants to stay anonymous. Probably a consortium rather than a single buyer.’

  The future of the factory depended on Eddy and his idea.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  THREE DAYS BEFORE the holidays started at the end of September, Mum announced that she would be away for ten days. ‘I’m leaving in the morning. There’s food in the freezer. I’ve transferred money into your account for you to order in. You won’t need to interrupt your study by cooking.’

  I gulped. She was being thoughtful? But no, possibly not. ‘Mum, that’s lovely of you. But remember? I won’t be here. I told you. I’ll be away all the holidays.’

  ‘Take Clodagh out for a meal then. You must learn to pay your way when you stay with people.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’ I hadn’t said I’d be staying with Clo. I carefully hadn’t said where I was going.

  ‘I’m competing in an international bridge tournament. In Dunedin.’

  ‘Hey, that means you must be a top player. Good luck, Mum.’

  She inclined her head.

  I went into my bedroom to check my bank account. She’d deposited $500 in it. I shivered. What was she up to? This wasn’t normal behaviour. To Hadleigh, yes. To me, no. I rang him after I’d waved her goodbye, but he had no useful ideas either.

  The next morning I got a text from Nick. Will be out of contact today. Sorry. I stared at the message. That was odd. Out of character as well as out of contact. I phoned him back and got the answerphone.

  He didn’t ring me that night either. Instead, he sent me an email. I read it, and for the second time in my life my world fell to pieces.

  He was dumping me.

  Bess, we need to end it. It’s all got too intense.

  Please don’t try to get me to change my mind.

  Don’t come down.

  Sorry.

  Nick

  I didn’t believe it, I simply didn’t believe it. I rang. The call went direct to answerphone. I sent a text: Why?

  Got one back: It’s just how it is. Sorry.

  It was true, then? Real? My love didn’t want to be with me? I gave a howl, the anguish of the olive grove lovers searing through me. I rushed into the bathroom but threw up on the floor before I reached the toilet. I cleaned up the mess and wept.

  All evening I kept trying to ring him. He’d switched his phone off. I sent a text: Just tell me why. Please.

  There was no reply.

  I didn’t go to school the next day. When Iris came that afternoon to take me to the airport as planned, I was still huddled in my bed, unshowered, unfed and broken.

  ‘Bess! Where are you?’ she called, hammering on the front door. ‘You’ll miss that plane if you’re not careful.’

  I trudged to the door, opened it and threw myself into her arms.

  ‘What’s happened? Come on, Bess, tell me. He’s not dead or Charlie would have heard by now.’ She held me tight, right there on the doorstep.

  I just shook my head.
/>   She came into the house, an arm still around me. ‘You’d better tell me everything. Get showered and dressed first. I’ll find you something to eat.’

  I shook my head again, and showed her the email.

  She pushed me towards the bathroom, then had to take me by the hand, pulling me till I started walking. She turned the shower on. ‘Get in. It’ll help.’

  Later she came back with a towel that she’d warmed. She turned off the water, wrapped me up. ‘Get dry. Put some clothes on. You can do this, Bess.’

  I was in the bedroom now, not the bathroom. Clothes were set out on the bed. It reminded me of school and Clodagh. I dressed, then stood still, unable to move.

  Iris must have taken me into the kitchen. I sat at the table. A plate in front of me.

  ‘There’s only toast. Eat. It’ll help.’

  The thought of food convulsed my stomach again. She didn’t say anything and soon I was aware that she’d gone from the room. Then I was walking, propelled by her hand pushing and guiding me. We were in her car, back at their house. I sat at the kitchen table, drinking something strong and sweet.

  I don’t know how long I sat there. The cup was empty. Hadleigh and Su Lin were there. Dad too. He swung between looking mad and looking relieved. Later, a million years in the future, I might smile about that.

  ‘Council of war,’ Hadleigh said. He pulled a chair up to the table. The others took their places. ‘Su Lin, the floor is yours.’

  Iris and Dad glanced at each other, but let Hadleigh do the orchestrating. Su Lin spoke kindly but firmly.

  ‘Bess, get it together. We need information here, not emotion.’

  I shook my head. Numb. I was just so numb.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Away.’

  ‘Where? How long for? When did she leave? Where did she go?’