by Di Morrissey
‘All those years in the café, Jac!’ Nat poured the milk froth on top of their cups and carried them to the table. As they sat down she continued, ‘Now, as a fellow member of the writers’ festival committee, I’m sorry to tell you that we’ve hit a snag.’ She took a sip of her coffee.
‘Oh, no! What’s happened?’ asked Jacqui in alarm.
‘We’ve got two major dramas. One is that Tracey Marvin, our top author, one of our major drawcards, the woman who’s supposed to be opening our festival, has dropped out. I gather her mother has suddenly fallen ill and she doesn’t want to leave her.’
‘Oh, shoot! And I’ve ordered dozens of copies of her novels! People will be so disappointed. Gosh, I hope Riley Mathieson is still coming,’ exclaimed Jacqui. Mathieson, a very popular author with a cult following, was their other really big name; he and Tracey Marvin were to have been the joint main attractions.
‘Yes, Riley is still okay, except . . . he wants to drive here. From Perth. You know he’s a car nut.’
‘No. I didn’t know that,’ said Jacqui. ‘It’ll take him at least two days to drive here, if not longer!’
‘He says he needs a break, and wants to enjoy the open road. Only trouble, of course, is he’ll have to rent a car. And he doesn’t want to drive back, but fly home from Broome. And he wants a sports car. A fancy one. He already owns a Lotus. Or maybe it’s a Corvette.’
‘Good grief, he must be making a fortune! Well, I suppose he would be,’ said Jacqui. ‘He’s always on the top of the bestseller lists. But he just doesn’t seem the type to charge around the countryside in a super sports car. He looks such a shy chap.’
‘He probably drives around in Sydney traffic, so the idea of nearly two-and-a-half thousand kilometres of open road could be pretty appealing.’ Nat smiled. ‘Anyway, Colin has it covered. As it happens, he says he has a buyer for a Porsche up here. He’s going to Perth on business so he’s collecting the car from a dealer friend and then he’ll drive it up to Broome with Riley. I just hope he’s not kidding me and he really does have a buyer and he’s not thinking of keeping the car for himself.’
‘I hope the festival doesn’t have to pay for any of this,’ said Jacqui, eyebrows raised. ‘We’re stretched as it is.’
‘Heavens no. Mind you, the car isn’t the oddest request we’ve had,’ said Nat. ‘Some of these writers seem obsessed with food and wine. One author wanted this and that supplied in his room, another stipulated that he wouldn’t work before noon because that’s when the muse struck. While the committee appreciated that it’s a long way for writers to come, some of the writers with those odd requests were removed from the guest list pretty fast. No, it’s a shame we can’t get a big name like Tracey this late in the piece, she attracts a wide audience, but we’ve got a hero with Riley.’
‘I know, and Riley is pretty big. He appeals to such a cross-section of readers, adults and young adults alike,’ said Jacqui. ‘I just hope I don’t run out of his books. It’s hard to know how many people will want to buy them, especially as so many already have his latest book.’
‘It’s the signature in the book people want. I hope he’s accommodating about doing a lengthy book-signing session. Does Jean-Luc like Riley’s books?’ Nat asked.
‘Do you know, I’ve never asked. I’ll take one home tonight.’
‘Can Jean-Luc read it in English? I suppose so. Anyway, the fact remains, we still need someone to open the festival. Any ideas?’
‘You mean, from among the festival writers?’ Jacqui pursed her mouth.
‘I think it should be someone local, don’t you? It’ll save time, hassle and money.’
‘Let me think about that. I might ask Lydia for a suggestion. But you said there were two problems, didn’t you? You’ve mentioned Tracey and you’ve said that the Riley problem is no longer a problem, so what else is there?’
‘This is the biggest blow,’ said Nat with a sigh. ‘Are you ready? Miriam is leaving.’
‘What do you mean, leaving? This is a disaster. She’s so efficient and everyone likes her, she’s the driving force behind the festival!’ exclaimed Jacqui. ‘What’s happened?’
‘When I say leaving, I don’t just mean our festival. I mean she’s leaving the entire town. Phil, her husband, has just been offered a super job in Queensland with some international mining corporation. If he wants it, he has to leave more or less straight away. Miriam feels terrible abandoning us at the last minute – especially when there’s still so much to do – but Phil can’t miss such a great opportunity. I tell you, Jacqui, when I joined the committee I had no idea what was involved in putting the festival on! And I bet you didn’t, either,’ said Nat.
‘I suppose Miriam’ll be busy packing up the house, organising the kids’ schooling and so on. Good for them, I guess, for Phil that is, but Good Lord, what a disaster for us. I’ll miss her. And we still haven’t got the full line-up confirmed, even at this late date. Let’s just hope that all the books I’ve ordered will come and the presenters and moderators, the venues, catering, the media and promotional stuff happens as your committee have planned and nothing else goes wrong,’ sighed Jacqui. ‘So who will take over from Miriam?’
‘I suppose it will end up being me!’ Nat shook her hair and rolled her eyes. ‘And on top of these problems, getting sponsorship was quite an issue, too. We can’t just ask the locals to all stump up, although some businesses have been very generous. We’ll have to look further afield. But the biggest problem is convincing the people in town that a writers’ festival isn’t just for bookworms and literary snobs. That it’s for everybody.’
‘I can’t help you much as I’ll be selling the books,’ said Jacqui.
‘Yes, I know. Fortunately, we’ve already got a lot of volunteers, selling entry tickets, working in the Green Room tent, escorting writers to the book-signing area, helping out in the catering venue. Maybe Jean-Luc might be interested in lending a hand, too?’
‘I’m sure he’d be happy to help. I’ll suggest it to him. He’ll be home by now. A couple of the friends he made last year are coming over. Teenagers always seem so busy with school and sport, so I’m glad some of the boys have made time for him.’
Nat picked up their empty mugs and went into the kitchen to rinse them out. ‘That’s good. Can’t be easy for Jean-Luc just to turn up and try to fit in with what I imagine is a very different way of life.’
*
Jean-Luc was in his room when Jacqui got home, but when she called to him, he didn’t appear. She went and tapped on his door.
‘Are you all right, Jean-Luc?’
There was a faint mumble.
‘Can I come in?’ she asked.
There was no answer for a few moments. Then, as she hesitated, the door opened and her son hurried past her, his face down. Jacqui followed him into the kitchen, where he stuck his head inside the refrigerator.
‘Are you hungry? Didn’t you have lunch? I’m making a big dinner for you and the boys. Where do you want to eat in this rain, inside or on the verandah?’
Jean-Luc pulled a piece of cheese from the fridge and turned away from his mother. He gave a shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said sulkily.
‘Jean-Luc, would you like a sandwich? Tell me, is there something wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?’
He chewed the cheese and avoided looking at his mother.
Jacqui pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Darling, sit down beside me. I can tell something’s not right. Come and tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Jean-Luc replied sullenly.
Jacqui raised an eyebrow at his stricken expression. ‘Has something happened with the boys? Aren’t they coming?’
Her heart sank. How thoughtless of them. Maybe they’d had a better invitation. She hoped not.
Jean-Luc shook his head, crumbling the last of his cheese in hi
s palm and putting small bits of it in his mouth. ‘They’re still coming for dinner, I suppose,’ he mumbled.
Jacqui breathed an inward sigh of relief. ‘If you want to eat on the verandah I can still use the barbeque.’ She paused. ‘Is everything all right with Papa?’
He nodded, staring down at his hands.
‘Jean-Luc, do I have to play twenty questions with you?’ said Jacqui in exasperation. ‘How can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s bothering you?’
He gave her a long look, and Jacqui winced at the sight of his red eyes and desperate expression. ‘You can’t help me, Maman!’
She reached across the table and took his hands. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. At least talk about it.’
His face became guarded, and suddenly she realised that her son had the look of a young man hurt in love.
After he had told Jacqui about his girlfriend on the trip back from Lily and Palmer’s place, he’d slowly opened up, dropping little comments and information about the beautiful Annabelle. He had even shown Jacqui the occasional photo on his phone.
‘Is it Annabelle? Are things all right? What’s happened?’ Jacqui felt a twist in her heart at seeing her son so unhappy. ‘Tell me,’ she said softly. ‘It might help to talk about it, even though there probably isn’t anything I can do to fix it.’
‘No . . . it’s over, fini . . . terminé, Maman.’
Looking at Jean-Luc’s melodramatic expression, Jacqui tried to keep a blank face. ‘Are you sure? Maybe she has just been hanging out with friends and . . . someone got the wrong idea . . . ?’
‘She was at the Feria with Dominique Lefèvre! Everyone was there and saw them together!’ He pulled his hands away, not looking at her.
Jacqui felt for him. The Feria was such a Nîmes institution, and absolutely no one wanted to miss it. Twice a year the town was taken over by horses and bulls along with music, dancing and wine in a crazy festival atmosphere. Days of concerts, parades and corridas lent a passionate mood that was highly seductive for couples in love.
‘You know him? This Dominique?’
‘Of course, Maman.’ He glanced away. ‘I knew he was always after her.’
Jacqui didn’t want to criticise the girl, so she remarked, ‘Maybe there isn’t anything to this. She’s missing you . . .’
‘Pffft,’ he scoffed. ‘She’s a salope, I don’t care.’
‘Jean-Luc, please, you can’t say things like that. You liked her and you said she was a nice girl.’
‘She was mad that I came to Australia.’
‘Well, I suppose the holidays are too long for her when she doesn’t have you for companionship. Does she have lots of girlfriends?’
‘They’re stupid.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘They are all jealous that I came here.’
Jacqui saw an opening to shift the focus of the conversation. ‘Ah, they wished they could come to Australia?’
‘Of course. Everyone much prefers Australians to the English. And Americans are crass. Australia is a magnet! Maybe Annabelle is trying to prove she is having a great time while I am here. She is probably bored. She gets bored easily,’ he added.
‘She sounds like hard work,’ said Jacqui briskly. ‘Do you think we need French fries as well as bread rolls for the hamburgers tonight?’
‘Maybe.’ He looked gloomy again.
Jacqui felt out of her depth. She wished Jean-Luc could have this conversation with a man, perhaps Palmer.
‘What will you do about Annabelle?’ she asked.
‘What can I do?’ He looked at her helplessly and Jacqui felt a rush of sympathy.
‘You can enjoy yourself, too. Have fun with the boys tonight. Maybe make some more plans with them.’ She was going to mention the writers’ festival, but she suspected that for a young person the Broome Writers’ Festival couldn’t compare with the thrills of the Feria.
*
Jacqui was kept busy turning out hamburgers and chips and salads for the boys’ dinner. Thankfully the rain had cleared and so they sat in the back garden under the trees. She threw some sausages onto the barbeque in case the hamburgers weren’t enough. She was happy to hear the boys talking and laughing, even if Jean-Luc didn’t know all the people and events they were speaking about. Jacqui hoped their chatter would distract her son from his misery over Annabelle. Evidently there was a looming grudge football game and they were all going to see the match, including Jean-Luc.
Jacqui kept her distance, rarely joining in the conversation, just offering food and drinks, but later, when the boys brought their empty dishes into the kitchen, one of them spotted the Riley Mathieson book she’d brought home earlier.
‘Oh, cool, Mrs Bouchard! The Lost Passage. I’ve been wanting to read this. Can I borrow it?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Of course you can,’ said Jacqui. ‘Do you like Riley Mathieson, Nathan?’ she asked as all the boys clustered around. They all seemed to know the popular cult writer. Then, to her surprise, Jean-Luc was immediately enthusiastic, too.
‘Yes, yes, I know of Riley Mathieson. I have read all his books. This is his new one? I don’t think it’s out yet in France. Good, I shall read it, too. Lots of action,’ he commented to the other boys.
Immediately there was a discussion about the action adventure books that had caught the imagination of the young men.
Jacqui finally said, ‘You know, Riley is coming here for our writers’ festival.’
‘Really, no way!’ said Nathan with obvious interest, and then all the boys started talking excitedly.
‘In person? Can we meet him?’
‘Is he bringing his cool car?’
‘He wouldn’t drive it across the country,’ said another boy, scornfully.
‘Why is he coming? Is he, like, giving a lecture or something?’
‘He’ll talk about how he writes his books, how he got started and where he finds the ideas. You can ask him questions. He’s apparently very nice and easy to talk to,’ Jacqui said.
Jean-Luc stared at his mother. ‘Could we meet him? You know, not just shake his hand. But talk with him?’
They all stared at Jacqui in awe.
‘He’ll be very busy and very popular. But he’s here for the three days of the festival, so I’ll see what I can do. Maybe you could all read his new book before he comes.’
As the boys continued talking enthusiastically about Riley Mathieson, Jacqui was pleased that suddenly Jean-Luc’s status with the other boys had taken a leap with the possibility of meeting the famous author. Now all she had to do was to make it happen.
*
The next evening, knowing that Jean-Luc was with his friends, Jacqui decided to stay at the shop after closing time to finish unpacking the new books. As she reached up to place a book on a top shelf, she heard the front door jingle as it slid open and realised she hadn’t shut it properly. She turned around to see who these late customers were.
‘You must be Jacqui, right? Sorry to barge in on you, love, but I’m Maggie and this is me hubby, Webster. We’ve just arrived in town, been a day-and-a-half’s bloody drive to get here. But here we are.’
The woman speaking was thin and wiry, with a shock of grey and faded yellow hair topping a deeply tanned face.
With a smile, her husband stepped forward. ‘We’re friends of Wally’s. How do you do.’ He held out his hand. ‘Wally suggested we meet up with you. We’ll extrapolate in depth shortly.’
As she shook the man’s outstretched hand, Jacqui looked at these people in bewilderment. She had no idea who they were, or what they wanted.
‘Oh, we’re the Greens. Maggie and Keith. Not that anyone calls him Keith,’ said Maggie with a laugh. ‘He’s Webster ’cause he’s got a big bloody mouth. Ever since he swallowed the dictionary. We got an issue on our hands, so we came in here to town to talk to Wally. He told us
to see Lydia, you know, on the radio. Well, we rang her, and she said she’d meet us here. S’pose we’ll have to wait.’
‘I’ll call her right away and see where she is,’ said Jacqui, quite amused by the couple. ‘You say you’ve come a long way. Would you like a coffee? I could make you both one.’
‘Hold your horses. I think I can do better than that,’ Lydia called out as she walked into the shop holding up a bag. ‘I was at the bottle shop when I got the call, so I bought something for all of us.’
‘Hi, Lydia, I’ll get some glasses. What is this meeting all about?’ said Jacqui.
‘Hope you don’t mind my suggesting we all come here,’ said Lydia as she opened a bottle of wine. ‘I thought it would be easier for Maggie and Webster to come here rather than the radio station, but I didn’t realise they would be here after closing. Thankfully it’s all worked out. Now, wine or beer? I’ve got both.’
‘Whatever’s cold and wet, please, love,’ said Maggie.
‘Have you booked in somewhere for tonight?’ asked Lydia as she handed Maggie a glass of white wine.
‘Yeah. We’ve checked into the Conti. Just dropped everything and came straight here. Been a day or more on the road. Sorry that it’s so late.’
‘That’s not a problem,’ said Lydia. ‘We just want to hear your story.’ She handed Jacqui a glass of wine and they all sat down at the long table.
‘Let me just put you in the picture, Jacqui,’ Webster began. ‘Me, the missus and m’son, run a big place to the east of here, right up against the Great Sandy Desert. Cattle. It’s tough, but we love it. Way of life, really. We have a very harmonious relationship with the local people –’
‘Rellies of Wally’s wife, Elsie,’ Maggie interjected.
‘Wally talks about Elsie often,’ said Jacqui.
Webster continued talking as though there had been no interruptions. ‘In the proverbial nutshell, it seems some government agency is slinking around, ingratiating themselves with the local Aboriginal leaders. They’ve established a group under the auspices of a couple of politically motivated, university-educated, indigenous self-appointed leaders. They call themselves the New Country Leadership Trust.’
