by Jane Frances
Steph hadn’t waited that long. She phoned the following evening to invite them both to the cinema. The altercation at the café was never mentioned, and Van or Steph no longer made disparaging remarks about Janice.
Lisa, for her part, let the matter drop. But she couldn’t help gloating when Janice rolled home three weeks into term with a B+ for her first assignment. Lisa conveniently forgot to mention she practically had to chain Janice to the kitchen table to make sure the assignment got done.
“I don’t need this crap.” Janice shoved her texts away. “I can already design gardens. I’ve proved it.”
“Well then, just go out and do it.” Lisa had the sinking feeling she was going to have to explain another fleeting fancy to her friends. “There are heaps of landscapers around. Go and get one of them to hire you. I’m sure they’d love an enthusiastic trainee to boss around.”
Janice was struck dumb for a moment, then pulled her texts back over the table.
In the weeks since, Lisa had not had to use her “study or work” tack very often. All in all, Janice appeared motivated, of late even spending a few evenings at the college library. The past weekend though, Janice had not even looked at a book. Lisa was partly to blame—she wanted to make full use of the last few days of swimming weather by spending them lolling on the beach. But she was met with a look of disbelief when she suggested Janice get down to work on Sunday night.
“I’m tired and sunburned.” Janice aimed an accusing finger in the direction of the filling bathtub. “And you want me to burn the midnight oil while you soak in a cool bath?”
Chagrined, Lisa gave in. “Point taken. You’ve got the night off.”
Soon discovering tepid water does not produce a mass of bubbles, even with vigorous hand stirring, Lisa stepped into a measly smattering of suds and beckoned Janice to follow. “But if I come home tomorrow afternoon and don’t find at least a draft of your next assignment to proofread—”
“Yes, mum,” Janice giggled, playfully splashing water over Lisa’s head and shoulders. “I’ll be good.”
Janice’s promise had been reiterated that very morning. “How am I supposed to get anything done with you hanging around and nagging?” She pushed Lisa to the front door. “Go have fun with Van. I’ll see you later.”
Now, standing in the doorway to her kitchen and seeing the activity taking place on the table, Lisa realized Janice had counted on her arriving home much later than this.
She gripped tightly onto the wooden doorframe for support. “Janice!!”
Despite the blare of the music from the lounge room, both Janice and her friend froze. Janice visibly paled when she lifted her head and turned around. “Oh fuck!”
Lisa watched for the millisecond it took the pair to separate. Then, shaking, she turned and fled to the lounge room, unable to witness the frantic scramble for clothes.
Resisting the urge to kick the life out of the stereo, Lisa pressed the eject button on the CD component. Doubly shocked by the sudden silence, she sank into the nearest chair, not knowing what to do or even where to rest her eyes.
It may have been a few seconds, or it could have been an hour— Lisa had lost all concept of time—when Janice entered the lounge room. She was at least fully clothed when she knelt in front of Lisa.
“Lisa?”
A shadow in the doorway momentarily captured Lisa’s attention. The figure of a woman. It just as quickly disappeared. Lisa lowered her gaze to a point just above Janice’s eyebrows. “I think your girlfriend is leaving,” she said flatly.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Janice whispered. “Look Lisa, I’m sorry. Things just sort of got out of hand.”
“You’d better catch her. Maybe she can give you a lift.”
Janice clasped Lisa’s hand but then reconsidered, pulling away. “I love you Lisa. I really do. You have to believe me.”
“Just go Janice. I want to be alone for a while.”
“But Lisa!”
In the brief moment Lisa met Janice’s eyes, she recognized her panic. It was the panic of an open wallet closing. She repeated, “Please. Just go.”
Lisa didn’t move in the time it took Janice to ferry armloads of clothes and a bulging carryall from the bedroom to the entry hall. Finally, the front door opened and closed. Lisa vaguely heard an engine start and a car reverse from the driveway. Then the house descended into silence.
Numb, Lisa pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialed. “Joel. It’s me.”
“Hey girlfriend.” Joel’s friendly tone boomed over the line. “That must have been some shopping spree. I was expecting you here over an hour ago. The brass edgings still haven’t arrived though, so I haven’t made a start on the stairs yet.”
Lisa balked. She must have been sitting longer than she thought. “Sorry. I had to drop something off at home.”
Joel chuckled. “I knew you couldn’t resist once you got in there. You’re the original terra cotta queen.” Getting no response he asked, “Are you okay Leese? You sound kind of strange.”
“I’m okay.” Lisa clutched tightly onto the phone as tears sprang to her eyes. She swallowed hard, forcing them down. “But something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it to work today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Not wishing to further explain her absence, Lisa turned the phone off and returned it to her pocket. Then she stared at the two red dots that blinked between the hour and minute on the stereo system’s time display.
Somehow compelled into movement by the blinking dots, Lisa retreated to the street, reversed her Ute into the now empty driveway and opened both the front and rear doors of the garage, giving access to the backyard. Forming a ramp with a couple of planks she kept on the Ute’s tray for just such a purpose, she carefully loaded the packing frame and its contents onto a trolley and wheeled them to solid ground.
The pneumatic wheels of the trolley made easy work of the cobbled pathway that wended its way to the rear of the property. Still, Lisa made the journey to the arbor slowly. Getting her amphora to its new home unscathed was the only thing she would allow on her mind.
She found a crowbar in her toolshed, and one by one popped the nails and set aside pieces of the packing. Once free of its confines, Lisa twisted and turned the amphora into position on its stand, stepping back after each movement to survey the results. For its size, it wasn’t that heavy. The glazed terra cotta was reasonably fine and intricately carved at its broadest section with an aquatic theme. Satisfied, she sat cross-legged in front of the arbor.
In its new locale, the amphora looked just as she had imagined. Lisa sat there, watching its changing patterns of light and shadow as the sun made a slow westward decline. Briefly, she wondered if Janice had seen her purchase before stepping into the blue Commodore. She was sure she would have liked it if she had.
Chapter Two
Cathy alternated her glance from the clock on the far wall of her office to the empty seat on the other side of her desk. Only once a fortnight did she ask Toni to be at work at eight thirty instead of nine, and only once in a blue moon did Toni make it to their meetings on time. Today was obviously not one of those occasions. The minute hand shifted again, signaling that Cathy’s senior employee was now fourteen minutes late.
Irritated, Cathy logged onto her computer and was in the midst of composing a scathing e-mail directed to the subject of her irritation when the office door flew open. In bustled Toni, looking flustered, but as usual, impeccably dressed in her standard warm weather office attire—tailored linen slacks and a short-sleeved blouse. Today’s blouse was a sea green raw silk that accentuated the green of her eyes and darkened the olive tones of her Macedonian heritage. Cathy noticed she’d had her short, black hair trimmed since leaving the office yesterday, but didn’t comment on it as she watched Toni struggle to remove a sheaf of papers from her briefcase.
“You should take a leaf from Julie’s book,” Cathy said, referring to the graduate accountant she had taken on at the beginning of the year. “S
he’s been here since before eight.”
Toni looked up from the papers she was still tidying. “She’s just new and out to impress the boss.”
“Something you should try one day.” Cathy held up a hand as Toni opened her mouth to retort. “I’ll give you until lunchtime to think up another of your colorful excuses for being late. But for now, we’ve got a pile of items to discuss in the thirty-four minutes before my first appointment.”
Cathy launched into the agenda. Half an hour later they had discussed the usual round of business associated with Cathy’s growing accountancy practice: new clients and their needs, overdue accounts, how Julie was progressing and which clients she could be assigned, the problem they were having with the recently upgraded spreadsheet software. Only one item remained on Cathy’s list. But that would have to wait until later, maybe over lunch.
She glanced to her open diary. “Are you free around one?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll e-mail you when I’ve checked my schedule.”
Cathy hid a smile as Toni swept out of the office. Toni had a fascination with gadgets and insisted on using them at every available opportunity. Cathy walked to the front reception to greet her first appointment, confident it would be a good few minutes before her computer blipped a response about lunch. It would take that long for Toni to remember the sequence for accessing the diary schedule on her newly acquired Palm Pilot. Sure enough, even as she settled back behind her desk, her computer remained silent.
Later, seated opposite Toni at a table for two, Cathy asked lightly, “So have you thought of anything yet?”
“Sorry?” Toni glanced from her menu. Despite being a regular at the restaurant located just a few minutes walk from their office, she always dissected it fully before deciding on her usual Caesar salad.
“Today’s lateus arrivalus.” Cathy poured wine into Toni’s glass. “What whopper do you have for me this time?”
“Oh that!” The menu was forgotten and Toni’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me this morning.”
Cathy took an appreciative sip of her wine. “Try me.”
“Well I was doing my ironing when there was a knock on the door. This was before seven mind you,” Toni added, obviously assuming from Cathy’s derisive snort that a late lie-in was being blamed. She took a quick sip from her glass. “Mmm, this is really good. Nice choice Cathy.” Some of the contents slopped over the side as she illustrated her words with expansive hand movements. “Anyhow, I opened the door to find this woman on my doorstep. Before I could say anything she demanded to know if I had a mottled brown cat.”
“Virgil,” Cathy interjected, well acquainted with Toni’s part-Burmese, part-moggie female cat with a male name.
Toni nodded, pausing to take another sip, this time a large one. “Of course I said yes, but before I could ask why, this . . . this mad woman starts yammering on about doves and a broken pot and hadn’t I heard about protecting wildlife and cat bells and curfews and so on.”
“But you do curfew Virgil don’t you?”
“From sunset to when I get up in the morning.”
“Which is well after sunrise.” Cathy couldn’t resist having a dig. Toni’s answering glare was well worth it. “So does this woman live on your street?”
“If she does, I’ve never seen her.”
Cathy frowned. Virgil wasn’t one to wander. She had no reason to; Toni pandered to her every wish. “She must live close. Maybe she’s seen Virgil hanging around in your front garden and mistook her for the cat that, what did you say, tipped over a pot?”
“I don’t know.” Toni shrugged her shoulders and shivered. “I tell you, she was bonkers. Said her piece then stalked off down the driveway. Poor Virg, I was so worried she might come back I locked her up in the house for the day. Which is just as well I suppose.” One final gulp and her wine glass was empty. “Since she wriggled her way out of another collar sometime last night. That was why I was late by the way. I searched high and low for it and my clothes got crumpled so I had to iron them again.”
Figuring Toni had probably bought a new iron and wanted to play with it, Cathy stifled a laugh and bent back over her menu.
A waiter who had been hovering in the background appeared as soon as their conversation lulled. Toni did a final skim of the menu and ordered a Caesar salad. Cathy nodded to make it two. She watched Toni pour herself another wine but shook her head when the bottle was tipped toward her own glass.
“Are you sure?” Toni protested. “I’ll be on my ear if I finish the rest of this by myself.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have another one later.”
“Oh dear.” Toni placed her glass well into the middle of the table. “You have that look that says you have something you want to discuss.”
“Stop fretting Toni.” Cathy slid the glass back toward her. “It’s nothing bad. Just an idea I’ve been tossing around for awhile.”
It was late afternoon when Toni had the next break in her schedule. Armed with a coffee from the tiny staff room she had affectionately dubbed the “broom closet,” she settled into her office chair and pulled out the Yellow Pages. There were literally hundreds of listings for tilers. How was she supposed to sort the wheat from the chaff?
Toni decided on a proximity strategy—figuring the closer the work was to the tilers’ place of business, the more likely they would be to give a reasonable quote—and flipped from the general listing to the locality guide. There must have been a premium for inclusion in this section, because the suburb by suburb listing was much briefer. Only two businesses were listed for their immediate suburb. Toni duly scribbled down the details. Now, how to find a third tiler?
A scientific approach seemed best. Toni closed her eyes, waved her hand above the phone book and let it drop. Toni studied the details where her finger had landed, pleased with her choice. There was no address listed, but both the business name— Hawthorn Tiling—and the phone number prefix indicated she would be supporting her home suburb.
Toni pulled the telephone closer, hefting a square of tile in one hand as she dialed with the other. The tile was one of six samples Cathy pulled from her briefcase as she suggested an overhaul of the offices was in order. Announced was actually a better word than suggested; the paint swatches and catalogues of office furniture that magically “appeared” on the restaurant table indicated the overhaul was a foregone conclusion. Still, Cathy was the owner of the practice; she could spend her money on whatever she liked. That Cathy included her in the decision at all left Toni rather pleased.
By the end of lunch Toni had offered to do the ringing around to get quotes.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Cathy had said, signaling to the waiter that they were ready for the bill. “I can do it tonight.”
“I’m sure,” Toni had said, gathering up the samples, placing her favorite on top of the pile and mentally noting that Cathy had no apparent plans for the evening. “I’ve got some spare time this afternoon and anyway, have you ever heard of a tradesman who takes business calls on a Friday evening?”
It seemed no tradesmen took calls on a Friday afternoon either. The mobiles she reached announced the phone was either turned off or out of range of the network. When trying their standard numbers, answering machines prompted her to leave a message. Annoyed she was unable to set up the appointments then and there, Toni left both her office and mobile numbers on the machines.
The lack of direct contact with any of the tilers meant her task was completed much quicker than expected. One more thing to do before getting down to what she was employed for. Toni’s fingers flew over the computer keyboard. She trailed the mouse pointer so it hovered over the send button on the screen, hesitated a moment, then clicked.
It took only minutes for an answering e-mail to appear. Smiling broadly, Toni deleted the message and opened up a spreadsheet she had been working on earlier. She hurried through the rest of the afternoon, making a mental list of the items to pick up fo
r dinner. Top of the list was a bottle of the wine Cathy had selected at lunch.
Dusk had well descended by the time Lisa and Joel arrived at Lisa’s place. Joel had picked her up for work that morning so for the second time that day she enjoyed the luxury of sitting back and enjoying the ride. The motion of the Ute on the return journey lulled Lisa into near sleep, and it was with some reluctance she slid out of the cab. Tired, she dragged herself across the lawn and up the three steps that opened out to the front veranda of her home.
Home for Lisa was a cottage-style construction circa 1940, in a leafy suburb just a stone’s throw from the city of Perth. It had been a rundown shack when she first moved in as a tenant nearly eleven years ago, the worst house on a well-established street. Its low rent—not the dream of living rustically—was the only reason Lisa signed onto the lease. One couldn’t be choosy when trying to survive on unemployment benefits.
Initially Lisa had railed at the thought of joining an ever-increasing unemployment line; it was not a destiny she had ever entertained for herself. But it was surprisingly easy to slip into the routine of sleeping late, halfheartedly scanning the classifieds section of the newspaper and tossing it aside because nothing really appealed. And, as like is attracted to like, it didn’t take long to collect a circle of friends equally lacking in ambition. Three others soon moved in and shared the rent, which came to almost nothing when divided between four, and so began six months of partying with the remainder of their welfare.
It was a scum-encrusted shower recess that proved to be her savior. In a fit of self loathing for the direction her life had taken, Lisa donned her oldest shorts and T-shirt, grabbed a brush and pail and took to the bathroom with a bottle of bleach. Three hours later the bathroom was almost unrecognizable, but her frantic cleaning effort had stripped away a large portion of the already well-worn grouting. Added to this was a section of tiles that were dangerously close to falling off the wall.
