by Tyler, Anne
The room filled with the sound of Perry Como singing “The Alphabet Song.” Bett covered her face with her hands as one photo after the other of the Alphabet Sisters in an array of outfits flashed up onto the screen. There they were in the gingham dresses they’d worn for their first performance on the TV talent competition. In the matching yellow satin dresses with flared skirts. In the pink and blue skirt and shirt ensembles. The bright green taffeta party dresses …
Bett made a gap in one hand and peered through, hearing the laughter around her. It was getting worse. Why had they reached their performing peak when puff-ball skirts, fluffy hair, and fluorescent colors had seemed fashionable? As Perry continued crooning in the background, working his way through the alphabet one more time, on-screen the three of them moved from childhood to teenage years. It was like time-lapse photography. Bett watched herself get plumper and plumper with each passing year. There was open and loud laughter all round now. People were laughing at her or the outfits or their makeup. She covered her face, praying for the song to finish, praying for an electrical fault, an earthquake.…
At their table Anna and Ellen were in gales of laughter. Over dinner, Ellen had been solemnly informing the lady sitting next to her that her mother and aunties had once been famous singers. Behind her, Anna had been vigorously shaking her head, smilingly denying everything. Five seconds of these slides had been the proof. There they were, squinting into the sun, standing on makeshift stages on the backs of semitrailers, or in country halls, surrounded by balloons and crêpe-paper decorations. Another of the three of them caught mid–dance movement, looking about as elegant as scarecrows. And the dresses! They were even worse than Anna remembered.
On her lap, Ellen was in fits of giggles. “I hope you’re not laughing at me?” Anna said mock sternly.
“You all look so silly,” Ellen whispered back. “And look at Auntie Bett’s hair.”
Oh, poor Bett, Anna thought, as another slide flashed up showing Bett with her mouth caught wide open in midsong, her mad brown curls dancing around her head. Beside her Carrie was a demure golden-haired angel. Anna judged herself critically. Her hair had been as dark and straight, her posture as excellent then as it was now. She leaned down to her daughter again and spoke in a whisper. “We actually couldn’t sing very well either. But don’t tell Lola. She thought we were gorgeous.”
By the door, Carrie was enjoying every moment of the surprise slide show. She’d been taken aback at first, but was now reveling in the memories. She had loved every moment of the Alphabet Sisters. The dressing up, the singing, the applause … and she’d never minded any of the dresses they’d had to wear. She’d certainly never carried on about them the way Bett and Anna had, in any case.
She found herself wishing again that Matthew was there, to see this as well. He had loved hearing the stories of the Alphabet Sisters. There’d been a few awkward moments in their early days, when she had been telling him stories, wondering if he had already heard them from Bett. He had taken her hand and kissed it one night, when she’d confessed her worry. “Carrie, Bett and I didn’t talk the way you and I talk. Now, please, keep going—you were in the car with Lola on your way to a concert one day and what happened?” She bit her lip as the slides kept coming, seeing the younger, happier version of herself smiling up on the screen. Perhaps if things got better between Matthew and herself again—one day—she could show these slides to him herself.…
The lights finally came on again, and Lola moved back in front of the screen. Was she truly wiping away a tear, Bett wondered, or was it all for show? The laughter and chat in the room quietened as all eyes turned to Lola again.
“Some wonderful memories there for me, as I’m sure you’d agree. The days working with my little Alphabet Sisters were among the happiest of my life, and ones that I had thought, sadly but inevitably, had come to an end.”
And not a moment too soon, Bett thought, the tension draining out of her. Lola’s next words had her sitting upright again.
“Then something wonderful happened. My darling granddaughters agreed to the most wonderful birthday present a grandmother could ask for. I would like to share it with you all tonight.”
Oh no, Bett thought. Surely she wasn’t going to talk publicly about the rift? Please don’t say she was about to produce Matthew out of nowhere, stage a tearful Oprah Winfrey–style reunion between them all? She glanced at Anna, and at Carrie. Did they have any idea about this wonderful birthday present? It didn’t look like it. Anna shot her a questioning glance. Bett shook her head, signaled that she had no idea either.
At the side of the room, Carrie was glancing down at the running order. She seemed just as puzzled. Bett turned around. At the back of the room Frank from the electrical shop had moved back by the slide projector and was as alert as a gun dog, waiting for Lola’s signals.
The room lights went out once again, leaving a spotlight on Lola. When had she rehearsed all this? Bett wondered.
Her grandmother’s voice was assured. “For the past ten years, I have been working on what I regard as my life’s project. Apart from my son and granddaughters and great-granddaughter, of course. And I have this man to thank.”
The spotlight went out. On the screen behind her was a large photo of a man in uniform.
“The American general, Douglas MacArthur,” Lola said, now pacing in front of the screen as though she was a university lecturer. “One of the heroes of World War II, famous for a wartime speech that galvanized hearts and minds all over the free world. Yes, indeed. ‘I shall return,’ General MacArthur promised, not just to his men in the Philippines but to all the Allied forces. It became the war cry of the Pacific campaign.”
Two older people near Bett nodded and whispered to each other. They obviously remembered it, even if it was news to her.
Another slide came up. General MacArthur standing on a platform at a small railway station, his elegantly dressed wife beside him, their small son between them.
Lola’s voice filled the room. “And where did he say those momentous words? In London? No. In Washington? No. Perhaps even in Sydney? No. General MacArthur said those words on the twentieth of March 1942 on the platform of the Terowie Railway Station. Yes, the little town of Terowie, South Australia, just sixty miles from here, as he traveled by train from Alice Springs to Adelaide. What an event for that tiny place, I’ve always thought, with the war and worries swirling all around them. It touched me deeply. Some years ago I started imagining and thinking and putting down ideas, and before I knew what was happening my thoughts had become a short story, which became a longer story, which became a musical. Yes, I, Lola Quinlan, in the twilight of my years, found that I had written a musical.”
Lola took a big, dramatic breath and paused. “For many months it languished in my bottom drawer. Until I shyly showed it to my three granddaughters, as we reminisced about the wonderful days of the Alphabet Sisters—”
Bett shot Anna a glance. Anna looked over at Carrie. They’d done no such thing.
“And, to my great joy, they offered there and then not just to perform it for me here at the motel, but to mount a fully staged, complete musical in the Valley for everyone to enjoy, with all proceeds going to the Valley Ambulance Fund.”
The partygoers started clapping, some of them a little uncertainly. Lola reached into a bag beside her and pulled out a bundle of leaflets. She started moving from table to table, handing out a small sheet of paper to everyone in the room. She reached Bett and handed her one with a big smile. Bett scanned it.
She had to grab her grandmother’s arm as she started to move away. “Lola, wait! What in God’s name is all this about?”
Lola lowered her voice. “Darling, don’t blaspheme in public, especially on my birthday.”
“I’m serious.”
She patted Bett on the head. “In a moment, darling.” She glided off.
Carrie came up to her next, looking put out. “Is this a joke, Lola? Because it’s not very funny.
”
Lola was unperturbed. “Is the musical a joke? Well, it certainly has some hilarious moments, but it has a serious side to it as well.” She sailed past her, too.
Anna came up behind her and helped herself to a leaflet, a smile fixed on her face. “You’ve put us in an embarrassing situation tonight, Lola.”
“Really? I thought you all looked very nice.”
“You know we can’t do this. You should at least have asked us.”
“But you might have said no.”
“Of course we’d have said no. Lola, the three of us might not be here next month to take you to lunch, let alone stage your musical.”
A well-dressed woman bustled up beside them, taking a leaflet from Lola’s hand. “A tremendous idea, Lola, and aren’t you girls great to do something like this for your grandmother. I love her stories about the Alphabet Sisters. It’ll be a pleasure to see you all in action.”
“That’s the doctor’s mother,” Lola whispered as the woman moved off again.
“I don’t care if she’s Andrew Lloyd Webber’s mother. Lola, you have to call this off.”
“But they all look so interested.”
Anna glanced around. The people in the room did appear interested, with just about everyone reading the information. On the other side of the room she saw Bett at her table, with two of the waitresses standing beside her. It looked as if they were giving her their contact details. In the other corner Carrie was also surrounded by a small group of people, answering their questions as well.
A petite woman came over to Lola and Anna, clutching the leaflet. “Will you be holding open auditions, Lola? My son is keen to get into drama school next year, and the experience would be great for him.”
“Drama school!” Lola repeated. “Isn’t that marvelous. We’ll be putting an ad in the Valley Times about the auditions, won’t we, Anna?”
Anna recovered, finding a confident smile somewhere. “We haven’t talked through all the details yet, Lola, have we? Still a few gray areas to discuss.”
“Oh, nothing we can’t sort out, though.”
“No, I hope not.” Anna’s smile was very wide and very fake.
Across the room, as the waitresses moved away, Bett picked up the leaflet, reading the details again.
Richard Lawrence was watching her closely. He looked amused. “Pardon me for inquiring, but are you slightly surprised about this?”
Her head shot up. Slightly? Overwhelmingly. And there was no way she was going to do it, either. But that wasn’t something to admit to a complete stranger. She gave a light laugh. “Oh, that’s Lola for you. Always springing little surprises on us. She really is something else.” She moved back in her chair and yelped out loud as the worst pain yet shot into her bottom.
He looked concerned. “Not another bite? Would you like me to look?”
“No!” She nearly shouted the word. “I mean, no, thank you, anyway. Excuse me, will you?”
She moved through the room, dodging the waitresses carrying the trays of desserts. She practically ran into the ladies’, which was blessedly empty, and started to unzip her dress. As she did so there was a tearing sound.
“Oh shit,” she said loudly. She locked herself into a cubicle and took the dress off completely. She heard another little ripping sound as the old material tore even more. What had the spiders done, eaten the skirt?
Something glistened in the seam of the material. She looked closely. They weren’t spider eyes, but a whole row of silver pins. She picked one out. And not pins either. They were industrial-size staples, their ends as sharp as needles. She groaned. Why had she trusted Lola to sew that seam? She’d thought it was strange how quickly she’d done the job that afternoon, but had been too jet-lagged to comment. Now look at the mess she was in. She couldn’t put the ripped dress on again, unless she wanted to treat the entire gathering to the lovely sight of her large black-undie-clad bum. And she couldn’t run down to her room in her camisole, tights, and shoes. Shit, shit, shit. She heard someone come in and tensed. She peered under the door. Please let it be her mother, or Anna, or anyone but …
She recognized the gold strappy sandals. It was Carrie.
She couldn’t ask her. She’d rather be here all night than ask Carrie for help.
Then the reality hit her. She could well be in here all night if she didn’t ask Carrie. She had to get out there again. They’d be singing “Happy Birthday” any minute.
“Carrie?” Her voice was small. “Carrie?” A bit louder.
“Bett?” She sounded surprised. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve, uhm, ripped my dress.”
“Just now? In there?”
“No, before I got in here. Lola mended it for me but she seems to have used a stapler rather than needle and thread.” Please don’t laugh at me, she prayed.
“Come out, let me see.”
To Bett’s relief, Carrie wasn’t triumphant or sneering. She had a quick look. “Oh, hell. I thought she’d stopped doing that. She just loves that stapler. It’s a special upholsterer’s one she got at the charity shop. I caught her stapling the curtains in her room last year. She said it was much quicker than sewing.”
“I thought a spider had bitten me, that I’d sat on a whole nest of them.”
Carrie grinned, then sobered again as the door opened and an elderly woman came in, smiled at them, and went into one of the cubicles. Bett had managed to put the dress in front of her just in time. She climbed into it now, rip and all, before the woman came out.
“The staples are still in there,” Carrie whispered.
Bett whipped it off again and the two of them worked to pick them out. There were more than twenty.
Carrie shielded her as she clambered back into the dress again. As the toilet flushed, Bett turned and kept her back close to the wall.
The woman smiled at them as she washed her hands and pulled out a piece of paper towel. “You’re two of the granddaughters, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” they said politely.
“You’re wonderful to do that musical for your grandmother. We’ll definitely be booking tickets. And all for such a good cause. The Valley could do with a whole fleet of new ambulances.”
They both smiled and nodded as the woman left the room.
“Did you know anything about this musical?” Bett asked, checking first that the door was completely shut.
“Not a word. Had she said anything to you, in any of her letters?”
So Carrie had known that Lola wrote regularly to Bett. She shook her head. “It’s ridiculous of course. There’s no way we can do it.”
“Of course we can’t. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
There was silence for a moment and then a loud blast of music came from outside. Carrie started. “I’d better get out there. It’s the last spot prize before we sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Look, what about this?” She took off the gold wrap from her shoulders and in a deft movement tied it around Bett’s waist.
Bett sucked in her stomach, thrown by Carrie’s closeness and waiting for a comment about her having put on weight. It didn’t come. Instead, Carrie twisted the fabric, tucked it here and there, and then tied a loose knot in the side, so the shimmering material fell in folds. “I think it’ll work. What do you think?”
Bett stepped back and looked in the full-length mirror. She wasn’t sure what Carrie had done, but the effect was great. The gold wrap folded over the brocade as though it was meant to be there, adding a layer of texture to the whole outfit. “It looks like a designer did it.”
“I saw it in Vogue actually. Multilayering or something, I think it’s called. Does it feel secure?”
Bett felt it. “Yes.”
Lola’s voice was clearly heard over the speakers, ordering everyone to sit down as the cake was about to arrive.
Carrie glanced at her watch. “She’s right on schedule. I’d better go.”
“Thanks
a lot, Carrie.”
“You’re welcome, Bett.”
It was the longest conversation they’d had in three years.
Chapter Seven
The magpies were calling into the sharp blue sky. Bumper the sheep was giving plaintive little bleats. The glass bottles were rattling as Jim Quinlan carried the first of the crates out to the bottle bank behind the kitchen. Car engines revved as guests prepared to leave the motel.
In bed in room number six, Bett groaned at all the noise. Couldn’t they keep it down out there? Her poor brain was already suffering noise overload, crammed with snatches of conversation and flashes of memories from the party. What time had she gone to bed? Three or four? She peered at her bedside clock. Nine-thirty. Whose bright idea had it been to have this emergency meeting about the musical at ten? And whose bright idea had it been to finish the evening with cocktails? Hers on both counts, she realized.
She leaned over, picking up the leaflet Lola had presented to her last night. She’d tried to look at it when she got back to her room, but her eyes were unable to focus, her head swirling with jet lag, too much alcohol, and too many conversations. She glanced at it again now. Many Happy Returns. A musical for all the family. To be performed by the Alphabet Sisters and the people of the Clare Valley. Oh no it wouldn’t be.
The night before, Lola had collared her on the dance floor in between the Siege of Ennis and the Walls of Limerick. “Isn’t that Carrie’s wrap? What a nice touch. You’re getting on so well already, then?”
Bett didn’t take the bait. “We still can’t do it, Lola.”
“Can’t do the musical? Of course you can. You have to have more confidence in your own abilities, Bett. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“It’s not about confidence, it’s about …”
Lola smiled. “Yes?”
Bett told the truth. “It’s about not being asked, about being presumed upon, about wondering whether any of us actually wanted to do this.”
