by Tyler, Anne
“But I thought you would love to do it. I’ve been working on it for ten years.”
“Lola, you haven’t. I’ve been gone a few years, I know, but I’ve never heard a squeak out of you about it.”
“I first read the article about General MacArthur ten years ago. You’re just nitpicking. So will you do it or not?”
“It’s not up to me. It’s up to Anna and Carrie, too.”
“So if they agree, you will, too?”
“Lola, stop this.”
“Bett, I’m ashamed of you. Telling an old woman off on her birthday. We’ll discuss it in full tomorrow when I give you the script.”
“You actually have written a script?”
“Of course. What did you think I’d done, scribbled a few notes on the back of a shopping list?”
Bett remembered an Alphabet Sisters performance that hadn’t been too far from that. She’d been about to remind Lola when her grandmother glided off, cornering another man for a dance.
The party had continued for several more hours, with the DJ playing a mixture of Irish jigs, fifties dance tracks, and old-style tunes. Bett had two waltzes with Richard. As they turned around the floor the second time, she noticed him laughing at something over her shoulder.
She turned in time to see Lola lift up her skirt and give a little high kick. Oh, no. Please don’t let her do her La Cage Aux Folles impersonation here tonight. She had done it at one of the school concerts, and, to Bett’s eternal shame, three of her male classmates had caught sight of Lola’s voluminous knickers and told the rest of the class about them. She’d been tormented by them for days: “Does flashing your undies like that run in the family, Bett?”
“Is your grandmother always as entertaining as this?” Richard asked.
She shook her head. “She’s quite low-key tonight, actually. A little subdued. I must ask her if she’s feeling okay.”
He laughed. “I enjoyed all those photos of you and your sisters in your performing days, too. It looked like lots of fun. Certainly put my childhood days as a Boy Scout to shame.”
Bett just smiled. Lots of fun? In the early years, perhaps.
“You weren’t tempted to do a surprise performance for Lola tonight?” he asked as they waltzed past Lola once again. “Spring out of a birthday cake?”
“No. We broke up too many years ago for something like that.”
Another twirl. “And why was that? You didn’t want to make a career of it?”
She gave the answer she always did. Not true, but true enough. “We were getting a bit old to be wearing matching dresses.”
Lola came up to them both. “You’re getting on. Good, good. I was sure you would. Bett’s a journalist, too, Richard. Did I tell you?”
“You did, Lola.”
“Richard is here researching a book, aren’t you, Richard?”
“Really? What’s it about?” Bett was glad to change the subject.
Lola waved her question away. “Oh, plenty of time to hear about that tomorrow. Come on, Dicky, come and dance with me again.” And off they had gone.
Bett had also danced with her father. He had noticed her sitting at a table to the side of the dance floor and come over, bowed gallantly, and asked her in extremely polite language if she would be so kind as to give him the next dance.
“If you put it so nicely,” she’d said, laughing as she took his hand. They walked out to the dance floor as the old-fashioned waltz music started up. It had taken only moments for her to match her steps to his. Jim had taught all of his daughters to waltz properly, as Lola had taught him as a boy. As children, they’d loved to crowd in on him in the motel bar after school, and, if it was quiet, take turns Foot Dancing with him—standing on his feet and being waltzed around the room to the tune of whatever was on the radio or TV at the time.
“You’re still Mr. Twinkle Toes himself, I see.” She smiled up at him as they moved down one side of the dance floor.
“It helps when I have such a beautiful and graceful young woman to dance with,” he said.
“Charmer.”
“No, it’s true, Bett. You were always the lightest on your feet.”
“Was I?”
“Yes, really. And I have to say you look a picture tonight. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”
“A little,” she said, fighting a smile. Her dad had always said that to her over the years, no matter what size she was, bigger or smaller.
“Well, whatever you’ve done, you look great. The three of you do.”
They were silent for a few turns of the floor, then her father squeezed her hand. “I was saying to Anna earlier, and I want to say it again to you now, we’re very happy you’re all home again.”
By “we” Bett knew he meant he and Geraldine. Their father had often been the spokesman for the pair of them. “I am, too.” And she meant it, she realized.
“And you’re not going to rush off again, are you? We get to have you back for a little while?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Well, there’s a room here for you as long as you want it. And a job if you need it. You know that, don’t you?”
She’d squeezed his hand then. “Thanks, Dad.”
Bett turned over in bed again. The slide show came to mind, and with it a niggling thought that had occurred to her during the party. Something about one of the photos had surprised her, but between the debacle with the dress and then the rest of the party, she hadn’t given it proper thought. And now her poor brain was so drenched in alcohol it wouldn’t come back to her. Was it one of the Alphabet Sisters photos? Or one of Lola’s? Oh, it hurt to even think …
She lay there hugging her pillow. Another party memory returned. Rebecca, her fellow reporter on the paper three years ago, had arrived late. Bett had noticed in a moment that she hadn’t changed at all. She was tall, willowy, her hair in a stylish blonde ponytail. She’d headed straight for Bett, hugged her, poured them both a glass of wine, then made an offer, blunt as ever. “The woman who took over from you is about to explode with a baby and I need a part-time reporter to cover for her maternity leave. The job’s yours if you’re interested.”
Bett had needed to shout over the noise of the music. “I’m only home for a week or two. I’ll probably be going on to Melbourne or Sydney.”
“Lola said you’d be staying here, though. Surely you’ve been yearning for the simple country lifestyle? Come on, Bett. Think about it.”
They’d talked about it over another glass of wine and a cocktail or two. It had started to sound so tempting. Not having to worry about moving yet. Not having to start job hunting … But had she agreed to take the job or not? She really couldn’t remember. Turning the pillow over to the cool side, Bett shut her eyes and gave another long, low groan.
Anna was first to arrive in the dining room. She’d left Ellen in the kitchen with Geraldine, helping to clear the guests’ breakfast trays. Her mother and father had been up for hours. The function room was already back in order, the decorations tidied away, the last tray of plates and glasses going through the industrial dishwasher. Geraldine had waved away any offers of help, preferring to do it her way. Anna had been secretly relieved.
She took a seat at the window, looking out over the Valley. When they first moved into the motel, the hills around them had been bare. Bit by bit the town of Clare was getting closer, houses being built on one side and across the road, a car showroom under construction to the left. The view was still beautiful, though, especially in the morning sunlight. The curving rows of grapevines across the road were a lush, glowing green against the dark soil.
“Morning.” It was Carrie.
“Morning.”
Carrie poured a coffee and took a seat at another table. “Huge night, wasn’t it?”
“A huge announcement, you mean.”
“It’s ridiculous, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You did a great job organizing the party, though. It all went so s
moothly.”
Carrie colored suddenly. “Thanks.”
Anna decided to ask the question she’d been wanting to since she arrived. “Before Lola gets here and catches me, I have to ask you something. Was Matthew okay about not coming last night?”
“He was fine. He understood,” Carrie said briskly. “He’s working up north at the moment, anyway. On a sheep station. It saved him a long trip.”
“Oh. Good.” Anna waited, but it seemed Carrie had nothing more to say about him. All right then, she wouldn’t talk about him any more either. They stared out the window.
“Morning.” They turned. It was Bett, hair bedraggled, mascara around her eyes, wearing what was either a baggy pair of pajamas or a particularly strange tracksuit. “Has it been called off yet?”
“Any minute now,” Anna said.
The three of them sat silently, then the door opened again. Richard Lawrence stood there. “Good morning. Am I too late for breakfast? I’m afraid I forgot to put my order out last night.”
Carrie stood up. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get something for you. Do you need our sore-head special or the puritan’s delight?”
Bett translated, guessing he was probably as hungover as she was. The last time she’d seen him he was enthusiastically joining a conga line around the room. “She means bacon and eggs for the full hangover cure or a smug continental breakfast.” She caught Carrie’s surprised look. Of course she remembered the terms they gave the breakfasts. She noticed Anna was waiting to be introduced. “Oh, sorry. I thought you two would have met last night. Richard, this is the oldest of us, Anna Quinlan, actress, and mother of one. Anna, this is Richard Lawrence from London. He’s a journalist staying here at the motel while he researches a book he’s writing.” Once again, she felt Carrie’s eyes on her. Was she surprised Bett had learned so much about him?
“Hello, Anna.” Richard gave her his lovely smile. “I must say I’m thinking of throwing all that research away in exchange for another audience with your grandmother. Much more material there, I think.”
“Good. You can do the musical instead of us while you’re at it,” Anna said.
He seemed surprised. “You’re not going to do it?”
“Of course they’re going to do it.” Lola swept in behind him, dressed in a turquoise caftan top over white trousers, in full makeup and jewelery. “Dicky, dear, how are you? Marvelous dances we shared last night. You’ve a fine pair of hips on you. Snake hips, I’d have called you in my younger days.”
Bett was too hungover to protest at Lola’s boldness for once. Her grandmother could have come in juggling puppies and wearing a sequinned bikini this morning for all she cared. She just wanted to go back to bed.
Carrie took Richard into the kitchen and handed him over to her mother, then came back and shut the door. “So then, Lola, what’s the best way to call this whole thing off?”
“Call it off? Why would we want to do that? I thought we agreed last night we’d do it?”
“No, we didn’t,” Anna said.
“We can’t do it, Lola,” Bett said.
“Why not?”
“Because we won’t be here to do it,” Anna said patiently.
“You won’t? Where will you be?”
“Well, Ellen and I are going back to Sydney, of course.” This definitely wasn’t the moment to mention she’d been thinking about staying on for a month or two.
“Why?”
“Because it’s where we live. Where I work. Where Ellen goes to school.”
Lola noticed Glenn wasn’t mentioned. “So? Live here for a while. It will do you both good. There are some fine schools here, too.” She turned her attention to Carrie. “What about you, Caroline? I’d have thought you’d leap at this. A chance to get back on the stage.”
“I’m very busy with the motel,” she said quickly.
“Bett, what about you? Didn’t you tell me in one of your letters how much you’ve missed playing the piano? And you’re staying here in the Valley, aren’t you?”
Bett’s head was throbbing now. “I don’t know for sure.”
“What about the job Rebecca offered you at the news-paper?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I told you. I had a word with her in the street last week. And I saw her talking to you last night.”
“Shall we just get a town crier to shout out everyone’s secrets and be done with it?” Bett said crossly.
Lola wondered if her judgment was failing. She’d thought they’d leap at it. This called for plan B. “Very well then. There’s something else I need to tell you. The other reason I brought you all back here.”
Three heads shot up. They’d been waiting for this.
Lola paused dramatically. “I was at the doctor’s last week. She’s worried about me.” She was, too. Worried that Lola was drinking too much. She’d promised her she’d cut back after the party. And perhaps she would.
“Worried about what?” Bett asked the question for all of them.
She had their attention. Good. Now, use it. “The fact that I am a very elderly lady and that my time on this earth is fast running out.”
“Your doctor actually said that to you?” Carrie exclaimed.
“She didn’t put it exactly like that. But all I’m saying is who knows how long I might be here?” That was true enough, she thought—who knew how long any of them would be around? “And it would mean so much to me if the three of you staged the musical,” Lola continued in her most cajoling voice. “Anna, the local schools are very good, you know. There’s even a choice of denominations, though I don’t know what you believe these days. And, Bett, Rebecca tells me the job she’s offering is part time and for six months, which would suit you well, too. Plenty of time for rehearsals. And you, Carrie, well, of course we’ll all lend a hand with the motel. But surely you’ll be able to make time to learn your lines for the lead role.”
“The lead?”
Lola gave a light laugh. “I keep forgetting you haven’t actually read the script. Yes, I’d thought of you for the lead, Carrie. You as musical director, Bett, unless you would like to get up on stage again? No, I thought not. And, Anna, I actually saw you as the director of the entire production. We’d change the billing, to read ‘Written by Lola Quinlan, Directed by Anna Quinlan, Music by Bett Quinlan, Starring Carrie Quinlan.’ Oh, I can see the programs now.” A calculated pause followed, before she lowered her voice. “Of course, once you’ve all read it you might have your own ideas.”
Bett knew at that moment how sheep felt when they were being nosed into a pen by a collie.
“So you have actually finished it?” Anna was still suspicious.
“Indeed I have,” Lola said proudly. “I have had to resist some extra-special finishing touches, but I do believe it is nearly there. About two hours with an interval. Seven main characters, a chorus, lots of minor characters. You’d be able to involve half the Valley if you wanted. There are even one or two parts for children. I was thinking of Ellen if you think she is up to it. And I’ve even written in a cameo for the Alphabet Sisters. Imagine. That was sheer indulgence on my part. You might decide to take that out.”
“We haven’t decided anything.” Anna spoke for them all.
“Of course you haven’t. You have to read it first.” Lola reached into the bag beside her. “So here you are, your reading copies, hot off the press. Mind you, by the looks of the three of you, you might want to wait until those hangovers have passed. Why you insist on mixing the grape and the grain I don’t know. Wine one minute, spirits the next. Yes, Bett, I saw you with those cocktails at the end of the night. I stuck to gin and tonics all evening so my system knew exactly what to expect and here I am right as rain.” She finished handing out the folders. “So, now I’m off back to my room to write some thank-you cards.” She was off back for a sleep, actually. She was extremely hungover. “So will we meet here tonight to see what you think?”
The scripts were nearly an inch t
hick. “Tonight?” Anna squeaked, in nothing like her usual modulated tone. “It’ll take longer than that to read it, let alone to make decisions about it.”
“It’s not as if we can drop everything, Lola. I’ve got a motel to run, remember,” Carrie added.
Bett said nothing. She just wanted someone to carry her to her bed.
“Very well, then,” Lola said. “Shall we say tomorrow afternoon? Excellent. You can prepare all your questions and then we’ll meet again. Splendid.”
Richard walked in from the kitchen at that moment, carrying a plate of bacon and eggs and a large mug of coffee.
Lola smiled at him. “Ah, Dicky, all sorted then? Good. Enjoy your breakfast, won’t you?”
“I will. And did you enjoy your meeting?”
Lola gave a happy sigh. “It was marvelous.”
Later that day, after a long refreshing sleep, Lola made her way to the kitchen. Lunch had been served some hours before, and the preparations for dinner were still to be done. It was Lola’s favorite time in the motel. The large silver table in the middle of the kitchen was cleared and shining. The air was still filled with cooking smells. Geraldine was in the office sorting accounts. Carrie had gone home for the afternoon to make a start on reading the script. Anna and Ellen had gone for a picnic. Bett was in her room. Lola helped herself to a cup of tea and the remains of last night’s chocolate pudding dessert. She had just opened the newspaper to the crossword when her son walked in.
“You look well set up. Geraldine not here?”
Lola made a show of looking under her cup and saucer. “I can’t see her, no.”
Jim grinned. “I never learn, do I? Ask an obvious question—”
“Get a clever answer. How are you, Jimmy? Sit down here and talk to your old mother.”
They rarely had the opportunity, but Lola loved these moments, looking at her fine strong son, enjoying the energy that buzzed off him. So hard to think this nearly sixty-year-old man was the same little fellow who had traipsed from motel to motel with her in those early days. It had never been a bother to him. Sunny-natured he was, through some stroke of luck. God knows his father had been anything but sunny-natured.
