by Tyler, Anne
Bett just poked out her tongue. “Go on, Anna. You do something if you’re so smart.”
“Okay, then.” She thought for a second. “Right, I’ll be a bat. Listen.” She started making a high-pitched noise, the noise getting louder and louder, unrelenting, ignoring Bett and Carrie’s protests until Bett finally threw a book at her. Anna’s pillow toppled, with Carrie’s tumbling seconds afterward.
Bett leaped up, holding her pillow above her head. “I win. Champion of the Pillow Balancing. Out of my way, vermin, and let me take a victory leap.” She leaped from her bed onto Carrie’s, badly misjudging the distance and landing square on Carrie’s leg. Carrie set up a terrible wailing.
Anna hissed at her. “Carrie, shush. You’ll get Lola in here.”
Carrie didn’t shush. “I don’t care. She’s broken my leg, the big fat pig.”
“I have not broken it.”
“You have. It was like a ton of bricks fell on me.”
Stung, Bett turned on her sister. “It was not. If I’d meant to do it, you would have felt it, believe me. Like this.” With that, she leaped onto Carrie’s bed again, this time deliberately and twice as firmly landing on her sister’s leg.
Carrie set off a squealing to rival any high-pitched bat noise of Anna’s. The door flung open, and the light switched on. Lola was standing there. “For heaven’s sake. What is going on here? Your parents could probably hear you from the bar. Carrie, would you shut up? You’re behaving like a baby over there.”
“Bett stepped on me,” she said through the tears, her voice shuddering. “She nearly broke my leg.”
Bett was now in bed, all innocent eyes. “God, Carrie, stop exaggerating all the time.”
Lola wasn’t interested in either side of the story. “I don’t care how it happened. Shut up and go to sleep, all of you. I shouldn’t have to remind you you’ve got a concert tomorrow. You’re supposed to be having an early night. Anna, you’re the oldest. Try to get them to behave, would you?”
The light snapped off, and the three lay still.
“I’ll get you for that, Bett,” Carrie hissed, the sobbing miraculously over.
“I’ll get you first for dobbing on me, you big baby. I’m going to ask Mum to put the cot back in the room for you. You’re obviously too young to sleep in a bed yet.”
“Anna, make Bett stop picking on me.”
“Shut up, the pair of you. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Pig.”
“Baby.”
“Pig.”
“Baby.”
The taunts had gone back and forth in the dark bedroom until one or the other of them had finally fallen asleep.
Bett turned over in bed again. It was a strange thing. She wasn’t actually sure whether the memory of those times together made her feel good or bad. In the past few weeks it had been getting harder to tell the difference.
Chapter Fourteen
Sitting on a comfortable chair in front of her room the following morning, Lola closed her eyes in the sunshine, feeling like a tired old cat snoring on a windowsill. A tired satisfied old cat, at least. Broken wrist and banged head aside, things were going well. She’d managed to get the musical under way, send Geraldine and Jim off on holiday, and get the girls working together in the motel. There was the little matter of getting Matthew back on the scene, getting the reunion out of the way, but that day was drawing closer, Lola knew.
So now what did she do with herself? The best way to keep the mind alert was to keep it occupied, her doctor had said. She needed another project, something else to do. This morning she’d been reading her new copy of Ireland’s Treasures, the magazine sent airmail to her each week, hoping that might spark some idea. It had arrived the previous day, along with a postcard from Geraldine and Jim in Alice Springs. The pair of them sounded like they were having the time of their lives.
She winced at a sudden wailing noise of a fire siren coming up the valley from the town. So much for the tranquillity of living in the country. If it wasn’t the siren, it was the gas guns keeping the birds away from the vineyards, or the tractors or the tankers rumbling up the roads.
Perhaps this was a false alarm or perhaps some poor devil had gone and set his house on fire. She’d drop into the charity shop that morning, find out what she could. The son of one of her coworkers was one of the fire service volunteers. “Do they actually respond to the noise of that siren?” Lola had asked once. “What if they’re in the middle of something, a good movie or nice sex, for example? Can they pretend they didn’t hear anything?”
“Lola!” The woman had been shocked. “Of course they can’t pretend. It’s calling them. They have to answer it.”
Such a good method, Lola thought again now, looking down the road and seeing several cars speeding into town, either volunteers or sticky beaks on their way to the fire station. She’d often wished she had something similar to sound when she had a good idea, or wanted to tell the girls something. Or indeed, wanted them home after too late a night out. Not a screechy wail, though—perhaps a blast of Cole Porter or the opening notes of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”
A shout from Carrie broke into her thoughts. “Bumper, come here! Come here, you brat.”
Oh dear, Lola remembered. She’d forgotten to tie Bumper up again yesterday. She and Ellen had been leading him around from one new patch of grass to another.
“Bumper, you stupid sheep, come here.”
This sounded entertaining. Lola slowly rose out of her seat and walked around the corner of the building just in time to see Carrie chasing after Bumper. The sheep was well and truly spooked, ramming blindly into the crates of beer bottles and rubbish bins in the back of the motel. Carrie called out as she caught sight of her. “This is your fault, Lola.”
“No, it’s not. I didn’t invent sheep.”
“You know what I mean. You know how crazy he goes when he hears loud noises.”
“I didn’t know there was going to be a fire.”
“Well, help me tie him up, will you? Before he does any more damage.”
“I’m far too old and frail to be chasing sheep.”
“Can I help, Auntie Carrie?” Ellen had heard the fuss from her room. “Bumper likes me, doesn’t he, Lola?”
“He certainly does, darling.”
Carrie winced at the sound of more crashing bottles. “Sure, Ellie. Give it a try. God knows I’m sick of chasing the silly animal.”
Ellen moved closer to the bottles and loudly and clearly started calling out to the sheep. “Bumper, come here to me. Here, Bumper.”
Carrie started laughing. Ellen was not just imitating Lola’s calls but also her Irish accent.
Ellen was oblivious. “Here, Bumper. Everything’s all right. Come here to me now, my darling.”
Carrie wasn’t sure whether it was Ellen’s cooing or the fact that the fire siren had suddenly stopped, but Bumper calmed down enough for Ellen to lay her hand on his back and take hold of his collar. With his hooves making little clacking noises on the concrete, she led him over to Carrie. “There you are,” she said, a smile lighting up her entire face.
“Ellen, you are a genius.” Carrie shook her head in amazement, before taking Ellen by one hand and holding the sheep firmly with the other.
The fun over, Lola returned to her seat in the sunshine and picked up the magazine again, stopping to read a fascinating article about the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival in County Clare. An annual event, when bachelor farmers would come down from the hills and meet young ladies in the genteel surroundings of tea dances and elegant lunches. So civilized. One of the matchmakers spoke proudly of his track record—hundreds of marriages, nearly as many engagements. He didn’t mention any separations or divorces. It sounded like good fun, Lola thought. Perhaps she could suggest to Geraldine and Jim that they start up something similar here in the Valley. There were already plenty of connections between the town of Clare and County Clare in Ireland. They already exported wine from Australia
to Ireland. Perhaps Ireland could ship over a few dozen bachelors in return?
She put down the magazine as Richard Lawrence walked toward her, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Lola waved and beckoned him over. He was quite the fitness fan, it seemed. Back from the gym again. Almost as bad as Anna. No wonder he had been so snakehipped at the party. It had been good to see him and Bett chatting away, too, the couple of times she had looked over. They had a lot in common—journalism, London.…
“Morning, Richard,” she said as he came closer.
“Good morning, Lola.”
“It does the heart good to see a fit young man like yourself out in the air.”
“Young man?” He grinned. “Don’t make me worry about your eyesight now, will you?”
“Oh, you’re just a child in my eyes. Tell me now, will you pop in a little later? I’ve a bottle of gin that I need help opening. Those caps are very tight these days. Around four? Perfect.”
She waved him off as a blue station wagon came up the drive. Lola watched as Daniel Hilder climbed out with a load of newspapers. Bett had chosen her one-night stand well, she thought with a wicked smile. He certainly wasn’t fashion catalogue handsome, but there was something so attractive about him. A pair of laughing eyes took a man a very long way, she’d always thought. She had so enjoyed their little chat the other day. If there was one thing she liked, it was a young man with a bit of wit about him. He’d shown such interest in the photos she’d taken out for him, as well. He’d also done a very efficient job of straightening the shower rose and rehanging the painting. Too efficient, really, for her purposes. She had a feeling there was a bit more there to discover.
She’d recalled afterward that she had seen his mother in the charity shop now and then in the early days. Making donations, not shopping, of course. The distinction was important for some people. She remembered Mrs. Hilder as a well-to-do woman. Very well spoken, always elegant, beautifully turned out. One of the matching shade of lipstick, nail polish, bag, and shoe women. How they did it, Lola just did not know. She glanced down at that day’s outfit, her culottes and tunic ensemble. About fifteen different colors fighting for prominence, none of them winning. What had one of the charity shop women said to her once? “Lola, you always look so different.” “I suppose you mean different as in terrible,” she had replied, to the woman’s horror. Lola laughed at the memory.
Bett came into view, pushing the cleaning cart loaded with soaps, teabags, and fresh linen. Lola watched as she took out the master key and let herself into one of the rooms to do her share of the cleaning. Dear girl, it was so good to have her home again. She had been so rocked by the business with Matthew. In Lola’s opinion, it had been a narrow escape. Funnily enough, she had always felt Carrie and Matthew made a much better pair than Bett and Matthew. She had held her tongue on the matter for once, though. She’d held high hopes that Bett would meet someone in Melbourne, or Dublin, or London. Someone with a bit more spark than Matthew. But it hadn’t happened. Bett was still single. Madness. What were the men of the world thinking letting a fine woman like her run free?
Moments later Daniel Hilder stepped lightly down the front steps and climbed back into his car. Lola could see him checking something in a folder beside him. In a few minutes he would drive right past her room, on to the next delivery.
She reread the quote from the matchmaker. “It’s a simple process. We interview all the single men and then we interview all the single women, and then we decide who would be best suited to who. We don’t rush into it, either—it’s a matter of getting to know people, assessing their suitability before we bring them together.”
She started to smile. The Valley View Motel Matchmaking Festival might not have the same ring as Lisdoonvarna, but the principles were the same, surely? Find a single man who suits your single woman and bring them together. Her smile broadened. She’d already arranged to talk to Richard this afternoon. If she got Daniel now, that would be the two of them done in the same day. Very efficient. As for Bett, well, she didn’t need to interview her, did she? She already knew her granddaughter inside out.
Rising as swiftly as her old bones would allow, she moved inside, picked up the cane she used occasionally for walking, and knocked the painting off the wall, wincing as it crashed to the floor. Just as well their budget hadn’t stretched to glass frames. As the sound of a car started up, she returned to the doorway, waving madly with her good arm.
Daniel slowed the car to a stop beside her, wound down the window, and smiled. “Lola, hello. You’re looking very well again.”
“Pulling the devil by the tail, as we say at home. Daniel, you’re heaven sent without a doubt. That blasted painting has fallen down again. Could you spare a moment, do you think?”
She smiled to herself as he turned off the engine. This might be even more fun than writing the musical.
The next day, Bett was driving back to the Valley Times office with Daniel. They’d spent the afternoon following one of the Valley’s young winemakers around his small winery, as he showed them the process from grape to bottle. At the end of the session, Daniel had handed over the digital camera and watched as she flicked through his shots. They were good, a bit quirky, with plenty of action and interest in them. Rebecca would be very pleased.
Bett was pleased with herself, too. So far today she’d managed to stay quite composed in his company. She’d tasted a glass of the new Shiraz without spilling it everywhere. Even better, she’d had several conversations with him without turning bright red. Perhaps deep down she actually was a mature grown-up.
The car radio was playing the new single from the country’s latest manufactured pop band. He turned it up. “Great, one of my favorites.”
“You’re kidding.”
He had a glint in his eye. “To tell you the truth, I can’t decide between this lot and the all-girl band formed after that supermarket reality show.” He pressed the button to change stations. A screaming punk song filled the car. Bett winced.
Daniel noticed and turned it down. “I take it you weren’t ever a punk?”
She shook her head. “Why? Were you?”
“For a whole six months. I even changed my name.”
“You didn’t.”
“It was written in studs on the back of my best denim jacket. Danger Hilder. I was extremely scary for a twelve-year-old.” He grinned. “So you were never spiky-haired? Covered in safety pins?”
“No. Unfortunately I reached my teenage years in time for fluorescent socks and sweat bands.”
“Ah yes. I think I may have seen a photo from that time.”
Had he been at Lola’s birthday party? No, she was sure he hadn’t been. Color raced up her neck into her face. There was only one other way he could have seen them. “Has Lola shown you the Alphabet Sisters photos?”
He nodded solemnly. “Quite a lot of them, actually. She’s very proud of you, isn’t she?”
“That’s it. I’m going to break into her room and burn them.”
“You’ll never find them. She had them hidden in books and under boxes all over her room. ‘I have to hide them or the girls would have them spirited away in seconds.’ ”
She had to laugh at his good impression of Lola. His mobile rang before she could say anything more. He pulled over to take the call, and she took the opportunity to have a good look at him. He was probably thirty-five or thirty-six by now, she guessed. She thought she remembered his celebrating his thirtieth birthday just after she’d first joined the Valley Times. They had worked together on only a few jobs, but she’d occasionally spoken to him in the pubs, or in restaurants around the Valley. He’d had a girlfriend at the time, hadn’t he? One of the high school teachers, if memory served her right. And she had been going out with Matthew. Engaged to Matthew, even.
Back then, she’d always found him easy to work with. It had been the same today. Bett had interviewed the winemaker while Daniel strolled the property taking photographs, like a normal journalist
and photographer team. The only difference being they’d had a night of wild sex three years ago and not mentioned it since. She decided she had to bring it up today. Get it out of the way. Into the open, as Lola would advise.
He finished the call, from one of the other reporters on the paper setting up a photo shoot for the next day. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“No problem.” She decided to launch straight into it. “Daniel, before you start the car, I think there’s something we need—” She was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile again.
He glanced at the display screen. “Sorry, Bett. I’ll need to get this.”
It was obviously a personal call. He got out of the car and walked a short distance away. Her window was already wound down, and snippets floated in. He was soothing someone by the sound of things. Listening a lot and then reassuring the caller. She wasn’t close enough to hear any more. “I’ll see you tonight. Okay. Bye.”
He got back into the car. “Sorry, Bett. You were about to say something?”
She noticed his mood had changed, become more serious. She lost her nerve. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure.”
He started the car and they had driven for a little while before he spoke. “That thing you were about to say. Was it about that night in Melbourne, by any chance?”
“Yes. Yes, it was.” Was that squeak really her voice?
“I wondered which of us would bring it up first.” He was still serious. “Bett, it’s all right. I’m a grown man. I got over it.”
“You got over it?” Had it been that bad? Something that had to be got over?
“Of course,” he said. “It wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
That he had a one-night stand? “Really?”
“Yes, really. Honestly, don’t give it a moment’s thought.”
She was feeling worse, not better. “I thought I had to mention it, at least. You know, now that we were working together. In case you were thinking …” She trailed off. In case you were thinking that I was an old slapper who would jump into bed with you at any opportunity. She couldn’t say it.
