by Cate Kendall
She rarely missed him; after all she had her gorgeous boys to keep her busy and fulfilled, and increasingly when Graham did come home he’d find fault with her, her dinners or her housekeeping, and she began to enjoy his absences.
Jessica relished the dawn wrestles with her boys, their voracious appetite not only for food, but also for entertainment and attention. She was thrown into the parenting deep end and she revelled in every second. In those precious moments with the boys, as she stroked their foreheads while they slept, kissed their plump cheeks or sang silly songs with them, it made her feel connected to her own mother, as though an invisible thread had wound down through time and joined them as mothers. For the first time since losing Eva, Jess felt a void had been filled.
Of course she knew that Graham was becoming distant; that their bond was straining, weakening. And she worried. She didn’t want relationship issues to rock this special family boat she was cruising in. When he was around she tried to engage him in his family, talk to him about his life, act every bit the interested, thoughtful partner.
But they left anyway.
Graham met someone new and took the boys – her boys – to Melbourne to live with the new woman (his assistant, stereotypically).
It happened so fast. One day she was worrying about Liam’s lost library books and planning Callum’s sixth birthday party– and the next they were gone. It was as if the whole thing had never happened. Sometimes she woke at night and had to convince herself that it hadn’t all been just a dream. She would stumble half-asleep in the dark house to the boys’ bedroom to touch their toys, their few remaining clothes, just to prove to herself that it was real, that she hadn’t conjured the whole thing in her mind.
It was months since she’d last seen them; Graham wanted to erase her from their lives; pretend she’d never existed. ‘Let the boys have a clean start,’ he’d barked down the phone at her a few weeks ago when she’d begged one more time to just visit; just to hold them for a few minutes, to feel their heartbeats against her and know that they were okay.
‘You’re stuffing up their lives,’ Graham had told her. ‘They have a new stepmother now, you’ll only confuse them.’
His cruel words still stung and she wondered if maybe he was right; maybe she should just give up, let them adjust to their new life. She had the chance for a new life now too, and she was going to grab it with both hands and be a success. Jess stopped mopping the floor, wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled her mobile from her pocket. She flicked through her contacts and tapped on Jimmy’s name.
13
The shrill squawk of the wattlebird rejoicing in the grevillea’s bright blooms didn’t break into Tori’s retail-induced trance as she pulled into the driveway of her country house. She was too excited by the bounty in her boot.
She’d popped back to Malvern this morning to drop the children with her parents for a few days, and then planned to call into the house to pick up Dustin’s flippers and snorkel before heading off to Chadstone for some Christmas shopping.
She was surprised to find Joseph at home, sorting paperwork at the kitchen table. To her dismay he had immediately brought up the subject of money.
‘What do you plan to buy the children for Christmas?’ he’d asked.
‘Um, well I thought an iTouch each would be useful and practical,’ she’d stammered.
‘There just isn’t money for that sort of extravagance,’ Joseph had said, his face turning a deep red. ‘You have to stop spending.’ He flipped the papers in front of him angrily.
‘But it’s Christmas,’ she’d cried. ‘What sort of Christmas will Priscilla and Dustin have if there isn’t something fabulous for them under the tree?’
‘They can have some presents, of course,’ Joseph said and shoved papers into a briefcase already overflowing with documents and files.
‘I suppose they could make do with sharing a Nintendo Wii,’ Tori had conceded with a sniff.
To her shock, Joseph had exploded with anger. ‘No, no, no!’ he’d yelled. ‘No Nintendo, no iTouch, no bloody money. What is wrong with you, woman?’ He’d grabbed his bulging briefcase and stormed out of the house, leaving Tori in tears.
It was hardly the way to start a shopping trip, but she’d decided the best thing to do was to pull herself together for the sake of the children; it was her duty to give them the best budget Christmas she could. She’d set off with her platinum Amex and the thrill of retail therapy taking the sting out of the early morning altercation.
Now she squealed with excitement as she saw the mountains of crisp multicoloured shopping bags crushed into her boot. She loved Christmas. It was the most exciting time of the year. There were so many retail opportunities. She prided herself on her beautiful Christmas tree display: each year her tree sported a new look. This season was to be turquoise and silver, to tone in with the seaside theme.
She was proud of herself for shaking off the morning’s ugliness created by Joseph’s mercenary attitude. All it had taken was some lateral thinking. If she couldn’t afford quality items, she’d decided, she’d do quantity instead.
So what if they couldn’t get a Nintendo Wii? She’d upgraded their X-Box experience instead and bought them each four new games. It was practically recycling, she thought proudly. She should get herself one of those hemp T-shirts, she was becoming so green, she thought with a chuckle.
Fuelling her children’s reading habit was an educational rather than frivolous expense, so she’d felt quite justified in acquiring the entire range of twenty Fairy Magic novels for Priscilla and forking out two hundred dollars for some DK learning books for Dustin. After all, what price knowledge?, she thought, lugging the small library of books from the boot.
Then there was clothing; she’d spent a deliriously happy hour in Esprit and David Jones buying frocks and accessories for Priscilla and a little suit for Dustin to wear to Christmas lunch, along with more than enough casual wear to see them through the season. But clothes were essentials – so they didn’t count.
Then she’d had a ball in Toys R Us buying cheap little stocking fillers, Nintendo DS games, Barbie dolls and Brio.
She breathed a happy, sated sigh. Her little darlings would have a wonderful morning opening the loot from Santa and she would feel like a perfect mother.
As she pulled more bags from the boot a slight twinge of unease hit her. She may have bought more than she’d realised. What was the Australian Geographic bag? She couldn’t remember that store; she’d been in such a frenzy. Oh, yes, that’s right, a telescope and a child’s geology set. Oh, and night-vision goggles. Well anything from Australian Geographic was educational, no one could argue with that.
Hmm ... a Darrell Lea bag? She peeped inside. Oh yes, more stocking stuffers, fifty-dollar showbags. Well that was all right, food definitely didn’t count, that came out of the grocery budget. All was well.
Now she needed an iced tea and maybe one of Jess’s fabulous frittatas, and a spot of PSA – Post Shopping Analysis. Sometimes just talking about her purchases was as much fun as the actual buying, Tori thought, as she jumped into the car and headed to the General Store.
‘So, how goes Operation Country Christmas?’ Jess asked once they were installed at a table with cool drinks in front of them.
‘Absolutely brilliantly!’ Tori said in excitement. She filled Jess in with a condensed version of that morning’s shopping trip.
Jess was surprised at how her friend seemed to have shaken off the sadness of her troubled marriage that had had her in tears just a few nights before. Shopping seemed to transform Tori into a different person; a slightly manic one.
‘And I’m saving, saving, saving,’ bragged Tori. ‘I’m so proud of my little budget conscious moves. I’m not buying those one-hundred-dollar Christmas crackers this year from De La Fleur,’ she announced with aplomb.
‘One hundred dollars? What, per cracker? What in the hell’s in them?’
‘Oh, I don’t remember, but it’s good. I
think the jokes are written by Jerry Seinfeld or something. I’m getting the ten-dollar crackers instead.’
‘Tori, that’s two hundred dollars on a moment’s fun and a lifetime of landfill. Why don’t you make them yourself? It’s just a loo roll and silver paper, a homemade key chain and a funny story about a family member. You can get the kids to make the festive hats. It’s so much more meaningful. And so easy to do.’
‘Oh, Jess, you know I can barely thread a needle. You’re the crafty one. I don’t know how you even think up that kind of stuff. Honestly, you’re amazing.’ Tori sipped her tea and stared at the thin line of sea in the distance. ‘No, I’m proud of my decision, it’s a huge saving. Of course, we can’t be silly though with this budgeting thing: it’s still Christmas. There are essentials to buy, like a reindeer, for example. Blitzen broke last year when those kookaburras mistook his tail for a snake. Obviously I can’t have the lawn display without Blitzen. And yes, a reindeer costs a grand, but like I was saying, it’s an essential. And tomorrow’s the Christmas craft market: there’s tons of fun festive stuff there I need.’ She practically started shivering in anticipation.
‘Tori,’ Jess leaned forward and put her hand on the other woman’s knee to get her full attention, ‘sweetheart, I’m a bit worried about you with this spending thing.’
‘You’re starting to sound like Joseph, Jess. Anyway, given the financial crisis situation it’s perfect timing to put on a brave face and throw a big, fun, down-home, country shebang. I’ve got the catering sorted, the decor all planned, I need to order flowers and the eye fillet, and of course the crayfish and oysters, but it’ll be fun doing a humble, DIY kind of function.’
‘Ummm, you know DIY means Do It Yourself, don’t you, love?’
‘Well, of course,’ Tori emptied her glass with a flourish. ‘I’m supervising, darling. Very tricky business being a delegator. Well, must fly, I’ve got a little man coming to quote on polishing the monstera leaves.’
14
The upbeat tempo of folk music drifted through the stalls at the Stumpy Gully craft market. Delicious early-morning smells of brewed coffee and egg-and-bacon rolls filled the air. Above, patches of blue sky flashed between the leaves of the gum trees that filled the racetrack market site.
Locals and townies meandered along the dusty paths, enjoying the free samples of fresh berries, pâtés and home-cooked fudge offered by stallholders and searching for unique arts and crafts to complete their Christmas shopping.
A flock of rainbow lorikeets squawked past, insistent that the crowds appreciate their lurid beauty. Kookaburras laughed at them, and a fluffy baby kooka hopped from branch to branch, its head tilted to keep a watchful eye on the sausage sizzle.
The eucalyptus litter, mulched in piles under the smooth grey trunks, was steaming from last night’s rainfall, releasing a musty gum fragrance that wound its way among the stalls, competing with the aroma of samosas and enhancing the floral fragrance from the many soaps and bath salts.
The Christmas market was Rainbow and Songbird’s big day. They had been knitting furiously for the past month, turning Eugene’s wool into a colourful assortment of berets, throws, leggings and wraps. It was just one of the many markets they attended each year, selling their funky woollen designs at exorbitant prices, but this pre-Christmas market was their most important, thanks to the thousands of cashed-up tourists who attended, desperate for that eclectic little piece that would mark them as unique, unusual and different at school pick-up during the winter months.
Eugene, naked and shivering, had stared at his owners reproachfully that morning as they’d set off in their Smart Car packed with wares. ‘Can’t he come?’ Rainbow had begged. ‘He’ll be lonely.’
‘No chance,’ Songbird had replied as she skilfully reversed onto Stumpy Gully Road. ‘You know he bites.’
The Smart Car was a recent acquisition; and one the women were both thrilled with. They got around the little town on bikes most of the time, but the car got them to markets in style and comfort.
Now that their stall was set up, the two women sat back and surveyed the passing throng from behind their knitting needles. They’d discovered very early on in their market career that the tourists were even keener to spend when they could actually see the work being made. ‘These amazing-looking hippie women make the goods right in front of your eyes. It’s so earthy, so organic...’ Songbird had once heard a market-goer exclaim to her companion. From then on Songbird and Rainbow made sure they kept knitting needles in their hands to give the punters a show and increase their sales, although due to the huge demand for their product they now had a team of local grandmothers who knitted the bulk of their wares.
‘Wow, girls, you’ve outdone yourselves. Eugene must be on steroids!’
Rainbow looked up at the familiar voice. ‘Jess!’ she called out. ‘Songbird, Jess is here.’ She threw down her knitting to greet her friend with a warm hug. ‘I love your skirt!’ she declared. ‘Is it hemp?’
Jessica’s taupe and crimson skirt was full and swishy, made up of a series of vintage patches. She hip-twisted to let it flare out and laughed at her hippie friend. ‘No, it’s a vintage Issey Miyake,’ she said. ‘I’ve had it for years.’
‘Well it’s “toooo divine”.’
Jess laughed at Rainbow’s mimicking of an upper class Gucci Mama.
‘Thanks, pet,’ Jessica said with a smile, flicking her Luna Gallery raspberry shawl over one shoulder. ‘How are you, Songbird?’ Jessica asked. Songbird was wrestling with a knitting catastrophe.
‘Can’t talk,’ she muttered, ‘swearing.’
Jessica smiled and turned back to Rainbow. ‘So, how’s it going?’
‘We’re great,’ Rainbow said. ‘Business is booming: we’ve put on another two knitters to do our designs, which makes five.’
‘Are they still complaining about the patterns?’ Jess asked.
‘Of course,’ Rainbow grinned. ‘One nanna keeps trying to talk us into doing a range of baby layettes and booties in pastel wool. It’s hilarious, but she does such an amazing job: just look at this stitching.’ She indicated a rasta-style hat with rows of vibrant colour.
‘So neat,’ Jess said, nodding. ‘We must have another exhibition of your work. You have some wonderful new styles now.’
‘Maybe after the Christmas rush,’ Rainbow said, then winked slyly and added, ‘and we’ll make sure all the pieces we give you are Rainbow and Songbird originals!’
‘Deal,’ Jess said.
She had met Rainbow and Songbird, or Kylie and Susan as they had been known back then, when they were all students at the tiny local high school. Kylie and Susan had been inseparable best friends since they’d met in Year Seven. Susan, now Songbird, had come to Rainbow’s defence when a bunch of Year Nine girls had begun teasing the frightened teenager, surrounding her in a circle of mocking faces.
‘Oi, bugger off,’ Songbird had called, pushing her way into the circle and putting an arm around the quivering Rainbow. ‘She’s my mate. If you mess with her, you mess with me,’ the nuggety girl had snarled, fists clenched and spit flying from her mouth. The bullies had slunk away and left the beginnings of a firm friendship in their wake.
Both women had married, had children and divorced before they realised that they were happiest when they were together. They’d pooled their assets, blended their six children into one big, chaotic family and had never been happier.
Jessica had helped plan their weddings, divorce parties and finally their civil union on the beach the previous year.
‘That bitch sister-in-law of yours is here,’ Songbird grumbled, finally throwing her knitting down in exasperation.
‘Songbird, don’t be such a nasty pastie,’ Rainbow said.
‘Is she?’ Jessica asked, moving to the side of the stall to make room for four well-dressed women who were exclaiming over the alpaca wares. ‘She must have driven down this morning. Did she stop to chat?’
‘Chat! Criticise more
like,’ Songbird spat, ignoring the surprised faces of her customers.
‘Apparently our alpaca wool isn’t as soft as bloody mohair ... bloody cheek.’
‘Oh dear, what a dreadful thing to say,’ one of the shoppers interjected. ‘Clearly this fibre is far better than mohair. I have extremely delicate skin and,’ – she brushed a purple knitted glove gently against her cheek – ‘this is far superior in softness to mohair, I can assure you.’
Songbird snorted rudely.
‘That is so sweet of you,’ Rainbow said, sliding quickly in front of her partner. ‘We just love our alpaca.’
Songbird shook her head and rolled her eyes theatrically at Jess, who had to walk away to hide her laughter.
‘Bye, girls,’ she called with a wave over her shoulder. ‘Good luck today.’
‘Thanks, Jess,’ Songbird tinkled. ‘Oh by the way, Caro said she was desperate for caffeine, so you’ll probably find her in the coffee aisle. I’m sure we’ll have a great day.’
‘Yeah, if the effing townies can bear to part with their precious cash,’ Songbird muttered to herself.
***
Caro Wainwright tapped her Prada riding boot impatiently. Dust rose from the ground and swirled about the immaculate leather. ‘Shit,’ Caro said and immediately stood still to lessen the damage. She sighed to herself as the coffee queue slowly moved forward.
There were some things about country life she just couldn’t stand, and waiting ten minutes for a simple latte was one of them. Her lovely Gloria Jeans at Chadstone knew how to do it: take order, take payment, deliver coffee. No bother, no fuss. No chitchat with each and every customer about the weather, their mother’s arthritis or their sister’s baby, for heaven’s sake. Pop a Gloria Jeans in town, and country life would be far more comfortable.
