“Perfect,” she declared. Then she checked her watch. “Just enough time to get home, shower and grab a bite to eat then be back here before it all kicks off.”
“I’ll see you at home,” Ray said.
“Ok,” Maggie agreed, blowing a kiss his way. “Wait, how’d you get into town this morning?”
Her father mumbled something under his breath, not quite able to meet her eye.
“Oh dad, tell me you didn’t bring the bike? You know what Geoffrey said. Next time he sees you on it he’s going to confiscate it, for good this time too.”
“Honey, I’ve been driving that thing into town since long before Geoffrey’s parents even held hands.”
“Yes dad, I know. But he’s the law and unfortunately what he says, goes. It’s just not safe.”
“Bullshit. I’ve never had an accident. Not once.”
Maggie gave him a stern look.
“Ok once. But that truck wasn’t looking where he was going. The accident had nothing to do with my driving.”
Maggie sighed and rubbed one temple. “I don’t have time for this. It’s a farm bike dad, it’s not meant to be on public roads. Drive it home now and then promise me you won’t bring it into town again.”
“Mm.”
“Promise me dad.”
“Fine,” Ray stalked off. He was upset she knew, but he’d get over it. He valued his independence, always had done. And he was right; he had been riding farm bikes into town since before the roads round here were even tar-sealed. At least the one he drove now was a quad bike with four wheels, hence slightly safer than the old two wheeled one he used to own.
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” she called to Robert on the stand next to hers. He sold wooden carvings that he carved himself from fallen trees on his and his neighbours’ properties. As a self declared tree hugger, he refused to cut any tree down himself, but luckily the area was hit by enough storms and high winds in winter to ensure he had a steady supply of material.
“Sure,” he called back to her. “I’ll keep an eye on your tables for you.”
“Thanks,” she smiled at him gratefully. He was a nice guy, and they’d even gone for coffee once or twice but although he’d have loved for something more to happen, Maggie wasn’t interested in things going any further. He wasn’t her type for a start. She preferred her men masculine, not sandal wearing, beard growing hippies, nice as they may be.
She stewed as she made her way back to her car, remembering the earlier altercation with Jack. The man was a moron. Obviously where he’d come from that sort of behaviour was acceptable, but if he carried on like it here he’d soon find the townsfolk turning against him. His truck was still in the stolen park and she had to resist a childish urge to scratch a door. Instead she settled for kicking a tyre, a move that hurt her more than it did any damage to his truck.
“Dammit,” she swore, hopping on one foot while her toes curled up in protest.
“Want me to fetch you some ice for that?”
Jack had come up behind her and was now leaning against a lamp post, watching her with obvious amusement. She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment that he had caught her out in the act of behaving like a teenager, and she let her head drop so her hair covered most of her face.
“No thanks, I’m fine,” she said.
“You sure? Looked like a pretty hard kick to me.” His tone was cheeky, and she felt her anger return. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes.
“You think you’re pretty funny don’t you.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been told I have a great sense of humour, yes.”
“Really? Well laugh at this,” and without even thinking about what she was about to do she kicked out her foot again, but this time at the car door, leaving a dent that was definitely going to require the services of a panel beater to remove.
Jack straightened up then. “What the hell?” he said, “I knew you were stroppy, but causing wilful damage to property?”
She stared in horror at the dent in the door. Why had she done that? She never let her temper get away from her. Here she was lecturing her father on obeying the law and then she turned around and did something like that? Thank god neither her father nor Willow had been around to see her juvenile behaviour. Gritting her teeth, she turned to Jack to apologise. But then she saw that he was laughing at her.
“You’re an ass, anyone ever told you that?” she said furiously.
“Sure, every single one of my ex-girlfriends.”
“Why don’t you just do us all a favour and hurry up and get out of town. There can’t be anything here that’s possibly of any interest to someone like you.”
He stopped laughing and regarded her, a dimple in his cheek puckered from the smile that still lurked just beneath the surface.
“Oh on the contrary,” he said. “This town has something I’m fast becoming very interested in.”
And even she wasn’t naive enough not to catch the loaded innuendo behind the words. The way he looked her up and down when he said them left her in no doubt just what it was he was keen on.
“Not in a million years,” she said, and with her cheeks burning she turned and quickly walked to her car. She half expected to hear footsteps behind her, at the very least asking for compensation for the damage she had caused, but he didn’t follow. To her immense disappointment, this disappointed her.
All the way home she tried to avoid thinking about Jack. And all the way home, she failed. It had been a long time since she had verbally sparred with a man, and even though she couldn’t stand him, she had enjoyed that part. In the six and a half years since Jon had left, she had focused purely on raising Willow and on her soap business. It had gone from a hobby to something she’d had to get serious about in a hurry in order to pay the bills. She had no mortgage at least, not like others she knew who were struggling in these tough economic times. Her parent’s house may have been in need of a lick of paint and a few new boards, but it was sturdy and it was freehold, and that was a huge relief.
However huge old houses like her parents weren’t cheap to run, and then there were the other bills like chicken feed, school fees and new clothes for Willow who seemed to go through a growth spurt every other month. Her parents both drew a pension and they both contributed to household costs like food and electricity. But Maggie was proud and didn’t want them to have to look after her and her daughter, so she had worked hard and over the years she had built her soap business up into a nice little earner. She sold a steady trade from home, to both locals and travellers passing by, thanks to a big sign that Willow and Nick had painted and hung from a large Pohutukawa tree on the main road. It was a simple sign, just wood with large blue letters, ‘Homemade soaps made by Maggie Tanner - For Sale here!’, and an arrow pointing down their road, but it had stall made Maggie cry a little with happiness the first time they showed it to her.
Her own little business of sorts. It was something she had dreamt of since she had been Willow’s age and first discovered her knack for making soaps with medicinal and emotional benefits. The night markets were her biggest money earner; in one night she could make what sometimes took her a couple of months to earn otherwise.
Pulling up in front of the house she noticed the farm bike parked in the garage. Ray had beaten her home, which meant he must have either taken a short cut through Parker’s farm or ignored the speed limit. She sighed. Perhaps her mother could talk some sense into him. Stepping inside the house she could smell something delicious frying; lamb chops if she wasn’t mistaken.
“Mum?” she called out, stopping to strip off her T-shirt and throw it into the laundry beside the front door. She had worked up a sweat lugging the suitcases and setting up the tables and she only had a brief time in which to eat and freshen up. Wearing a black singlet and jeans she went into the kitchen where her mother was humming as she turned the chops over in the pan.
“Mum, where’ve you been? You were supposed to help me today, remember?�
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Her mother pulled an apologetic face. “Sorry love, Hazel called last night all upset and I clean forgot.”
Maggie sighed and opened the cupboard where the plates were kept to start setting the table. She was used to this sort of behaviour from her mother so couldn’t muster up the energy to be really angry with her. There was no point. It was just how things were.
“She ok?”
“Who?”
“Hazel.”
“Oh yes, she’s fine now. Was just feeling a little upset and needed some time away. You know her husband Harry is in the early stages of dementia right, well yesterday he locked her out of the car at the supermarket and refused to let her back in. He called the police on his cell phone and told them she was trying to car jack him.”
“Oh no, poor Hazel.”
“Took the police two hours to talk him into unlocking the door.”
“I hate to say it, but it sounds like Hazel needs help looking after him.” Maggie lay out the cutlery and salt and pepper and stood back to see if she had missed anything. Sauce; her father refused to eat anything unless it had tomato sauce on it. She walked over to the fridge.
“She does, and that’s what she realised yesterday. Her kids called from the city and told her she needs to put him in a specialty home, one where nurses can keep an eye on him properly. She needed to get away from it for awhile so got her brother and his next to useless wife in to babysit and she called me and the others. Mash those potatoes will you?”
“Mum,” Maggie sighed, straining the boiled potatoes and adding a generous amount of butter and milk. “Why do you have to keep going to the cave? What’s wrong with going out to a restaurant and having a nice meal together? Or inviting the girls around here and drinking yourselves drunk in the safety and warmth of your own home?” She bashed away at the spuds with the ancient stainless steel masher that had belonged to her own grandmother. The thing was bent out of shape from years of use but still served its purpose.
Her mother shook her head dismissively. “You could never understand,” she said. ‘It’s just something we do. We’ve always done it.” She turned the element off on the stove and started piling the brown and crispy chops onto a platter.
“Just because you’ve always done it doesn’t mean it makes any sense. You guys aren’t getting any younger. I worry about you.”
“Get the salad out of the fridge please,” her mother said, changing the subject in a way that clearly meant the conversation was finished.
Maggie did so. Then she walked over to the lounge where her father was sprawled out on the couch while Baywatch repeats played on the TV. His eyes were closed and he was snoring gently. He looked peaceful. She picked up the remote and pushed the button to turn the TV off.
“Hey I was watching that,” her father protested, wiping away some dribble that had collected in the corner of his mouth.
“With your eyes closed?”
“A moments rest.”
“Dad, you’ve seen those shows a hundred times.” Her father loved Baywatch so much and was so upset when the show finished that Dot had bought him every season’s box set on video. He had played them so many times the ribbons were wearing thin and the spools creaked every time he pressed play. It was only a matter of time before they started falling apart.
“Not my fault they only put crap on TV these days.”
“Willow, dinner’s ready,” Maggie called up the stairs on her way back to the kitchen. She heard her daughters feet hit the floor above and then thunder down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She bounced into the kitchen and put her arms briefly around her mother before dragging out her chair and sitting down.
“Lift it, don’t scrape it,” Ray said, as he said every night and which Willow took no notice of.
“You’re in a good mood,” Maggie appraised her daughter.
“That’s because summer is nearly here. And because I’m looking forward to the market tonight.”
“Did you finish your homework?”
“Yep.”
“All of it?”
“Yep.”
“And how much of it did you do, and how much did Nick do?”
“I’d say about fifty-fifty.”
“Willow, how will you ever learn if Nick does all your work for you?”
“I don’t need to learn Math’s. That’s what calculators are for. And what am I ever going to use science for when I’m a grown up? Do you use science in your everyday life?”
“Can’t say that I do,” Ray commented, squeezing the sauce bottle upside down and covering his chops and potatoes with a generous amount.
“Besides, you know I’m going to be a writer,” Willow went on, “so really English is the only subject worth paying any attention too.”
“She has a point,” Dot said.
“Will you two stay out of it please?”
“School never did me any favours,” Ray ignored her.
“Shut up dad.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not the be all and end all of life. She’s a bright kid, she has other options.”
“Oh crap, look at the time,” Maggie shoved the last forkful of salad in her mouth and pushed her chair back.
“Lift it, don’t scrape it,” her father said.
“And don’t swear in front of Willow,” her mother added.
“Give me ten minutes to shower and change and then whoever wants to come better be ready and waiting at the car. Anyone who’s not will be left behind.”
Twelve minutes later she emerged from the house, refreshed and in a clean long navy and white striped dress. She stopped short. None of her family were anywhere in sight. She threw up her hands.
“Oh for the love of -,” she said but was cut off by giggling.
“Very funny you lot,” she called. “Now hurry up.”
Ray, Dot and Willow emerged from around the side of the house.
“Told you she’d freak out,” Willow said satisfactorily.
“I did not freak out, but you all get in the car now before I do.”
Chapter six
The decorators had done a wonderful job since Maggie had been gone and the centre of town now looked like something from a fairytale when the family arrived. They’d parked a few streets back and walked the rest of the way, each of them carrying a backpack or suitcase containing Maggie’s soaps. As they made their way they passed neighbours and friends, all heading the same way, and all greeted each other enthusiastically like long lost friends.
Colourful Chinese lanterns, lit from inside with tea light candles, were hanging from the oak and strings of fairy lights had been woven around its branches. As well as the Oak in the centre, large rhododendron trees framed the square. They had just started to drop their flower and the ground was carpeted in a deep layer of pink and red flowers. Young girls were prancing amongst them and throwing the flowers over each other’s heads. The petals fell like confetti, and the girls giggled and pretended they were attending each other’s weddings. Alf Parker and Hemi Akurangi had both filled the back of their trucks with square hay bales and brought them into town, and now there was a nice seating area set up in front of the stage where a band had already started playing.
Energy and anticipation were thick in the air, and excitement jumped from person to person until before long the whole square was filled with tapping feet, humming throats and bobbing heads. Wallets were fished out of back pockets where they had dwelt since the last market and were dusted off. Before long there were queues at all the food stands. There was quite an ethnic selection; Indian kebabs and curries, Maori Rewena bread, Paua and Whitebait fritters, Italian ciabatta sandwiches heavily loaded with sundried tomatoes and feta cheese and drizzled with extra virgin olive oil. The combined smell was simply heavenly, and it drifted on air currents, tickling noses and tiptoeing across taste buds.
Maggie made her way through the people to her stall.
“Hey,” Robert called. “Quite a few people have been looking fo
r you already.”
“I hope I haven’t missed any sales,” Maggie worried.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be back,” Ray said, dumping his bag of soaps on the ground behind the stall and looking around for his friends. They were easy enough to spot as they were camped out on the same bench seat as earlier in the day, in the same positions even. If it wasn’t for their combed hair and clean shirts he would have thought the guys hadn’t even been home. No one else dared sit there; it was an unspoken town rule that the seat belonged to the old men. “I’ll see you lot later,” he said, kissing his wife on her cheek and ruffling Willow’s hair.
“Get off,” she said, ducking out of reach.
Dot and Willow helped Maggie unpack the soaps and arrange them on the cake stands. With the three of them working hard it only took a matter of ten minutes. Once finished they stepped back and admired their handiwork. The colourful soaps looked enticing, and in the early evening heat their oils started to release their smell and soon the air around the stand was hazy and filled with tantalizing aromas.
Immediately people started drifting towards the table, and for the next hour Maggie served people, one after the other, listening to their needs and then matching them to the appropriate soap, while Dot handled the money and Willow bagged up the purchases.
“See,” her mother said to her at one point, “Math’s can be useful in some situations.”
Willow rolled her eyes.
After an hour the steady line turned into a trickle and for the first time Maggie had a chance to look around.
“The place looks amazing,” she said proudly.
“Hmm,” Dot agreed.
Willow had been eyeing up the ice cream truck for the last hour, and she finally saw her chance.
“Darling mother who I love very much,” she said.
“Ok what are you after and how much is going to cost me?”
“How do you know I’m after something?”
“Because you only act super sweet like this when you’re after something.”
A Roast on Sunday Page 4
