Ill-Gotten Gains

by Evans, Ilsa

  ‘Do you regret her?’ asked Lucy suddenly. ‘Like, I know you love her, but do you ever think about how different things would be if she hadn’t happened? You could have gone overseas when Dad left, maybe done something more with your career.’

  ‘Never,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s very, very hard to regret a baby once it arrives.’

  Lucy took a sip of her tea and then stared into the mug.

  ‘I have to ask, sweetheart. Did you ever consider the, um, alternatives?’

  ‘If you mean abortion, yes I did. Even made an appointment. But … no.’

  ‘Okay. It's only that ... ’ I petered off as I read the resolution on her face. I took a deep breath. ‘But it’s your decision. And I just want to get one thing straight. I’ll support you no matter what you decide. One hundred per cent. If you decide you want to keep the baby, even if you make that decision five minutes after it’s born, I’ll help you in any way I can. And if you do go through with the adoption, then I’ll respect your generosity and your strength. I admit I’ll find it difficult, because I can’t imagine being able to do that myself, but I’m not you.’

  ‘I do want to do this,’ said Lucy in a low voice. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons then. Not because it’s a punishment, that’s absurd. Also not just to make someone else happy, that’s equally absurd.’ I paused. ‘Can I ask who the father is?’

  Lucy put her mug down. ‘Jasper Stenhouse. I went out with him last year for a bit. Nice guy, but before you ask if there’s a future there, there’s not. Like, we get on and all but he’s got some issues to sort out. See, he thinks he’s gay.’

  I blinked. ‘Ah …’

  ‘I know.’ She grinned. ‘Sort of ironic, isn’t it? He’s totally supportive but he doesn’t want to tell his parents unless he has to. He says his mother would probably try to adopt the baby herself and apparently she’s a bit of a bitch. I don’t want that anyway.’

  ‘It’ll be even harder, you know.’ I held her gaze. ‘With Scarlet pregnant, and also your dad. Have you told him yet?’

  ‘No. I wanted Scar to have her moment, because I sort of robbed her of it with you. I’ll tell him when he gets down here tomorrow. Or maybe Friday.’

  I frowned. ‘Luce, you didn’t rob Scarlet of anything. You’ve got to stop thinking she has some sort of superior claim to this. From what I understand, her pregnancy was just as accidental as yours. If anything, she jumped on your bandwagon!’ I smiled, and then let it slide away. ‘And both pregnancies are going to have the same result, a baby.’

  ‘It’s funny to think of it like that, isn’t it?’ Lucy put a hand on her flat stomach. ‘A baby!’

  I nodded, but inside my heart hurt. She looked about fifteen years old.

  ‘There was something else I wanted to tell you,’ said Lucy, her face still again.

  ‘Oh god. What?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. No, just about me going back to uni. I know you were really disappointed when I dropped out, but all this –’ she waved a hand towards her stomach region ‘– has really got me thinking. And, Mum, I want to stay in retail. I love it, I really do. Grandma said that she’ll take me on as permanent. Not Ruby because she’s crap.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Oh yeah, totally. She says so herself. But I love it. It’s …’ She stared at the window as she searched for words. When she looked back, her face was shining. ‘It’s empowering. Like you’re the expert; you can match books with readers and pick out presents for grandchildren and stuff. And you can be creative. Like I made “what the staff recommends” cards last week, and stuck them on books we’d read, and people were looking at them. Oh, and Grandma said I can use the wooden display case for healing crystals and gemstones, you know the ones for luck and shit like that. People love them, and they make great gifts. I had to pitch that idea, you know, like with a proper proposal. Costings and everything.’

  I smiled as she ran down, mainly because her enthusiasm was infectious. I did like to see my girls happy. I just hoped that this was not another choice she might regret.

  ‘Oh, and Grandma has said she’ll pay for me to do a certificate in retail through Bendigo TAFE, and then I can work my way up to a diploma of business management!’

  ‘Really? Oh, Luce, that’d be great. You’d have some qualifications.’

  ‘You and your qualifications.’ Lucy looked at me fondly, as if I was a quaint relic from another time. ‘They’re not everything, you know.’

  ‘A statement which is most often used by those without.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Lucy waved a hand, relegating qualifications to the ether. ‘I don’t mind doing them, I just don’t worship them the way you do. D’you want another coffee?’

  I resisted the urge to retaliate, mainly because if she went ahead with her plan, I was getting a version of what I wanted anyway. It was better than nothing. ‘Yes, please.’

  Lucy leapt nimbly to her feet and collected both mugs. ‘D’you know what I really want? To take over Renaissance when Grandma retires.’

  I twisted around to watch her enter the kitchen. ‘Have you told her that?’

  ‘Nah, not yet. I’m gonna wait till I’m indispensable.’

  ‘Not a bad plan. By then you’ll probably have your diploma too.’

  ‘Good one, Mum.’

  I returned her smile even though I didn’t really see what was funny. A kookaburra broke into rollicking laughter just outside the window, the merriment answered by another further away. I straightened again and adjusted my collar.

  ‘So, you’re really going to sell the house?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I suppose I’ll talk to your father, sort out the options.’ The kookaburra shrieked with laughter. I waited until it finished. ‘It’s complicated.’

  Lucy placed a fresh coffee in front of me and curled back into the armchair. ‘You need to take a leaf out of my book.’ She grinned as I raised an eyebrow. ‘No, not that. But working out what you want. Anyway, if you do sell, why don’t you move into your father’s old shop?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know, that old shop where you said your father was the butcher. I think they’re turning it into units or something. It’s got a For Sale sign.’

  I blinked, trying to absorb the information. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Oh, Rube and I are parking there because Main Street has to be left for visitors this week. So I was like, Look there’s that old butcher shop that Mum’s dad used to have, and Ruby goes, Wow, it’s –’

  ‘Have they pulled it down?’

  ‘No, but the sign has a floor plan on it. They’re building something across the road too.’

  ‘My god.’ I picked up my coffee and held it to my mouth to buy time. My father’s shop. That end of the main street, which curved to one side, had been sidelined over forty years ago when the street was straightened to meet traffic lights at the highway. What had once been the start of the shopping strip became a dead-end offshoot, with relocation assistance given to all affected. My father had been one of those, shortly before he shot through to England and began his life anew. The shop had been just one of the many things that he had left behind.

  But this was a curious turn of events, very curious indeed. Sawdust and pewter, warmth and security. Still thinking, I put my coffee down and smiled at my daughter. ‘So I suppose you’ll be heading to work in a moment. Want to give me a lift?’

  *

  Thirty minutes later I was standing in what was now apparently called Sheridan Lane, though I wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or bad. The large shop that I remembered being on the very end had been razed, leaving a gravelly expanse that was being used as a car park. Beside this was a joined pair of Edwardian shop fronts in rather shabby condition. Both had an inset doorway, situated adjacent to the other, with boarded-up windows on the side. The facia boards carried faded descriptions of their original calling, and the
decorative cast-iron cresting above was stippled with rust. Pilasters peaked decoratively on either side of the cresting, despite serrated flakes of peeling paint, and then gave way to a more sedate upper storey that was broken only by the pair of three-panelled bay windows. These too were boarded but, unlike the bottom windows, were free of graffiti.

  The left-hand shop had been my father’s butchery. Its twin, according to the sign, had last been a pharmacy. But those days were long gone. Even the pavement, once a wide expanse of macadam, was now in such disrepair that sections were erupting, with weeds springing forth like verdant lava. This smoothed out as the pavement approached the pub on the corner, one of the three in town, a two-storey red-brick and clotted-cream edifice with a canopied beer garden and an array of umbrella-shaded tables that were scattered all the way to the kerb.

  On the other side of the little laneway there was some serious building taking place. Trucks and tradies’ utes were parked along the nature strip and a pair of portaloos squatted unattractively by the chain-link fence. The site was a long one with the main entry quite some distance away, off the highway, and it looked like it might develop into a motel, the type with a reception towards the front and a square central courtyard surrounded by rooms. It seemed that Sheridan Lane was going to enjoy the rear of all this, which would no doubt amount to a long, flat wall of tedious orange brick.

  In front of my father’s shop, set at an angle so that approaching cars would have a clear view, was the sign Lucy had mentioned. I had already studied it, spending a few incredulous minutes comparing the artist’s impression with reality. At least it was clear that the shop fronts were to be preserved. Beneath the imagery was a floor plan that detailed the proposed interior restructure. It seemed that they were each to be turned into a surprisingly spacious residence, with living areas downstairs and two bedrooms at the top.

  Also interesting was the fact the sign itself was a little faded, suggesting it wasn’t a recent addition. It had been graffiti-tagged across the corner by somebody whose name was Tag, which seemed a little unimaginative. I turned back to the shops, letting my eyes drink in the details. I was surprised by how much I remembered, and also how much I didn’t. But they were so far removed from how they once had been, bustling, bright, bumptious, that my nostalgia was blunted. It was like meeting the brother of someone you loved.

  Heels clipped against the pavement further down and I wasn’t terribly surprised to see Yen making her way towards me. She reached my side and turned to gaze at the shops also. We stood in silence for several moments before she spoke. ‘Thinking of buying them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She nodded. ‘Could be a good investment. Drive a hard bargain, though – they’ve been for sale for over a year so hopefully he’s desperate.’

  ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Do you know who owns it? Was it the guy who had the pharmacy?’

  ‘No, not him,’ she replied shortly. ‘They left town years ago. Probably some investor. Make sure you use that as a bargaining chip.’ She gestured towards the construction site. ‘It’s going to make this road even uglier. Oh, and ask what’s happening to that.’ She swivelled to point at the gravel car park. My neck was starting to feel sore just keeping up. ‘You don’t want to find out later it’s marked for social housing or something. And don’t give me your politically correct crap. Ninety per cent of them might be perfectly lovely, but the other ten per cent are dodgy. Luck of the draw. It also affects your value. Are you doing this because of your father?’

  I blinked, and then gave the question some thought. ‘No. It’s like the icing on the cake, gives me an added sense of … well, ownership I suppose, but the thing is I like the location, I like the character, and I love the idea of remodelling the place myself.’

  ‘Yourself?’ Yen stared at me. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, me. I am quite capable, you know.’

  ‘You realise it’s quite a leap from doll’s houses to the real thing?’

  ‘Really? Good god, well that changes everything. Phew! Thanks for letting me know.’

  Her gaze changed to disdain but she didn’t answer. Instead she made her way over to the sign and near-sightedly examined the floor plan.

  ‘But I’m not interested if that plan is part of the deal,’ I added. ‘It’s daft. They’ve put the kitchen right in the centre and then included a waste-of-space passageway.’

  ‘And those spiral staircases are only practical if you’re a pole dancer. This plan is probably part of the reason it’s still on the market. Idiot architects.’

  I stared at it, redesigning. If I put the kitchen and family room along the back, there could be bi-fold glass doors that opened straight outside. I could have merbau decking with wicker egg chairs and plants in earthenware pots, and maybe a spa. Local identity redesigns derelict shops. Wins coveted award.

  ‘You realise they may be on the same title at this stage?’ Yen had put on her glasses and was still examining the board. ‘So if you take the renovations off the table, it might be a package deal. May not be worth it for him to renovate only the one.’

  ‘I know.’

  She turned. ‘Can you afford that?’

  ‘Not sure. The problem would be having enough left over to remodel. But I could take out a small mortgage and then lease the second one to pay for it.’ I looked at her. ‘I could always rent it to Luce, given she wants to stay around here.’

  Yen nodded. ‘I thought that’s what you might be thinking. And it’d … extend her options.’

  ‘Yes. By the way, thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  We stood for a while, in companionable but slightly awkward silence. A radio was playing at the construction site and several workers were singing along to ‘The Eye of the Tiger’. Not well.

  ‘Although might I say that calling a girl “Luce” all her life was just asking for trouble.’

  ‘Ah! I knew it had to be my fault somehow!’ I rolled my eyes. ‘And you can talk! You named me after a woman who slept with her own uncle!’

  ‘First, that was just medieval mud-slinging. Second, it is far more likely that Eleanor of Aquitaine had a paternal fixation on her uncle rather than an incestuous relationship, meaning she simply missed her father. Which is particularly interesting given we are standing in front of your father’s old shop which you are considering purchasing. And third, neither your father nor I had siblings.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘You are infuriating.’

  ‘Probably. Let me know if you need any help with the negotiations. Now I’d best get back.’ Yen glanced once more at the shops and then started walking down the pavement towards the pub.

  After a moment I followed. ‘How did you even know I was here?’

  ‘Lucy told me. By the way, everybody has been asking about you. There’s a rumour that Edward Given rang you that night to confess he was about to kill Sam, and that you didn’t take him seriously. Thus your subsequent guilt led you to cut your own brake cable.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I twisted my shoulders so that I could stare at her. ‘That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘Particularly given you wouldn’t know a brake cable if you fell over one. Watch where you’re going.’

  I straightened in time to avoid a hillock of broken paving. ‘Yes, my lack of mechanical knowhow is what’s wrong there. Nothing else.’

  ‘Well you have been hiding yourself away for a few days. That just adds fuel to the fire. Why, aren’t you a good-looking fellow!’

  ‘Pardon?’ I stopped again, because this walking, reacting and talking at the same time was almost impossible with my collar. Yen had bent to address a black dog that was lounging by the pub entrance. Tongue lolling, it stared past her towards me.

  ‘So are you mixed up with all this stuff?’ asked Yen without looking at me. She started off again, rounding the corner into the main street. ‘Or was the whole brake-cable thing a coincidence?’

  ‘No doubt,’ I replied vaguely.

&nb
sp; ‘Speaking of which, where’s your police escort?’

  ‘Back at the house. Apparently I’m not at risk in company.’

  ‘That seems a little arse-about. But can I just say I’m still getting over the last time you tried to get yourself killed. So I’d really appreciate you staying out of trouble. Harness your energies elsewhere.’

  As we neared the main shopping strip, it became clear that the rapidly approaching commemorative weekend had already been a shot in the arm for local tourism. At least double the normal amount of cars and a corresponding number of people complemented the even greater increase in signage and advertising about the festivities on offer. Many of the shops had taken advantage of the increased traffic by positioning their wares along the footpath, adding to the overall colour and vitality. Renaissance was one of these, with two mobile bookstands, a pine tub full of remainders and a wire stand loaded with local produce. Beside these stood Ruby, looking dour.

  ‘For god’s sake, smile!’ said her grandmother. She paused to straighten a few books. ‘And be aware I’m not coming to your rescue this time. What are you doing now?’

  ‘She’s talking to me,’ I said to Ruby, who was clearly confused. I turned to Yen. ‘Hanging around here until someone gives me a lift home.’

  ‘I see. Well, you might as well use Ruby. I can keep an eye on this stuff from inside.’

  ‘I’ll get my keys,’ said Ruby flatly.

  They both entered the shop, Ruby holding the door open for Betty Rawlings and Grace June Rae to exit. Lucy waved at me through the window.

  ‘Nell! We missed you on Monday!’ Betty beamed at me as she negotiated the step.

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ I touched my collar. ‘Bit indisposed.’

  ‘I heard! Could have got yourself killed, silly girl. Oh, and sorry but Bernie was useless.’

  I blinked. ‘She was?’

  ‘Yes. Bernie. You know, my cousin that I said I’d speak to. About the murder. The old murder. So I did speak to her. On Sunday it was. Or maybe it was Saturday? It was the day we did that winery tour. Grace, which day was that?’