Meant To Be

by Fiona McCallum

  THE BUTTON JAR

  Fine Art Gallery

  Or, even better: Gallery of Fine Art.

  She pictured it in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more adamant she was. That was the tone she wanted to set.

  She fought back the sadness as she entered David and Barbara’s home. She unloaded her goods from the car into the fridge, freezer, and pantry. She tossed out the old milk and replaced it with a box of unopened long-life. There was nothing worse than arriving home after being away and not being able to have a cup of tea or coffee. She could only imagine how they would be feeling coming home after this particular trip.

  It was clear they had left in a hurry. The place was tidy enough, but on the table were two mugs and a chopping board with a knife lying across it, and a few scraps of pear core and stalks. Barbara never left anything on the table; it was always cleared and wiped off immediately after every meal.

  Emily did the few dishes and tidied up. She hesitated at their bedroom where a dirty clothes hamper was overflowing. Would it be overstepping the bounds to do her friends’ laundry? She tried to reverse the situation in her mind. How would she feel in the same position? While it might be nice to have the simple act of washing to distract from other things, it also might be nice not to worry about running out of clean clothes.

  She grabbed the hamper and took it to the laundry. Thankfully it turned out not to be as full as it first appeared.

  While the load was whizzing around in the front loader, Emily pondered changing the sheets. She loved fresh sheets, and would change her own every day if it wasn’t a hideous waste of water and electricity. But some people might actually like coming home to familiar smells – especially after an ordeal. In the end she decided to leave the neatly made bed as it was. There were plenty of clean sheets in the linen press if needed.

  She waited and hung out the clothes on the outside line, thanking the sun for being out and shining brightly, and the brisk breeze for blowing. While she was waiting for them to dry, she decided to check on the progress of seeding.

  From the verandah, all she could see were acres and acres of rich brown turned land. The work must be happening out over the next rise. She called the dogs, who were snuffling about nearby, and they piled into the car.

  Sure enough, a few kilometres further into the farm, Emily came over the second rise from the house and discovered a mass of activity. She let the car roll to a halt and stared in awe. As far as she could see in every direction, tractors in all sizes and colours were trundling around paddocks. She counted them: four paddocks, five tractors in each. Twenty tractors. She tried to pick out which one Jake might be in, but couldn’t. There were a few green John Deeres and they all looked pretty much the same.

  She continued over to what looked like the nerve-centre. There was a cluster of utes parked a little way from a line of trucks with seed and fertiliser bins on the back and shiny metal field bins with augers sticking out of them. It was so well organised. Parked out of the way, she watched as a tractor came in and pulled alongside the front truck. A bloke ran over and pulled the cord to start the small motor to drive the truck’s augers to fill the air seeder hoppers. It was fascinating to watch.

  In just a few minutes that tractor was driving off and another, a red one this time, was pulling in. Emily got out her camera, told the dogs to stay, and exited the car. She walked around, being careful not to get in the way, and started snapping away. Then the bloke on the truck augers, the noisy little motor now silent again, called and waved her over. As she moved closer she recognised Bob. She shook his hand.

  ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘What a production.’

  ‘Yeah. Least we could do. Taking a few photos?’

  ‘It’s an amazing sight.’

  ‘Climb up here and you’ll get a great shot right across the paddocks,’ he said, indicating the ladder on the back of the truck.

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Here, I’ll take that while you go up,’ he said, holding out his hand for the camera.

  Not keen on heights, Emily carefully negotiated the ladder. She leant down and thanked Bob as he passed up the camera.

  ‘Wow, what a spectacular view.’ She gulped back a wave of intense emotion. Seeing the activity from ground level had been amazing, but up here it was awe-inspiring. She could see the brightly coloured, evenly spaced tractors making their way around the paddocks – all at the same speed – the patchwork of landscape changing colour behind them. She snapped away. When she was confident she’d got enough good shots, she handed the camera back down to Bob, and carefully descended.

  ‘How was it?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Brilliant. What an amazing turnout.’

  ‘Yeah. You certainly tear through the acres with this many machines going. We’ll be finished in a few hours.’

  ‘Which one is Jake?’ she asked.

  ‘Over there to your left. He’s in David’s John Deere. Young Stevie Richards is in yours still.’

  Emily felt a surge of pride on Jake’s behalf. Helping out here would mean he was accepted into the fold more quickly than he might otherwise have been. Though he’d met lots of locals thanks to the cottage project.

  The district could be a little standoffish when it came to outsiders. It was often said that you weren’t local until you were third generation born and bred. That was if you were a farmer. Emily often thought townies needed five generations to earn their stripes, farmers being the dominant species. There seemed to be different rules for everything.

  ‘Okay, that’s me again,’ Bob said, as another tractor came in to fill up. ‘Catch ya later,’ he said with a wave as he raced over and retook his position by the side of the truck.

  Emily got back in the car, but she couldn’t make herself drive away. Watching this, being part of it, was so special. She sat there watching tractors coming and going and making their way around paddocks, and lost all track of time. She was in a mesmerised daze when a tap on her window startled her. She smiled at seeing Jake and wound the window down.

  ‘Hey there,’ he said.

  ‘Hey there yourself.’

  ‘What a sight, eh? I can’t believe how many are involved now.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s amazing. I can’t tear myself away,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’ve been at the house, doing their washing. I’m waiting for it to dry.’

  ‘Perfect weather for it.’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. Have you heard from David today?’

  ‘Not me personally, but Bob spoke to him late last night. They’re planning to be back the day after tomorrow. Hence the additional workforce.’

  ‘Do you think we might be able to go up to Whyalla tomorrow?’ She wanted to pick up the chandelier and sort out an outfit for the opening before Barbara and David got back so she would be close at hand if needed. ‘I suppose I can go on my own if I have to,’ Emily ventured.

  ‘Funny you should ask. I’ve finished here now. And I actually just got a call from Tom Green. He wants to do a final sign-off on the Civic Centre. I was waiting to ask you if tomorrow would suit.’

  ‘Great,’ Emily said, feeling relieved. She didn’t want to be distracted when she saw Barbara and David. Thank goodness she wasn’t needed on site at the cottage. Jake was constantly in contact with the trades, and regularly assured her he had it all in hand. The windows and doors were going in today – or was it yesterday? After the plumbing and electrics had been done, the gyprockers would get to work, and then the tilers. She was happy to leave it in his capable hands and see it when it had come together.

  ‘I’m going to head off,’ she said. ‘The washing should be dry now. Oh, did you see the email from Simone, the one with the image of her painting?’

  ‘Yes. It looks great. Though a little small on the phone’s screen.’

  ‘Do you think it would work for the invitations? I’d really like to get them started.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said.

  ‘And I’ve also been thinking
about the sign and the general branding,’ she added.

  ‘Me too. I’m thinking perhaps leave the button jar image off. If that’s okay with you. Perhaps just have classic, stylish lettering. But we can discuss it later.’

  ‘Great minds think alike. I totally agree. I think using the jar might make us seem a bit quaint. I want to be taken seriously.’

  ‘And you will be,’ he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss. ‘We’ll look at fonts later. I’ve got a few ideas.’

  ‘Great. Thanks. See you later.’

  Emily drove off feeling buoyed. Things were good as long as she didn’t let her mind dwell on Barbara and David’s grief. For a few moments she’d even managed to forget her own pregnancy. Thinking about it now made her quiver with nervousness.

  One thing at a time, she told herself. Washing in and folded, ironing done, and then home.

  As soon as Jake got back that afternoon, he retreated to his office. When he emerged a few hours later for dinner, he had lots to share. He’d been speaking with Simone and had got her to agree to a deadline for the paintings.

  ‘Allowing a week for unforeseen circumstances, we can have the opening on June twenty-fifth,’ Jake said. ‘Lucky we decided to put gas log fires in; we might need them.’

  ‘Is it fair to put that sort of pressure on her?’ Emily asked. ‘I didn’t think creative people worked like that.’

  ‘No idea, but she agreed. I’m sure if she had a problem she would have said so.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Jake went on to say his graphic designer contact had agreed with keeping their branding simple and had suggested a font.

  ‘God, that was quick,’ Emily said. ‘Perhaps we’ll have six weeks for the invitations after all.’

  ‘I phoned him with the brief as soon as you left. It was a piece of cake.’

  Jake laid a sheet of paper printed in the perfect cranberry colour on the table. It was plain and classic.

  ‘It looks good,’ she said. But her voice must have betrayed her mood, because Jake looked up sharply.

  ‘I’m not taking over too much am I?’

  Emily couldn’t lie. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. She nibbled the inside of her cheek, unable to quite look at him.

  ‘I am; I’ve overstepped the mark, haven’t I?’

  Emily cursed the heat starting to flow into her cheeks. What came to mind was to say, ‘Well, it’s my gallery, and my business. What right do you have to discuss deadlines with my artist, even if she is your sister?’ But the words in her head sounded like the complaints of a petulant teenager, so she kept them to herself.

  ‘We’re a team, Jake. I love that you have all these great contacts and experience, but I’d just prefer you talked to me before getting designs drawn up and bullying Simone into a deadline, that’s all,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t bully Simone. She offered,’ he said.

  ‘But why were you discussing it in the first place?’

  ‘To try and get some idea of a date for the opening.’ His words started off defensively, but petered out when he seemed to see Emily’s point. ‘Which really wasn’t my place, was it?’ he added sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, Em, I just want to help. It’s not that I don’t think you can do all this – I know you can – but I just think it’s wise to use all the resources available. And I happen to be a very good resource. And now you’re pregnant…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your help, I really do. But I want to be involved too. When it’s a success, I want to be able to say, “Look what I did,” not “Look what Jake did for me.” And if it all goes pear-shaped…’

  ‘It won’t. It’s going to be a huge success; you’re going to be a huge success. I’ll back off,’ he said, raising his hands, ‘and wait for you to come to me.’

  ‘I don’t want all or nothing, Jake,’ she said, thinking momentarily of Enid. ‘I want us to be a team, to be sitting together writing lists and making decisions. Like we did before you went off tractor driving,’ she added, suddenly realising that was when things had changed.

  ‘Fair enough. I suppose I did go a bit rogue on you. It’s just that the only time I could contact people was during office hours and I was so knackered at night.’

  ‘I can always make calls and send emails,’ Emily said.

  ‘I know. Sorry. I’ll do better from now on,’ he said, offering her an innocent, puppy-dog look.

  ‘You’re forgiven. I’m probably just being needy and insecure.’ Emily kissed him and then finished dishing up their roast chicken and vegetables.

  Over dinner they discussed their trip up to Whyalla the following day and consulted the list Emily had prepared. It wasn’t long, but everything on it was time-consuming. In addition to going to the party hire place and Karen’s light shop, she wanted to get prices for business cards and stationery for when the design was finalised. Jake said he could get all that done in Melbourne, and probably cheaper, but Emily wanted to do as much locally as she could.

  But the main thing bothering her was what to wear for the opening. She’d never really been much into fashion – preferring to be comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, or an ironed shirt if she needed to be a little more dressed up. She felt daunted by the prospect of doing it alone, and with Barbara and Jake both unavailable – he’d be in a meeting for most of the afternoon to celebrate the conclusion of the project – she was jittery about the experience.

  She knew of women who would dedicate months and multiple big city shopping trips to the quest for the perfect outfit. Emily needed it dealt with in two hours – and in Whyalla.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Emily’s eyes bugged when they walked into the huge warehouse filled with glassware, crockery, cutlery, balloons, streamers, and serviettes. On the wall, on an angled shelf, was a display of place settings in every colour imaginable. The choice was mind-boggling. As much as she wanted her opening to be classy, she was not remotely interested in ironing hundreds of linen napkins. If paper serviettes were good enough for the Governor’s visit the year before, they were good enough for her.

  ‘We don’t need plates either,’ Jake said as they stood chatting out of earshot of the two staff members behind the counter. ‘Let’s just go with small paper serviettes. That’s what they do at all the business functions I go to in Melbourne.’

  ‘I really don’t want plastic glasses,’ Emily said. ‘I know that means someone will have to wash them all, but I hate the idea of them ending up in landfill.’

  ‘Fair enough. It’s a big dishwasher, so quite a few will fit in at a time. And they’ll only need a quick cycle. Anyway, won’t they wash them for you? In Melbourne the hire places deliver them clean and pick them up dirty.’

  ‘We can ask. But I’m sure they’ll be arriving on the bus or we’ll be collecting them. And, at the risk of sounding like my mother, I’d rather wash them myself and know they’re clean for my guests.’

  ‘Okay, so that’s settled. Proper glasses it is,’ Jake said.

  ‘Crikey, have you seen the prices?’ Emily said, looking at the price list on the counter.

  ‘Don’t you go getting all freaked out on me now, Em, it’ll be fine. As I’m sure your gran would say, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” You want to arrive with a bang, give people something to talk about.’

  They still had to get prices for the catering. Oh, well, Emily kept telling herself. It was business, not just a lavish party for themselves.

  They took a heap of photos with Jake’s mobile phone, and decided they’d need more precise numbers before going any further. They didn’t know how many would turn up from the ad they were putting in the paper. The staff assured them they didn’t have any functions around their date so there should be no problem with availability.

  ‘Wow, I had no idea how much stuff there was to choose from, and how expensive it is,’ Emily said as they returned to the car.

  ‘At least we don’t need chairs or chair covers,’ Jake said
.

  ‘Yes, lucky that.’

  ‘Thank God we’re not having a big white wedding!’ they both said at once and then laughed.

  They got into the car and headed the rest of the way into the city centre.

  Emily’s head was still spinning with confusion, indecision, and numbers when Jake parked the car in the Civic Centre car park and then kissed her goodbye before making his way across to the main building.

  Right, we’re going to find something to wear, Emily told herself forcefully, picturing the blue-grey wraparound silky shirt-like top from her recurring dream. She knew being set on something so particular was dangerous, but hoped that having the same dream so many times was a good sign.

  She paused out the front of the first of the two boutiques on the now familiar shopping strip. The display was a sea of colour and seemed quite casual. She hoped they had a more formal section inside.

  Fingers crossed, she thought, taking a deep breath and pushing open the door.

  ‘Hello,’ the young lass behind the counter called brightly.

  ‘Hi,’ Emily called back. She was friendly, but couldn’t quite muster the same level of enthusiasm.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘I hope so. I’m looking for quite a specific outfit for a semi-formal evening function.’ She went on to describe it.

  ‘Oh. That is specific. I can’t remember seeing anything quite like that. And the colours we have right now are still a little summery – lighter. When is it for?’

  ‘Winter. End of June.’

  ‘You might be better off waiting a couple of weeks until the winter stock is fully in. But let’s have a look. Our more formal wear is over here,’ she said, leading Emily to the other side of the store.

  She flicked through the first rack, shaking her head. ‘No, nothing of that colour. Here’s a wraparound dress in green,’ she said hopefully, holding it up.

  ‘Thanks, but not really me,’ Emily said. It was nice, but she had her heart set on the outfit of her dreams – literally. They went through two whole racks. Despite telling herself to open her mind to other possibilities, Emily didn’t see anything worth getting undressed for.