‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.’ She still didn’t move.
Lola looked closer. The woman was more than tired. Her eyes were strained. Red-rimmed too. Lola made a show of looking at her watch. ‘I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Nothing more cooling in this hot weather. Could I make you one while I’m there? I’m sure you don’t want to be going out in that heat again yet.’
‘Well, thank you, but … are you sure?’
‘Couldn’t be surer. I’m Lola Quinlan, by the way.’
‘Oh. Hello, Lola. I’m Patricia. Patricia Nolan.’
Lola moved a chair to the side of the counter, out of sight of any passers-by. ‘Now, you settle yourself there for a moment and I’ll be right back.’
She prepared the tray quickly. Not for her grubby coffee mugs and tea bags. In her first week as a volunteer at the charity shop she had brought in a nice set of china tea cups and saucers, a proper kettle and an even nicer tea pot. ‘Irish Breakfast tea, I thought,’ she called over. ‘I know it’s much later than breakfast, but it’s such a reviving flavour, I find.’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
Lola added a little jug of milk, slices of lemon, sugar cubes and the dainty biscuits Katie from the bakers across the road had dropped in that morning. She placed the tray gently on the counter, then moved to the door and turned the sign so it read Back shortly.
Patricia looked concerned. ‘Oh, you don’t have to close on my account.’
‘It’s union rules. A little break now and again and I find I’m much more inclined to do the hard selling when I’m called upon.’
‘Is that an Irish accent?’
‘It is indeed. Though I’m practically Australian these days. Three-quarters of my life spent here just about qualifies me, don’t you think?’
Patricia nodded. ‘My husband was Irish too. Well, his parents were. He loved it. We went there once, and he said it was like finding his spiritual home. He’d talk to anyone at the drop of a hat, you see, so we hardly had to go into a pub together and —’
Lola had seen it coming. As Patricia started to cry, she reached over and took the cup from her hand. Patricia lifted both hands to her face and sobbed. The suit bag stayed on her lap. She still hadn’t passed it over.
‘Did those suits belong to your husband?’ Lola asked gently.
A nod. ‘He —’ She stopped, her voice breaking.
Lola waited, wondering. Had the man died, or left her, or …
‘He had a heart attack.’ The words came falteringly at first, and then in a rush. ‘There was no chance, no warning even. We were packing to go on holiday, and he had just laid all these suits out on the bed and we were laughing, saying it was women who were supposed to be the world’s worst packers, but it always took him longer. I’d gone out to the line to bring in his shirts, ready to go in the case. And when I came in, he was —’
Lola stayed silent, reaching for the box of tissues on the counter beside her and passing it to the other woman.
After a while Patricia spoke again. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I knew I should have rung someone, but the phone was in the kitchen and it would have meant leaving him and I couldn’t … he was in my arms.’ The tears came again. ‘I knew he was already dead, and then about an hour later, our son came home, he was supposed to be driving us to the airport, and he came in and —’
This time Lola moved. She held the woman as she sobbed into her shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry for you. It must have been a very hard time.’
Patricia was embarrassed, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.’ She gave a little, sad laugh. ‘I mean, I do, but I thought I was getting better. It’s just between the moving and packing up and …’ The whole story came out. Patricia and her son had moved to the Clare Valley two weeks previously. He was starting an apprenticeship in the new year and Patricia had a part-time job as a secretary at the hospital.
‘I thought a fresh start would be the best thing. That if I wasn’t in the house we had lived in together, the memories wouldn’t hit me every day. I meant to give all his clothes away last year, but I couldn’t. I brought them all with me. And when I was unpacking yesterday, I thought, this is ridiculous, he’s not coming back. Luke doesn’t want to wear them. He finds it just as hard as I do. But it took me all day to put them into the suit bag and I walked past here three times as it was.’
‘Would you like me to take a look at them? Only if you want to. Or you can take them back home if you’d prefer.’ As Patricia glanced towards the door, Lola continued. ‘It’s nearly five. I’d say we’ll be on our own from now on, anyway.’
Patricia’s hands were shaking as she undid the zip. ‘He loved suits. He was always really well dressed. That was the first thing I noticed about him when we met.’ She started to take three of them out at once, when Lola stopped her.
‘Oh, Patricia, you’re going much too fast for me. I’m an elderly woman even though I’m sure you think I’m only in my mid-forties. Why don’t you take them out one at a time and tell me a little bit about them? Now, that jacket there in the front. Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Donegal tweed?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
Lola nodded, pleased. ‘The finest in all Ireland, I always thought. Tell me, did your husband – what was his name?’
‘Brendan.’
‘Did Brendan choose that one himself or did you have a hand in it? And where were you when you bought it? All the details, now, mind. If there’s one thing I love it’s hearing the stories behind clothes.’
‘We were on holidays in Ireland. Actually, it was our wedding anniversary. Brendan’s idea. He had surprised me. I thought we were going to Sydney, so I wasn’t surprised when we went to the airport. He and Luke had planned it all. We drove to the international airport. Brendan was like that, just loved surprises. And somehow we got upgraded into business class. He kept looking over and saying, “I told you to stick with me, Pat. Didn’t I promise you a life of luxury?” ’
‘Oh, a man with style. I like the sound of him already. Go on …’
Two days later, Lola was unfolding a new delivery of shirts when the door opened. She looked up and smiled a welcome as a young man made his way to the counter.
‘Hello, Lola? I’m Luke, my mum said —’
‘Of course. Patricia’s son? Hello, Luke. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ A nice-looking lad. Thick brown hair. Soft eyes. Sad eyes too, she thought. A lot for a teenage lad, his father dying, moving house, starting a new job …
‘Mum said you would be interested in taking some of our old books? I have them in the car.’
She peered out of the window. A bright-orange Torana that looked like it had seen better, more fashionable days was parked outside. ‘That’s yours?’
He nodded.
‘You certainly wouldn’t get lost in a snowstorm in that little number.’
He grinned. ‘I’m saving for a Porsche.’
‘I don’t know. That’s more distinctive in its own way.’
He started carrying the books in. There were four small boxes, all full.
‘Thank you, Luke. We always need new stock.’
He hesitated. ‘Mum said you were really kind to her the other afternoon. Thanks.’
He was looking awkward, but she admired his manners and his courage. ‘Please tell your mum she’s welcome to pop in any time she likes. I’d love to have another chat.’
‘She misses Dad so much. And I’ve tried to help but …’ His voice trailed off.
‘You’ve probably helped her more than you know.’
He shrugged and she saw that mixture of vulnerability and bravado again. Time for a change of subject, she decided. ‘Luke, I wonder if you could give me some advice? Those CDs and records there have just arrived, but I’m afraid I haven’t a clue about them. I really can’t tell one modern band from another. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sorting through them for me? I can’t pay you for
the work, but I can promise you one free CD an hour.’ He didn’t need to know she’d put the money in the till for them herself.
‘Oh, cool. Sure, that’d be great. I have to do some stuff for Mum, but I could come back later?’
‘Perfect. See you then.’
She and Luke spent a pleasant hour or two together, chatting sometimes, working quietly together other times. After four o’clock their solitude was interrupted as waves of school-kids started coming in. She made a point of welcoming each of them. A tip she’d read in an anti-shoplifting pamphlet. Mind you, if people were shoplifting from a charity shop, they were either in dire straits or particularly shameless.
She caught the eye of one girl. ‘You’re looking for something for the bad taste party?’
Up came the colour as she nodded. Beside her, her two friends were now also looking embarrassed. Teenagers really were so sweet, Lola thought. She pointed to the rack behind them.
‘I’ve put a few things to one side for that very event. Mind you, my idea of bad taste and yours might be something quite different.’ She knew they were looking at her outfit. A green trouser suit today, with a yellow polka-dot shirt underneath. She’d teamed it with a bandanna, jauntily tied in a bow on one side. ‘So before you ask, no, I’m afraid this isn’t for sale.’
Fifteen minutes later they left, each with an outfit for the party. Three young men came in next. Lola smiled a welcome, called out a hello, but they ignored her, talking among themselves.
Flick, flick. The tallest of them picked his way along the rail, sending the clothes hangers rattling. ‘We should just raid my dad’s wardrobe for this thing. You should see the shit he wears.’
Lola winced. ‘Excuse me?’
‘His suits are crap. And he’s got this golfing gear he wears every weekend. Jesus Christ, he looks like some fat man from the seventies.’
‘Excuse me?’
That time he heard her. He turned. ‘What?’
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t swear like that while you are in this shop.’
He gave a dismissive laugh. ‘You’d what?’
Lola kept her voice calm. ‘Could you please mind your language while you are in here?’
‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He laughed, looked at the two others with him and rolled his eyes. One of them nervously giggled. ‘It’s a crappy charity shop.’
‘It’s a charity shop, yes.’
She stared him down. He shrugged and turned away.
‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ the smaller of the three said.
‘No.’ It was the one who had sworn. ‘I haven’t looked around yet.’ He pushed back one row of suit jackets, flicked through another rack, then went to the shelf of records and CDs. Luke was there, sorting the final shelf. The boy ignored him.
‘Did you hear about Kane and the party?’ The smallest one spoke to the other boy. His voice was breaking. Lola could tell by the squeak appearing now and again. ‘It’s wicked. Go on, tell Jed about your harem, Kane.’
Kane shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘Come on. What is it?’ said the other boy, Jed.
The smallest boy glanced over at Kane, as if to check it was all right for him to tell the story. Lola was reminded of films featuring a prince or a lord arrogantly striding around, while his acolytes bowed and scraped and did their best to get his attention.
‘He’s asked four different girls. So each of them thinks he’s their date and then they’ll all turn up!’
Jed frowned. ‘But why?’
Kane reached over and gave him a clip. ‘Because it’ll be funny. I’m going to pretend I’ve had concussion, and can’t remember inviting any of them. Meanwhile they’ll all have had the excitement of being asked out by moi.’ The other two sniggered at his French accent. Kane turned back to the CDs, flicking through with one finger. ‘And Jesus, it’s not as if anyone else is lining up to ask them out.’
He returned to the clothes racks and selected a bright-orange shirt and a blue-and-white patterned tie, then strolled over to the counter and tossed them on top. ‘I’ll take those.’
‘No you won’t,’ Lola said.
‘What?’
‘I said, no you won’t take those. This is a charity shop. So you will pay for them and if you have any manners at all, you’ll say please and thank you.’
‘Oh, forget it.’ Leaving the clothes on the counter, he and his two followers sauntered out.
Little pup, Lola thought. It had been foolish of her to stand up to him. She’d heard enough horror stories of shop assistants being robbed or even attacked, but she just couldn’t abide bad manners like that. She looked over at Luke and shook her head. ‘I don’t know, the young people of today …’
‘Bring back the whip,’ he said with a grin.
On Sunday afternoon Lola called into the motel restaurant just as Emily was finishing setting the last of the tables. She looked with pleasure at the tidy room and the perfectly folded serviettes. ‘Oh, that’s lovely, Emily. Thank you. You’re doing so well.’
A shy smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Did you get anything for the bad taste party yet?’
‘I’ve got a few ideas. It’s a bit tricky, actually. You want to be bad taste but you also want to look good, you know, so —’
‘Of course. Are you going on your own, or do you have a date?’
‘I’ve got a date.’
‘How marvellous. Who is he?’
‘It’s a bit of a secret. Will you promise not to tell anyone?’
‘I promise.’ Lola had a sinking feeling. The blush was the giveaway.
‘It’s Kane Gooding.’
‘Kane? I don’t think I know him,’ she pretended, hiding her concern behind a cheery voice. Perhaps there were two Kanes in the school.
Emily was flushed with pleasure now. ‘He’s tall, with light-brown hair. His dad runs that property company.’ She giggled softly. ‘He’s sort of the school heart-throb. That’s what I mean about the bad taste theme being tricky. I want to look bad and look good all at the same time.’
Oh poor little Emily, Lola thought. By the time she realised what Kane had done to her, she wouldn’t care what she looked like.
Lola was torn between letting Emily enjoy the feeling and telling her the truth behind Kane’s invitation. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, quickly. She couldn’t interfere. Emily wasn’t her daughter or granddaughter. She didn’t really have any responsibility for her, did she? And sometimes you had to let young people make mistakes, suffer heartaches, otherwise they would never learn their own way in the world. She’d learnt that raising her son, and then her three granddaughters. Fighting against all her impulses, Lola smiled brightly. ‘Well, I hope you have a lovely night.’
Emily blushed again. ‘Thanks, Lola. Me too.’
The next day, the small spotty boy returned to the shop on his own. Lola wasn’t surprised when he went straight to the rack and picked out the orange shirt and the blue patterned tie. Kane had obviously sent one of his followers in to do his bad taste shopping. How brave.
‘How much are these, please?’
‘Let me just check. Oh, the label seems to have fallen off. Will you help me find it?’
It had fallen onto the floor. The boy picked it up and handed it across with a smile. ‘Here it is.’
‘Thank you, my dear,’ Lola said. What was a nice boy like him doing mixed up with a bully like Kane Gooding? she wondered. ‘While you’re here, would you mind just helping me move this rack?’
As they shifted it – she’d be shifting it back just as soon as he was gone – she noticed Kane loitering across the street. ‘Your friend is a bit of a hit with the girls, is he?’
The boy shrugged.
‘He’s collecting a harem, you said. For that party.’
‘It’s not doing anyone any harm. It makes them feel good, and it’ll be a laugh on the night.’
Lola pasted on a smile. ‘It sure will be. I know
Emily, but who were the others he invited?’ She smoothly spoke over his surprise. ‘Just in case they come in looking for clothes, I don’t want to give the game away. It being such a good joke and all.’
The boy weighed her up for a moment and then seemed to decide she wasn’t joking. ‘Lisa Richards, Karlie Talbot and that Emily. I don’t think he’s decided on the fourth one yet.’
‘Oh, he’s a real scamp, isn’t he? Well, I hope you all have a good time.’
She tapped her fountain pen against her chin as she watched the boy deliver the clothes to Kane across the road. A real scamp indeed.
The night of the bad taste party arrived. Lola had decided she needed to be there, to see the fallout and make sure the girls were okay. Especially Emily. She had chatted with her several times at the motel, and liked her more and more each time.
It had taken just a couple of phone calls to organise things for tonight. Lola smiled across the front seat of the car at her new friend. ‘Thank you so much for this, Patricia. I do still like to drive, but I found the police don’t have the same relaxed attitude about an octogenarian behind the wheel.’
‘It’s my pleasure, Lola. I’m enjoying myself.’
In the back seat Margaret leaned forward. ‘This is like watching one of those wildlife documentaries, isn’t it?’
Lola and Patricia laughed. That was exactly what it was like, seeing all the plumed and preened teenagers circling each other, the body language, the awkwardness, the mock confidence. They were parked across the road from the school hall, just close enough to have a full view of the front steps and hear snatches of conversations. As the three of them chattered they watched couple after couple meet up. Nervous boys stood at the door. Out of cars spilled young women in the most extraordinary outfits. Their idea of bad taste was certainly different from hers, Lola decided. She liked some of the outfits. She’d never understood this idea of stripes not going with spots. Quite eye-catching, in her opinion.
‘That’s him, there,’ she hissed suddenly. Kane, in that orange shirt and blue tie. And there was his entourage. They watched as he took up position on the steps. Emily had told her he’d asked her to meet him at exactly eight o’clock. He’d insisted that she not be late. He’d told her that punctuality meant a lot to him. It was only good manners, he’d said. Emily had been very taken with that.
All Together Now Page 4