Lola's Secret

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Lola's Secret Page 8

by Monica McInerney

Favourite Christmas carol

  Favourite Christmas joke

  Age

  Occupation

  Reason for spending Christmas at the Valley View Motel

  The last three questions weren’t strictly to help with the Christmas lunch, but Lola had become curious about her guests. Especially about the two single ones. It was far too early to be thinking along such lines, but one possibly single male, a possibly single female – well, why not think about a little matchmaking while she was playing Christmas hostess? And perhaps the two children would be the right age to enjoy some of the collection of games and toys belonging to Ellen that they always kept on standby for other guests.

  I assure you that all information received will be used strictly to enhance your enjoyment of Christmas at the Valley View Motel and will be deleted from our records afterwards. I look forward to hearing back and congratulate you again – here’s to a very merry Christmas indeed!

  Lola Quinlan

  Proprietor

  She had just sent off the emails when a sixth sense made her turn around. Geraldine had come in silently behind her. It was one of the many things Lola disliked about her daughter-in-law – her habit of wearing sensible shoes that gave her a creepy, gliding way of walking. Lola herself preferred high-heeled shoes whenever possible. Far more flattering and to hell with comfort, that was her opinion. Their fashion choices were yet another gulf between herself and Geraldine – her daughter-in-law had always favoured conservative clothes like crisp shirts and neat skirts, as well as minimal makeup and short, no-nonsense practical haircuts. Lola had never understood why.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Lola said, turning in the swivel chair so that her back hid the screen. Had Geraldine done her silent sneaking in time to see the email? Worse still, in time to see that Lola had signed herself proprietor? Lola knew Geraldine felt very strongly about that. Lola had formally retired on her seventieth birthday, handing full ownership of the motel over to Jim and his family. ‘Though I will stick my beak in now and again, I hope you know that,’ she’d said.

  ‘I’d be astonished if you didn’t,’ Jim had laughed. Geraldine hadn’t even smiled.

  ‘How are Carrie’s little darlings?’ Lola said to her now. ‘Swinging from the chandeliers, I suppose?’

  ‘Jim’s reading to them. Is the internet working again?’

  Lola turned back to the computer, swiftly closing her email program. ‘Gosh, yes. It seems to be. Isn’t that marvellous? Mind you, it took them long enough to fix it. When did I ring to register the fault? A week ago? Or was it a month ago? I really can’t remember.’

  ‘Six days ago,’ Geraldine said. ‘I need to do some online ordering, Lola. Would you mind?’

  ‘Mind?’ Lola was being deliberately obtuse. She knew Geraldine wanted her off the computer and out of the office. She just wasn’t sure whether the file marked Lola’s Secret was hidden. She decided to try to buy some time. ‘Oh, you want to use the computer? Silly me. I tell you, I’m losing more marbles every day. It seems to take ages for anything to sink in with me. I swear sometimes I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached. Do you know, yesterday I spent nearly half an hour trying to get into the wrong room, convinced there was a problem with my key. And all along I was at completely the wrong door! Imagine!’

  Geraldine didn’t answer, just waited. Lola had a suspicion that if the chair had an eject button, it would have been pressed by now and Lola would be sailing through the roof and up into the sky in cartoon-fashion. She had no choice. If she turned back to hide her file, she would only make Geraldine even more suspicious. She stood up, making a show of how hard it was, even though she’d had a good day flexibility-wise. ‘Not just my mind going either these days. Sometimes I can barely move, my joints hurt so much. Not long now, Geraldine, and I’ll have shuffled off this mortal coil and you’ll have the place all to yourself.’

  Anyone else would have laughed at that, or protested. Not Geraldine. ‘Thanks, Lola. I’ll turn the computer off after I finish my order, will I?’ It was a statement more than a question.

  ‘Of course, Geraldine. Save power whenever possible. That’s always been my number-one rule of efficient housekeeping.’

  The next morning, before Lola had had a chance to get dressed and go over to the computer again, Jim appeared at her door. His broad open face was sunburnt, as always, his tall stocky figure well turned out in a crisp white shirt, ironed trousers and shining shoes. Even as a little boy, he’d been neat and tidy. It had always amused Lola. He certainly hadn’t inherited that trait from her. He was carrying a tray, with her favourite breakfast – a mushroom omelette. Beside it was a large pot of tea and two cups.

  ‘Darling!’ she said, beaming at him as she pulled a purple silk dressing-gown over her bright-yellow silk pyjamas. ‘How thoughtful. It’s not my birthday, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not. But I just wanted to spoil you.’

  ‘You have been well brought up. Who did that? Oh, that’s right – me. What a lovely treat. And did you make this yourself?’

  ‘With my two hands, yes. And three eggs and a cup of mushrooms.’

  Lola took a bite. ‘Perfect, dear Jim, thank you.’

  ‘When is your birthday, Lola?’

  She stopped mid-bite and smiled at him. ‘You are funny today.’

  He waited.

  ‘It’s in February, darling. Don’t you remember? That old lady blowing out eighty-four candles in the dining room nearly a year ago? That was me.’

  ‘Of course.’ He cradled a cup of tea in his hands.

  ‘What is it, Jim?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? So it’s perfectly normal that you bring me breakfast in my room, sit there sighing and looking anxious and ask me when my birthday is? Are you worried about something?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Something about me or about you?’

  ‘Both of us. It’ll affect both of us.’

  Lola frowned. ‘Are you worried about your memory? Is that why you asked about my birthday?’

  ‘Not my memory, Lola. Yours.’ He held up a hand as she started to protest. ‘Geraldine noticed it first. She thinks you’re getting forgetful. That you’ve become secretive. She said she found you in the office last night and that you were behaving very strangely.’

  ‘Really? What was I doing? Speaking in tongues?’

  ‘She said you were at the computer, writing reminder notes to yourself.’

  ‘To myself?’

  Jim spoke quickly. ‘Lola, I know she shouldn’t have looked at your files but she was worried. She said you’d made out a questionnaire to remind yourself what your favourite food is, favourite drink, carols, songs, colour, everything. She saw it on a documentary, that this is what people are advised to do when they’ve been diagnosed with early dementia. And she said you told her you’d forget your own head if it wasn’t glued on.’

  ‘Attached. I said attached, not glued.’

  ‘She also said you told her you keep forgetting which room is yours. And that you can barely walk some days.’

  Lola sat more upright, and put down the knife and fork. ‘Dear Geraldine. So thoughtful. And what else? Did she have a suggestion or two as to what the next best step for me might be?’

  ‘Lola, don’t be like this. You know how much I love you, we all love you, but you’re eighty-four. You’ve had a busy, active life —’

  ‘But I’m too old now and it’s time to have me put down? Perhaps Matthew could do it. Family rates and all that.’

  He seemed relieved to laugh. ‘Lola, please. I’m sorry to have just blurted it out, but is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘There are a hundred things I haven’t told you. A million, probably. You’re my son. The last thing you need to know is the contents of your mother’s brain.’

  ‘Is it getting too much for you here, is that it? Too many people around? Having to move rooms now and again? Look, I know you know your own mind better than anyone, b
ut would you be happier if you were in your own place, a room that could be yours permanently, with all the support around you that you could possibly need?’

  ‘What are you talking about, Jim?’

  He reached down beside him. She had thought he was carrying a newspaper. It was a bundle of brochures for local old folks’ homes. ‘We’re not rushing you into anything, I promise. But Lola, perhaps some time in the future, it’s something you might want to think about.’

  She kept her temper with great difficulty. She wanted to stand up, push the now dry-tasting mushroom omelette onto the floor, call her son a traitor and then go and hunt down his fool of a wife and … What? Lock her in the coolroom? Instead, she dug her nails into her palms again, slowly counted to five and kept her voice even. ‘How wonderful. How thoughtful of you both. And where are you putting me? Should I start packing now?’

  ‘We’re not “putting” you anywhere. And of course we don’t have a date in mind. I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I? Lola, look, I wanted to wait until after Christmas to bring this up with you, but there’s something I need to tell you.’

  Lola knew then what he was going to say. ‘You and Geraldine are leaving, aren’t you? Or you want to.’

  He looked shocked and then instantly relieved. ‘Have you heard us talking about it?’

  ‘No.’ But suddenly many things made sense. The lack of repairs recently, for example. Their decision not to host Christmas parties in the function room this year …

  ‘We’re ready to move on, Lola. We stayed here after Anna’s —’ He stopped. Jim could still barely say his daughter’s name. ‘But it’s not got any easier for Geraldine, no matter how much time passes.’

  Lola felt a momentary bond with her daughter-in-law.

  Jim kept talking. ‘At first she wanted to stay here because there were so many good memories of Anna. It felt right to be here where she spent her final days, to be close to her grave … It helped us both, I know. But in the past six months, Lola, something has felt different. For Geraldine more than me. It’s making her sadder. She thinks of Anna every day —’

  ‘That will happen wherever she is.’

  ‘But she needs a new start. New surroundings. We’re going to look for a new business to run when we’re on our driving holiday around the state. In the Riverland maybe. Or perhaps the Adelaide Hills. We don’t know exactly where yet. As close to Clare as possible, but enough distance to make it feel new.’

  ‘Have you told the girls?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Need to work out what to do with the old bat first?’

  ‘Mum, please.’

  He only called her Mum occasionally. At times like this when he was upset.

  Lola sat upright. ‘Let’s be as clear as we can about everything, Jim, shall we? Geraldine isn’t inviting me to come and live with you in your new motel, is she?’

  ‘Of course you’d be welcome. You’re my mother.’

  ‘Jim, tell me the truth. Would she prefer it to be just you and her?’

  A nod. Then another flurry of words. ‘We’re thinking about just a small B&B. Perhaps not even a restaurant, just a breakfast room. We’re not getting any younger either. We’d like to slow down a little. Find a new business just for a few years, perhaps, and then think seriously about retirement. I’m nearly sixty-five, after all.’

  ‘My little Jim, imagine.’ She took in his worried expression then and her heart softened. It wasn’t Jim’s fault he’d married an old cow. ‘Darling, thank you for being so honest. And so straightforward. There’s no rush, is there? You’re not about to pack up before Christmas?’

  ‘No, of course not. We’re thinking in the next six months. Perhaps putting the motel on the market in the new year.’

  ‘So I’ve time to enjoy one last Christmas here?’

  ‘Of course! We’ll cancel our holiday if you want. I’m sure Bett and Carrie would too. We could have one final family Christmas here together. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘No!’

  He looked shocked at her vehemence.

  ‘No, darling, of course not. The peace and quiet I’ll have over Christmas will be exactly what I need to make up my mind about the next best step for me. An old folks’ home here in Clare, perhaps. Or perhaps I’ll toss a coin to decide whether I go and live with Carrie or Bett and their babies. What’s one more drooling face to wipe or nappy to change?’

  ‘Lola!’

  ‘I’m joking, darling.’ She leaned across and patted his hand. ‘I’m so glad this is out in the open. And my lips are sealed for now, I promise,’ she said, making a zipping motion. ‘I won’t even mention it to Geraldine. It’s our little secret.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ At the door, he stopped and turned. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘What was that list for?’

  ‘The list?’

  ‘The one called “Lola’s Secret”. Listing all your favourite things?’

  She produced the best smile she could. ‘You’ve spoiled everything. I was going to give it to you as a hint for what I wanted for Christmas. I guess it’ll just be bath salts again now.’

  He shook his head, smiling as he walked away.

  Lola kept the smile on her face too, but only until he was out of sight. Then she stepped back and slammed the door as loudly as she could. She hoped Geraldine heard it.

  Chapter Seven

  Guest 1

  It was a week now since Neil had been outside his flat. That wasn’t unusual. What was the point of going outside? What was the point of anything these days?

  A knock at his bedroom door. ‘Neil?’

  It was his flatmate Rick. He ignored him.

  ‘Neil, your mother’s on the phone again.’

  He still didn’t answer.

  A harder knock, more of a thump. ‘Neil! Jesus, mate. You can’t stay in there forever.’

  He didn’t plan to stay there forever.

  Another thump. ‘You’re not the first person in the world to lose your job or your girlfriend. Come on, mate. Pull yourself together. Your mother’s really worried.’

  He didn’t reply. He knew that if he stayed quiet for long enough, he’d eventually be left alone, by Rick and by his mother. She’d been trying his mobile that morning as well. He’d let those calls go to voicemail. Maybe it was annoying, for his flatmate, for his mother, for everyone who knew him. Well, too bad. They’d be rid of the annoyance of his presence soon enough.

  He turned up the volume on his computer to drown out the sound of Rick talking deliberately loudly on the phone outside his door. ‘He’s in there, Mrs Harris, but he won’t answer. I’m sorry.’ Perhaps he’d send his mother an email, get her off his back that way, before she got it into her head to drive the three hours from Wilcannia to visit him. He could hear her voice in his head enough already. He didn’t need to see her. He already knew what she’d say. The same thing she’d said to him, over and again, the last time he’d made the mistake of answering when she rang. ‘It’s Christmas time, Neil. Please come home. A family should be together at Christmas.’

  ‘Why?’ he’d asked her. ‘What makes Christmas better than any other time?’

  She hadn’t had an answer for that. He’d said goodbye then, telling her there was someone at the door. There might have been. A takeaway delivery, probably. He wasn’t eating a lot these days, but what he did eat arrived at the house in plastic containers, ordered online. He lived most of his life online. What was the point in going outside when he could do everything from here? This way he was the one in control. He could decide who he spoke to and who spoke to him. If he didn’t like what he was reading, or hearing, he just had to change websites or blogs or press delete. It was … What? Better? No, safer, that was the word. He’d tried life out there, tried it and didn’t like it. It was much easier in here.

  He hadn’t cut himself off from the world completely. If anything, spending so much time online made him more
tuned in to world events and new music than he’d ever been in the ‘real’ world. There were even a few people he spoke to, kind-of friends, he supposed he could call them, that he’d met via chat rooms and blogs. Not that he’d talked to them recently. They’d started asking too many questions. If he wanted to be interrogated, he’d ring his mother, or go outside his room and see his flatmate. And he didn’t want to be interrogated. He didn’t want to do anything, not any more.

  His life had been good once. He’d worked in lots of different jobs, most recently as an upholsterer, played a bit of sport, did what most twenty-eight-year-olds did around Broken Hill, drank too much some nights, smoked some dope now and again, nothing serious. He’d even had a girlfriend for a few months. Until, piece by piece, it had all started to collapse around him. The job went first. Completely out of the blue. His boss had called him in from the workshop, his face all serious. ‘It’s not you, Neil. You know I think you’re a bloody good worker. It’s just the orders have dropped off, and it’s last in, first out.’ He’d heard the same phrase again and again the following weeks, as he applied for other jobs. ‘Sorry, mate. The orders have dried up. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.’ If anything had come up, they hadn’t let him know.

  A month after he lost his job, he’d been drinking at home on his own, run out of beer, got in his car to go to the bottle shop and had a crash. Nothing serious. All he’d done was hit a tree. The only person he’d hurt was himself, a stupid knee injury from slamming his foot so hard on the brake. At least he’d managed to start the car and get it safely home before the cops arrived and he got breathalysed. Some luck. But the car hadn’t driven properly since and he couldn’t afford the repairs. His knee was still sore, and he didn’t have the money for a physio. So he’d had to give up the footy too.

  His girlfriend pulled the plug next. She’d used almost the same words as his boss. ‘It’s not you, Neil, it’s me. I want to go travelling, see the world, not settle down yet. You’re getting too serious for me.’ He’d pleaded with her, but it had been no use. Her mind was made up, she told him. Then change your mind, he begged. Please. She wouldn’t, no matter how many times he asked, how many times he called her. She was the only good thing in his life, he told her. It was the truth. No job, no car, no sport – she was all he had. He tried another tack, writing her letters, sending her emails. Couldn’t he go travelling with her? It didn’t have to be serious between them. He’d lighten up, he promised, but couldn’t they at least stay together? He didn’t think he could live without her.

 

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