White Tulips & Wedding Cake

by Jonathan Solomon

  White Tulips

  &

  Wedding Cake

  White Tulips & Wedding Cake

  By Jonathan Solomon

  Copyright © Jonathan Solomon 2017

  This book is copyright. All rights reserved. Except for private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act (1968) as amended, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  First published in 2017 by

  Jonathan Solomon (self-published)

  PO Box 67

  Thornleigh NSW 2122

  Australia

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Creator: Solomon, Jonathan, 1983-author

  Title: White tulips & wedding cake / Jonathan Solomon

  ISBN: 9780646975603 (paperback)

  9780646974798 (ebook)

  Subjects: Same-sex marriage--Fiction.

  Book Design by Stu Flynn, Advert Ideas.

  Note to Readers

  This novel is a work of fiction. At the time of writing (July 2017) same-sex weddings were not legal in Australia. This novel takes as its premise that same-sex marriage is legal in Australia. Again, this novel is a work of fiction with the author utilising an over-active imagination and a way with words. All characters and events are fictitious and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Saturday, 15 September – 3:35 pm

  There was a stunned silence.

  “No, this cannot be happening!” agonised Daisy. “In all my time as venue manager of Orange Blossoms Vineyard, this has never happened. Not once on my watch.”

  Daisy continued to look aghast. She kept looking up and down. Up at the newly married couple Anthony and Heath. Standing behind the newlyweds were six grooms-maids, Rosie, Orchid, Yasmin, Gardenia, Blossom and Violet. Each grooms-maid wore a shimmering goddess dress in each distinctive colour of the rainbow; red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple. The grooms had their mums standing by their sides, Camille and Jonquil. They were both wearing sharp and stylish tuxedos. The floral designer Iris and her assistant son, Ollie, were standing nearby, as well as the wedding photographer, Jean-Paul.

  The heavy silence continued.

  And they looked down. Down at the sight that beheld them. Once, only five minutes before, the wedding cake had stood on a vintage wine barrel. The cake, a white one-metre-tall six-tiered edible structure, coated lavishly with a floral freefall of roses in rainbow colours, was now a crumpled mess on the wooden floor of the cavernous vineyard reception hall.

  Daisy looked at the dismembered cake on the ground as if debating whether to accept the reality of the situation.

  “No, this just did not happen!” yelled Daisy. “I will find the perpetrator who did this.”

  Daisy shook with rage and stared at each of the faces in the group before her. Then they all looked back at what used to be a wedding cake.

  Chapter 1

  Six Months Previously

  Friday, 16 March – 8:54 pm

  Iris Windmill trudged up and up the concrete steps, mustering the energy to move her leaden legs to her unit. Iris and her only child, Ollie, lived in a unit in a plain-bricked building in Penrith. A 1960s-built bland block, which had no lifts. Iris was carrying shopping bags, brimming with essential items, and holding the mail in her left hand. She was relieved to finally reach the landing of the fourth level. She let herself in and carefully lowered the shopping bags onto the tiled floor.

  Iris closed the front door behind her, turned on the lights and placed her handbag, the mail and keys on the table near the front door. She looked up into the mirror above the table and saw her miserable round face stare back at her. Her short curly brown hair looked flat, limp and tired. She could also see her mouth turning downwards. She was 52 years old and still working in the same job at Flowering Fusion Studio in Bexley or FFS as she liked to call the business. She had to wake up at the unfriendly hour of 5:00 am in order to get ready to purchase flowers wholesale at the Sydney Flower Market in Flemington. From Monday to Friday, Iris was required to bring the newly purchased flowers back to FFS. She was the very definition of sleep deprivation. She could not stand her cranky and moody boss, who was also the florist shop owner. Often Iris was made to stay back on unpaid time to help finish several urgent flower orders. Thank goodness it was Friday.

  Walking over to the tiny kitchen, Iris put the water on to boil. Iris knew exactly what would calm down her nerves. Yes, it was the ever-reliable chamomile tea. She reached up into the overhead cupboards and felt around for the box of chamomile tea bags. Her stomach lurched. The box of chamomile tea felt empty. No, no, don’t be empty, Iris thought. She shook the small box but no teabags were inside. Tears started to fill up in her eyes and she angrily threw the box down on the kitchen floor.

  Iris then remembered the mail and walked back to the table. She saw that the first letter was from the electricity company. She opened the envelope and saw the outstanding amount. Iris made a choking sound as she covered her mouth in disbelief. Having double-checked the figures, she placed the bill back on the table in resignation.

  She walked sluggishly over to the lounge room and sank heavily into the fraying, brown two-seater sofa. She normally did not like to cry openly, either in public or in private, but right at this very moment life sucked. She had little savings. She was still renting. She hated going to work. The pain of losing her husband five years ago still stung. Iris let the tears flow down her cheekbones, feeling the wet tracks slide across her dry skin. She closed her eyes.

  But she still had Ollie. Her 27-year-old handsome son. Ollie would now be working in his shift at a Balmain pub as a bartender. They rarely saw each other during the week due to their different working hours. They kept in touch through text messages or notes written on the fridge door. It was really only on the weekends that they were able to have a proper face-to-face conversation.

  The tears were wiped away and Iris got up to unpack the shopping bags, slowly allocating each shopping item to their respective storage areas in the kitchen. A muffled ringtone sung out. Iris’s heart stopped momentarily. Please don’t be the boss, please do not be the boss, Iris thought frantically. She had enough of Dahlia Knight-Shade for the week. Actually, more like for the rest of the year. Or forever. Yes, that would be an accurate assessment of their working, or more fittingly, not-working relationship.

  Iris faced the mirror as she rummaged in her handbag for her mobile phone. She noticed her mascara had spider-webbed under her eyes. She glanced at the mobile phone’s screen and a wave of relief released through her body. It was her mother, Gladys, calling.

  “Hi Mum,” Iris answered, accepting the call.

  “Hi darling. How are you? Am I calling at a bad time?” asked Gladys.

  “No, not at all. I’ve just come back home and have packed all the shopping away. So, how am I? Good question,” said Iris, struggling to sound cheerful.

  “Iris, you know what I keep saying. You need to get out more and try to find…”

  “Another husband,” Iris completed the sentence.

  “Yes,” Gladys paused at the other end of the line.

  “Well, I haven’t found him yet. I’ve been really busy with work and making sure Ollie is being looked after. And I’m trying to catch up on my sleep. I haven’t had time to do much else,” said Iris.

  “Have a better life, Iris. You know you don’t have to stay in Sydney. You could move back to Grafton and live with me. The house is all paid off and there are spare bedrooms for both you and Ollie. You could live rent-free and I’
d help with the cooking and shopping,” offered Gladys.

  “Thank you, Mum, but we’ve been through this countless times before. My life is in Sydney. Sydney is where I had my life with…” Iris’s voice faltered.

  “With Roddy,” finished Gladys.

  Iris did not say anything.

  “Well, I just wanted to call and say I have some sad news,” said Gladys quietly. Iris’s head swam slightly. She had had enough of sad and bad news. She needed a high dose of good news more than anything at this point in time.

  “Go on,” Iris murmured.

  “It’s about my brother,” said Gladys. “Your uncle, Jack.”

  “Jack?” said Iris. “I haven’t heard much about Jack for a while. He moved to France didn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I don’t know if you remember him,” said Gladys.

  “I vaguely remember meeting him. Let me think when this was. It would have been some time back in the early seventies,” guessed Iris.

  “Yes, that’s him. Well, he passed away a few months ago,” announced Gladys.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that Mum. Was it a peaceful passing?” asked Iris.

  “Apparently he passed away in his sleep. He was seventy-six,” said Gladys.

  “So you’re an only child now,” said Iris as she leaned against the front door for support.

  “Yes, an orphan,” Gladys said. “Well, that’s the reason for my phone call.”

  “Mum, did you have a close bond with Jack?” asked Iris.

  “We weren’t particularly close. He did visit us when you were growing up and he did come up for a few Christmases. But you were very young. Jack left Australia for Paris, was it 1973? I remember it was after Labor came into power. Yes, it was 1973,” Gladys paused. “The last time we saw Jack was at Sydney airport, for Easter. You must have only been about seven when Jack left for overseas.”

  “When I was seven? Can you believe that was over forty years ago?” Iris said. “I remember vaguely that he wore trendy waistcoats. I think you also told me Jack left Grafton for Sydney when he was 17 and you sort of never forgave him.”

  “Yes, he left home at 17 but I didn’t begrudge him that badly. Well, not anymore anyway. He knew what he wanted and he went for it. In a way he always sought out to find happiness. His happiness,” said Gladys. “Well, this news got me looking at my photo albums. And I can see quite a few photos with you and Jack. You both look so happy and delighted to be in each other’s company. Oh, and there’s the ice-cream photos. I don’t think I recall seeing him look as happy as he was when he was with you.”

  “Mum, do you mind sending me a copy of those photos?” asked Iris.

  “Sure darling, I’ll try to get the copies posted to you in the next few weeks.”

  “Thanks Mum. Was there a funeral in Paris?” queried Iris.

  “Not that I know of. Jack’s Australian solicitors contacted me as next of kin. It seems that Jack was in a hospice being cared for by professional nurses. I was told he did not have a partner or any children at the time. He must have decided to live a quiet life.”

  “That’s sad,” opined Iris.

  “Well, you know I’m still here in Grafton if you ever change your mind and want to live with me,” reminded Gladys.

  “Thank you, Mum. I will keep that in my mind.”

  “Well Iris, you look after yourself. Who knows, one day you might be surprised. Have a good night dear,” said Gladys and with that she hung up.

  One day she might be surprised? Iris was not sure what her mother was talking about. What was there be to be surprised about? Iris could not stand surprises. There was something ambiguous about surprises. You never really knew if they were going to bring good or bad news.

  Iris placed her mobile phone back into her handbag and returned to the sofa where she soon fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday, 7 April – 11.09 am

  Ollie was in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes in his blue singlet and black boxer briefs. The smell of pancakes floated throughout the small unit, spreading its aroma like an enthusiastic hug.

  “Mum, are you up?” called out Ollie. He glanced at the clock above the sofa and saw that it was 11.10 AM. He knew his mum liked to sleep in on a Saturday morning. His mum lived for Saturday mornings.

  “Yes, I’ll be there in a minute,” said Iris from her bedroom.

  Ollie used the spatula to flip the pancakes over, the thick mixture slowly hardening into a golden brown. He waited patiently for the pancakes to form but with fixed eyes on the fry-pan to avoid any burnt pancakes.

  “Mmm, smells delicious, as always,” said Iris as she walked into the kitchen, wearing an oversized T-shirt and tracksuit pants. She rubbed her eyes and then stared, perhaps for a moment too long, at Ollie. Ollie, as a man, held certain features that reminded her heart-achingly of Roddy. Ollie had the caramel-coloured hair, the warm brown eyes, the well-rounded shoulder blades, the unmistakable forehead and the distinctive square jaw of his father. Iris soon distracted herself as she went searching for the bottle of maple syrup.

  “It’s all good, Mum. You relax now and I’ll bring the pancakes over to the dining table,” persuaded Ollie.

  The small dining table seated four people and was positioned in the lounge room along with the sofa. Iris slowly sat herself down at the dining table and started fidgeting with her fingers. She still wore her wedding ring. Iris looked out through the glass doors, which connected the lounge room to the small balcony.

  “The weather looks nice. Maybe we should do something together today, unless you have plans,” said Iris.

  “Mum, I’m free this afternoon. I have no plans. I’m still single, you know that,” said Ollie quietly. “I don’t have that special someone to make plans with.”

  “You never know. You could be bartending at that pub and someone gets your full and undivided attention,” suggested Iris.

  “Mum, you know I’m not ready for another relationship.”

  “Neither am I,” sighed Iris.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m ready. That is, when I’m ready to have my heart torn apart, kicked, and trodden on,” said Ollie.

  “Ollie, you’re way too serious,” said Iris with concern on her face.

  Ollie shrugged and walked over to the dining table with the plate of pancakes, two spare plates and cutlery in his hands.

  “Mum, I think you’re the one that needs to go out and date. I am fine with you dating other guys. You don’t need my permission,” said Ollie as he sat down next to Iris at the dining table.

  “Have you heard back from…?” Iris asked tentatively.

  “Mum, we broke up over three years ago. It’s over! He doesn’t want me. He’s probably found my replacement by now,” said Ollie as he placed a few pancakes on Iris’s plate.

  “But Ollie, you don’t act like it’s over,” said Iris as she put her left hand over Ollie’s right hand. “Well… at least we both have our appetites back.”

  “Yes, let’s enjoy the pancakes,” said Ollie cheering up a little. “Oh, I’m just going to grab the maple syrup.”

  Ollie got up from the chair but stopped moving as he detected a sound.

  “Mum, I think can hear your phone ringing,” said Ollie.

  Iris arched her ear. Yes, it was her phone ringing. She got up and went to her shoebox of a bedroom. She found her handbag and extracted her phone. It was an unfamiliar phone number. Should she answer or let it go straight to voice message. Iris put the phone tentatively to her ear. At least it was not her boss’s number.

  “Good morning?” answered Iris uncertainly.

  “Good morning! May I speak to Iris Windmill?” asked a female voice.

  “Yes, speaking.”

  “Hello Iris, how are you?” asked the woman.

  “Not too bad.”

  “That’s good. My name is Sakura Tsubaki and I am calling on behalf of Foxglove Mimosa Snowdrop Lawyers. I am a solicitor who specialises in wil
ls and estates as well as commercial realty. Are you available for a chat?”

  “Yes, sure,” said Iris as she sat down on her unmade bed. She reached across for a pillow to hold against her stomach. Ollie then peered in through the bedroom doorway. Iris pointed at her phone and Ollie nodded his head and returned to the lounge area.

  “So first of all, just letting you know that I obtained your mobile phone number directly from your mother,” advised Sakura.

  “My mother?”

  “Yes, I’m managing the deceased estate of Jack Gardner, your mother’s brother and your uncle,” confirmed Sakura.

  “Oh yes,” said Iris as she massaged her forehead. “My mother told me the news.”

  “Well, are you available to come into my office for more details? I have a few things I need to disclose to you and it would be best to do this face-to-face. Is today possible? Sometime this afternoon perhaps? I apologise for such short notice,” said Sakura.

  “That shouldn’t be an issue,” said Iris. “Where is your office based?”

  “The firm is in the city. Is 2 pm today all right with you?

  “Yes, that’s sounds good,” said Iris. “Can I bring my son along?”

  “Yes, you can. Oh, and if you could bring a passport and identification information that would be great,” said Sakura.

  Iris swallowed, thinking about the overseas trips she had with Roddy and Ollie.

  “Yes, that should work out,” said Iris.

  “Thank you, Iris. I will text you the office’s address and I look forward to meeting you in person today.”

  “Thank you, Sakura.”

  “See you soon, Iris,” said Sakura before hanging up.

  Iris put the pillow across her head and lay back on the mattress.

  ***

  Ollie had finished eating his pancakes and was worried that his mum’s serving was getting cold. He hoped the phone call was not about her work. He knew that she could not stand her boss Dahlia. He listened patiently to the struggles, battles and tribulations she experienced at Flowering Fusion Studio. It was “Dahlia spoke rudely to me”, “Dahlia gave me the silent treatment” or “Dahlia put me down in front of a customer”. Ollie had suggested she find another job but she seemed reluctant to leave. He remembered her saying it took her eight months to find her current job and she never wanted to go back to being unemployed, even if for a shorter period of time. Currently, Iris needed a full-time position in order to stay in Sydney since Roddy passed away.