The tow truck turned up eventually, and the driver promptly hoisted the car up ready to go. Ellen took a seat in the cabin and made awkward small talk for the short drive.
‘Finn’s a good bloke,’ he told her. ‘He’ll get you sorted.’
‘Who’s Finn?’
‘The mechanic I’m taking you to,’ he said. ‘Top bloke. You’re in good hands.’
When they arrived at the garage, Ellen got out of the truck and out of the way, while the driver and the mechanic – ‘Finn’, she assumed – proceeded with the complicated manoeuvres to unload the car into position. She walked across to the small office and waited at the door. This was not one of the big chain service stations – there were a couple of petrol pumps, but set back as it was in an industrial area, petrol was obviously not his main trade. This was an old-school garage, which Ellen hoped was a good thing.
Finally the tow-truck driver gave her a wave and jumped into his truck. The mechanic strolled over to where Ellen was standing.
‘Not a great start to the weekend for you,’ he remarked.
‘Do you know what’s wrong with it?’ she asked.
He smiled, scratching his head. ‘Ah, no, not without looking at it.’ He indicated for her to walk through into the office ahead of him. ‘Let me get your details.’
Ellen stepped into the office, which was surprisingly neat. He walked around the counter and flipped open an appointment book.
‘I’ll get your number, and I’ll give you a call on Monday or Tuesday, let you know what’s what.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He looked up.
‘Monday or Tuesday?’ she said. ‘But it’s Friday.’
‘Exactly.’ He picked up a half-empty bottle of beer on the counter and took a swig. ‘I’m already completely booked up tomorrow, and I don’t open Sundays. I’ll do my best Monday –’
‘I can’t do without a car all weekend,’ said Ellen.
He lifted one eyebrow slightly. ‘You don’t have another car?’
‘No. Why would you assume that?’ she said curtly.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s not unusual for a family to have a second car.’
She was about to say, well, I’m separated, the second car is AWOL somewhere over on the northern beaches. But she didn’t.
‘Well we don’t. And I can’t get through a weekend without a car, and I have to get to work next week. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Listen, Ms . . .’
‘Cosgrove.’ She wasn’t going to give him her first name – best to keep it professional.
‘. . . Ms Cosgrove, from what Ray told me on the phone, this isn’t going to be a quick fix. Even if I could get to it tomorrow to see what’s wrong, I wouldn’t be able to start on it till next week anyway. You’re going to have to make alternative arrangements.’
She bristled. Easy for him to say. Bloody tradesmen.
‘Fine, but I’d appreciate if you could make it a priority.’
If Ellen wasn’t mistaken, he was doing a pretty poor job of trying to suppress a grin. Bloody bloody tradesmen.
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said solemnly.
‘Well, if you can’t, you should just say so, and I’ll arrange to have it towed back to my regular mechanic.’
He breathed out. ‘I will do my best,’ he repeated evenly. ‘What’s the best number to contact you?’
He wrote down her details as she dictated them, and then he gave her his card. He picked up his beer again. ‘Is someone coming to pick you up?’
She looked blankly at him.
‘Do you need a lift home?’ he said.
Ellen glanced at the beer in his hand. As if she was going to get into a car with him.
‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’
He shrugged. ‘Okay. I’ll be in touch.’
Ellen walked out of the office and into the evening. It was getting dark, and a little chilly. She pulled her light cardigan around her as she crossed the tarmac of the service station to the street. How the hell was she going to get home from here? She paused, looking up and down the road. It was all light industry, and everything was closed at this time of the evening. She glanced back at the service station; the office was clearly illuminated in the gathering dark, and the man, Finn, she assumed, appeared to be watching her. Ellen turned around again quickly and started up the street in the direction of Parramatta Road, where she hoped she had a chance of finding a taxi.
Saturday night
Liz waved when she saw Eddie walk into the bar. He spotted her and smiled, weaving his way through the tables till he got to hers. Liz stood up and they hugged.
‘Hello brother.’
‘Hello sister.’
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘I’ll get it,’ said Eddie. ‘What are you having?’
‘I’m still on this one,’ Liz said, indicating her glass.
‘Okay. I won’t be a minute,’ he said, heading for the bar. He returned to the table with a glass of red, and slipped off his jacket before taking a seat. ‘So how’ve you been, sis?’
‘I’m not too bad,’ she replied. ‘Can’t complain.’
He lifted his glass. ‘To siblings,’ he toasted.
‘Eye contact!’ they said in unison. It was their silly standing joke. Eddie had heard somewhere that you had to make eye contact when you clinked glasses in a toast, or else it was seven years of bad sex. They weren’t superstitious, but neither were they prepared to risk that.
‘We haven’t done this in a while,’ said Eddie.
‘Because you’re always too busy for me,’ she lamented.
‘Hoh,’ he scoffed. ‘How many times have you put me off because Dr McDreamy has called?’
‘I don’t know anyone called Dr McDreamy,’ Liz said airily.
Eddie took a sip of his wine. ‘How is the magnificent medico anyway?’
‘Magnificent,’ she quipped.
‘Left his wife yet?’
‘Don’t be smart.’
‘I’m not the smart one,’ he returned. ‘You’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you?’
Liz set her glass back down on the table and looked at him. ‘So, have you brought me here for a lecture, little brother?’
‘Nah,’ he said with a grin. ‘I just keep hoping that one day you’ll tell me he’s done it . . . or that you have.’
‘Done what?’
‘Dropped him and moved on.’
Liz sighed. ‘This is beginning to sound like a lecture.’
‘Just wishful thinking out loud,’ said Eddie. He sat forward. ‘Are you okay, Liz? Are you happy?’
‘Of course I am,’ she dismissed.
‘Okay then, we’ll drink to that.’
‘Eye contact!’ they both repeated, glaring at each other.
‘So anyway,’ said Liz, ‘what about you? Who is she?’
He feigned ignorance. ‘Who is who?’
‘Oh, knock it off. It always has something to do with a girl whenever you want to get together for a drink.’
Eddie shook his head. ‘And here I was thinking I was a man of mystery.’
Liz laughed. ‘You might get away with that with everyone else, but not with me. And truth is, you don’t want to. I’m like your confessor.’
Eddie reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Liz, it’s been too long.’
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘I haven’t even had the chance to tell you off for talking Mum and Dad into selling up.’
The house had been snapped up immediately for a record price for the area, with at least a couple of developers bidding for it even before the auction. Their parents were going to be very comfortable indeed.
‘I didn’t talk them into anything,’ Eddie denied. ‘They came to me. Because you’re all too bossy.’
‘I’m not bossy!’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘I totally am not bossy.’
‘Okay,’ he al
lowed, ‘you’re not as bossy as Ellen and Emma, but you’re bossier than Evie.’
‘Everyone’s bossier than Evie. You even bossed her around and she was five years older than you.’
‘I know,’ he said wistfully. ‘Poor Evie, she’s such a pushover.’ He took a mouthful of wine and set his glass down on the table again. ‘So, back to Mum and Dad. They’re like two pigs in mud right now. They’ve started collecting travel pamphlets, and they’re so funny, every time I talk to them they’ve added a new country to their itinerary.’ He paused. ‘They said they haven’t seen you in a while.’
Liz shrugged. ‘I’ve just been so busy, I haven’t had a chance . . .’
Truth was, she had been avoiding the house. It felt so sad these days. They had packed a lot of stuff out of the way before the auction, and the one time Liz had been since, it had nearly broken her heart. There were half-filled boxes all over the place, paintings stacked against walls; they’d even packed a lot of the family photos away. They seemed so enthusiastic about moving on. She wished they could have given it some time before they started dismantling their whole past. But if she said any of that to Eddie, he’d be all sensible and tell her to snap out of it, that she was being selfish, she should be happy their parents were getting to go off and live their lives. And he was right, but she didn’t need to hear it. It was better to change the subject.
‘So you haven’t told me her name yet,’ said Liz.
Eddie gave her a sheepish smile. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Why, is it someone we know?’ she frowned.
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s her actual name.’ He took a breath. ‘It’s Eliza.’
Liz blinked ‘You’re kidding me? Another E?’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Maybe it means she’s a keeper?’
‘What was it with Mum and Dad? No wonder they could never get our names straight.’
‘I think they were being romantic, in a way.’
‘How is it romantic to give all your kids the same initials as your own?’ Liz pulled a face.
‘Maybe I meant sentimental,’ said Eddie. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t complain. At least you got your own name. Mum and Dad just recycled theirs when they got to me and Evie. And you get to call yourself Liz.’
That prompted a thought. ‘Please tell me your Eliza doesn’t shorten hers to Liz?’
‘No, and if she did, I wouldn’t call her that, for obvious reasons,’ Eddie assured his sister. ‘She gets Ellie sometimes, but I don’t call her that either, too close to Ellen.’
‘But Ellen never gets Ellie,’ said Liz.
‘Still too close for comfort,’ he shuddered. ‘How is Ellen anyway? I keep meaning to call her.’
Liz sighed. ‘I’d avoid it if I were you.’
‘Why?’
She shook her head. ‘Forget it, I shouldn’t have said that, it’s mean. I’m a bad sister.’
‘You’re not a bad sister,’ said Eddie.
‘You should call her, we all should call her, often, and then maybe she’d get it all off her chest a lot sooner.’
Eddie looked at her. ‘So she’s a bit stuck?’
‘A bit,’ Liz repeated wryly. ‘She’s like a broken record. Worse thing is she’s just so bitter.’
‘I thought the whole thing was supposed to be amicable?’
‘It is,’ said Liz. ‘That doesn’t make it easy, though.’
‘I guess not.’
‘It’s so hard to listen to her. I know she has to talk it through, but I don’t think it’s doing her any good to go on and on about it, ad nauseam.’ Liz sighed. ‘But then, poor thing, if I don’t listen to her, who’s she got?’
‘She’s got all of us. I’ll give her a call.’ Eddie took out his iPhone and began to type in a reminder.
‘Boys and their toys,’ Liz shook her head. ‘What would you do if you lost that?’
He gasped. ‘Don’t even suggest it! This is like my own personal hard drive, it’s my whole life backed up. I’d be lost without it.’
Eddie finished his memo and put the gizmo back in his pocket. ‘There, done. And you’ll get in touch with Mum and Dad?’
‘Sure.’
‘Promise?’ he persisted. ‘They’ve mentioned it a few times.’
‘Okay, I promise,’ said Liz. ‘Now, can we finally get back to Eliza, the subject of which we seem to keep going off track.’
‘Did you just call her a witch?’
‘Ha ha, did you say she was a keeper?’
‘Did I say that out loud?’
‘Yes, you did,’ said Liz. ‘So, out with it. I want all the details.’
Monday
‘I’m thinking champagne.’
‘Oh, it’s a bit early in the day for me.’
‘No, Emma, darling,’ Isabelle said with a smile. ‘Champagne will be your colour.’
This was her first dress consultation with her dream designer. The fact that Isabelle Mohavy had made room to see Emma personally was enough cause for celebration, to shout from the rooftops, in fact. It was such a huge deal Emma should have made a party of it. But here she was alone. Not one of her sisters was able to make it. Liz, maid of honour no less, apparently couldn’t move a few appointments around. Ellen sited work as well – she couldn’t possibly, she was on class – which made Emma wonder why they even had relief teachers if you could never take a day off. And Evie . . . well, once the other two couldn’t make it Emma hadn’t bothered to ask Evie. She could be a bit much one on one, and she’d been such a misery guts lately. Besides, they had very different taste – which was the nicest way of saying that Evie didn’t have much in the way of taste at all.
Emma had talked herself into believing that it was better if she did this on her own. Her sisters were not interested, so how much use could they be anyway? And she didn’t really have a best friend, as such. She had lots of friends, of course, dozens of women friends, in fact. They were always bumping into each other at parties and functions and shows. People in the industry, minor celebrities, Emma was friends with them all, which was why the guest list for the wedding was currently climbing over two hundred. But she would never have asked one of those women to come with her today, they didn’t have that kind of relationship.
Blake was her best friend. But already he seemed bored with the wedding. Emma had to be careful about how much she said in front of him, she didn’t want him to get so thoroughly sick of it that he might . . .
What was she thinking? Might what? It wasn’t as though Blake would pull out of it, or put his foot down. As long as his life could hum along relatively unimpeded, he would go along with whatever Emma wanted to do. He just didn’t need to hear about every little detail. Besides, letting him in on too much was like letting him watch her get ready for a date. As much as possible, Emma still tried to keep a little mystery. They lived together, so of course he’d seen her without her makeup, but she was very careful to make sure she always looked presentable. On her wedding day, of all days, she wanted to absolutely blow Blake’s mind . . . so he wouldn’t have a moment’s doubt that he’d made the right choice.
But she had to admit, this thing she’d been waiting for her whole life didn’t feel like it was supposed to. Somehow it was hollow if no one else was involved, or even the least bit interested. Like that saying about a tree falling in the forest; really, what was the point of making a big noise if no one was around to hear it?
‘You have been going about this totally the wrong way, Emma,’ Isabelle was saying. ‘You’re not used to being the star, are you?’
Hmm, that was an understatement.
‘You know what the problem is here,’ she went on, ‘Your job is to worry about how other people look, to put them at their best. I’ve seen you in action and you’re absolutely brilliant at it. Now you need to turn the spotlight on yourself for a change.’
She was right, that was so true.
‘Imagine for a moment that you’re an image consu
ltant for yourself on your wedding day,’ said Isabelle. ‘If Emma was your primary client, would you be making such a fuss about the attendants? I don’t think so. You would only be concerned with doing everything to enhance Emma.’
Emma liked the sound of that.
‘You see, your skin tone requires something in the ivory range. Not cream, but creamy. I know you were quite taken with the pewter, but you would have to dress in pure white against pewter, and pure whites have a blue undertone, which is just not right for you. And as for the cinnamon, no,’ she sniffed distastefully, ‘I don’t like it, it’s too strong, it will overpower the bride. And everything must work to enhance the bride.’
‘But what if it doesn’t suit the girls?’ asked Emma.
‘Uh uh.’ Isabelle wagged her finger. ‘This is not about the girls. This is about Emma. So what if they don’t look their best, you will . . . In ivory, offset by champagne, you will look striking, my dear.’
Yes, she would. She really would.
‘Then everything else falls into place,’ Isabelle assured her. ‘The flowers – do you have any idea all the tones of cream roses, pale golds, or you could go to gardenias, even lilies, with the slightest hint of green. Gorgeous!’
Emma could hear the trees falling in the forest. She was going to be gorgeous on her wedding day. She would focus on herself for a change. She had been going about this the wrong way, worrying about everyone else. Well, enough of that.
Tuesday
‘No . . . I said I’d call you.’
Ellen looked blankly at . . . Mr Finn– . . . oh God, what was his name? Was it Finnegan? Or maybe Finnian? Or Flynn? She glanced around the desk for a hint, but the place was called Southside Auto Care, so that was no help. Well, she wasn’t going to call him Finn, she didn’t want to be that familiar. She needed to maintain a professional distance if she expected him to behave professionally.
‘Ms Cosgrove?’ he prompted. ‘I was going to call you, remember?’
‘No,’ she returned. ‘I don’t remember that. I’m sure you said you’d look at it no later than Monday. I assumed the car would be ready for me to pick up today. I mean you have had it since Friday.’
The Right Time Page 14
