‘What time do the kids arrive?’ she asked.
Maria checked her watch, a simple silver band with a small face, which Tansy found endearing—hardly anyone had a proper watch these days, instead forever checking their phones or Fitbits. ‘They’re due at ten. It’s eight thirty now so that should give us a whisker of time to get it set up in place.’
The caravan was artfully embellished with toadstools and secret doorways, trees, lanterns, rainbows, small furry animals, fairies, bridges and wood folk.
‘We’ve never had a pink Tara cabin,’ Maria said quietly, her eyes bright.
Tulip pulled up in the driveway and Tansy and Maria met her at the driver’s door. Tansy put her bounty of honey bread down on the ground and hugged Tulip, who was a slight elfin-like creature herself, with a modern pixie haircut and even slightly pointy ears. She was dressed in a chocolate-brown miniskirt with rainbow-striped opaque tights and green felt shoes with bells, which matched her green felt vest.
‘You look wonderful,’ Maria said, holding out her hand to Tulip. But Tulip wrapped her in a hug instead. ‘Oh, goodness, you’re a strong little thing.’
Tulip’s laugh tinkled. ‘It’s such a pleasure to be here. I’d heard about this place and wished I could do something to help. Now here’s my chance. I’m one lucky fairy.’
‘That’s incredibly good-spirited of you,’ Maria said.
‘I’m just sorry the universe had to throw a tree on your cabin to organise it,’ Tulip said, her voice tinkling again. ‘Now, where would you like me to park the van?’
‘I’m just waiting for the electricians to finish up over there,’ Maria said, waving towards the cleared space. ‘But as soon as they’re done, it can go there.’
‘Okay,’ Tulip said. ‘In the meantime, come in and have a look.’
She led them inside to a nest of gauze drapes pinned back with colourful silk butterflies; there were cushions and throw rugs, cupboards with arched doors, gilded mirrors, lanterns, fairy lights, vines and flowers. The beds were set against the walls, with toadstool lampshades and netting; on the pillows were books about enchanted woods.
Maria held a hand to her cheek, seemingly speechless.
‘I love this job,’ Tulip said, picking up a snow dome of a forest with white horses and giving it a shake to set the flakes whirling about.
‘The children are going to love this,’ Maria said. ‘But I don’t know how they’ll work out who gets to sleep in here.’
‘There’ll be a riot,’ Tansy agreed, grinning.
‘Well, if they’re desperate, you can fit four in here in total. There are two roll-out trolleys under those beds,’ Tulip said, indicating with a pointed toe, the gold bell at the tip ringing with the movement.
And in the end, that was exactly what happened. The bus arrived with the twenty-four campers—sixteen primary-school-aged children and eight carers—and more than half of the children wanted to sleep in the fairy van. There were some tears from those who missed out, but three girls and one boy got their wish and beds in the Pink Tara caravan.
Maria, Tulip, Tansy, Leo, Petrice and Trav all worked until well after the kids were settled and had finished morning tea. Then Trav left with his first load of firewood. Tulip began her fairy show out on the lawn, surrounded by whooping and clapping children, playing her fiddle and flute, teaching them songs, blowing bubbles, sprinkling fairy dust and handing out fairy wings, which they pulled on like backpacks. She brought out face paint and adorned each of their faces in turn while they had a picnic lunch on the lawn. Petrice and Leo disappeared into the kitchen to take care of the washing-up and preparations for afternoon tea. And Tansy convinced Maria that the world wouldn’t end if she slipped off to her own cabin to have a slice of honey bread and a cup of tea.
‘I’m fine,’ she protested, but not too much, Tansy noticed.
Maria agreed to put her feet up on a chair while Tansy fussed around with a tray of tea things, but swiftly knocked back any idea of a rug over her knees. ‘I’m only two years older than your mother,’ Maria scoffed.
‘Of course,’ Tansy said, a little chastened. ‘And you’re probably in much better physical condition, actually. Sorry.’ She was trying too hard. It was far easier to worry about her aunt than about her own life.
‘They want me on a plane on Saturday,’ Dougal had said this morning in the kitchen. ‘Can I tell them to book you a ticket too?’
They both knew there was still a lot to work through after the pregnancy test, but by the time they managed to talk alone last night it had been too late. They’d agreed to raincheck the conversation for a better time. But Tansy wasn’t ready to jump on a plane with so much unfinished business between them.
‘I don’t know,’ she’d finally said, her words shaky.
‘I’d like you to,’ he’d said. ‘I want you with me. I know things got out of hand the other day. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it.’
He’d stopped short of blaming her for backing him into a corner, but she still felt the sting of his words. What had she expected? That he’d suddenly capitulate after all these years? Be eager in an instant?
‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t ever want to hurt you. I love you.’
She’d bitten her lip and nodded, mumbling, ‘I love you too.’
‘Will you come? Please.’
‘I think it’s all a bit rushed,’ she’d said. ‘I need more time.’
His nose had pinched upwards. ‘How long?’
‘I don’t know.’
Now Maria broke off a piece of the honey cake and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes. ‘Oh my. That’s so good. And so much like Mum’s.’
Tansy sat down in the chair facing her. ‘Does that make you sad?’
Maria considered this. ‘No, I don’t think so. But maybe a little homesick.’
‘What for?’
‘I left home when I was sixteen and never went back. I thought I’d let go of all that. Well, I had to let go of it; by the time I left the convent it was all gone. Mum had died, the house had been sold. There wasn’t anything left.’
‘But what about your sisters? Why didn’t you contact them or go see them? They were still there. They’re still there today. And all within an easy drive.’ Tansy felt herself getting snappy with Maria then. Her mother was at Tansy’s place, alone, going through some sort of marital crisis and probably watching daytime television, and all the while Maria, the sister she hadn’t seen for more than three-quarters of her life, was right here. And worse than that, Tansy had connected with Maria behind her back and was lying about it.
Maria sipped her tea but didn’t say anything for several moments, so many that Tansy began to think she’d never speak again.
Then, ‘It worked both ways,’ she said evenly.
Tansy conceded that that was true enough. Hadn’t she recently witnessed for herself the intensity of Enid’s grudge against Maria? ‘What happened between you?’
Outside the window, there was a great cheer and squeals, and a flurry of children circling in a game of musical chairs.
‘It’s all so long ago now.’
‘Exactly,’ Tansy said, tapping the table lightly. ‘Doesn’t that seem like the perfect reason to let it all go? To be frank, none of you are getting any younger.’
Maria raised an amused grey eyebrow. ‘Well, you have your mother in you after all,’ she said, a smile skirting around her mouth. ‘She was always good at getting straight to the point too.’
‘Sorry.’
They watched the kids outside for a while and Maria chuckled at their merriment. ‘Kids have it so much better these days,’ she said. ‘And that’s how it should be. Each generation should be trying to do it better than the last. I hear a lot of people my age complain about children today and say that all they needed to be happy at that age was a ball of string and a stick, but they’re wrong. They’re so wrong. The rights of the child—the right to play and be happy and be a child—are so muc
h better defined these days. It makes me glad that I can do something like this’—she motioned around the grounds of Honeybee Haven—‘and be a part of that change.’
‘Well, I’m glad I can be part of it too,’ Tansy said. She meant it. For so many reasons, she was grateful to be here right now.
Maria placed her cool hand on top of Tansy’s. ‘I can’t tell you what a gift it’s been to have you turn up in my life, especially with everything else that’s going on right now.’
‘What’s going on right now?’
‘Oh, nothing of concern, just some loose ends I have to deal with. But I think I needed you, and by the grace of God you turned up exactly when it would help the most.’ She squeezed Tansy’s hand and smiled, loose skin corrugating at the corners of her eyes. ‘And I don’t know what I would have done yesterday if I hadn’t had you to turn to and you hadn’t organised all of this.’ She again gestured outside, where Tulip had the children following her through the gardens while she played her flute, like the Pied Piper. ‘What can I do to repay you?’
‘Nothing. You don’t need to repay me,’ said Tansy. ‘It’s been my pleasure.’
‘I know I don’t need to, but if there’s anything I can do . . .’ Maria trailed off.
Tansy seized her chance. ‘Well, I would love to learn about bees,’ she said.
Maria’s eyes shone. ‘Honestly?’
‘Definitely.’
‘I’d like that. I haven’t had anyone to teach for many years.’
‘And one other thing,’ Tansy said slyly.
‘Ah . . . here it comes,’ Maria said, folding her hands on her lap as if she knew what Tansy was about to say.
‘I want you to help me mend the family. I want to know what happened between you and my mum and Aunt Florrie, why you’re all not speaking, and I want you to come to my birthday party. I know I have to work on Mum from my end, but that will only get me so far if you’re not coming to the party, literally, from your end.’
Maria had pursed her lips and closed her eyes as though she was being given a court ruling she didn’t want to hear.
Tansy waited, allowing Maria to absorb what she’d said, then added, cheekily, ‘You did say anything,’ with an appeasing smile in her voice.
‘Yes, more fool me,’ Maria said, opening her eyes.
‘So what do you say?’
Maria inhaled deeply and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘I say you’re opening an enormous can of worms.’
‘I love worms.’
‘You might not like these ones; they have teeth.’
‘All the better.’
‘Okay then. I suppose everyone will know everything soon enough,’ Maria murmured, gazing out the window.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Come back tomorrow and we’ll begin.’
15
When Tansy got home, she found her mother installed in the kitchen and laughing heartily with another small, stocky short-haired woman with long lines on her face. (Goodness, she was practically a clone of Enid.) Muffins of different flavours—blueberry, chocolate and banana, by the looks of them—sat cooling on racks, and another batch was baking in the oven. Her mother had a bowl of batter in front of her on the bench and the unfamiliar woman was just placing a hot tray down on the stovetop.
‘Hello?’
‘Tansy, you’re back. How was your day?’ her mother said, as though fifteen years had vanished and Tansy had just come home from school.
‘Fine, thanks.’ She turned her attention to the stranger in her kitchen, wearing Tansy’s red paisley oven mitts and matching apron and smiling like a friendly aunt. ‘Hello,’ Tansy said.
‘This is my new friend, Paula. I was so inspired by baking for the hospice yesterday that I popped down to the parish office at Tewantin today to see if there was anything I could do for them while I’m staying here. I might as well make myself useful. And as it turns out, Paula is coordinating the parish’s first ever twilight fete for this weekend coming, a fundraiser for the church and its mission in Malawi.’
‘The organising committee thought a night fete, with music and food stalls and coloured lights, would attract a more youthful crowd—people like you,’ Paula added, her tone of voice seeking something from Tansy.
‘They needed some extra hands. So we’ve been baking all day,’ Enid finished happily.
‘Lucky you,’ Tansy said, ignoring Paula’s suggestive encouragement.
Her mother had made a new friend in a single day.
‘Did the hospice appreciate the honey bread?’ Enid asked hopefully.
‘Oh, yes, very much. They asked me to pass on their thanks and tell you how much it lifted their spirits,’ Tansy said, marvelling at the ease with which these lies now fell from her lips.
‘Your mother was telling me about the flooding,’ Paula said, shaking her head. ‘Dreadful business. Which hospice is it? Enid wasn’t sure, but I know most of them on the coast.’
‘Oh, it’s way down the south end of the coast,’ Tansy said evasively. ‘It’s all better now. Everything’s fine.’
Paula frowned as if still trying to place the hospice; just as her mouth opened to ask more questions, Tansy jumped in to deflect them. ‘I’ve got work to do for some clients, so I might just lock myself away in the office while you two finish up here,’ she said. ‘Oh, and I dropped Leo down at the beach but he’ll be back in time for dinner.’
‘Of course, darling, don’t let us get in your way,’ Enid said.
‘I bet the hospice was grateful for a young man’s labour,’ the baking intruder said, and Tansy tried to tell herself that the note of suspicion she heard in Paula’s voice was nothing but the workings of her own guilty conscience.
At this rate, she’d need to buy a Brussels sprout farm.
Finally, Tansy and Dougal saw the opportunity to have a proper conversation about the pregnancy test—one where they could take their time and find some common ground, without any need to whisper or hide their issues from Enid or Leo.
‘We’re leaving you with a takeaway menu,’ Tansy said, passing it and the phone to Enid, who had her slippered feet up on an ottoman, tired from the day of baking. ‘We’ve been invited to dinner at one of Dougal’s business associate’s and we just can’t get out of it.’
All this subterfuge was becoming exhausting.
‘It’s a kind of going-away get-together,’ Dougal said, trying to be helpful.
Tansy froze. She hadn’t told Enid about Canada, not even the original plan of leaving in a couple of months’ time.
‘Going away? Where?’ Enid asked, a sharp edge to her words.
‘You haven’t told her?’ Dougal turned to Tansy.
‘No, I haven’t yet.’
‘Why not?’ he said.
Tansy moaned and dropped down on the couch. ‘If you remember, it was supposed to be announced at the party,’ she said tersely. ‘And then the plans changed quite suddenly and it’s only been two days since you told me about it and there’s been quite a lot going on, don’t you think?’
Dougal fidgeted.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Enid said, leaning forward, alarmed.
‘Dougal’s going to Canada,’ Tansy said. ‘On Saturday.’
‘Saturday? Why? For how long?’
Tansy worried at a fingernail and indicated for him to fill Enid in.
‘For work. I’ve been recruited to Canada for a year or so to work on the design and construction of a university. It will be huge. We were supposed to leave in a couple of months, but the situation has changed and I have to go sooner.’
‘You were both going?’ Enid said, her expression crestfallen.
‘Originally,’ Tansy said. ‘But I’m not going on Friday,’ she reassured her mother. ‘I need more time.’
‘Canada. That’s so far away.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Tansy agreed. She was fractious and moody again, her optimism that an evening with Dougal would mend their rift gone. Still, she pulle
d herself up off the couch with as much brisk efficiency as she could muster. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but we’ll have to talk about this later or we’ll be late for dinner.’ She kissed Enid on the cheek and left, Dougal a couple of paces behind. They went down the hill and turned left, then veered right up Hastings Street. They walked in silence side by side until they reached ‘their’ bar.
‘Are you going to tell your mother about the pregnancy test?’ Dougal asked once a vodka on ice was in front of him.
They sat opposite each other in the big white lounge chairs of the bar, adjacent to the footpath of Hastings Street, the concertina windows pushed open and the Monday night sounds drifting in. Pedestrians passed by about a metre below the windows, licking ice creams, walking dogs on leads, or with sleepy children clinging to their daddy’s neck, sand plastered to their bare legs.
‘That’s a tough question,’ she said, sipping her white wine. ‘I don’t know. I’m more interested in where we’re at.’
The lighting was dim in the bar, big round woven lampshades hanging from the raked ceiling high above, the colourful liqueur bottles lit up behind the counter. It somehow encouraged Tansy to speak more freely, as though the softness of the lighting would also soften their words. Of course, the wine was likely taking the edge off too.
‘What are we going to do?’ she said, feeling quite helpless. ‘I don’t want to talk about the fight. It was terrible and we said awful things.’
‘I wish you had told me how you felt sooner,’ Dougal said. ‘Or later. Any time other than while we were waiting for results.’
‘I know,’ she agreed, angry with herself. ‘I’m sorry for putting my feelings first; it wasn’t fair. But what are we going to do?’ Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she brushed them away, gazing out the windows at the fairy lights in the trees that lined the street. It was like Christmas every night of the year here. They should be happy.
The Beekeeper's Secret Page 12
