by Lia Weston
Mini D burst into the kitchen, brandishing a small notebook, and crawled under the kitchen table with Travis in hot pursuit.
‘When’s the pizza coming?’ said Mary to Travis.
‘What pizza?’ said Travis, hauling Mini D out by one foot.
‘Didn’t you phone for some before?’
‘I think he was phoning for a tree,’ said Mini D, clinging on to the table leg. Travis extracted the notebook from Mini D’s grasp and shoved it into his pocket.
‘Why don’t you guys go and get some takeaway?’ said Evie.
Mini D peeled himself off the ground. ‘Do we have to?’
‘I think certain people would like some alone time,’ said Mary, and pushed him down the hallway.
Travis followed them out, giving Phil side-eye.
Evie turned down the oven so the garlic bread wouldn’t be incinerated, and exchanged Phil’s pot plant for a beer.
‘Cheers.’ Phil held up the bottle. ‘What’s that?’ he said when she held up her drink in return. It was pink and crammed with orange.
‘Mary made it for me.’ Evie took a sip. ‘It’s revolting.’
Phil gave her his beer and went to the fridge for another.
Evie held out her bandaged hand. ‘Look, we match.’
Phil looked down at his own, which still bore some of the hospital dressings. There were pink scars lacing his forearm.
‘Does it hurt?’
He leaned against the bench and fiddled with the label on his bottle. ‘Nah.’
‘That’s probably because you’re the kind of guy who can stitch himself back together.’
Phil smiled and gave a half-shrug.
Evie cradled her beer against her stomach. ‘I don’t know what to say to you. “Thank you” doesn’t quite cover it.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Phil. He looked briefly around the kitchen, then down at the floor.
‘You saved my life.’
‘Mary saw the smoke.’
‘She wouldn’t have reached me in time without you. She wouldn’t have been able to get me out. You did.’ Evie put her bottle down. ‘And I’m sorry that I didn’t . . . I mean . . . I tend to get things wrong. It’s a pattern. You might have noticed. I thought Nathan . . . Nathan and I have known each other for ages. It seemed logical. Though it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Everyone knew that but me.’
‘Not everyone,’ said Phil quietly.
‘I made a mistake. And it’s probably too late now, because I’m an idiot.’
‘It’s not up to you, though, is it?’
‘See?’ said Evie. ‘Mistakes. Constantly.’
Phil finally met her eyes, and then there was that sleepy grin, the one which told her that Phil didn’t care that she didn’t quite fit in, or that she regularly made an ass of herself, or even about all of the things she’d done as a kid. Phil saw her flaws and liked her anyway.
‘Would you . . . like to come and have dinner next week?’
‘Nope,’ said Phil. He put his beer down. ‘I’m taking you out for Thai.’
‘We could see a movie,’ said Evie.
‘Maybe,’ said Phil, pulling her towards him.
At last, Evie thought, when she came up for air a few minutes later, she could finally put that peignoir to good use.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Div oo know fe apofcaree iv cwoved?’
‘Pardon?’ said Evie.
Mary swallowed. ‘Did you know the Rose Apothecary has closed down? I mean, it was so crappy, it’s not surprising, but, ugh, I bet Joy is going to bulldoze it and put up a K-Mart.’
‘Wanna put money on that?’ said Phil.
‘Joy bulldozes everything,’ said Mary, reaching for more garlic bread.
‘She’s all right,’ said Evie, picking a prawn off her pizza and receiving an incredulous look from Mary.
Phil took two more beers from the fridge, handing one to Evie, who smiled at him gratefully.
‘Is that my shirt?’ he said to her.
Mary raised an eyebrow. Mini D looked knowing. Travis looked at his plate.
Evie brushed at the chequered material. ‘Um, yes. I forgot to give it back after the orchard thing.’ It also worked surprisingly well knotted above her pencil skirt. ‘Anyway, Phil brought you a plant, honey, and you haven’t even noticed,’ added Evie, deftly redirecting the conversation.
Mary dropped her garlic bread and dusted off her hands. ‘I did notice, actually, but I didn’t want to assume it was for me. Because I’m so well bred.’ She leaned her forehead against Evie’s for just a moment, then turned back to Phil. ‘It is for me, isn’t it?’ When he nodded, she leapt from her chair and brought the plant back to the table. ‘Cestrum nocturnum. I’m going to plant it out the front. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
‘No offence, but not really,’ said Travis, examining a leaf.
‘Wait until it flowers,’ said Mary.
‘Oh, hey, this was in your letterbox,’ said Mini D, retrieving a letter and handing it to Mary.
‘What do you do, just go through our post?’ she said.
‘Sometimes,’ said Mini D, giving Evie a wink and getting a grin in return.
The envelope sported Santas, rotundly dancing across the paper. ‘It’s a Christmas present. Maybe I should wait,’ said Mary.
Even Phil scoffed.
‘Open it, open it. It’s not a grenade,’ said Mini D. ‘Unless it’s a very flat one.’
Mary ripped the wrapping apart and then paused. ‘It’s from Dad.’
‘Is there a card?’ said Evie.
‘No need.’ Mary presented the letter to the table. ‘Lifetime membership to The Diggers Club.’
‘Is that more interesting than it sounds?’ said Mini D.
‘It’s a gardening society. They have rare seeds.’ Travis took the letter to examine the fine print.
‘So, no,’ said Mini D.
Phil whistled. ‘Expensive.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Evie.
‘Your dad’s still kind of an arsehole,’ said Mini D. ‘Sorry, Mrs P.’
‘No, honey, you go right ahead,’ said Evie, waving her hand and sitting back with her beer.
‘I know,’ said Mary, ‘but he’s still my dad.’
‘You know what this moment needs?’ Mini D ferreted in his bag and held up a CD case. ‘Background music.’
Mary burst out laughing. ‘Oh, nooooooo.’
Travis groaned.
‘Just released, and already selling in the tens,’ said Mini D, taking the CD to the stereo.
‘The hell is this?’ said Phil thirty seconds later, over the sound of badly mixed caterwauling.
‘My Bitter Tears of Darkness,’ said Mary and Travis.
‘Your love’s contagious like pink-eye,’ screeched Zach.
‘My ears are bleeding,’ said Evie.
‘How serendipitous,’ said Travis, examining the tiny writing on the CD case. ‘That’s the name of this track.’
Evie could see Mary through the windows, jumping to try and put a star on top of the tree. Now Mini D and Travis were arguing about decoration placement. Now Travis was trying to strangle Mini D with some tinsel. Evie smiled and pushed off on the swing again, watching the living room tilt.
Her phone pinged.
Hi.
She had only said goodbye to Phil five minutes ago, setting the primrose curtains twitching.
Don’t text and drive, typed Evie, lazily swinging back and forth. A few seconds later, there was another ping.
OK.
She grinned and put her phone in the pocket of Phil’s shirt.
Cherry Orchard Way was bathed in grey, the very tops of the trees painted amber by the setting sun. A flock of bats flew silently overhead, Batman shapes against the sky. She’d have to tell Mary.
A whistle broke the silence: up, up, down. Evie hadn’t heard that signal for quite a long time. Twenty-six years, actually. She looked around and whistled back.
Natha
n loped into view, wearing his favourite wombat T-shirt. ‘Hello, hello.’ He plunked himself down into the next swing. ‘How’s the hand?’
‘Almost back to normal,’ said Evie. ‘How’s Cameron?’
‘Excellent,’ beamed Nathan. He started swinging back and forth next to her. ‘She’s packing.’
‘You’re going away?’
‘Back to Trinidad. I’m tagging along. It’s all very exciting.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘Did I see Phil’s van leaving?’
Evie gave her swing an extra boost. ‘Maybe.’ She was hopeless; she could already feel her face turning so pink that it was a miracle Joy hadn’t materialised out of the shrubbery.
‘It’s wonderful,’ said Nathan. ‘He deserves someone like you.’
‘I wouldn’t use that phrasing. Phil is far too good for me.’
Nathan shook his head. ‘You’re well matched – neither of you can take a compliment.’
In the window across the road, Mini D was now juggling baubles while cushions were thrown at him.
‘I’m so sorry I missed your party,’ said Evie. ‘I feel terrible about the ring. That swan’s probably eaten it by now.’
‘Didn’t anyone tell you?’ said Nathan. ‘Mary’s friend Dean fished it out of the lake. Cam was none the wiser. David Sturn managed to distract Mr Bitey, though he won’t tell me how.’
‘At least let me pay you back for the cake.’
‘Good heavens, don’t even think about it. It wasn’t your fault the trolley had a faulty handbrake.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ said Evie, wondering if she was going to hell for lying to a priest. ‘There must be some way I can make it up to you.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Nathan, and dragged his feet to stop the swing.
Evie slowed down to match.
‘If you make our wedding cake, I promise never to tell Mr Zucker what you did in the sweet shop.’
‘Swear?’ said Evie.
‘I swear,’ said Nathan.
They both touched their foreheads, then their shoulders – one, two, three.
‘Even the part where you licked all of the candy canes and everyone got mono for Christmas,’ he added.
‘Thank . . . um . . . thank you,’ said Evie.
There was no reason for anyone to be up this early, particularly on New Year’s Day. A thick layer of silence blanketed the town of Sweet Meadow, muffling Mini D’s singing as he cleaned his paintbrushes and stilling Evie’s nerves as she slid the last batch of croissants out of the oven.
Phil was stamping on the thick wooden step at the back of the little bakery and making noises about termites. Evie let him mutter to himself and moved the croissants to cool next to the lemon meringue pies. It had been Phil who’d told her the bakery owner wanted to retire, and suggested they take a look at the building. The bones of the shop were still good, but it had suffered as its owner had lost interest. As Evie had walked through, looking at the scratched woodwork and peeling lino and the years-old calendar, she felt it whispering to her to bring it back to life. Phil had been concentrating on the floors, the wiring and other things Evie didn’t really understand but was happy to let him measure and mutter over all he wanted.
A deal was struck using the last of her savings, and with Phil and Mary’s help, Evie had spent the second half of December painting, plastering and ripping out fixtures. Every time she opened up the ovens, she marvelled at their size. She could make a pavlova big enough for the whole Tueller family in here. Phil, his hand almost back to normal, had built her a beautiful shop counter and new benchtops, the jarrah smoother than cream.
Mini D had been unleashed as chief interior decorator. He had put up a screen across one wall so she couldn’t see what he was doing, and spent several days behind it. Even Mary wasn’t allowed to peek and had to vent her frustration on sanding the doorframes.
Travis created the website and spent an entire afternoon taking photos of Evie in different outfits with different pies. Mary and Phil, sampling brownies while Travis fiddled with cameras, both looked as if they had an opinion about it, but said nothing.
Evie checked the cakes behind the counter, made sure the floor was still spotless and straightened the display cards. Phil had finished stamping. He looked up from the back, his sleepy eyes green in the sunlight. ‘Ready?’
She smoothed her cherry-patterned frock down and checked her reflection as best she could in the door of the industrial fridge. ‘I think so.’
Mary’s arm waved a bottle of champagne through the front door. ‘You’re taking ages.’
Travis and Mini D were waiting out on Main Street with mugs that had been unearthed from the kitchen as no one had remembered to buy glasses.
Evie looked at the tiny shopfront, the mint trim, the gleaming white woodwork, and tried not to cry. Even the sign above the door – La Petite Boulangerie – was perfect.
‘If anyone asks,’ said Phil, pouring a slug of champagne into Mary’s mug, ‘you’ve got soda water.’
‘Congratulations, Mum,’ said Mary, raising her drink.
‘Live long and prosper,’ said Travis, doing the same.
Inside, Mini D proudly unveiled his masterwork – an ivory mural stencilled on the pale green wall. Cakes, cookies, macarons, muffins, pies and flans, blackbirds, cherries, and nursery rhymes, with Evie immortalised as the pied piper, leading the pastries along the road into Sweet Meadow. Mini D had reduced her bust size from the pin-up card’s alarming proportions, but not by much.
‘There’s me,’ said Mary, pointing at a girl in battered boots dancing with a raven.
‘There’s me,’ said Travis, whose likeness was lying in a tree with a book and not participating.
‘Everyone’s in there,’ said Mini D.
‘Who’s the pig in heels?’ said Phil.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ came a voice from the doorway, followed by Joy’s head, and then, unfortunately, the rest of her.
‘Welcome, Joy,’ said Evie, and held out the bottle.
‘My goodness, what a treat, look at all this, I’d never have recognised the place, how odd to be in here without smelling defeat and stale sausage rolls, ah ah ah! Well, we’ll certainly add you to the Tourism Board’s Sweet Eateries list, have you heard about the board, so flattering to be asked to take it on. And bubbles, well, I don’t mind if I do, you know me, never say no to a bit of fizz. And what a charming mural. Who’s the artist? Oh, of course, that little fellow, well, you’d never know from looking at him, would you?’
‘You’re our first customer, Mrs Piece,’ said Mary. ‘What would you like?’
‘I know just the thing.’ Evie pulled a silver tray of fat pink globes out from under the counter. ‘Doughnuts with raspberry centres and rolled in pink coconut,’ she said. ‘They’re gluten-free. I’ve called them “Joy Puffs”.’
Joy put her glitter-nailed hand over her heart. It was the first time any of them had seen her lost for words.
‘If you buy a baker’s dozen, you get one extra,’ said Mary.
‘That would be the definition of a baker’s dozen, yes,’ said Travis.
‘Well, how can I refuse?’ said Joy, recovering. ‘I do have a bit of a get-together with my Pinkies later, I’m sure they’ll just love them, normally I’d be walking with them but we have an appointment in the big smoke, so exciting for my Teezy.’
‘Oh?’ said Evie, folding the corners in on a crisp white box.
‘Teezy and I were Christmas shopping in the city when a gentleman asks her if she’s a model and gives her his card. Apparently the haircut was a help, who would have guessed, apparently she looks more “edgy” now, whatever that means. So she’s rather excited, it could be the start of big things and personally –’
A car horn blared. They all looked out the front door to see Therese in Joy’s convertible, wearing a strapless black top and a furious expression.
‘Move it, Mum! Fucksake!’
‘Is that why Therese doesn’t normally talk?’ Mary whispered to Mini
D.
He nodded. ‘Face of an angel, voice of a howler monkey.’
After another blast from Therese Joy departed with her namesake puffs, and everyone had another drink. One by one, curious townspeople began to trickle in. Mr Sturn, nursing a hangover, purchased three crème brûlée tarts and started on one before he was even back in the car. Mrs Beadles bought a pecan pie and three boxes of truffles, giving her son an unsubtle wink as she left. The Pointers also bought truffles, as well as a poppyseed cupcake which they shared while they examined the mural.
The Pink Ladies were next.
‘We are so glad you’re well,’ they cooed to Evie. ‘We heard that there was a faulty battery inside the baby Jesus doll in the nativity. You could have been killed! And to think you were battling narcolepsy while making a cake for Father Reid’s fiancée, so brave of you. Are you quite recovered?’
‘Um, yes, quite,’ said Evie.
‘You didn’t get a photo of the cake, by any chance, did you?’ said one Pink Lady.
‘I heard it was eleven tiers tall,’ said the second Pink Lady.
‘I heard that it was thirteen tiers tall,’ said her neighbour.
‘I heard that it glowed in the dark,’ said the first woman.
‘I heard that it had its own waterfall, and that you had used so much gold dust on the flowers that if you scraped them off you could have melted it down and made a ring,’ said the woman at the back.
After Evie assured them that the cake did not have a waterfall, moat, fireworks display or live aviary, and that she was indeed quite all right, the Pink Ladies went through the shop like a swarm of locusts.
‘Thank God I made extra,’ said Evie, heading into the back to restock after the last rhinestoned rump went out the door.
‘Oh, hey, I forgot,’ said Mini D. ‘Would you be interested in a dessert contract with the Holy Father House of Reception?’
‘Is that Clayton’s idea?’ said Mary, who was sampling a Joy Puff and had jam on her chin.
Mini D grinned. ‘Nope. Clayton’s done a runner. With Barnaby.’
‘As in Joy’s Barnaby?’ said Evie, returning with two more cakes, followed by Phil with a mammoth tray of macadamia cookies.
‘Yup.’ Mini D blotted Mary’s chin with his paint-stained rag.
