Lola's Secret (16 page)

“When Holly’s there? I couldn’t. She’d be so embarrassed.”

“Then lure her out of the house somehow. Lure all three of them out. Get tickets for the cinema down the road. I saw a poster for that new kids’ film opening up. Tell her you won a family pass, but the film’s really not for you, so you want her and Belle and Chloe to have the tickets. And when the three of them are at the film, go to the house and say your piece.”

June stared at her husband in amazement. “You’re good at this scheming, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been living with you for years,” he said, grinning. “I learned from a master.”

“You really think I should talk to the parents?”

“I don’t know. But I do know you won’t rest until you’ve done something.”

Two nights later, June and her husband were in their small, old car, trying to find a parking space near Holly’s house. Bill was driving. When he’d offered to come with her, she’d accepted immediately. She felt sick with nerves, even though it had all unfolded as Bill had suggested. She’d bought a family pass to the film and presented it to Holly with the elaborate story her husband had suggested. It had to be used by that evening, she said apologetically. “Perhaps your parents would like to go with you?” June asked, her fingers crossed that they wouldn’t.

“I don’t think so. They don’t go out much,” Holly said. “Not at the moment, anyway.”

“Trouble at home again?”

Holly had just nodded.

Bill found a place to park around the corner from Holly’s house. Their car stood out among the others on the street. It felt strange to be in this part of town. She wished she’d dressed differently, too, not come straight from work in her bakery uniform. She was starting to have second thoughts about even being here. But then she remembered Holly’s desolate expression, remembered Belle and Chloe turning up like that, and her resolve strengthened. What was the worst thing that could happen? They’d start shouting at her too? Tell her to mind her own business? So let them, she decided. She had a few things she wanted to say back to them herself.

Bill wished her luck. She took a moment to breathe deeply before she made her way to Holly’s house. She’d never been here before. She’d found the address in Holly’s employment file at the bakery. She gazed around, amazed at the size of the houses. It was like a different world to the one she and her husband had raised their family in. These weren’t houses. They were mansions. On this street alone there were more than six two-story buildings, each with their own large gardens, high fences, remote-controled gates and garages that were bigger than June’s house. She walked up their driveway, looking through the railings of the tall fence. The garden was obviously landscaped. There were even sculptures visible. And was that seriously a fountain? She knew Holly’s parents were both very successful in their fields, her father an architect, her mother a university academic. There was money to burn, that much was clear.

June remembered the night Holly had finally opened up and told her everything about her family life. Not just about how bad her parents’ relationship was. She’d told June how angry they were at her choice of career. How “very, very disappointed” they were in her for choosing not to go to university. Their disbelief that she wanted to train as a pastry chef, to stay working in June’s bakery. They’d been embarrassed enough that she worked there part-time after school, they told her. They had friends who bought cakes from that shop. What would they think to be served by Holly? They’d put pressure on her for weeks to change her mind, to apply for university instead. They’d tried anger, silence, everything, until they’d realized her mind was made up. She’d have moved out, she told June, if it hadn’t been for Belle and Chloe.

“But surely they’ve come around to the idea now?” June had asked. “They’ve tasted your cakes, haven’t they? Realized you have a real talent for baking?”

“Mum doesn’t eat cakes. And Dad didn’t say much any of the times he tried them.”

“But they must be happy to see you doing something you enjoy?”

“They’re never happy,” Holly had said.

The walk toward the entrance gate seemed a kilometer long, not a hundred meters. There was an intercom in the wall beside the elaborate wrought-iron gate. June hadn’t phoned ahead. She hoped Holly was right, that they would be at home. If not, she’d just have to miraculously win some more cinema tickets for another night and make this trip a second time …

She pressed the button. Almost a minute passed before there was a crackle and then a man’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“This is June, Holly’s boss from the bakery. I wonder, could I have a word with you and your wife?”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

June answered truthfully. “Yes, I think so.”

The gate slowly opened and June walked up the drive.

J
IM
Q
UINLAN STOOD
in the middle of the crammed charity shop, shaking his head in disbelief. There wasn’t an inch of spare space, either in the shop itself or in the back room. Every available spot was piled high with cans of food, toys, plum puddings, boxes of biscuits, chips, and lollies, even rolls of wrapping paper. “It’s like Santa’s warehouse in here. Lola, you’re amazing.”

“It’s nothing to do with me. It’s the people in the Valley.”

There had been enough donations in the two days since the sign had gone up to fill more than fifty Christmas boxes. They hadn’t won the window display competition. That had gone to the video shop for a funny display in the shape of Santa made from empty DVD cases and tinsel. But it hadn’t mattered. The biggest front-page picture in that week’s paper had been the charity shop’s Christmas campaign. Lola had deliberately absented herself from the photo session. Word would have spread around town that Bett was going back to work on the paper and Lola didn’t want anyone accusing her of media favoritism. Instead, Margaret, Kay, and Patricia had lined up beside the window, holding empty plates, sad expressions on their faces. A little theatrical, perhaps, but it had got the message across.

Kay was quoted in the article, explaining that they’d been in touch with the hospital, the schools, the churches, the police as well as the service clubs, the Lions, the Rotary people, anyone they could think of, to ask who might be in most need of what she called “a little help at Christmas.” She’d also invited anyone in need to slip a note into the charity shop, during or after opening hours, listing their address and the ages of the people in their family, and they’d be looked after too.

“It will all stay confidential, but no one needs to be ashamed to ask for our help. We know there are many generous people in the Valley who will donate not just food, but small presents for kiddies, even decorations for the tree. We’ll gather everything here at the shop, then make up the Christmas care packages in time for delivery on Christmas Eve.”

That had been the plan, at least. However, the donations were coming in so quickly and in such quantities that there was no longer any room in the shop. There’d been an emergency committee! meeting called—without Mrs. Kernaghan’s knowledge—to discuss possible storage solutions. Lola had let the talk wash around her initially, occupied with her own thoughts of Christmas—in particular, which rooms she was going to allocate to her special Christmas guests. The family in the family room, of course, but would she put the others in adjoining rooms, or spread them all around the motel? Spread them around, she decided. The businesswoman from Melbourne had requested the quietest room in the motel, so she’d be in room fifteen. The very relaxed man from Broken Hill who said he didn’t care where his room was could be in room eight. The nice couple from Victoria could have—

“Lola? What do you think?”

She blinked. Her three friends were looking at her with concerned expressions. “What on earth’s wrong? Did I doze off?”

“No, but we have been asking your opinion for the past five minutes and you’ve been miles away.”

“What was the question again?”

“What are we going to do with all the donations? We can hardly move as it is, and we’ve already had two calls today from the schools. They’ve done gift-gathering days among their students and they’ve got what they said are dozens of boxes to bring down tomorrow. We’re going to have to move all the clothes out at this rate.”

Lola peered out into the shop. Kay was right. You couldn’t even get to the racks for all the donations. “We’ll just have to move them somewhere else. The donations, I mean, not the clothes.” She laughed merrily.

Patricia, Kay, and Margaret exchanged glances. “Yes, Lola. We did reach that conclusion ourselves. But to where?”

“I’d have thought that was perfectly obvious,” she said, smiling.

Which was when her son Jim had come in. He stood in the shop now, doing some mental arithmetic, before nodding. “I think we can manage it. The function room is the best spot. You’ll not only have plenty of storage room—if we arrange it properly, you’ll have all the room you need to assemble the hampers too.”

Lola beamed. “Darling, I knew I could depend on you.” Not that she’d been waiting on his answer. She’d already told the committee that the function room at the Valley View Motel would make the perfect storage place. And if the donations overflowed that, which they threatened to do, well, they could take over a few of the empty bedrooms too, couldn’t they? Not that she’d mentioned that possible scenario to Jim just yet. “And don’t worry about the logistics. Luke has already rounded up a group of his friends to do all the moving for us. Marvelous!”

After farewelling Jim, she returned to the back room to confirm the good news. She could hear the three of them giggling even before she got to the doorway.

They were all gathered around the computer. It was pushed into a corner now, surrounded by the hamper goods. Kay was perched on a box filled with cans of sliced peaches donated by one of the local supermarkets. Margaret was beside her, leaning on a crate of wooden toys that a local craftsman had dropped in the day after the newspaper story appeared. Patricia was behind them, hemmed in between many jars of jam and several dozen bottles of Clare Valley riesling.

“What’s so funny? Don’t tell me it’s another cat video.”

Kay laughed. “Cats are so last year, Lola. Look at this website.”

Lola maneuvered herself with some difficulty past a large bag of plastic toys and a bumper box of salt-and-vinegar potato chips until she was in front of the screen too. Expecting a freeze-frame of sneezing pandas or children falling off swings, she was surprised to see a full-screen photo of herself, wearing bright-red lipstick and a red fake flower in her hair. It had been taken at their impromptu Melbourne Cup luncheon that year. She hadn’t had time to dress up. “You rude ladies. Laughing at me like that. And me so old.”

“We’re not laughing at you, Lola. Watch this. It’s the most amazing website.” Kay pressed a button and they all waited. There was a flash of color, a drum roll, and then, to a jaunty organ version of The Kinks’ “Lola,” the photograph of Lola on screen began to change, slowly but unmistakably getting younger, her skin smoothing and becoming wrinkle-free, her jawline firming, her eyes brightening, the image going back and back through time until the screen was filled with a baby’s face that somehow still looked like her—red lipstick, red flower and all. Both had stayed constant throughout all the changes.

“Oh, my good God!” Lola said, laughing. “I’m adorable! It’s like magic. How on earth did you do it?”

“It’s based on some kind of FBI missing-person technology,” Kay explained as she clicked on Watch Again. “Luke showed it to us yesterday. All we had to do was scan in a photo, choose a song, and the website did the rest. Wait until you see Patricia’s. She looks more like a monkey at the end than a baby.”

Patricia was nearly crying with laughter. “It’s true, I do.”

They watched Lola’s again, then Patricia’s, Kay’s, and Margaret’s, amazed and laughing at each equally.

“Does it work in reverse?” Lola asked. “Can we scan in a photo of a child and see them as an adult?”

“Of course,” Kay said. “I’ve done all my grandchildren already. If it all comes true, two of the boys are going to be bald by the time they’re fifty, and one of the girls is definitely going to be a supermodel. She’s only three. Do you think I should put a bet on her future career?”

Lola produced the photo of Ellen that she always carried in her purse. It took Kay only a few minutes to scan it, load it on to the program, enter Lola’s choice of song, then sit back and press Go.

Lola could hardly believe her eyes, or ears. To the sound of Ellen’s favorite of Lola’s old bedtime songs, “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree,” her great-granddaughter changed from a sweet twelve-year-old to a pretty fourteen-year-old into a beautiful twenty-year-old, growing older, older, into her late twenties, her early thirties …

“Stop, please,” Lola called. “Stop it there.”

Kay paused it. On the screen was a woman in her thirties. A woman who was the spitting image of Anna.

“Good heavens,” Margaret whispered. She’d known Anna too. “That’s extraordinary.”

It was more than extraordinary. It was almost frightening. It suddenly didn’t feel like a fun game to Lola anymore. There were now too many memories rushing at her. Sad ones, happy ones—too much of every kind. She made a show of looking at her watch, pretending to be surprised at the time. “I’m sorry to leave, but I think I’ll call a taxi rather than wait for Luke,” Lola said. “Good-bye, everyone.”

There was an exchange of worried glances, but no one stopped her. “Good-bye, Lola,” they chorused.

I
N HER ROOM
that evening, classical music playing on her small radio, a glass of gin and tonic on her bedside table, Lola was feeling much better. She’d changed into her favorite pink silk pyjamas and was lying on her bed, leafing through one of her photo albums. It was something she liked to do when she was rattled by life. She’d been rattled by life today. She found it soothing to be reminded of all the people she’d known, the places she’d lived, and most of all, to gaze at pictures of the family that still filled her life. Looking through her albums from cover to cover, either front to back or back to front, always made her feel safe and loved and, yes, fulfilled. She needed that comfort now.

She had been silly to overreact to the computer program. She’d already phoned Margaret to apologize. Margaret had interrupted to apologize first. “We didn’t think, Lola. We’re sorry. We should have realized that Ellen would remind you of Anna—”

“Of course you shouldn’t have. It was great fun. Such amazing technology. I was just a bit tired.”

It was true. She was a bit tired. A bit sad. A bit melancholy. It had been a good day in parts, too, of course. She had to try to think positively as well. She’d been happy to see all the donations coming in. Proud of Jim for offering to store everything at the motel. But it had still been a day of sad emotions, as every day of her life had been, she conceded now, good thoughts giving way to sad thoughts, back to good thoughts, layer on layer on layer …

Were human beings like trees inside? she wondered. If someone were to cut her in half, would they see all the rings representing her eighty-four years on earth, all the emotions she’d felt throughout her life? Thin gray rings when times hadn’t been so good? Wide colorful rings when her year had been filled with joy and laughter, fun and family? What would the rings covering her short marriage be like? Thin and dark and unhappy? No, not completely, because Jim had come from that same marriage. If there were dark rings representing that time, there would also be the flashes of light that Jim had brought into her life. As Anna, Bett, and Carrie had too. They’d be instantly visible, as great splashes of bright color representing all the joy and fun they’d given Lola. Ellen’s arrival. More color and light. That silly feud over Matthew would be there, too, dull, unhappy markings and colors, until Lola had plotted to bring them together again, with the musical she’d written—that would definitely be there too, displayed as cheerful colors. And then dark ring after dark ring reflecting Anna’s sudden illness and too-quick death. Nothing but shadows and dull colors for what had felt like forever …

Except that wasn’t true, Lola realized now. There had been some happy moments amid their sadness about Anna, as she, and the rest of her family, searched for some kind of meaning, for any crumbs of happiness available. Laughter over shared memories of the singing Alphabet Sisters. Pride in Anna’s work as an actress. Tears, but happy tears, at remembered acts of kindness and generosity from Anna. The best of times, the worst of times. That was the truth of all life and all lives, Lola knew. Nobody went through life seeing only bright colors and warm light. Sorrow ran alongside joy, despair beside happiness, fear beside confidence. And best of all—or was it worst of all?—you never knew when the light might suddenly switch off, when the color might turn to monochrome. But you also never knew when that dim light might begin to glow, when something good and happy might appear, when it was least expected and, sometimes, when you needed it most. Like the arrival of Delia, Freya, and George, followed by the twins …

She shouldn’t have been so unsettled by the website today. They’d all often remarked how much Ellen looked like her mother. Of course an adult Ellen would resemble Anna even more. It had still been a shock.

Lola turned her attention back to the photo album on her lap. There’d be no surprises in here. She knew it was filled with pictures of Anna. Not just Anna, either, but all three girls, the whole family, at all stages of their lives. She flicked slowly through the pages, starting from the back of the album, enjoying the feeling of turning back time again, watching the three girls get younger, watching Jim’s hair grow full, Geraldine’s turn from gray to brown, her own from its current white to original deep chestnut. Back and back she went, passing dozens of images of herself and Jim in front of every motel or guesthouse they had ever managed or lived in together. It had been their ritual, a photo taken on the first day and a photo on the last. She watched Jim grow shorter and younger with each photo, his cheerful expression and sturdiness evident no matter what age he was.

Toward the front of the album, she found herself in the Irish section. She hadn’t brought many photos with her when she’d emigrated. There was one of her family house in Kildare, a big house in the countryside with an oak tree at the front gate. One of herself with her parents on her wedding day, sheltering under umbrellas. It had been a typically damp Irish summer day. One of her and her husband, Edward, standing in front of the church in their wedding clothes, and another of the two of them more casually dressed, taken on the boat to Australia in the late 1930s. She’d kept those for Jim’s sake rather than her own. She preferred not to be reminded of her husband. The final photo was of herself as a child in Kildare, pictured standing between her parents. She touched their faces. She hadn’t seen them since the day she’d! left for Australia as a twenty-year-old. They’d been dead now for more than fifty years. She barely remembered them. It was sad, but it was the truth.