Lola's Secret (21 page)

“And it really doesn’t cost anything?” Tony asked.

“Not a cent,” Liam said.

Helen leaned forward, drinking in the sight of her two children. It was the next best thing to having them at home. “So could we do this on Christmas Day? I bet our motel will have a computer we can use. Can you take your laptop to that country house, Katie? Would it work there? Will you have yours handy, Liam? It’d be so wonderful, as if we were all in the same room together.”

“We could do that, I suppose, couldn’t we, Liam?” Katie said.

“I suppose so, Katie. We have the technology.”

“But we won’t need to,” Katie said. “Will we, Liam?”

“No, Katie, we won’t.” They both had the giggles now, saying each other’s names too often and too formally.

“Although I suppose we could still Skype each other. But it would be pretty stupid, Liam, wouldn’t it?

“It sure would, Katie, wouldn’t it?”

Helen was now completely confused. “What are you two going on about?”

Katie grinned. “Didn’t I give it away on the phone? All my talk about how hard it might be for you to ring me, so you’d have to wait for me to ring you? When do I ever turn down a chance for you to pay for the call? Didn’t you guess I was up to something then?”

“Haven’t you guessed even now?” Liam said.

“It’s your own fault your surprise is ruined, though, you know,” Katie said. “I don’t know what got into you both, acting all out of character like that, booking spur-of-the-moment getaways. Look what we’ve had to do. You were supposed to just get a phone call from the airport on Christmas Eve.”

“I hope you’ll get your money back from that motel. Though I suppose we could all go there together.”

“No way, Liam,” Katie said. “I’m not flying halfway across the world for a week in some fleapit of a country motel. I want my own bed and Mum’s home cooking.”

“Oh, yeah. Mum’s home cooking and Dad’s beer fridge. Bring it on!”

Helen looked at Tony. He just shook his head too. “Kids, please. What are you talking about?”

“Poor aging parents,” Katie said. “Shall I speak more slowly? Explain in simple terms? Mum, Dad, the reason you can’t go away for Christmas is because Liam and I are coming back home for Christmas. We’re arriving Christmas Eve, on separate flights but within an hour of each other. So could you please come to the airport and pick us up?”

“You’re coming
home
?”

“Here?”

“Both of you?”

“Surprise!” Katie said.

“Surprise!” Liam echoed. “Those parents of ours are pretty quick, Katie, aren’t they?”

“They sure are, Liam.”

Katie started waving at the camera again, mimicking her father. “So is that okay, Mum? Dad?”

Liam started waving too. “Can you cancel your holiday and come and get us instead?”

Helen felt Tony’s hand grip hers. She turned, and saw his eyes had filled with tears. She felt that rush of love for him once more.

Katie spoke again. “Mum? Dad? Can you pick us up?”

Helen squeezed Tony’s hand in return. It looked like she’d have to answer for the both of them. “We sure can,” she said.

“And your final meeting is six
P
.
M
. in the boardroom downstairs. I’ve arranged catering as requested.”

Martha looked up from her BlackBerry. “What meeting at six?”

“I discussed it with you last week. A delegation from the union. It’s later than you’d like, you said, but one of the delegates is coming from interstate so you said you would make an exception in this case. There’s been unhappiness about some of your new contracts and you said, and I quote: ‘For God’s sake, they’re never satisfied, those people. Get them in, Glenda, and do it as late in the afternoon as possible. They’ll want to get home so that should keep it short and sharp.’ ”

It sounded exactly the sort of thing she’d say. Why couldn’t she remember it, though? “Okay, Glenda, thanks.”

“And I’ll tell the caterers to wait for the nod from you before they bring in the refreshments, is that right?”

“What?”

“You said it was a good trick you’d learned from your mentor. Keep the delegates hungry, but make sure they can smell the food. Promise at the start of the meeting you’ll feed them once an agreement is reached. It’s called the carrot and stick approach, I believe.”

Again, it sounded like the sort of thing her mentor would have said, but Martha couldn’t remember saying it herself. She rubbed her temples. It had been a long week. A long, hard week. All worth it, of course. She’d landed two new contracts and looked like securing another before the Christmas break, but she increasingly felt like she was pushing a boulder uphill, trying to stay focused as everyone else went into giddy, pre-holiday mode around her.

Except for Glenda. Apart from that early disagreement, when Glenda had crossed the line in regard to Martha’s situation with her family, she couldn’t fault her temporary secretary. The office had never run so smoothly. Was it a bad thing to hope that her usual secretary might get pregnant on honeymoon, decide to resign, and leave the desk open for Glenda to work here full-time?

Martha added the meeting time to her BlackBerry diary. “That’s fine, Glenda, thank you.”

“I’ll meet the delegates in reception, get everyone settled, and then ring for you to come in, yes? I think that’s the best approach psychologically. It gives you the position of power, if they’re waiting for you.”

“Fine, yes.”

“Besides, you’ve got that conference call with your state managers from five thirty. You did have that down for four
P
.
M
., but I had to reschedule. It’s running closer to your six o’clock meeting than I would have liked but it was the best time slot available.”

Martha couldn’t recall discussing that meeting either. She glanced down at her diary again. There it was. “Fine, thanks. I’ll keep that one to under thirty minutes. Any other business? You’ve confirmed all my Christmas arrangements?”

Glenda nodded. “Motel confirmed and car confirmed. I’ve used your preferred chauffeur company and requested a silent driver. Pick-up on Christmas Eve at Adelaide airport, returning on Boxing Day.”

Martha could feel Glenda’s disapproval radiating across the desk, but at least she’d stopped airing her opinions so forcefully. There hadn’t been any more talk about her mother calling, or any more reenacted phone messages. There’d been no mention between them of Christmas at all, apart from one moment the previous day. Martha had come outside and found Glenda at her desk, adding the finishing touches to what looked like the wrapping of an elaborate Christmas present.

Glenda had glanced up at her and then continued. “I’m on my morning tea break, Miss Kaminski, in case you think I am doing this on work time. It’s also my own sticky tape. I never take my employer’s stationery for personal use.”

Martha watched for a moment. Glenda’s desk was piled with what looked like more than a dozen tiny knitted figures. She was placing them gently, one by one, into a bright-red box. “What is it?”

Glenda gave her a brief, pitying look. “A Christmas present.”

“Yes, I can see that. Did you make them yourself?”

“To the last stitch. I’m as good a knitter as I am a secretary.”

“You knit? Really?”

“I also sew, embroider, and am an excellent cook. I also like making toys. These are for my grandchildren.”

“You’ve got grandchildren?”

“Two. My only son’s daughters. He and his wife and the girls live in New York at the moment. I miss them every day. They miss me every day too. We’d rather be together at Christmas and we will be next year. In the meantime, I’ve made them these. I’m sending them today.”

“Can I take a look?”

Glenda handed them to her one by one, an entire menagerie of colorful knitted animals—a koala, a kangaroo, a rabbit, a giraffe, an elephant, a platypus, all perfectly made. Last out of the box was a knitted doll. It was a female figure with gray cotton wool hair, glasses, and a big, red felt smile. Martha looked at the doll, then at Glenda, then back at the doll.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Martha said.

“Cute, aren’t I?” Glenda said, taking it back and putting it in the box too. “If I can’t be there myself, I want to be there in effigy.”

“You wouldn’t fly to New York and join them?”

“There’s nothing I’d love more than to be with them for Christmas. Unfortunately, I’m terrified of flying.”

The phone rang then, and their conversation came to an end. But Martha had realized why Glenda seemed so obsessive about reuniting her with her family. Projected emotions, obviously. What was it with some people and Christmas time? It was just one more day of the year, after all.

The working day passed in its usual fast procession of meetings, emails, decisions, and spreadsheets. Her conference call at five thirty was straightforward, finishing at five fifty-seven
P
.
M
. She took a moment to freshen up in her personal bathroom before going downstairs to the boardroom and her final meeting for the day. She didn’t look her best, she knew that. There were shadows under her eyes and she needed a haircut. She’d schedule one in next week. She applied a quick layer of foundation, a touch-up of pale lipstick. She didn’t need to make any “I’m a powerful businesswoman wearing red lipstick’ statements for this meeting with the union. She met them often enough, usually when a new representative took over her company’s portfolio and wanted to flex some muscles. She would listen, she would take notes—in fact, she’d get Glenda to come in and take the notes for her—and then she would coolly, calmly, and clearly remind them that she strictly adhered to all current market conditions, always had done and would continue to do so. It was true. She also kept a careful eye on the conditions offered by similar agencies, to ensure her own company led the pack. “Be tough, but be fair,” as her mentor had always said.

Her intercom buzzed. It was Glenda. “Everyone’s in the boardroom waiting for you, Miss Kaminski.”

“Thank you, Glenda. On my way. I’d like you to be there to take notes, please.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I finish at six
P
.
M
., unless I’ve been given prior notice. Agency rules. And one minute before isn’t enough prior notice. I’m sure you’ll cope admirably. Have a good evening. See you tomorrow.”

Martha came out of her office. Glenda’s desk was tidied and her handbag gone. No matter. She wouldn’t bother with notes. What would any of the union reps say that she hadn’t heard before?

She had the lift to herself. The corridor on the floor below was empty too. Ahead of her, the boardroom door was shut. As she came closer, she got a waft of cooking smells from the boardroom’s adjoining kitchen. It was standard practice to order sandwiches and coffee for these meetings. This smelt more like roast potatoes and plum pudding. She hoped Glenda hadn’t got carried away with the Christmas spirit when she was briefing the caterers.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Thank you all for coming. I won’t keep any of us for long.”

Martha stopped still. There weren’t six union representatives waiting for her in their seats around the gleaming boardroom table. There were only four people. Her mother, her father, her brother and her sister. On the table was a dinner setting for five. Champagne glasses. Santa serviettes. There was even a decorated Christmas tree in a corner of the room.

She took an involuntary step back. “What the hell—?”

“Happy early Christmas, Martha!” all four members of her family chorused, as if they had been drilled.

She was speechless. She couldn’t seem to move. She just stood there, staring at them. They were all wearing party hats. Even her father.

Her sister spoke first. “You wouldn’t come to us so we’ve come to you,” she said. “Hi, Martha. It’s great to see you again.”

“Hello, Martha,” her mother said, with a big smile.

“Happy Christmas,” her brother said, waving.

“Happy Christmas,” her father echoed. He wasn’t smiling but he wouldn’t have been there if he didn’t want to be.

But no way. No
way
was she going to be pushed into this. Her BlackBerry buzzed in her hand. It was Glenda calling.

“Please don’t even think about leaving. Everything’s ready on warming plates there behind you. A full turkey dinner and there’s plum pudding too. They’ve all gone to a lot of trouble to be here this afternoon so I hope you’ll show some good manners. Your mother’s a very nice lady. She also told me that it was your father who was your mentor for all those years. So follow his lead today. I liked him too.” Glenda hung up before Martha beat her to it.

“Will I open this?” her brother said, holding up a bottle of champagne. He didn’t wait for the go-ahead. The cork went flying out of the bottle. The champagne fizzed and foamed. His sister and mother sprang forward with their glasses just in time.

Amid the fuss, her father stood up and pulled out the chair beside him. “Please, Martha, take a seat. Here, beside me.”

For the first time in three years, she did as she was told.

Holly had splashed out on a taxi home from the cinema. Her little sisters were tired. They’d also had so much popcorn and ice cream she wasn’t sure they’d be able to cope with the stop-start journey on the bus. They’d loved the film, though. So had Holly. It was so cheerful, full of elves and carols and lots of other songs. Belle and Chloe hadn’t stopped singing the theme tune since.

“Will I let you all out here?” the taxi driver asked, pulling up to the gates.

“That’s great, thanks,” Holly said, handing over a twenty-dollar note. It was fifteen on the meter. “Please, keep the change. Happy Christmas.”

She helped the two girls out, then reached up and entered the combination. The gates slowly opened. As the three of them walked up the drive, Holly wished she could blame the sick feeling in her stomach on the ice cream and popcorn. It was the unease she felt every time she came home from a night out. She wished there was some way of knowing beforehand what she’d be walking into. A fight? A stony silence? Closed bedroom doors? Sometimes her parents slept in the same room, but not if they’d been fighting badly. Sometimes Holly wished their house wasn’t so big. If there weren’t so many spare bedrooms, would they be forced to share and forced to sort out their problems?