Lola's Secret (6 page)

She passed them around. The sketch wasn’t preliminary. It looked like it had been done by an expert, either a set designer or an architect, all firm lines and detail. There wasn’t a Christmas tree, brightly wrapped present, or Santa Claus to be seen. In the center of the page was a female figure in silhouette, with dozens of multicolored strands wound around it in intricate patterns. Mrs. Kernaghan’s signature and a copyright symbol took up the bottom right-hand corner.

“Very nice,” Margaret said tentatively.

“Very nice,” Joan agreed.

They both looked to Lola. Lola was having trouble holding her copy while digging her nails even more fiercely into her palms. On the verge of agreeing that she thought it was very nice, too, she decided she couldn’t lie. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kernaghan, but I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.”

Mrs. Kernaghan lifted her chin. “It’s a visual interpretation of the summer heat, rendered primarily in traditional red and green Christmas colors, with the addition of splashes of gold, white, and blue highlighting the burning center of the sun against the wide summer sky. The figure at the center is a metaphoric representation of us, the human race, battling against the harsh elements ever present in the Australian landscape.”

“Oh,” Kay said.

Nope, Lola thought. In her opinion, Mrs. Kernaghan’s drawing looked like a store dummy tangled up in a few colored bedsheets. She did one more nail-dig and tried to be diplomatic. “Mrs. Kernaghan, I think our Traders” Association was thinking more along the lines of nativity scenes. Or three wise men. Or Christmas on the beach, Australian-style.”

Beside her, Margaret and Joan were nodding enthusiastically. Joan had even arrived that morning with her family’s old nativity set. Joseph was held together with yellowing sticky tape and there were only two wise men, but she’d been very proud that she’d managed to find any survivors at all, after more than forty Christmases with her rambunctious family of sons.

Mrs. Kernaghan thumped her hand on the desk. Margaret and Joan jumped. Lola had to fight an inclination to slap her.

“What’s the slogan for the Main Street Traders?” Mrs. Kernaghan said, too loudly. “Tell me that! Exactly! They don’t have one, do they? But I’ll tell you what it should be. Moving forward. Looking forward. A slogan of go-getting energy. And that’s what our window should demonstrate! That we have ambition, attitude, and energy.”

Lola kept her voice level with some difficulty. “Mrs. Kernaghan, we’re a charity shop. We sell old things cheaply and then give the proceeds to people in need. We’re not here to make huge profits or win awards.”

“What kind of attitude is that? I say, let’s push the boundaries, use my display, and if I—sorry, if we—don’t win this year, then you can all go back to your old ways for next year’s competition.”

If Lola had to bribe the traders to award the charity shop final place, she would. “Excellent idea,” she said brightly. She ignored Joan and Margaret’s surprised look. “And I also think we should be sure to put ‘Designed by Mrs. Kernaghan’ in large letters at the bottom of the window, so everyone knows it was your work, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Kernaghan preened.

Half an hour later, Lola was alone in the shop again. Mrs. Kernaghan had left immediately after the meeting. She always had somewhere better to go, yet found the time to tell them about it. Lola had even heard a whisper she was thinking about running for mayor. She’d definitely get Lola’s vote. With any luck, her mayoral duties would keep her so busy she’d have to stay away from the shop.

Margaret, Joan, and Kay hadn’t wanted to leave afterward. “The hide of her!”

“Who does she think she is?”

“Why did you just give in, Lola?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

After another five minutes of their outrage, Lola had been glad to say good-bye to the three of them too. Not only because the meeting had been unpleasant and all their complaining was starting to give her a headache. The truth was she wanted to get on to the computer before her shift was over. It was two days since she’d had a chance to check her emails and she was getting twitchy.

She felt the familiar tingle of anticipation as she opened up her email account. Four new emails and none of them spam! She quickly read through them, her smile growing wider with each one. They were all responses to her Christmas bait! No, not bait, how could she call it that? Her Christmas special offer was a much nicer way to put it. Thoughts of Mrs. Kernaghan and unfathomable window displays disappeared in an instant. Now she really had something to plan and look forward to.

She swiftly printed out all four emails. Much as she loved the computer, information still didn’t feel real unless it was on paper. Reading each closely, she realised with another dart of pleasure that her guests were coming from all over the country. A man called Neil from Broken Hill in New South Wales. A couple called Helen and Tony from a town in Victoria—she’d look it up later on Google maps. A woman called Martha from Melbourne. And a family of three from Adelaide, an adult and two children. Seven in total, the perfect number. She’d easily be able to manage them.

She quickly wrote back to all four.

Marvelous news! Congratulations again on your good taste and good luck. I’ll be in touch again this week to confirm arrangements.

She added her scanned signature and a little smiley face—she’d grown to like emoticons—and sent them all off. She also removed the automatic reply function to her online Christmas ad, and to make doubly sure she’d get no more guests, she removed the ad as well. She checked her watch. Drat it. She only had ten more minutes until her shift finished, Joan returned to take over the shop and Luke arrived to drive her back to the motel. Still, it was enough time to send one more email. An important one, too, to Ellen in Hong Kong. She hadn’t heard anything back from her last email yet. Something must be up. She did a swift calculation of the time in Hong Kong. Not that it mattered if Ellen was home from school yet or not. From what Lola gathered, her great-granddaughter and her smart phone were joined at the hip or the mouse or whatever the right term was. Hopefully she’d get the email wherever she was. Luke had tried to talk her into trying something he called “gee-mail” chat for her communications with Ellen, but Lola preferred the formality of emails. She also liked to keep Ellen on the straight and narrow with her spelling. None of this abbreviation business for them.

You’re too quiet over there. What’s up, darling?
She pressed Send and waited. A minute later, there it was. An email back from Ellen.

Nothing.

Lola quickly typed a one-word answer—Liar—and pressed Send again.

Don’t call me a liar.

I think you’re lying so I’m calling you a liar. What’s wrong, my Ellie?

Nothing. Why do you think there is?

Lola typed as quickly as she could.
Because your emails have been either non-existent or really boring recently so either you’ve become boring, in which case I hope one of my other great-grandchildren grows up quickly and starts entertaining me, or else you’re upset and your energy is going into that rather than composing amusing emails to send to me.

Lola waited for another few minutes but there was no reply. She typed again.
Darling? Are you all right over there?

A minute later, another email.
I’m trying to be funny for you but it’s too hard. I’m too upset.

Lola didn’t hesitate then. She dialed Ellen’s number. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“Nothing. Everything. I hate it here.” Ellen sounded very young and upset.

“Why?”

“My dad.”

“Is he starving you again? Beating you?”

“It’s not funny, Lola. It’s her, anyway. Not him.”

“Her?”

“Dad’s girlfriend.”

“She’s starving and beating you?”

“He wants us to spend Christmas with her and her daughter. In some big house on some island near here.”

Ah, Lola thought. That relationship was getting serious, then. Before she had a chance to reply, Ellen spoke again.

“How dare he, Lola? How can he do it to me and to Mum?”

“Oh, darling. He’s not ‘doing’ anything. He’s trying to make a new life for himself. He can’t stay sad forever.”

“I can! I’m always sad. He’s not allowed to be happy yet. If he’s already able to be with someone else, he must never have loved Mum. And if he didn’t love her, then what am I doing here with him? I hate it here. I hate, hate, hate,
hate
it here. I want my mum.”

Lola couldn’t stop a sudden welling of tears. Outside, she heard the shop door open. She’d have to be quick. “Darling, please, don’t get upset. And don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

Ellen sniffed. “What? You’ll come and rescue me? You told me your legs would explode with clots if you had to take a flight any longer than two hours.”

“There are many ways to skin a cat and to sort a problem. Leave it with me. I have to go now, but I want you to smile at yourself in the mirror until it feels real. I also want you to apologize to your father.”

“For what? It’s his fault.”

“I have a feeling there’s been some shouting, has there? Some sulking?”

A pause. “A bit.”

“Is his girlfriend there at the moment?”

“Yes. And her stupid daughter.”

“How do you know she’s stupid if you haven’t spoken to her?”

There was no answer.

“Ellen, I’m going to give you the same advice I’ve just given your beloved aunt Bett. Get over it. And here’s some extra advice just for you.
Pretend
you’re getting over it if you have to. Your mother was an actress and a good one, and I’m sure you have some acting genes in your beautiful self too. Use them now. Make Anna proud of you. Go out there and apologize. Say a polite hello to your father’s visitors. If that’s all you can manage, fine, go and hide back in your room again. That will do for today.”

“I
can’t.
”

“You can and you will or after I die I’ll make your mother come with me and we’ll both haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Lola!”

“I mean it. Be polite, even for five minutes. And stop worrying about Christmas. That’s days away yet. We’ll sort it out.”

“We?”

“You. Me. Your dad.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“I love you, Lola.”

“Not as much as I love you. Now, out you go, my darling. And don’t forget to smile.”

Lola had just hung up when she heard what was unmistakably a loud miaow. Surely not? She peeked through the curtain. Yes, surely. Joan hadn’t just brought in her camcorder with her latest cat video to upload. She’d brought the cat itself. Lola liked cats, but this really was one of the ugliest creatures she’d ever seen. Ginger. Bad-tempered-looking. It reminded her of … Yes, it reminded her of Mrs. Kernaghan.

Joan appeared in the doorway, beaming. “Lola, I hope you don’t mind. It’s just I was telling Boo-Boo about all the funny cat videos on the Internet and I swear he meowed that he wants to see them too.”

He’d enjoy playing with the mouse if nothing else, Lola thought. She stood up. “All yours, Joan. Happy viewing, Boo-Boo.”

She was already deep in thought about Ellen by the time Luke arrived outside to collect her.

A
S USUAL
for a Wednesday night, Carrie and the children were at the motel for an early dinner, before Carrie left to play netball while her parents babysat. Her few hours of sanity a week, she called it. They didn’t eat in the dining room with the guests, but in the kitchen, helping themselves to samples of different dishes from the menu—prawn cocktail, Wiener schnitzel, spaghetti bolognese. Lola didn’t like to see it. She much preferred the children to learn good table manners in the restaurant itself, rather than stand around the large kitchen table reaching across each other. But Geraldine had introduced the idea, presumably as a way of them being together while she prepared meals for the motel guests. For once, Lola had let it be. The children were now playing in the function room, demolishing the chairs and tables by the sounds of things. Lola tried not to wince as another crash echoed through the wall. There was a pause and then a wail.

“The little darlings, what are they doing in there?” she said.

“Building cubby houses, I suppose,” Carrie said, flicking through a magazine and not looking up.

“You don’t want to check on them?”

“They’ll come to me if they’re really hurt.” Carrie waited until her mother had gone out into the dining room carrying two plates. It was a quiet night in the restaurant. It usually was, midweek. “Lola, I need your advice before this all blows up into another feud. She’s driving me crazy.”

“Your mother is?” Why did that make Lola feel so good?

“Not Mum. Bett, of course. What’s wrong with her at the moment?”

Lola trod warily. “What do you mean?”

“She’s so snappy and defensive all the time. And she won’t even listen when I’m trying to be helpful. It’s like she’s deliberately doing the exact opposite of what I tell her just to annoy me. I thought that both of us having kids would bring us closer together but instead it’s even worse. I mean, we got through all the Matthew business, though frankly sometimes lately I’ve wished he had married her and not me … Okay, okay, I won’t go into it, but”—she gave a big dramatic sigh—“I thought we had both turned a corner in the past few years, and thank God you brought us together when Anna—” She stopped again and sighed once more. “I wish Anna was here, Lola. She’d never have treated me the way Bett does. She’d have been much—”

“Oh, God, not you too.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Moan, moan, moan. Either get over it or get on with it, would you?”

“Lola!”

“Don’t look so shocked. I said the same thing to your sister when she was complaining about you too.”

“Bett was complaining about me? How dare she? It’s all her fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault. I mean it, darling. Build a bridge. Get over it. Or offer it up. Was there one other piece of advice I gave Bett?” Lola pretended to think, head on one side. “No, that was it. You need to stop complaining about each other, darling. Face facts. You’re one sort of mother and Bett is another and I suspect never the twain shall meet.”

“But the difference is I know what I’m talking about. I’ve got three, she’s only got two. And it’s not as if I’m offering untrialed advice. She wonders why they don’t sleep properly. You should see what she feeds them!”

“Vodka and beetles? Excellent, that’s what I suggested. Carrie, I’m not listening anymore. Actually, yes I am. I think one of your beautifully fed and perfectly behaved children has just fallen off a table.”

As if on cue there was a shout from next door. “Mummy, Delia pushed me!”

Carrie ran out of the room just as Jim came in from the bar. There was another loud squeal from the function room, either from Carrie or one of her children.

Lola winced. “Do you suppose Matthew really does have late clinics three times a week or is he hiding somewhere?”

Jim smiled. “Far be it from me to even speculate. All okay, Lola? Can I get you anything?”

“A piggyback to my room? Soundproofing
in
my room?” She smiled, then winced again at another wail, this time definitely from a child. “Good Lord. If Carrie comes looking for me and mentions the word babysitting, can you please tell her I’ve gone back to Ireland for a very long holiday?”

Jim winced too as a trio of thumps joined the crying. “Our three girls were never this noisy, were they?”

“Never. I stickytaped their mouths most days.” She did like it when Jim asked her about the girls’ upbringing. She glanced at the clock. Not even seven thirty
P
.
M
. But still, time enough for her to slip away. She gave a ladylike yawn. “I feel old age taking me over, darling. My bed calling me. Give Carrie and the children my love, won’t you? Tell them I just can’t wait until next Wednesday night and we get to do this all over again.”

After the noise in the main building, her room felt like even more of a haven than usual. She’d personalised it with a few of her favorite things—a scarf, a vase, an antique table lamp. She’d become quite settled here in room eleven, in fact. In years gone by, she’d moved from room to room of the motel, sometimes evacuating at short notice if a large group booking came in. Recently, the bookings had slowed down. Not great for Geraldine and Jim’s bottom line but good for her peace of mind. Another symptom of old age? The urge to nestle away?

Not that she’d ever really needed familiar furniture or paintings around her to feel at home. Two or three ornaments, a few favorite outfits in the wardrobe—generally made of chiffon or silk so they were easy to fold and pack—and in later years, necklaces and the flowers she liked to pin in her hair. Everything else she needed for a happy life was stored away in her head and could be brought out for mental viewing whenever she liked. That was one of the great things about living to this age, she thought, if one was lucky enough to keep one’s memory and wits. It was like having access to the world’s largest DVD store. All she needed to keep herself entertained was a moment with her eyes closed, a rummage through eight decades of memories and away she could go, replaying happy times, sad moments, tear-jerkers, and romantic comedies alike.

Although not that many romantic moments, unfortunately. After her marriage ended, she’d only ever had one more serious relationship. He had been a fine man. Fifty years later, she could still recall his face, even his voice. What a sweet ten months that had been, an unexpected love affair, with an unfortunately sudden ending. He’d be long dead now, of course. Most people of her vintage were. For a time, Lola had kept an eye on funeral notices, until they became more like a roll call of her friends than a casual reading. She could almost conduct funerals herself she had been to so many. Anna’s, of course, had been the saddest. The hardest. Every moment seared into her memory …

Enough! Enough sad thoughts. Keep going, keep looking forward, keep planning. Christmas was fast approaching, and she had an extravaganza to organize. Sitting around reflecting on life and death wasn’t going to get the turkey stuffed or the presents wrapped, was it? And once she’d spent a bit of time on her Christmas plans, she could turn her full attention to Ellen and her predicament.

She took out a notepad and started to jot down her ideas to make the Valley View Motel Christmas not just special, but very special indeed.

An outdoor Christmas lunch, she decided. She knew the perfect spot. A grassy area to the side of the motel, between a willow tree, a gum tree, and an unidentified one that had long green leaves. She called it the long green leafy tree. The ground beneath them was hardly a verdant paradise at the moment, but in town the previous week she’d seen something marvellous in the hardware shop window—fake grass, sold in rolls. Surely they’d loan her a few meters, to create that oasis look for her guests? As for the table setting—lots of color, she decided. It didn’t have to be matching crockery either. And a table centerpiece, of course. She’d read a biography of one of the Mitford sisters, who’d reported casually that for one dinner party she’d placed a glass box filled with live chickens in the center of her grand dining table. Lola had immediately made a mental note. That would certainly be a talking point for her Christmas guests. Something more local than chickens, though, perhaps. A kookaburra in a cage? No, she didn’t like birds in cages. A couple of black snakes? A jar of red-back spiders? There was plenty of time to decide.

Now, the food—she had an idea or two about that too. No point only serving a traditional turkey and plum pudding lunch, not these days when people had so many fads and likes and dislikes. She’d ask each of her guests—Neil, Martha, Helen and Tony, Holly and her daughters—what their favorite foods were, their favorite drinks, even their favorite jokes, and she’d give them exactly that. What fun! She could picture the lunch already, even imagine the conversation, the laughter and the joke-telling. Unfortunately, she couldn’t picture anyone cooking and serving the food, and truth be told, cooking had never been her strong suit and she was a bit too weak in the wrists these days to carry out plates. But she’d work something out.

She was now too impatient to wait until her next turn at the charity shop computer. Going to her wardrobe, she pulled out a box she’d labeled
Boring letters and bills etc
and rummaged inside until she found the Internet cable she’d hidden there. Hopefully Jim and Geraldine would be too busy trying to keep Carrie’s children out of the hospital emergency department to notice that Lola was in the office. Not only that, but at the computer, which appeared to be connected to the Internet again. If they did happen to come in, she’d just say she was—what? Sleepwalking?

Worry about that when it happens, she decided. Five minutes later, she was in the darkened office, the only light coming from the computer screen. The Internet was working, she was glad to see. Amazing what a cable could do. She opened a new Word document, having decided to draft the questions before moving on to her email. What name to give the document? she wondered. Something innocuous, in case someone did happen to use the computer and wonder what she was up to? No, to hell with innocuous. She named the file
Lola’s Secret
.

She needed to tread lightly with the questions to her guests. Find out as much as she could, all under the guise of a friendly country motel’s excellence in customer service. She shut her eyes, picturing that scene under the trees, and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Once the questions were done, it took her only a few minutes to open up her email account and compose a covering message to them all. Luke had taught her to send what he called blind emails when she was doing a group message. “People don’t like their email address being sent out to strangers,” he’d explained.

Dear Special Guest,
she wrote.

Thank you again for responding to my advertisement and warmest CONGRATULATIONS again on being the lucky winner of a three-night Christmas package here at the delightful Valley View Motel. I guarantee it will be a Christmas to remember!

To assist me and my team
(that made Lola laugh),
would you please advise me of the following:

She swiftly cut and pasted her questions from the Word document. It really wasn’t good manners to brag, even to oneself, but she was getting very good at this computer carry-on, she thought.

Favorite color

Favorite food

Favorite drink

Favorite Christmas carol

Favorite Christmas joke

Age

Occupation

Reason for spending Christmas at the Valley View Motel

The last three questions weren’t strictly to help with the Christmas lunch, but Lola had become curious about her guests. Especially about the two single ones. It was far too early to be thinking along such lines, but one possibly single male, a possibly single female—well, why not think about a little matchmaking while she was playing Christmas hostess? And perhaps the two children would be the right age to enjoy some of the collection of games and toys belonging to Ellen that they always kept on standby for other guests.

I assure you that all information received will be used strictly to enhance your enjoyment of Christmas at the Valley View Motel and will be deleted from our records afterwards. I look forward to hearing back and congratulate you again—here’s to a very Merry Christmas indeed!

Lola Quinlan

Proprietor

She had just sent off the emails when a sixth sense made her turn around. Geraldine had come in silently behind her. It was one of the many things Lola disliked about her daughter-in-law-—her habit of wearing sensible shoes that gave her a creepy, gliding way of walking. Lola herself preferred high-heeled shoes whenever possible. Far more flattering and to hell with comfort, that was her opinion. Their fashion choices were yet another gulf between herself and Geraldine—her daughter-in-law had always favored conservative clothes like crisp shirts and neat skirts, as well as minimal makeup and short, no-nonsense practical haircuts. Lola had never understood why.

“Hello, dear,” Lola said, turning in the swivel chair so that her back hid the screen. Had Geraldine done her silent sneaking in time to see the email? Worse still, in time to see that Lola had signed herself proprietor? Lola knew Geraldine felt very strongly about that. Lola had formally retired on her seventieth birthday, handing full ownership of the motel over to Jim and his family. “Though I will stick my beak in now and again, I hope you know that,” she’d said.

“I’d be astonished if you didn’t,” Jim had said, then laughed. Geraldine hadn’t even smiled.

“How are Carrie’s little darlings?” Lola said to her now. “Swinging from the chandeliers, I suppose?”

“Jim’s reading to them. Is the Internet working again?”

Lola turned back to the computer, swiftly closing her email program. “Gosh, yes. It seems to be. Isn’t that marvelous? Mind you, it took them long enough to fix it. When did I ring to register the fault? A week ago? Or was it a month ago? I really can’t remember.”

“Six days ago,” Geraldine said. “I need to do some online ordering, Lola. Would you mind?”

“Mind?” Lola was being deliberately obtuse. She knew Geraldine wanted her off the computer and out of the office. She just wasn’t sure whether the file marked
Lola’s Secret
was hidden. She decided to try to buy some time. “Oh, you want to use the computer? Silly me. I tell you, I’m losing more marbles every day. It seems to take ages for anything to sink in with me. I swear sometimes I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached. Do you know, yesterday I spent nearly half an hour trying to get into the wrong room, convinced there was a problem with my key. And all along I was at completely the wrong door! Imagine!”