Lola's Secret (9 page)

“But you’re not. And it’s your mother.”

“Take a message.”

A long pause expressed Glenda’s displeasure. “Very well.”

Martha called her in as soon as she saw the phone light go out. “Glenda, my usual secretary should have explained. I don’t take personal calls at work.”

“It was your mother.”

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. I don’t take personal calls. Any calls. From anyone.” Her mother had done this every year for the past three years, started calling the fortnight or so before Christmas, leaving messages at home too, begging her to put the fight behind them, telling Martha that she was just being stubborn, as her father was stubborn, that they missed her, that if they couldn’t gather as a family at Christmas time, then what chance did they have the rest of the year? Martha had ignored the calls each year. She would do the same this year. She turned back to her computer, hoping Glenda would get the hint. What temp agency were they using these days? Daft Personnel?

“Your mother gave me a message for you.”

Martha didn’t turn around.

“Quite a long message. I took it down in shorthand. I can read it to you now, or I can type it up, whichever suits you better.”

Martha turned then, her expression murderous. “Glenda—”

“Yes, I know you don’t take personal calls. Strictly speaking, you didn’t take that one, but I did and now I want to pass the message on to you so that my conscience is clear.”

There was a long moment when they just stared at each other, before Martha sighed. “Go ahead.”

Glenda gave a small cough, then began to read from the paper she was holding. “ ‘Martha, please. How many more years is this going to go on? I could lie and pretend that your father is ill, that we are all gathering at his deathbed and that you must rush home, but knowing you, you’d ring his doctor and get it verified before you came, and my story would be blown. So I’ll tell the truth. It was a silly fight between two silly stubborn people who are more alike than either of them realize, but because of your stubbornness, all our Christmases for the past three years have been spoiled. Your brother misses you, your sister misses you, your nieces and nephew miss you. Your father misses you too, even if he won’t admit it. And I miss you too, more than anyone. Please, Martha, come home for Christmas. I’ll have a place set for you. You only have to stay for a drink if dinner is too much. But please, come home.’ ”

It was all read out in an extremely dramatic fashion. Glenda smiled at Martha as she finished. “I used to be in an amateur dramatic society.”

“I’m sure it was amateur.”

Glenda didn’t react. “So what shall I say back to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Martha lost patience. She stood up. “Glenda, how do I make myself clear? I didn’t want to hear that message in the first place, and I especially didn’t want to hear you acting it out. My mother doesn’t speak anything like that.”

“No, you’re right. She has a lovely quiet voice. I shouldn’t have added my own interpretation, but the whole subject, a family rift, two stubborn people, what sounds like the age-old clash between generations … I suppose the drama of it appealed to me and I—”

“Glenda, do you mind?”

“So what shall I say back?”

“Nothing!” Martha practically shouted the word.

Glenda was unmoved. “I can’t do that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I promised your mother I’d ring her back. And I always keep my promises.”

“Glenda, I think it might be best if you don’t work here anymore. I’ll call your agency now.”

“You’ll have trouble getting anyone else.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve got a reputation at the agency. No one likes coming to work here. That’s why you got me. I’m older than the others. I’ve seen the best and worst of bosses already.” She smiled. “I’m also very good at my job. I’ve finished your filing, typed and posted your letters, and inputted this month’s figures. You can’t fault me on the work side of things.”

“That’s why you’re meddling in my private life, is it? Because you’ve got nothing else to do?”

“That’s part of it. Mostly, it’s because you seem lonely and I liked talking to your mother and she sounded at her wits’ end about you.”

“Thank you, Glenda. That’ll be all for now.”

“So I’ll call and let your mother know that you haven’t made up your mind yet?”

“No, Glenda. You won’t.”

“You’ll let her know yourself?”

“Neither of us will let her know anything.”

“How rude.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s your mother. No matter what happened between you and your father, it’s not very fair to punish your mother because of it. It sounds like she only wants the best for all your family. And it is Christmas time.”

“I don’t like Christmas, Glenda. I never have.”

“So go and see them after Christmas. Before then, even. That might be a better way to do it, actually. People do tend to get worked up on Christmas Day, all the pressure to have fun, tempers fraying, too much alcohol … Is that why you had that fight with your father?”

“No, neither of us drink. We were fighting because—” She stopped abruptly. “I don’t need to tell you what we were fighting about.”

“No, don’t. I’ll ask your mother when I ring her back. I’ll get an unbiased account then.”

Martha reached for the phone. “I’m ringing the agency now. Canceling my contract with them. Your behavior is completely—”

“Unacceptable? I have heard that before. Please go ahead and ring them. But I mean it. You won’t get anyone else to fill in at this short notice, from my agency or any other. This is peak season for temps. And your own secretary did have to give me a big briefing. If you sack me, I won’t get to give my replacement a briefing and you’ll be in chaos for the next month. But that’s your call, of course.”

Martha counted to ten. It was all she could do. “Thank you, Glenda. That’s all for now.”

“I’ll give your mother your best wishes, though, will I?”

“If that’s what it will take to get you out of my office so I can do some work.”

“That’s all it will take. Thank you, Miss Kaminski.” She closed the door gently behind her.

Holly handed over a beautifully packaged, brandy-soaked plum pudding to her latest customer, who smiled with apparent delight when he noticed her nametag and remarked what a perfect name it was for this time of year.

“She’s got a sister called Belle, too. Short for ‘Jingle Bells,’ ” June, the bakery owner, said cheerily beside her.

“And a brother called Rudolph?” the customer asked.

“No, no brothers,” Holly said, still smiling, even though she’d heard all the jokes before. “And my surname isn’t Berry, either. I promise.”

“You should change your name at Christmas time,” June said when the old man had finished giving them season’s greetings and they were alone again. “I’d go crazy if I were you.”

“Do you go crazy in June, June?”

June grinned. “Good point. I guess I’ve handled it for the past fifty years. I can handle another few decades. Can you keep an eye out here while I go and wrap some more puddings? They’re racing out the door today. What is it? Has everyone suddenly realized it’s only a couple of weeks until Christmas?”

Holly knew it wasn’t just people noticing the date. It was the wonderful quality of the puddings. June’s bakery was small, and easy to miss on this busy Adelaide city-center shopping strip, but she was such a skilled baker of not only puddings, but cakes, buns, bread, even scones, that they had a stream of regular customers at all times of the year, not just Christmas. Holly had worked there for two years, originally part-time after school and full-time for the past ten months. She loved everything about her job, from the baking to the selling—the smell of the spices, the feel of the dough, the sight of it rising, the warmth and color of the shop itself, with its plump buns, colorful cakes, all made from June’s own recipes. Holly was slowly learning them all, gaining confidence under June’s patient, careful teaching methods. “You’ve a gift for this,” June had said to her the previous week after Holly produced a batch of flawless sponge cakes. The compliment had kept Holly going for days.

She used the brief quiet period now to tidy the small cluster of tables and chairs that took up one end of the bakery. June was a stickler for keeping everything spotless and organized. Holly was back behind the counter, crouched down wiping the glass shelves when she heard the door open.

A child’s voice spoke. “Can we please have five scones, one loaf of raisin bread—”

“And fifteen frog cakes?”

Holly peered out through the glass of the counter. Her two little sisters were standing there, beaming in at her. She stood up, nearly hitting her head on the shelf. “Belle! Chloe! What are you doing here?”

“Mum wasn’t there after school,” Chloe said. “So we came here instead, like you told us to do if it happened again.”

Belle had her nose pressed against the glass. “Can we really have fifteen frog cakes?”

“No, Belle, you can’t,” Holly said. “What happened to Mum? Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “We waited for a while but she still didn’t come so we just decided to leave and come here.”

“Did you tell your teacher you were going? No? Oh, Chloe. You should have. What if Mum turns up and you’re not there?” Holly took out her phone and dialed. “Mum, it’s me. The girls are here … I know. Yes, they walked … No, but … did you tell them Dad was coming instead? Well, he wasn’t there. No. Okay. Mum, please … Fine. Fine. Okay. Bye.”

“Is she cross with Dad again?” Chloe was very serious.

“Is she cross with us?” Belle was just as serious.

Holly suddenly wanted to pull both her sisters into a tight hug and never let them go. They were just little kids. They shouldn’t have to ask questions like that. They shouldn’t have had to walk more than two kilometers because their mother had forgotten to tell them their father was supposed to collect them. They shouldn’t have to be told that he’d forgotten all about it.

“He’s bloody useless,” Holly’s mother had just shouted down the phone. “I always pick them up. And for once, just once, I ask him to do it, and look what happens. I should have known he’d forget. His problem is he is so bloody caught up in—”

Holly had heard it all before, too many times. It was as if her parents had studied a handbook in how to behave badly. 1. Fight constantly. 2. Use children as pawns. 3. Make life so hard and so difficult, every day.

Holly crouched down to their level, deciding she wasn’t going to tell the girls any more than they needed to hear. “Now, I can’t give you fifteen frog cakes and all those scones, because your dentist would kill me.” She heard a noise from behind her. “And not only your dentist, but so would my boss.”

“I sure would,” June said, appearing from the storeroom with a box of puddings freshly tied in shiny red paper and green ribbons. “Hello, Chloe-Belle.” She always called them the one name like that. They loved it. “Have you skipped school again? That’s it. I’m calling the police.”

“It’s
after
school, June,” Chloe said.

“We’re finished for the day,” Belle said. “Until tomorrow. We go back tomorrow.”

“In that case you’ll need something to give you energy for another day. Scone, bun, or frog cake?”

“You weren’t expecting them, were you?” June asked Holly in a whisper, once the girls were set up at one of the tables with milk, a green frog cake, and a comic each. “Trouble at home again?”

Holly nodded. For the first year Holly had worked with June, she hadn’t said a word about her family situation. Until one day, having been up all night with the girls while her parents yelled at each other, she’d come in with shadows under her eyes. “Are you sick?” June had asked in her blunt way. “You look like death. You’ll put my customers off their food.”

Holly had overreacted. “Please don’t sack me,” she’d pleaded, tears in her eyes. “I love this job. Please, June.” June got her a glass of water and a chair and for the next fifteen minutes, listened to Holly pour out all that had happened, and kept happening, at home.

“Have they tried counseling?” June asked.

“They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t be able to stop blaming one another for long enough.”

“There’s no one else you can live with, even for a little while? An aunt? Uncle? Grandparents?”

Holly shook her head.

“Could you leave? Get a flat on your own?”

“And leave Belle and Chloe behind? Never.”

“Why are your parents still together? Wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if they just split up?”

“They tried it once, for a week.” It had been even worse, Holly told her. Her mother had insisted on taking Belle and Chloe and had gone to stay with a friend. Holly remained in the family home with her father, out of guilt, out of love, out of a combination of both. She’d rung her sisters every night and her heart had almost broken to hear the two of them so upset. She was the one who eventually made her mother come home, promising on behalf of her father that it would be different this time. It was different for two days. The fighting started again on the third day.

“You poor kids,” June said simply.

It had helped Holly just to talk about it. June rarely asked much, just a gentle enquiry now and again. She was very generous, though. If extra shifts were on offer, Holly was always the first one asked. And any leftover buns, bread, and cakes always seemed to go to Holly too. “The girls might like them for their school lunches,” she’d say.

A flurry of customers stopped their conversation for the next fifteen minutes. In the following lull, June walked over to the girls’ table, praised them both for making their frog cakes last so long—they’d both taken just small nibbles from the edge, working their way into the center. She put four containers of sugar sachets in front of them, asking their help to count them. “There should be twenty in each bowl. Can you make sure of that for me?”

They started work immediately, counting aloud.

Back at the counter, June spoke to Holly. “So, any special plans for Christmas yet?”

Holly shrugged, about to say no, not really, when Chloe piped up. “Yes! A secret plan!”