Lola's Secret (12 page)

M
ORE THAN
two hours into her shift at the charity shop, Lola hadn’t had a chance to sell so much as a secondhand tie, let alone check her emails or do any more thinking about Bett and Carrie. She’d been completely occupied dealing with the constant stream of amused traders, shoppers, and passers-by demanding to know what on earth had taken up position in their front window.

“I know what it looks like, but what is it?” Len the butcher said.

Lola refused to rise to the bait. She parroted Mrs. Kernaghan’s words. “It’s a representation of the primal forces of nature and the age-old collision between the elements of fire, water, earth, and air.”

“And that relates to Christmas how?” the hardware shop manager wanted to know. His front window featured a store dummy dressed in summer Santa gear—red cap, board shorts, and zinc cream on his nose.

“You’d need to ask Mrs. Kernaghan that.”

Only Mrs. Kernaghan had mysteriously gone missing since it became obvious that her window display was attracting more laughs than gasps of admiration.

Lola looked up now as the door opened again and a couple came in. Good, she didn’t know them. Hopefully they were visitors to the town who wouldn’t feel the need to pass any smart alec remarks.

They browsed for a moment, whispering between themselves until the man came to the desk. He was empty-handed.

“Do you mind if I ask—”

Lola steeled herself.

“Is that material hanging on the dummy in the window for sale?”

“You want to buy it? What on earth for?”

He looked a little embarrassed. “We’re from the Riverland and we’ve had trouble with birds eating our crops. We’ve tried everything, then we read online that it might be worth trying another kind of scarecrow—”

“You think it looks like a scarecrow?” It was more like an escapee from the
Hammer House of Horror
, Lola thought.

“A bit,” his wife said, before adding hurriedly, “in a good way, of course.”

Could Lola sell it? Not just the fabric, but the whole display? Tell Mrs. Kernaghan someone had made an offer that was just too good to refuse? Pretend it was a gallery owner from Sydney who’d been impressed with her primal rending of abstract blah blah blah?

The couple took her hesitation as a no. “Thanks anyway. It’s given us some great ideas. We just need to get some fabric that color.”

“Stay right there,” Lola said. Five minutes later she waved as they went off happily with the leftover material. Thank heavens it was gone. Even the sight of it in the box had been giving Lola headaches.

She’d just finished tidying the racks when the door opened again. Her polite smile turned to a genuine one. “Emily!” she said as the young woman came in. “What a treat. Please don’t feel you need to insult me about the front window display, will you?”

“I think it’s very eye-catching,” Emily said diplomatically.

“So is smallpox,” Lola said. She beamed as Emily reached into a bag beside her and brought out a flask still beaded with condensation from the fridge. “Is that for me? Another of your experiments?”

Emily nodded. “This heatwave is supposed to go for another couple of weeks, so I thought some new flavors might keep my regular customers happy. You don’t mind me testing them on you?”

“I’m honored,” Lola said. “What’s this one called?”

“Billy Goat Hill blend,” Emily said. “You know, after the lookout point.” She named all her drinks after local landmarks.

“You don’t think it sounds as if you’ve put a goat into a blender? I’m joking, darling.” She took a sip. “Let me guess—a base of lemonade, a touch of mint, a hint of ginger, and don’t tell me, is that raspberry essence? Or is it strawberry?”

“Raspberry. Lola, you really are amazing. One of the wine-makers should hire you to be their taster.”

“I only ever let gin pass my lips, Emily. No point cluttering up my arteries with shiraz or riesling at this late stage. Delicious, dear. A fine addition to your already excellent array of refreshments.”

Emily poured the rest into Lola’s glass and then gazed at the window display again. “It is pretty horrible, Lola. I hope you don’t mind me saying. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“For the wrong reasons. Yes, I know. It’s such a shame. A large check like that up for grabs. Think of the good use we could make of it. And one of the other shops will win it and, I don’t know, spend it on neon signage or a new till or something.”

“You haven’t thought about it accidentally collapsing? It does look flimsy.”

“Emily! What a cunning mind dwells beneath that innocent face of yours. Of course I have. I dreamed last night not of Manderley but of a quick splash of kerosene and a match.
Whoosh,
up it would go in seconds and then we’d really have a representation of nature’s fiery elements. But our poor firemen are busy enough as it is in this heat. I couldn’t possibly add to their workload.”

“I could trip and spill the Billy Goat Hill blend on it.”

“Mrs. Kernaghan would only be pleased. More color, more drama.”

The door opened, bringing in another customer and with her, a gust of wind that sent a long frond of chiffon whirling and waving. “Emily, dear, grab that, would you?” Lola urged. “The blasted stuff catches in the door every time. We begged Mrs. Kernaghan to put up another barrier but apparently that would destroy the soul of the piece.”

“It’s only a few days till the judging,” Emily said. “You could take it all down after that, couldn’t you?”

Lola shook her head. “Unfortunately not. The rules state that entries must stay in place until Boxing Day at least. They’re a tourist attraction, apparently. The others, perhaps. Ours is more of a tourist repellent.”

Emily grinned, then glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to the café.”

“No, not yet!” Lola had been hoping for a chance like this. The sole customer seemed happy browsing. Now, how could she put this diplomatically? She’d given it a lot of thought since she’d seen Emily and Luke blush in each other’s company. But Emily was very shy and Luke even shyer. She would have to tread very warily and carefully, not scare the horses, as the saying went, to find out if her hunch was right. She lowered her voice. “Emily, can I ask you a question?”

Emily whispered back. “Of course.”

“Have you got a crush on Luke?”

Up came the blush. Bingo! Lola thought. “Darling, don’t be embarrassed,” she said quickly, as Emily put her hands to her cheeks. “It’s lovely news.”

“Is it that obvious? Oh, Lola, no. I’d hate him to know. I’d hate anyone to know. How did you guess?”

“An old dog like me knows lots of tricks, darling.”

“He doesn’t know, does he? You haven’t told him?”

“Of course not,” Lola said. Not yet, she thought. “But I couldn’t be happier with your choice. He’s a lovely young man, so clever, so kind to his mother—”

“So good looking, too.”

Was he? Lola thought he was a dear boy but whether his particular mix of gangliness and that thatch of hair could be officially classed as good looking, she didn’t know. But Emily was blushing even more furiously now.

“What do I do, Lola?”

“Ask him out, of course.”

“Why would he want to go out with me?”

“Why wouldn’t he go out with you, more to the point? You’re a catch. A successful entrepreneur, sweet-natured—”

“I’m not pretty enough for him.”

“Of course you’re pretty enough.” It was only a small lie. Emily wasn’t chocolate-box Carrie-pretty, with her frankly plain face and a figure more stocky than model-style, but she had such a kind heart and such a beautiful smile. Qualities like that lasted longer than any good looks.

“Lola, I’ve had a crush on him for years. Ever since he took us to that disco that night. Do you remember?”

Lola remembered every moment. It had been in Emily’s final year of school. A bully of a boy called Kane had picked four of the shyest, most awkward girls in his year and invited them to the end-of-term social with the express intention of standing them all up. In public. Until Lola got wind of his plan and turned the tables, contacting all four of the girls herself. It was Kane who looked the fool as Luke, in his much-loved and now scrapheaped orange Torana, drove the four girls to the social and waited as they made a triumphant entrance past an already humiliated Kane.

“You’ve been holding a candle for him since then? And done nothing about it? Emily, I take my hat off to your patient nature.”

“It hasn’t been patience. I’ve had to be realistic. What chance would I have with him?”

“Why wouldn’t you have a chance with him?”

“He’s got everything—looks, a successful career … He must have women falling off him.”

Lola tried to remember whether Luke had ever mentioned a girlfriend, either here in Clare or in Adelaide. No, but then again, they did tend to talk computers rather than matters of a Cupid nature. But she hadn’t been mistaken, had she? Luke
had
blushed when Emily arrived at the shop that day. Unless it
was
a heat rash … “Leave it with me, Emily.”

“No, Lola. Please, don’t! Don’t say anything to him. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You couldn’t bear the possibility of going out with Luke? Has my hearing gone? Didn’t I just hear you tell me that you’ve been carrying a torch for him for years?”

“Yes, but … I have to go. Thanks for tasting the drink.” She almost ran out of the shop, the gust of hot air sending the window model teetering even more wildly than usual. Lola had to almost run to catch it just before it toppled.

G
ERALDINE WAS ALONE
in the kitchen when Lola returned to the motel later that day. There were always several hours in a motel’s daily life when all was calm. When the morning cleaning of rooms had been done, the part-time staff had gone home, the dinner preparations finished, and it was just a matter of waiting for the first dinner guests to arrive. In all her years in motels and guesthouses, the afternoon had always been Lola’s favorite time. She liked the combination of smug organization and happy anticipation. Would some last-minute guests arrive? Would it be a busy night in the restaurant? Would everything run smoothly or would one of the young waitresses from town drop a plate or mix up an order? Of course, years had passed since she’d truly had to worry about the motel’s operations. That was all Jim and Geraldine’s responsibility now, but it was always nice to reminisce.

Geraldine didn’t look like she was enjoying a feeling of organization or anticipation. As usual, she was busy doing something. If she wasn’t rearranging the cupboards, she’d be sterilizing the stainless steel worktops. Or cleaning the cutlery. Or bleaching the napkins. Today she looked like her life depended on getting the oven as clean as possible, hands in gloves, strong-smelling chemicals and sponge at work.

It had been a sore point when the three girls were younger. They’d wanted their mother to find time for them, to take an interest in them as much as the motel work. But Geraldine had never been that kind of mother. Lola had seen it immediately, when Jim and Geraldine first had their children. Some women were natural mothers. Some women seemed more shocked by the role. Geraldine had been … “matter-of-fact” was the word Lola would have used. Distant. Not cruel. Not unloving. But from their youngest days, it was Lola to whom Anna, Bett, or Carrie would come if they wanted fun, or play times. Geraldine cared for them practically, cooked for them, dressed them, took them to school, and collected them afterward if she was free, but Lola knew she was the one who’d fed their imaginations, brought the laughter and music into their lives. Jim had helped, of course. Jim had been—he still was—a doting father and now a doting grandfather. But he’d been busy with the motel work, too. It was why Lola had been so glad to be around, to be the constant in the three girls’ lives.

How did any parent, married, single, widowed, or whatever, manage to give a child everything he or she needed? It was impossible. Perhaps communes were the way to go, Lola thought, a place where children ran wild but free, calling in to many care-givers throughout their days. Or perhaps the best model was life in African villages. Lola had seen fascinating documentaries about their way of childrearing, where many people played a part in a child’s care and development. Perhaps she had done her own Irish-Australian motel version of just that. In retrospect, yes, she had. She’d wondered now and again whether Geraldine had resented her presence all those years. Perhaps. But if so, Lola didn’t feel any real sympathy for her. What was done was done. And the recent admission from Jim that Geraldine had been snooping on the computer, that she’d been secretly planning Lola’s swift removal to an old folks’ home, hadn’t made her feel any more sympathetic or disposed toward her daughter-in-law. Still, one needed to keep up appearances, for everyone’s sake.

She smiled at her daughter-in-law now. “Geraldine, dear, how are you? Busy as ever, I see. Aren’t you marvelous?” And the award for Most Polite Mother-in-Law goes to Lola Quinlan, she thought.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

No question in return, despite the fact they hadn’t seen each other for several days. They hadn’t spoken since the night in the office and Jim’s bombshell news, in fact. But right then, Lola decided it was time they did.

“So you’ve decided to move on from here?”

Geraldine’s head shot up. “I thought—”

“Jim asked me not to discuss it publicly yet? Yes, he did. But really, dear, isn’t it too much of an elephant in the room? Elephant in the motel, even? You’ve been feeling this way for a long time, he tells me.”

Geraldine still hadn’t stopped cleaning. The sight of her rubbing at the stove, using it as an excuse not to meet her eyes, suddenly infuriated Lola. This might be the last chance she and Geraldine ever got to speak honestly to each other. She used the voice she only ever used on teenage boys swearing or jostling in the charity shop. “Geraldine, would you please stop cleaning for one minute and talk to me?”

It worked. Geraldine’s expression was one of shock but she at least put the sponge down.

Lola continued. “We haven’t talked much over the years, I know. But perhaps we should.”