The Beach Book Bundle: 3 Novels for Summer Reading: Breathing Lessons, The Alphabet Sisters, Firefly Summer (53 page)

Two older people near Bett nodded and whispered to each other. They obviously remembered it, even if it was news to her.

Another slide came up. General MacArthur standing on a platform at a small railway station, his elegantly dressed wife beside him, their small son between them.

Lola’s voice filled the room. “And where did he say those momentous words? In London? No. In Washington? No. Perhaps even in Sydney? No. General MacArthur said those words on the twentieth of March 1942 on the platform of the Terowie Railway Station. Yes, the little town of Terowie, South Australia, just sixty miles from here, as he traveled by train from Alice Springs to Adelaide. What an event for that tiny place, I’ve always thought, with the war and worries swirling all around them. It touched me deeply. Some years ago I started imagining and thinking and putting down ideas, and before I knew what was happening my thoughts had become a short story, which became a longer story, which became a musical. Yes, I, Lola Quinlan, in the twilight of my years, found that I had written a musical.”

Lola took a big, dramatic breath and paused. “For many months it languished in my bottom drawer. Until I shyly showed it to my three granddaughters, as we reminisced about the wonderful days of the Alphabet Sisters—”

Bett shot Anna a glance. Anna looked over at Carrie. They’d done no such thing.

“And, to my great joy, they offered there and then not just to perform it for me here at the motel, but to mount a fully staged, complete musical in the Valley for everyone to enjoy, with all proceeds going to the Valley Ambulance Fund.”

The partygoers started clapping, some of them a little uncertainly. Lola reached into a bag beside her and pulled out a bundle of leaflets. She started moving from table to table, handing out a small sheet of paper to everyone in the room. She reached Bett and handed her one with a big smile. Bett scanned it.

She had to grab her grandmother’s arm as she started to move away. “Lola, wait! What in God’s name is all this about?”

Lola lowered her voice. “Darling, don’t blaspheme in public, especially on my birthday.”

“I’m serious.”

She patted Bett on the head. “In a moment, darling.” She glided off.

Carrie came up to her next, looking put out. “Is this a joke, Lola? Because it’s not very funny.”

Lola was unperturbed. “Is the musical a joke? Well, it certainly has some hilarious moments, but it has a serious side to it as well.” She sailed past her, too.

Anna came up behind her and helped herself to a leaflet, a smile fixed on her face. “You’ve put us in an embarrassing situation tonight, Lola.”

“Really? I thought you all looked very nice.”

“You know we can’t do this. You should at least have asked us.”

“But you might have said no.”

“Of course we’d have said no. Lola, the three of us might not be here next month to take you to lunch, let alone stage your musical.”

A well-dressed woman bustled up beside them, taking a leaflet from Lola’s hand. “A tremendous idea, Lola, and aren’t you girls great to do something like this for your grandmother. I love her stories about the Alphabet Sisters. It’ll be a pleasure to see you all in action.”

“That’s the doctor’s mother,” Lola whispered as the woman moved off again.

“I don’t care if she’s Andrew Lloyd Webber’s mother. Lola, you have to call this off.”

“But they all look so interested.”

Anna glanced around. The people in the room did appear interested, with just about everyone reading the information. On the other side of the room she saw Bett at her table, with two of the waitresses standing beside her. It looked as if they were giving her their contact details. In the other corner Carrie was also surrounded by a small group of people, answering their questions as well.

A petite woman came over to Lola and Anna, clutching the leaflet. “Will you be holding open auditions, Lola? My son is keen to get into drama school next year, and the experience would be great for him.”

“Drama school!” Lola repeated. “Isn’t that marvelous. We’ll be putting an ad in the
Valley Times
about the auditions, won’t we, Anna?”

Anna recovered, finding a confident smile somewhere. “We haven’t talked through all the details yet, Lola, have we? Still a few gray areas to discuss.”

“Oh, nothing we can’t sort out, though.”

“No, I hope not.” Anna’s smile was very wide and very fake.

Across the room, as the waitresses moved away, Bett picked up the leaflet, reading the details again.

Richard Lawrence was watching her closely. He looked amused. “Pardon me for inquiring, but are you slightly surprised about this?”

Her head shot up. Slightly? Overwhelmingly. And there was no way she was going to do it, either. But that wasn’t something to admit to a complete stranger. She gave a light laugh. “Oh, that’s Lola for you. Always springing little surprises on us. She really is something else.” She moved back in her chair and yelped out loud as the worst pain yet shot into her bottom.

He looked concerned. “Not another bite? Would you like me to look?”

“No!” She nearly shouted the word. “I mean, no, thank you, anyway. Excuse me, will you?”

She moved through the room, dodging the waitresses carrying the trays of desserts. She practically ran into the ladies’, which was blessedly empty, and started to unzip her dress. As she did so there was a tearing sound.

“Oh shit,” she said loudly. She locked herself into a cubicle and took the dress off completely. She heard another little ripping sound as the old material tore even more. What had the spiders done, eaten the skirt?

Something glistened in the seam of the material. She looked closely. They weren’t spider eyes, but a whole row of silver pins. She picked one out. And not pins either. They were industrial-size staples, their ends as sharp as needles. She groaned. Why had she trusted Lola to sew that seam? She’d thought it was strange how quickly she’d done the job that afternoon, but had been too jet-lagged to comment. Now look at the mess she was in. She couldn’t put the ripped dress on again, unless she wanted to treat the entire gathering to the lovely sight of her large black-undie-clad bum. And she couldn’t run down to her room in her camisole, tights, and shoes. Shit, shit, shit. She heard someone come in and tensed. She peered under the door. Please let it be her mother, or Anna, or anyone but … 

She recognized the gold strappy sandals. It was Carrie.

She couldn’t ask her. She’d rather be here all night than ask Carrie for help.

Then the reality hit her. She could well be in here all night if she didn’t ask Carrie. She had to get out there again. They’d be singing “Happy Birthday” any minute.

“Carrie?” Her voice was small. “Carrie?” A bit louder.

“Bett?” She sounded surprised. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve, uhm, ripped my dress.”

“Just now? In there?”

“No, before I got in here. Lola mended it for me but she seems to have used a stapler rather than needle and thread.” Please don’t laugh at me, she prayed.

“Come out, let me see.”

To Bett’s relief, Carrie wasn’t triumphant or sneering. She had a quick look. “Oh, hell. I thought she’d stopped doing that. She just loves that stapler. It’s a special upholsterer’s one she got at the charity shop. I caught her stapling the curtains in her room last year. She said it was much quicker than sewing.”

“I thought a spider had bitten me, that I’d sat on a whole nest of them.”

Carrie grinned, then sobered again as the door opened and an elderly woman came in, smiled at them, and went into one of the cubicles. Bett had managed to put the dress in front of her just in time. She climbed into it now, rip and all, before the woman came out.

“The staples are still in there,” Carrie whispered.

Bett whipped it off again and the two of them worked to pick them out. There were more than twenty.

Carrie shielded her as she clambered back into the dress again. As the toilet flushed, Bett turned and kept her back close to the wall.

The woman smiled at them as she washed her hands and pulled out a piece of paper towel. “You’re two of the granddaughters, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” they said politely.

“You’re wonderful to do that musical for your grandmother. We’ll definitely be booking tickets. And all for such a good cause. The Valley could do with a whole fleet of new ambulances.”

They both smiled and nodded as the woman left the room.

“Did you know anything about this musical?” Bett asked, checking first that the door was completely shut.

“Not a word. Had she said anything to you, in any of her letters?”

So Carrie had known that Lola wrote regularly to Bett. She shook her head. “It’s ridiculous of course. There’s no way we can do it.”

“Of course we can’t. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

There was silence for a moment and then a loud blast of music came from outside. Carrie started. “I’d better get out there. It’s the last spot prize before we sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Look, what about this?” She took off the gold wrap from her shoulders and in a deft movement tied it around Bett’s waist.

Bett sucked in her stomach, thrown by Carrie’s closeness and waiting for a comment about her having put on weight. It didn’t come. Instead, Carrie twisted the fabric, tucked it here and there, and then tied a loose knot in the side, so the shimmering material fell in folds. “I think it’ll work. What do you think?”

Bett stepped back and looked in the full-length mirror. She wasn’t sure what Carrie had done, but the effect was great. The gold wrap folded over the brocade as though it was meant to be there, adding a layer of texture to the whole outfit. “It looks like a designer did it.”

“I saw it in
Vogue
actually. Multilayering or something, I think it’s called. Does it feel secure?”

Bett felt it. “Yes.”

Lola’s voice was clearly heard over the speakers, ordering everyone to sit down as the cake was about to arrive.

Carrie glanced at her watch. “She’s right on schedule. I’d better go.”

“Thanks a lot, Carrie.”

“You’re welcome, Bett.”

It was the longest conversation they’d had in three years.

Chapter Seven

T
he magpies were calling into the sharp blue sky. Bumper the sheep was giving plaintive little bleats. The glass bottles were rattling as Jim Quinlan carried the first of the crates out to the bottle bank behind the kitchen. Car engines revved as guests prepared to leave the motel.

In bed in room number six, Bett groaned at all the noise. Couldn’t they keep it down out there? Her poor brain was already suffering noise overload, crammed with snatches of conversation and flashes of memories from the party. What time had she gone to bed? Three or four? She peered at her bedside clock. Nine-thirty. Whose bright idea had it been to have this emergency meeting about the musical at ten? And whose bright idea had it been to finish the evening with cocktails? Hers on both counts, she realized.

She leaned over, picking up the leaflet Lola had presented to her last night. She’d tried to look at it when she got back to her room, but her eyes were unable to focus, her head swirling with jet lag, too much alcohol, and too many conversations. She glanced at it again now.
Many Happy Returns.
A musical for all the family. To be performed by the Alphabet Sisters and the people of the Clare Valley. Oh no it wouldn’t be.

The night before, Lola had collared her on the dance floor in between the Siege of Ennis and the Walls of Limerick. “Isn’t that Carrie’s wrap? What a nice touch. You’re getting on so well already, then?”

Bett didn’t take the bait. “We still can’t do it, Lola.”

“Can’t do the musical? Of course you can. You have to have more confidence in your own abilities, Bett. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“It’s not about confidence, it’s about …”

Lola smiled. “Yes?”

Bett told the truth. “It’s about not being asked, about being presumed upon, about wondering whether any of us actually wanted to do this.”

“But I thought you would love to do it. I’ve been working on it for ten years.”

“Lola, you haven’t. I’ve been gone a few years, I know, but I’ve never heard a squeak out of you about it.”

“I first read the article about General MacArthur ten years ago. You’re just nitpicking. So will you do it or not?”

“It’s not up to me. It’s up to Anna and Carrie, too.”

“So if they agree, you will, too?”

“Lola, stop this.”

“Bett, I’m ashamed of you. Telling an old woman off on her birthday. We’ll discuss it in full tomorrow when I give you the script.”

“You actually have written a script?”

“Of course. What did you think I’d done, scribbled a few notes on the back of a shopping list?”

Bett remembered an Alphabet Sisters performance that hadn’t been too far from that. She’d been about to remind Lola when her grandmother glided off, cornering another man for a dance.

The party had continued for several more hours, with the DJ playing a mixture of Irish jigs, fifties dance tracks, and old-style tunes. Bett had two waltzes with Richard. As they turned around the floor the second time, she noticed him laughing at something over her shoulder.

She turned in time to see Lola lift up her skirt and give a little high kick. Oh, no. Please don’t let her do her
La Cage Aux Folles
impersonation here tonight. She had done it at one of the school concerts, and, to Bett’s eternal shame, three of her male classmates had caught sight of Lola’s voluminous knickers and told the rest of the class about them. She’d been tormented by them for days: “Does flashing your undies like that run in the family, Bett?”

“Is your grandmother always as entertaining as this?” Richard asked.

She shook her head. “She’s quite low-key tonight, actually. A little subdued. I must ask her if she’s feeling okay.”

He laughed. “I enjoyed all those photos of you and your sisters in your performing days, too. It looked like lots of fun. Certainly put my childhood days as a Boy Scout to shame.”

Bett just smiled. Lots of fun? In the early years, perhaps.

“You weren’t tempted to do a surprise performance for Lola tonight?” he asked as they waltzed past Lola once again. “Spring out of a birthday cake?”

“No. We broke up too many years ago for something like that.”

Another twirl. “And why was that? You didn’t want to make a career of it?”

She gave the answer she always did. Not true, but true enough. “We were getting a bit old to be wearing matching dresses.”

Lola came up to them both. “You’re getting on. Good, good. I was sure you would. Bett’s a journalist, too, Richard. Did I tell you?”

“You did, Lola.”

“Richard is here researching a book, aren’t you, Richard?”

“Really? What’s it about?” Bett was glad to change the subject.

Lola waved her question away. “Oh, plenty of time to hear about that tomorrow. Come on, Dicky, come and dance with me again.” And off they had gone.

Bett had also danced with her father. He had noticed her sitting at a table to the side of the dance floor and come over, bowed gallantly, and asked her in extremely polite language if she would be so kind as to give him the next dance.

“If you put it so nicely,” she’d said, laughing as she took his hand. They walked out to the dance floor as the old-fashioned waltz music started up. It had taken only moments for her to match her steps to his. Jim had taught all of his daughters to waltz properly, as Lola had taught him as a boy. As children, they’d loved to crowd in on him in the motel bar after school, and, if it was quiet, take turns Foot Dancing with him—standing on his feet and being waltzed around the room to the tune of whatever was on the radio or TV at the time.

“You’re still Mr. Twinkle Toes himself, I see.” She smiled up at him as they moved down one side of the dance floor.

“It helps when I have such a beautiful and graceful young woman to dance with,” he said.

“Charmer.”

“No, it’s true, Bett. You were always the lightest on your feet.”

“Was I?”

“Yes, really. And I have to say you look a picture tonight. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”

“A little,” she said, fighting a smile. Her dad had always said that to her over the years, no matter what size she was, bigger or smaller.

“Well, whatever you’ve done, you look great. The three of you do.”

They were silent for a few turns of the floor, then her father squeezed her hand. “I was saying to Anna earlier, and I want to say it again to you now, we’re very happy you’re all home again.”

By “we” Bett knew he meant he and Geraldine. Their father had often been the spokesman for the pair of them. “I am, too.” And she meant it, she realized.

“And you’re not going to rush off again, are you? We get to have you back for a little while?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, there’s a room here for you as long as you want it. And a job if you need it. You know that, don’t you?”

She’d squeezed his hand then. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bett turned over in bed again. The slide show came to mind, and with it a niggling thought that had occurred to her during the party. Something about one of the photos had surprised her, but between the debacle with the dress and then the rest of the party, she hadn’t given it proper thought. And now her poor brain was so drenched in alcohol it wouldn’t come back to her. Was it one of the Alphabet Sisters photos? Or one of Lola’s? Oh, it hurt to even think … 

She lay there hugging her pillow. Another party memory returned. Rebecca, her fellow reporter on the paper three years ago, had arrived late. Bett had noticed in a moment that she hadn’t changed at all. She was tall, willowy, her hair in a stylish blonde ponytail. She’d headed straight for Bett, hugged her, poured them both a glass of wine, then made an offer, blunt as ever. “The woman who took over from you is about to explode with a baby and I need a part-time reporter to cover for her maternity leave. The job’s yours if you’re interested.”

Bett had needed to shout over the noise of the music. “I’m only home for a week or two. I’ll probably be going on to Melbourne or Sydney.”

“Lola said you’d be staying here, though. Surely you’ve been yearning for the simple country lifestyle? Come on, Bett. Think about it.”

They’d talked about it over another glass of wine and a cocktail or two. It had started to sound so tempting. Not having to worry about moving yet. Not having to start job hunting … But had she agreed to take the job or not? She really couldn’t remember. Turning the pillow over to the cool side, Bett shut her eyes and gave another long, low groan.

A
nna was first to arrive in the dining room. She’d left Ellen in the kitchen with Geraldine, helping to clear the guests’ breakfast trays. Her mother and father had been up for hours. The function room was already back in order, the decorations tidied away, the last tray of plates and glasses going through the industrial dishwasher. Geraldine had waved away any offers of help, preferring to do it her way. Anna had been secretly relieved.

She took a seat at the window, looking out over the Valley. When they first moved into the motel, the hills around them had been bare. Bit by bit the town of Clare was getting closer, houses being built on one side and across the road, a car showroom under construction to the left. The view was still beautiful, though, especially in the morning sunlight. The curving rows of grapevines across the road were a lush, glowing green against the dark soil.

“Morning.” It was Carrie.

“Morning.”

Carrie poured a coffee and took a seat at another table. “Huge night, wasn’t it?”

“A huge announcement, you mean.”

“It’s ridiculous, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You did a great job organizing the party, though. It all went so smoothly.”

Carrie colored suddenly. “Thanks.”

Anna decided to ask the question she’d been wanting to since she arrived. “Before Lola gets here and catches me, I have to ask you something. Was Matthew okay about not coming last night?”

“He was fine. He understood,” Carrie said briskly. “He’s working up north at the moment, anyway. On a sheep station. It saved him a long trip.”

“Oh. Good.” Anna waited, but it seemed Carrie had nothing more to say about him. All right then, she wouldn’t talk about him any more either. They stared out the window.

“Morning.” They turned. It was Bett, hair bedraggled, mascara around her eyes, wearing what was either a baggy pair of pajamas or a particularly strange tracksuit. “Has it been called off yet?”

“Any minute now,” Anna said.

The three of them sat silently, then the door opened again. Richard Lawrence stood there. “Good morning. Am I too late for breakfast? I’m afraid I forgot to put my order out last night.”

Carrie stood up. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get something for you. Do you need our sore-head special or the puritan’s delight?”

Bett translated, guessing he was probably as hungover as she was. The last time she’d seen him he was enthusiastically joining a conga line around the room. “She means bacon and eggs for the full hangover cure or a smug continental breakfast.” She caught Carrie’s surprised look. Of course she remembered the terms they gave the breakfasts. She noticed Anna was waiting to be introduced. “Oh, sorry. I thought you two would have met last night. Richard, this is the oldest of us, Anna Quinlan, actress, and mother of one. Anna, this is Richard Lawrence from London. He’s a journalist staying here at the motel while he researches a book he’s writing.” Once again, she felt Carrie’s eyes on her. Was she surprised Bett had learned so much about him?

“Hello, Anna.” Richard gave her his lovely smile. “I must say I’m thinking of throwing all that research away in exchange for another audience with your grandmother. Much more material there, I think.”

“Good. You can do the musical instead of us while you’re at it,” Anna said.

He seemed surprised. “You’re not going to do it?”

“Of course they’re going to do it.” Lola swept in behind him, dressed in a turquoise caftan top over white trousers, in full makeup and jewelery. “Dicky, dear, how are you? Marvelous dances we shared last night. You’ve a fine pair of hips on you. Snake hips, I’d have called you in my younger days.”

Bett was too hungover to protest at Lola’s boldness for once. Her grandmother could have come in juggling puppies and wearing a sequinned bikini this morning for all she cared. She just wanted to go back to bed.

Carrie took Richard into the kitchen and handed him over to her mother, then came back and shut the door. “So then, Lola, what’s the best way to call this whole thing off?”

“Call it off? Why would we want to do that? I thought we agreed last night we’d do it?”

“No, we didn’t,” Anna said.

“We can’t do it, Lola,” Bett said.

“Why not?”

“Because we won’t be here to do it,” Anna said patiently.

“You won’t? Where will you be?”

“Well, Ellen and I are going back to Sydney, of course.” This definitely wasn’t the moment to mention she’d been thinking about staying on for a month or two.

“Why?”

“Because it’s where we live. Where I work. Where Ellen goes to school.”

Lola noticed Glenn wasn’t mentioned. “So? Live here for a while. It will do you both good. There are some fine schools here, too.” She turned her attention to Carrie. “What about you, Caroline? I’d have thought you’d leap at this. A chance to get back on the stage.”

“I’m very busy with the motel,” she said quickly.

“Bett, what about you? Didn’t you tell me in one of your letters how much you’ve missed playing the piano? And you’re staying here in the Valley, aren’t you?”

Bett’s head was throbbing now. “I don’t know for sure.”

“What about the job Rebecca offered you at the news-paper?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I told you. I had a word with her in the street last week. And I saw her talking to you last night.”

“Shall we just get a town crier to shout out everyone’s secrets and be done with it?” Bett said crossly.

Lola wondered if her judgment was failing. She’d thought they’d leap at it. This called for plan B. “Very well then. There’s something else I need to tell you. The other reason I brought you all back here.”