The Boy in the Olive Grove (19 page)

I SPENT BOXING DAY
with Sol, and discovered that Harriet was right — he was annoying. The third time he flicked sugar into my cup, I said, ‘Do that again and our romance stops here. And I’m not impressed by that kicked-puppy look either.’

The rest of the afternoon wasn’t much better. We went to the pool where he ducked me twice and dripped on me when I got out to lie in the sun. When we left, he walked behind me and trod on the backs of my sandals. Back in the car, he screeched like a siren all the way to his house. I said, ‘Sorry, Sol, but the boyfriend/girlfriend thing is a dead duck. I’ll end up doing you serious damage if I have to spend another second with you.’

He didn’t seem surprised. ‘You’ve broken the record anyway. A day and a half. That’s my longest romance so far.’

‘Your only one then?’

‘Nope. Kara lasted for an afternoon. Jody from five o’clock till eight. Harriet for twenty-three minutes.’

‘You’re a nut. Quite a nice one, in very small doses.’

‘New Year’s off, then?’

‘Not if Harriet will come too.’

He slammed the door but it didn’t seem to be an angry slam, because he stuck his face against the window and made a blowfish mouth. I pushed the windscreen washer, hoping it would drench him.
Ha, Sol Drummond, got you.

And so the holidays passed. As expected, Mum didn’t talk to me for the entire week between Christmas and New Year. She placed her credit card on the table in front of me at breakfast the day after Boxing Day. I thanked her, rang Harriet and asked her if she’d come shopping with me. No way was I going to take Sol. I wafted into a daydream where I was cruising round the shops in Nick’s company until sanity kicked in.

‘Your mum just handed over her credit card?’ said Harriet. ‘No limits? You’re so lucky! I wish my mother would do that.’

‘Hard to set a limit when she’s not talking to me.’

‘Jeez! Man, that’s mega weird.’

We had a good day and I was glad she was with me. I left the dockets on the table for Mum to find when she got home. She hadn’t, I noted, left me a message about where she was or when she expected to be back.

 

MOST DAYS I PLAYED
tennis, or ended up at the pool with Sol and Harriet, who introduced me to a bunch of others I’d be at school with. Hadleigh wrote more often now, and always bland emails for public consumption. I Facebooked my friends regularly, too, making sure I was cheerful and chatty. They liked the story of my short romance with Sol.

The men went back to work amped and ready to rock after the holidays. There wasn’t a lot for me to do. I went in every morning to deal with emails and snail mail, stayed for a cuppa, then left them to it.

In the final week of January, Dad started coming with me in the mornings. The men were pleased he was back, he was pleased to be back — but I discovered I was sorry to lose my project.

Iris, as she always did, picked up that something was bothering me. I so wasn’t used to having a mother-figure who did that. ‘I miss the factory,’ I told her. ‘It was the challenge, I think. Dad had just given up and it didn’t seem right.’

‘You’d better go for a career that challenges you in that case,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but what?’
Right now I’d settle for being Nick’s wife.

Iris gave me a particularly witchy look. ‘You’ll need work that’ll satisfy you. Even if you marry, you still need a life of your own.’

‘Especially if I don’t,’ I muttered.

But she heard me, and tugged my hair quite hard. ‘Look forward, not back.’

‘I’m trying! Okay!’

‘How many times have you looked at him on Facebook?’

‘Only once. Twice.’

‘Twice too often.’ She eyeballed me, and said with emphasis and deliberation, ‘He’s not the one for you right now. Accept it and stop wishing things were different.’

‘I’m trying. You haven’t a clue how hard it is.’

‘And don’t flounce.’

‘I was bloody not—’ But I caught her eye and had to laugh. ‘All
right!
I hear you.’

That got me a hug and a cup of something prob ably designed to mend a broken heart — which it didn’t.

At the end of January, on a cloudy, humid
morning
, and in the face of Mum’s disapproval, I dressed myself in my new shorts, shirt and sandals, and took myself off to school.

It turned out I should have enrolled earlier, but the dean simply frowned, sighed and said, ‘Welcome, Bess.’ I had a moment’s panic that she’d ask me why I’d left St Annie’s, but all she did was ask me my subjects. Perhaps it was lucky I hadn’t enrolled when she had plenty of time after all.

I rattled them off. ‘History, chem, physics, calculus and Maori.’

‘An interesting mix,’ she said. ‘Fortunately for you, they all fit.’ She printed off a timetable and sent me on my way.

The day was strange, so different from St Annie’s, and yet so much the same. The teachers didn’t treat me as if I was a crazy drunk, and the kids I’d met over the summer were friendly. Being back at school, though, did make me think differently about Nick. I was a school kid. It was dumb to be thinking I’d lost the love of my life. It didn’t stop me from grieving over losing him, but in some peculiar way it eased the distress of it. He was out of my league.

MY BROTHER SENT ME
a text at 3.16 on a Monday afternoon in the middle of February.
Pick me up from Auck airport sis. Have just landed. Don’t tell ma.

The rat! He hadn’t ditched his sim card at all. And not telling Mum would get me in so much trouble.
Too bad
.

I sent Dad a text:
Going to airport to pick up Hadleigh.

Iris texted back:
Both of you come to dinner.

Yes! And it being a Monday, I wouldn’t have to leave a message for Mum.

My brother was sitting in the sun waiting for me. He swept me up in a massive hug, then whirled me in a complete circle twice.

‘Good to see you, kiddo. Open the boot, will you?’ We loaded his luggage, but he waved the keys away when I tried to hand them over. ‘You drive, Bess. I’m bushed. Been a long day.’ He settled himself in the passenger seat — and immediately went to sleep. He didn’t wake up till Dad hauled the car door open.

‘Hadleigh! Good to see you, son. Good to see you.’

It was better than good. The missing piece of my world was back where it should be — one of the missing pieces anyway. He gave us presents, including a lapis lazuli pendant and a Peruvian-style hat for me.

‘To keep your ears warm in winter. Made from alpaca wool, fur, hair — whatever.’

‘Hey, I hope you got Mum one too.’

‘Yep. Sure did!’ He scrabbled round in his pack and pulled out the hat. It was a mix of brick red, mud brown, sickly green and bilious yellow.

Iris and I stared at it. ‘It’s perfectly, sublimely hideous,’ I said.

‘Took me a week to find that,’ he said. ‘Not bad, if I do say it myself.’

‘Will she wear it?’ Iris asked.

‘Yes!’ Hadleigh and I chorused.

‘I hope I see her in it,’ Dad said.

That was the only time my mother intruded into the conversation all evening. In typical bloke fashion too, neither Dad nor Hadleigh mentioned the factory.

Tired as he was, Hadleigh drove me back to Mum’s, where I had to say farewell to the use of his car. We talked about his travels through South America, and not about airport meltdowns or abandonment. I didn’t mind. He was back and he was Hadleigh — loving, kind and imperfect.

‘You’ll have to come in or she’ll kill me,’ I said.

‘She mightn’t be home,’ he said — and she wasn’t.

‘You’re such a tin arse,’ I told him, but I made him write her a note.
Hi Mum. Just got home. Sorry to miss
you. Love Hadleigh.

‘Liar,’ I said.

‘The love bit, or the sorry bit?’

‘Both.’

He tweaked my hair, jumped in the car and was off. Mum must have passed him on the road, because half a minute later I heard her coming into the house. I raced to my room and spread homework all over the desk.

It took her all of ten seconds to arrive in my doorway. ‘You’ve seen Hadleigh?’

I swivelled around to look at her, one finger placed artistically on a random line in a history book. ‘He was pretty jetlagged so he didn’t stay long. He said he was sorry you weren’t here.’

She nodded majestically and departed. I thanked gods of all varieties that my brother had the nous to arrive home on her night out.

I sat at my desk, not attempting to do any of the looming assignments, just staring at nothing. I was thinking about Hadleigh, about the evening we’d all spent together — about nothing in particular — until I found myself looking at the olive grove lovers again. I knew them instantly.

They were frightened. The girl was pale and she clutched her lover’s arm as if to anchor him. The pair of them stood on a hilltop, the olive grove at their backs, gazing at the town below. In my
twenty-first
century life I understood that a sickness, some sort of fatal contagion, was rife in the town. The boy disengaged his arm so that he could put it around her to hold her close.

The girl pointed to the town, then swung round to look to the east. She and the boy studied the terrain, then simultaneously they shook their heads. For some reason, they couldn’t escape by that route. There seemed to be no way they could leave — or, if there was, they chose not to go for reasons unclear to me as I was now.

Older people appeared behind them. A clutch of young children too, and I understood that family was the reason they would not leave. They turned, holding hands now, and walked towards the elders, who embraced them and took them into the house.

I saw a wedding. The girl wore flowers in her hair. The boy stood tall and had eyes only for her. There was laughter and music and food, but there was also fear. The contagion was spreading.

Mum knocked on my door and the scene vanished. I ignored the knock, dazed by what I’d seen.

She came in. ‘You’re not asleep. Have the courtesy to answer when I knock.’

Have the courtesy not to come in if I don’t answer.
‘What do you want?’

‘My tablet. And please do not take it again without asking.’

I handed it back. She didn’t say thank you and I didn’t say goodnight. How like her to turn up at exactly the wrong moment. Now, perhaps, I’d never know what became of Nick and me in that long-ago life. There was no doubting that we were the couple. It wasn’t just wishful thinking, because I didn’t wish for it. My life would be much less complicated if that boy wasn’t Nick — but he was, just as surely as I was the girl.

 

AFTER SCHOOL
the next day, I went into town and, using some of the stash of cash accumulating in my account, I bought my own tablet and gave it a name. ‘I christen you
Irony
.’

By way of distraction from past lives, I checked on the factory’s website for postings of recent work. There were none.

I rang Hadleigh and had a moan to him, just because I could. He laughed. ‘Give it up, Bess. Dad’s a dinosaur and you’re not going to change his spots — or his scales, or whatever.’

‘No, I guess not. But Eddy should be keeping his eye on things. He’s the one with most to lose if the place goes down the tubes.’

‘You’ll sort it, whizz-kid that you’ve turned into.’ He so clearly wasn’t interested. Was still terrified he’d get dragged back in, probably.

I changed the subject. ‘When are you off to uni?’

‘End of the week. Can’t wait. See ya.’

Ah well, at least he’d answered my call.

It looked like if anyone was going to sort things on the digital front it would have to be me. It wasn’t ideal, though. The guys needed to be doing it themselves, and I wouldn’t be around next year anyway. We needed a more lasting solution.

And that was when an image floated into my head of the perfect person. Jason.
Jason
? Yes.

I was still laughing when I rang Dad. But he got in first. ‘The orders are rolling in, Bess. I have to say it’s exciting. And you’ll never believe it, but we’ve had an inquiry from somebody wanting miniature furniture for a doll’s house!’

‘Cool! You’ve said yes?’ He’d better have, or I’d do him serious damage.

‘Well now,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t going to, but then I thought I’d better talk it over with the men.’

‘And did you? Did Alton grab the job?’

‘He did indeed. Thrilled to the back teeth, he is.’

So was my father, by the sound of it. ‘Dad, those pieces have to go on the website. Any items that are different from what’s there already have to go on it too.’

He got soothing. ‘Don’t fuss, girl. I know what I’m doing.’

I got mad. ‘I’ll bloody tell Beverly on you. You’ve got to keep current. She’ll tell you that. Listen, Dad, ask Jason to be in charge of posting photos. He’ll be good. Knows what he’s doing round a computer.’

The dinosaur humphed and hawed, but in the end decided that could just be a grand notion and he’d put it to Jason tomorrow.

I rested my head on my desk and screamed a very small scream. He’d better do it, or I really would tell Beverly on him. Then I sat up and called Eddy to give him a rocket about the lack of current photos.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know it needs doing, but you know … I don’t feel good about telling Charlie what to do.’

‘Get over it. The place will go backwards if you don’t. Dad’s going to ask Jason to post them, but he probably hasn’t thought about captions.’

‘Good idea. Jason’ll be stoked too. Don’t worry. I hear you. Thanks … boss.’

The next day, after Mum and I had dined at the late hour of 6.30 because I’d volunteered to cook, I decided to phone Clint to find out whether Dad had put Jason in charge of keeping the photos current. It was sneaky, but I really didn’t want to badger Dad to his face again.

My call was answered on the second ring. ‘The Castello Southey. To whom is it your earnest wish to converse?’

Nick? The blood rushed from my head. ‘What are you selling?’ the voice asked. ‘Or do you wish to inform me that my computer has a virus and that you—’

‘George! You idiot! I need to speak to your dad.’

It wasn’t Nick after all. I wanted to cry.

‘Not so fast, lady. I don’t let my honoured pater speak to just any stray female.’

Heaven grant me patience. I told him my name.

‘Ah, little Bess Grey. For you, signorita, anything.’

At last! Clint came on the line. ‘Sorry about that, Bess. What’s up? Something wrong?’

‘I hope not, but I want to check with you first, just in case there’s no need to put a bomb under Dad.’

That got me a laugh. ‘The website? Young Jason’s as proud as a peacock. He’s posted photos already.’

‘That’s awesome. Hey, can you tell him from me that he’s a dude?’

‘Sure, word for word. Good to know you’re keeping an eye on your dad,’ he said.

I checked the website. The photos were clear, crisp and showed the work to advantage. Somebody had written brief captions for each of them.

It wasn’t till I was in bed that I let myself think about hearing Nick’s brother’s voice. What an idiot I’d nearly made of myself. Iris was right: I had to keep going forwards, I had to let go of the whole belief that Nick was my one and only.

I was nearly asleep when it occurred to me to wonder why I hadn’t just checked the website myself. It was the obvious thing to have done. I came to the sorry conclusion that subconsciously I’d been hoping for news of Nick.

Bloody subconscious.

 

I THREW MYSELF
into school, immersing myself in work and any activities going: Stage Challenge, tennis, swimming, peer support.

‘Are you always like this?’ Harriet asked.

‘Pretty much,’ I said. ‘My brother reckons I’m hyperactive.’

Harriet lay back on the grass. ‘Give me the quiet life.’

‘Yeah right!’ She was up there in the workaholic category.

School was okay. I was making friends with boys as well as girls. None of the boys made my heart race, and I wondered if I’d ever fall in love again.

About the middle of March, Iris sat me down for another of her motherly type conversations. ‘How’s school going? The truth, please.’

‘Fine. I like the teachers. I’ve got friends. It’s all good.’

‘And the boys?’ she asked, skewering me with her witch eyes.

‘They’re nice. I really like Anaru and Peter. Sol I can tolerate except on Tuesdays. He’s always really obnoxious on a Tuesday for some reason.’

She wasn’t deflected. ‘And I’m willing to bet you wonder every day if you’ll ever fall in love again.’ One look at my face was all it took for her to grab my shoulders to make me look into her eyes while she said, ‘You are eighteen. Enjoy it. Have fun. If you hadn’t seen those images, Nick would be just another nice guy. Like those boys at school.’

The trouble was, I had seen the images and I’d felt the connection when we’d been together on the day of the ice cream. He was my olive grove boy.