Lola's Secret (31 page)

“No, I’ll go home, I think.”

“How are those renovations going?”

Carrie and her husband had bought an old farmhouse several kilometers south of the Valley View Motel the year before. “Fine. Slowly.”

Lola was watching her. “And how is Matthew, Carrie?”

Carrie turned back to the serviettes. “He’s fine. Up to his eyes in sheep manure and vet magazines as usual. You know the sort of thing.”

“You’re getting on all right, are you?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Really?”

Lola was like a human sniffer dog, Carrie thought, still not looking up. Line up a row of people and she’d sniff out each of their problems instantly. Not this time, though, Carrie decided. The days of confiding in her grandmother were well and truly over. “Really. It’s a bed of roses, in fact.”

“Rubbish. No marriage is a bed of roses. That at least was one of the positive things about Edward dying so young. We might have missed out on the good times, but we missed out on some of the bad, boring times as well.” Lola was amazed, as always, at how easily the lies about her husband tripped off her tongue. “Tell me, do you ever get bored with Matthew, Carrie?”

“Tell me, do you ever think you’re overstepping the mark with your questions, Lola?”

“Oh, good Lord, yes. But people are usually so shocked, they’ve answered me before they’ve had time to think twice. Do you know what I found out this morning? That Mrs. Kennedy is stepping out with her son-in-law’s father at the moment. Talk about keeping it in the family. Having a grand old time, she told me.”

Carrie felt a rush of combined affection and annoyance, her usual reaction to Lola’s behavior. “That’s the only reason you’re still working in that charity shop, isn’t it? It’s nothing to do with helping the poor or keeping yourself busy.”

Lola made an elegant gesture with her hand. “If people choose to tell me things, there’s nothing I can do about it. I see it as my gift to society: helping people unburden themselves of their problems.”

“Digging the dirt on them, you mean.”

“I noticed you changed the subject, by the way. Don’t think that’s the end of it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Now, then, I must be off. I’m going to call on your mother in the kitchen and beg some afternoon tea. I really do have the perfect setup for an old lady, don’t I? A son and daughter-in-law with their own motel and restaurant and a granddaughter who is the sweetest in the world.” Lola gave Carrie another kiss, then swept out of the room, leaving a faint trace of expensive perfume behind her.

Alone in the dining room once again, Carrie worked quietly until she had folded the last of the serviettes. With a loud sigh, she leaned back in her chair. One hundred paper swans surrounded her. This time in two days the room would be transformed for a wedding reception, the paper swans swimming elegantly up and down the rows of long tables. She’d already strung up the fairy lights the bride had requested. She’d ordered the special candles from Adelaide, and they were due to arrive any moment. The bridal arch had proved tricky for a week or so. It would all come together, though. She’d done it enough times to be sure of that.

She sat back and flicked at one of the paper swans with her finger. It toppled, falling against the swan beside it, which also toppled. Within moments a whole row of them had fallen, domino-style. She could have jumped up and stopped them but instead watched idly as the last dozen or so flipped and rolled onto the unswept floor.

She didn’t care. At that moment she was sick of it all. She was sick of her job. She was sick of the motel. She was sick of the fact people made such a mess while they were eating that they needed serviettes in the first place. She was feeling especially sick about her grandmother wanting to throw a birthday party for herself and insisting that Bett and Anna attend.

“But why, Lola? Why now? It’ll ruin everything,” Carrie had said that morning, hoping she wasn’t giving too much away. “All that tension.”

“I’ve given you all three years to sort it out, and you haven’t even got to the starting gate. So I’m taking charge once and for all. I’ve written to both of them as well. Insisted they come or else. So they will, I know.”

Carrie opened her mouth to protest, but one of Lola’s quelling looks had blasted her way and she shut it again.

Scooping up the paper swans now and ignoring the state of some of their wings, Carrie replayed the conversation yet again. If only Lola had turned eighty a few months ago. A year ago, even. But no, it had to be now. And she had to insist on throwing a party. A huge party.

“You wouldn’t be happy with a nice family dinner, you and me and Mum and Dad?” Carrie had suggested hopefully.

“Of course not. I could die any day, and I want to go out with a bang. And I want Anna and Bett to see the explosion. Besides, I’ve got something very important I want the three of you to do for me.”

“Important? What’s wrong? Lola, you’re not sick, are you?”

“Don’t pry, Caroline. I said I want to talk to the three of you about it. Once I have the three of you in the same room together again.”

The three of them. The three of them who hadn’t spoken to each other for years, let alone been in the same room. Or the same town. Or the same country even. And whose fault was it?

Hers.

Who did everyone blame?

Her.

But now it had all changed, hadn’t it? The reason none of them had spoken to each other in that time no longer existed. Which would make this reunion of Lola’s even more hideous and humiliating and horrible than it would normally have been.

Carrie took her anger out on the last of the paper swans, crumpling it up in her hand and then immediately feeling guilty. “Sorry, swannie,” she said out loud, smoothing the serviette and readjusting the little paper beak. It now looked like it had been in a washing machine. She tucked it away in her pocket. The way her luck was going this one would end up on the bride’s place mat and she’d cause a scene. Carrie had already spent enough hours calming the young woman, as she’d fretted about everything from the number of prawns to be served in the prawn cocktails to the mathematical probabilities of it raining on her wedding day.

Carrie had wanted to snap at her more than once. “You think the wedding day is stressful? Try getting through the marriage.”

She jumped as the bell at reception rang once, twice, a third time. Right now she’d had enough of guests, too—especially guests who rang the bell more than once. She walked out, plastering a smile onto her face, knowing it was just several teeth short of a grimace. At least she was exercising her facial muscles. Lola would be pleased.

“Good afternoon,” she said to the waiting couple, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m very sorry to have kept you.”