The Boy in the Olive Grove (9 page)

‘They said they’d lost confidence in the products. They all said we’re not where it’s at.’

‘But didn’t they look at these?’ I waved the tablet at him. ‘Couldn’t they see? These are exactly where it’s at.’

Eddy just looked depressed.

‘We’re not giving up. We are not! Do you hear me, Eddy?’

A big fat unconfident sigh was all I got by way of a reply.

‘Let’s eat,’ Iris said.

THAT NIGHT I DREAMED
of fire. The unsold tables were the pyre, and Iris was burning.

I woke up with Mum shaking me. ‘Bess! What on earth’s the matter with you?’

The light was dazzling and I flinched away from it, still in the grip of flames.

‘Are you awake?’ Mum demanded. ‘What was all that about? You were shouting loud enough to wake the dead.’

The dead. Oh dear god. Iris
wasn’t
dead, not in this life. I sat up, leaning forward with my hands over my eyes.

‘Bess? Answer me, please.’

I tried to speak. It took a couple of attempts before I could say, ‘Just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you up.’

Iris would have hugged me. Hadleigh would have tipped me upside down over his shoulder. Dad? He’d at least have asked what the nightmare was about. Then he’d have made me a cup of strong tea — his answer to everything. Mum didn’t touch me again after she’d shaken me into consciousness, but she delivered a parting shot as she left my room. ‘You’ll have to see the doctor if it happens again. I sleep badly enough as it is. I can’t afford to have you waking me like this every night.’

I slumped down into the mess of tangled sheets. Yes, I’d like to see a doctor: I’d ask if there was a name for the it’s-all-about-me syndrome.

I was in a half-doze, too terrified to fall asleep properly, when I remembered my promise to Miss Wilding about seeing a shrink if the images came again. I spent the rest of the night trying to convince myself that a nightmare was different and therefore my promise didn’t count.

I shouldn’t have wasted the effort. I knew I would have to see somebody about it. A doctor would more or less have to prescribe antipsychotic drugs. Or suggest counselling, and that would involve talking for weeks and years about how I didn’t connect with my mother, about how I’d always held my distance from my stepmother, about how I’d yelled a pack of lies to my departing brother. And according to Iris, none of that had the least relevance to me in this life. There was a certain grim humour to be had at three in the morning from imagining Mum’s response if I told her all the Iris stuff.

The only person who seemed likely to be able to help was Iris’s pet shrink, Gwennie. I wished I’d asked her more about exactly how Gwennie worked, how she’d helped Iris, but all I could remember was something about deep relaxation. I couldn’t see how that would clear the pictures out of my head.

At five I gave up the idea of sleeping, got up and posted three of Eddy’s designs on Facebook. I wrote:
A taste of the furniture produced at Charlie Grey and Daughter, makers of quality furniture. I tell you, guys — we rock!

We didn’t, not yet. But we could. We just needed a chance.

 

FOR ONCE I
was glad of Mum’s silent treatment over breakfast and I escaped early to the factory, scooping up the tablet again on the way. As soon as I got there, and before I chickened out, I rang Iris to tell her about burning her up all over again. I took my courage in both hands and asked, ‘Could your shrink make it all go away, do you think?’

‘I’ll ring her right now. I’ll get back to you.’

‘Wait! I’m at work. Don’t ring home.’

‘Bess, darling, I do realise you wouldn’t be ringing me from your mum’s house.’

I put the phone down. With any luck, Gwennie might refuse to see me. ‘Oh, just get it over with!’ I muttered. I couldn’t go on having Iris in flames popping up from wherever. She was tricky enough to deal with in this life. And what about OG boy? Should I mention him too? Oh my god, I couldn’t believe I was going to spill my soul to a shrink. I decided to keep OG boy to myself.

The men arrived. Eddy reported on his day as a rep. Down went the spirits of everyone except Bernie, who didn’t seem to do gloom when there was work waiting for him, and he bustled off to start making the gate.

Eddy asked, ‘What do you want me to do, Bess? Shall I try Auckland?’

I surveyed the four slumped pictures of dejection sitting at the table. ‘No. I will.’

He actually had the gall to laugh. ‘Nobody’s going to take any notice of a kid, Bess. No offence.’

‘Listen. All of you.’ I waited till they straightened their spines enough to look at me. ‘I’ll do a hell of a lot better than some
adult
who doesn’t believe we’ve got a show of selling what we can offer.’ I kicked Eddy’s chair, although what I longed to do was give him a right royal boot up the backside. ‘You’ll be wasting your time if you droop around Auckland looking like you do right now. I wouldn’t buy a stick from you, let alone put in an order for one of your designs.’

There was a shocked silence, then Clint let out a snort of approval. ‘By hokey, lad — that’s telling you.’ He pointed at me. ‘The girl’s got balls. She’ll do a better job than you ever will.’

In my head I was laughing fit to split, but outwardly I kept up the tough approach. ‘Well, Eddy?’

He stood up, determination in every fibre. ‘For your information, boss, I did not droop around Hamilton yesterday. I believe in these designs. I can sell them.’

With that he stalked out.

Clint watched him go, a definite grin on his face. ‘Lucky you’re a little slip of a lass, Bess. If you’d been a guy, he’d a thumped you into next week.’

But he, Maurice and Alton all looked more positive as they walked off to finish the fence. Would I have to throw a wobbly every flaming morning to get them going?

Flaming. Watch your language, Bess.

But what was I meant to do now? I checked on Bernie. He was deep in drawing intricate lines on paper and didn’t even notice me. Outside, the others were making short work of fencing off the area that had once been lawn. They’d be finished before the end of the day. We’d have to put it back into grass if we wanted the place to look like a prosperous business again. On the other hand, it seemed hard to justify chucking precious cash around just for that. Dad had always intended to build a finishing workshop on the land, rather than having to lease the shed across the road, but it seemed unlikely that would happen now.

That got me thinking.

I rang Beverly at the bank. ‘Could Dad sell the land next to the factory? It must be worth quite a bit.’

The short answer, she told me, was no, thanks to a complicated title that would take time and money to untangle. ‘There’s nothing to stop you leasing it out, though.’

‘But what for? Who would want it?’ I aimed to sound like a businesswoman, not a whiney kid. I sounded like the kid.

‘Think laterally. Brainstorm ideas. Don’t forget to see me on Friday.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ I said — after I’d hung up.

I took myself outside to talk to the men about moving on to sorting the woodroom once they’d finished the fence. It would take the three of them about an hour, tops, but it was the best I could come up with. I also ran Beverly’s suggestion about leasing the land past them. ‘We’ll do a brainstorming session this afternoon. Have a think in the meantime.’

As I left I heard Clint mutter, ‘What’s she think we are, bloody school kids?’

I walked right back and eyeballed him. ‘No. I think you’re a bunch of damn good workers. You want your jobs to disappear? Fine. Don’t turn up at 3.30.’

He grabbed a plank, holding it up to hide behind. ‘I hear you, boss! We’ll be there.’

‘Good. Three-thirty. After you’ve sorted the
woodroom
.’

I probably wasn’t meant to hear his next comment,
Christ! She is one scary dame!
So I pretended I hadn’t.

My day dragged on its way. Bernie was in utter heaven constructing a complicated gate. I gave him the thumbs up and hoped it would take him months to finish. I retreated to the computer, but steered clear of all past-life weirdnesses.

By mid-afternoon the place was immaculate, with the fence stained and the woodroom tidy. I set up the tearoom for the brainstorming session, with a sheet of A3 and a couple of pens for each of us. I’d bought felts too, because I like colour when I brainstorm. My own brilliant idea was scheduled to appear at 3.40.

The guys came in, laughing and shoving each other. Hilarious. Back to school. Oooh look, miss! Felts! I bags the red one.

‘Sit down.’ I didn’t raise my voice, but they sure heard the bite in it.

They sat, with Clint staring at his paper as if it were toxic. Oh god, was he dyslexic?

‘Guys,’ I said, ‘this is serious. We desperately need income. The first loan repayment is due the second week in January. I don’t care what method you use for this. Some people work better with pictures, some with words. But we’re all going to do it and keep at it for fifteen minutes before we stop. Get down everything that comes into your heads. Doesn’t matter how mad you think it is.’

Clint looked pointedly at the kettle. I didn’t
respond
, it being now one minute before my brilliant bribe was due to make its appearance.

With a great show of getting stuck in, they picked up their heads, shoulders and pens. The door squeaked. Man, those pens hit the table with record speed.

‘Lisette!’ Maurice said. ‘What are you doing here?’

I pretended ignorance.

She held out a wide flat box.

‘If one of you guys takes this,’ she said, ‘I’ll get the rest from the van.’

By the time she got back fifteen seconds later, those guys had each hoovered up a sausage roll, and Clint had done a quick sketch in orange felt on his paper.

She put down a carry tray of coffee, then handed them round. She glanced at the table. ‘But what’s going on here? School in, is it? And why have you drawn a donkey, Clint?’

Oh gee, thanks, Lisette.

‘Use your eyes, woman,’ he said. ‘That’s a goat, commonly known as a goat-a-mower. For our lawn out there.’ He tipped his head in the general direction.

She laughed hard enough to set her spare tyres wobbling. ‘Stick to the day job, old man. You’ll never make a farmer if you don’t know the difference between a goat and a donkey.’ She looked at me, her eyes bright. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’re trying to come up with ideas for how to use the land. Make a bit of a profit from it.’ Suddenly, it seemed a stupid idea. The men were completely out of their comfort zones. Nothing would come of it, I could see that now.

Lisette sat down in a hurry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been wanting that land for ever! I can’t buy it, I know that. Happy to lease it, though.’

I gaped at her, Clint slapped his thigh and bellowed with laughter. He screwed up his paper and lobbed it at, but not in, the bin.

‘You do?’ My voice squeaked. I didn’t care.

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘For my coffee-cart. The van I use for big events — Fieldays and such like. Hate it just sitting there for the rest of the time. Got a nephew who’s a barista. He’ll jump at the chance.’

I was grinning at her, my face feeling like it was splitting at the seams, when Alton said, ‘Charlie won’t agree, Bess. He’s got a bit of a thing about that space.’

Lisette’s face fell but I said, ‘It’s my decision. I agree to lease the land to you, Lisette. I guess we’d better make it legal though. I’ll ask Alan Stubbs to sort it. Okay with you?’

She looked uncertain but hopeful. ‘Yes, of course. Except — can you do this? Legally, I mean?’

‘Yep, Dad’s made me a partner. I’m only here till he’s ready to come back to work.’

‘So you’re the boss, yeah?’

‘She’s tough,’ Maurice said.

‘She says jump,’ said Alton, ‘and we say, how high?’

‘She’s doing okay,’ said the surprising Clint.

Lisette took her empty box, and walked out with a spring in her step.

‘Brainstorming all finished?’ Alton asked.

‘There’s nothing more we can do now. Go home, and let’s hope like crazy that Eddy picks up a job or two.’

‘We’ll come in tomorrow as usual?’ Clint asked.

‘Yes. We’ll hear what Eddy’s got to tell us and take it from there.’

They left looking a fraction more positive than the day before. I collected up the A3, all the while pondering on the serendipity of small town connections. If I hadn’t decided to bribe the guys with food, if I’d gone to a café and not the bakery, if Lisette had sent her offsider … But everything had fallen into place. Was Iris brewing a spell?