Broken (23 page)

‘I was trying to be sensitive.' Mattie shook her head and then grinned back. ‘But I'm so happy for you both. I can't wait to meet him. Why didn't you bring him along?'

‘Oh, you know what two-year-olds are like. It's nice to have a break.'

Mattie smiled back and nodded understandingly. But she wondered, fleetingly if this was the only reason Liz hadn't brought the boy along. Could it also have been because she had no idea of the situation Mattie was in? She was saved from dwelling on this by Hannah, who poked her head around the corner and raised her eyebrows questioningly when she saw Mattie and Liz sitting at the kitchen table.

‘Good on you. So we have to sit through a lecture on ceramics while you two sit in here and have a gossip?' Hannah smiled at Liz. ‘Hello there, it's Liz, isn't it?'

‘That's right,' said Liz with some surprise. ‘And I know you're Mattie's sister, but I'm afraid . . .'

‘Hannah,' interjected Mattie.

‘Of course.' Liz clicked her fingers. ‘Hannah. You had a little girl, didn't you?'

‘Not so little now,' said Hannah ruefully ‘But it's nice to see you again. Have you two stayed in touch all this time?'

‘No.' Liz shook her head and her earrings glittered as they swung. ‘Actually we haven't spoken for years, but we're making up for it now'

‘That's really good.' Hannah nodded to give her words emphasis. ‘I'm glad. Mattie needs her friends right now'

‘Enough, Hannah,' said Mattie shortly, embarrassed by her sister's intensity. ‘I'm fine. Now, has Sharon finished in there?'

‘Yes, thank goodness. Everybody's looking at the products and she's helping with order forms. Maybe now's a good time for coffee?'

Mattie got up quickly and crossed to the stove where she lit the gas under the kettle. While it was coming to the boil she got a stack of bread and butter plates out of the cupboard and some dessert forks out of the cutlery drawer. She put them on the table next to the strudel and started bringing the afternoon tea out of the fridge.

‘Do you want me to pass some of these around?' asked Hannah, picking up the plate of meatballs, each with a little cocktail stick skewering its centre.

‘Yes thanks.'

‘I'll take some too.' Liz got up, smoothing down her hipsters, and took the vol-au-vents through to the lounge-room.

After they left, Mattie brought out her plunger, spooned coffee into it and then got out the teapot and readied that too. By then the water was boiling so she filled both and got everything else ready before refilling the kettle and putting it back on the flame. She walked over to the doorway. Most of the chairs were now empty, with nearly everyone crowded around the display tables asking questions of Sharon, who answered breathlessly, flipping her hair back every time she bent down to point to something. Those women who were still sitting down had clipboarded order forms balanced on their knees and were filling them out. Liz, minus the vol-au-vent plate, had bobbed down by the shorter table and was holding up a set of terracotta pottery wind-chimes and examining them. Mattie smiled, pleased that the Whimsicalities goods appeared to be popular.

‘There's coffee and tea and cakes out here on the table if you'd like to help yourselves,' she called cheerfully before going back into the kitchen. Once there, she took her large knife and carefully sliced the sponge cake into triangular wedges and the strudel into slices. She got some cream out of the fridge and spooned it into a crystal bowl, which she placed on the table with a serving spoon.

Hilda came in, carrying one of the pamphlets with her finger holding a page open. ‘Can you look at this for me, Mattie? I am thinking of getting it for Christmas for my eldest granddaughter. She is about your age. What do you think?'

Mattie turned off the gas under the boiling kettle and then looked at a picture of a pottery herb urn with green glazed leaves etched around each of the openings. ‘Does she like gardening?'

‘Very much.'

‘Then it's perfect,' said Mattie decisively ‘Now, coffee or tea?'

‘Coffee. But I can get it. You go and have a look at the things. Some are lovely'

Mattie smiled appreciatively and came into the lounge-room just as Rachel and Ginny passed by on their way into the kitchen. The area around the display had now started to clear, with most of the other women filling out order forms on available surfaces and, in the case of Sally, on someone's back. Liz held up the wind-chimes, causing them to tinkle lightly, and gestured towards Mattie.

‘What do you think?'

Mattie looked at the delicate bell-shaped chimes. ‘Gorgeous.'

Courtney, with her two friends, came in from the passage and stood inside the doorway, gazing across the room hopefully ‘Can we look at stuff now?'

‘Not yet,' replied Mattie. ‘Just play for a little while longer.'

‘There's nothing here to play with,' complained Courtney petulantly.

‘Well, whose fault is . . .' Mattie petered off as she noticed several of the reading group mothers listening in curiously ‘Doesn't matter. Look, there're cakes and meringues out in the kitchen. Why don't the three of you go and help yourselves? But only take what you're going to eat. You can come back for more later.'

As they left, Mattie pulled a chair up next to her mother, who was sitting on one of Hilda's plastic chairs by the couch. ‘I haven't had a chance to thank you for coming, Mum. What do you think of the unit?'

‘Very nice. Ah – a bit small though, isn't it?'

‘It doesn't seem small when it's not so crowded,' said Mattie, smiling. ‘Just cosy.'

‘As long as you're happy.'

‘I am.' Mattie paused, hating the fact that she couldn't think of what to say next.

‘I noticed you're using Auntie Vera's tablecloth. She'd be very pleased.'

‘Yes. It's lovely'

‘You're looking after it? Keeping it in tissue paper?'

‘Yes. Absolutely.'

‘I meant that, before,' said her mother suddenly, staring at Mattie with the faded blue of her eyes magnified through her gold-rimmed glasses.

‘What?'

‘About being happy. Life's too short to be unhappy, Mattie. All I ask is that you think carefully before you decide what it is that
makes
you happy. And consider everyone that it might affect.'

‘I will. I promise.' On impulse Mattie took her mother's hand and watched the skin crumple inwards as she held it, mottled brown age spots punctuating the thready veins that stood out amongst the folds. So fragile.

‘Good. Ah, here's Charlotte with my tea. Thank you, dear.'

Mattie let go of her mother's hand so that she could take the cup of tea from Charlotte, who also passed over a small plate with a slice of strudel and a dessert fork. Mattie got up quickly.

‘I've taken your chair.'

‘That's fine. I'll just grab another.'

‘No, I've got to look at the things anyway. I'll be back later, Mum.' Mattie smiled at her mother, her hand already feeling strangely empty. Then she headed towards the display tables but was stopped several times by women who wanted to show her something in the pamphlet or just to say how much they were enjoying themselves and what a lovely unit she had. Mattie smiled and nodded noncommittally knowing full well that they were avid for gossip, especially those whose daughters had come to Courtney's birthday party earlier in the year and knew that it had been held in a house, with a husband. Finally she made it to the display, where Sharon, with her long hair draped around her neck and down across one shoulder, was tallying up some figures on a calculator.

‘Mattie, just in time. You've done very well, you know.'

‘I have?'

‘You most certainly have.' Sharon, her breathy voice making the
proclamation sound even more exciting, showed Mattie an invoice covered with names and numbers. ‘You get ten percent of these sales plus a bonus because I've picked up two party bookings here. That means you have one hundred and twenty dollars to spend.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Seriously. On whatever you want.'

‘That's terrific!' Mattie grinned with pleasure and turned to the tables, on which was arranged a wide variety of merchandise: lots of pottery, ceramics, novelty gifts, feathered dream-catchers, wind-chimes, planters, a range of vases and bowls, little resin gargoyles and dragons, plaques, and much more. The scattered pot pourri gave off a heady, incense-like smell and the artificial ivy set off the preponderance of pottery beautifully, giving it an outdoor, rustic appearance. Behind Mattie, her guests were coming back into the lounge-room slowly, each carrying a coffee or a tea and a plate of afternoon tea. The noise level started to rise again but it was pleasant, and friendly, and resonated with a relaxed camaraderie that was heart-warming.

Mattie stood up and turned around. ‘Charlotte? Could you stick your head in the kitchen and call Courtney for me?'

‘No problem.'

Mattie had now looked everything over and kept coming back to a finely crafted ceramic frog that was glazed with a gorgeous pattern of earthy browns and greens and each of its splayed feet were tipped with deep, rich gold. It was lovely, expensive, and absolutely useless.

‘Can I look now?' Courtney gazed over her mother's shoulder at the goods, the corners of her mouth etched with cream.

‘What do you think of him?' Mattie pointed to the frog. ‘Shall we get him?'

‘Oh! He's
beautiful'
Courtney clapped her hands. Then she dropped to her knees beside her mother. ‘Anything else?'

‘Well, we can pick a couple of other things. I thought we might get some Christmas presents for people. What about these wind-chimes for Auntie Dana and Uncle Frank's new house?'

‘And a dream-catcher for Max! He's
always
having bad dreams.'

Mattie looked at her, surprised. ‘Is he?'

‘Yes. And, Mummy, can I have one of those little pink and gold frames? I want to put a picture of my friends in it.'

‘Why not?' said Mattie expansively She tallied up what they wanted and then selected a set of pottery herb signs for Sandy, who was an avid kitchen gardener. Sharon wrote it all down and then gave her a copy of the invoice along with a list of who owed what and instructions to collect all the money over the next fortnight before delivery.

By the time Mattie had finished, the lounge-room was crowded once more and several conversations were in full swing. As Sharon started to pack her goods carefully into the striped canvas bags, Mattie sat down on one of the couch's armrests, next to Liz, and helped herself to a piece of celery, generously loaded with French onion dip.

‘So I told him if you're so keen on showing everyone who wears the pants, mate,
you
can wash them. And iron them too.' Marie nodded emphatically to press her point.

‘I know what you mean,' said Ginny from across the room. ‘It's like suddenly they have to prove something.'

‘But mainly when there're other guys around,' added Rachel, stirring a cup of tea that she had balanced on her knee.

‘My husband does his own washing and ironing anyway,' commented Marianne, causing everyone within earshot to stare at her in amazement. ‘And he often does the other stuff too.'

‘Are you kidding?' Anne shook her head. ‘How did you manage that?'

‘I don't know. We've just always done it that way.'

‘Send him round to my place,' said Marie, finishing her coffee and placing the cup on the floor by her foot. ‘I'll swap you.'

‘Did you make this cheesecake, Mattie?' asked Gina, who was sitting over by the front door between Jenny and Anne.

‘That depends whether you like it or not,' replied Mattie, smiling as she licked some dip off her finger.

‘Love
it. Can you write the recipe down and give it to me Monday?'

‘No problem.'

Liz, who had been sitting quietly eating a large piece of cream-filled sponge-cake, put her dessert fork down and sighed happily ‘I may have to spend an hour on the treadmill tomorrow, but it was worth it.'

‘What are you worried about, you skinny thing?' asked Helen, slapping a plump pantyhosed thigh and then pinching the trembling flesh between thumb and finger. ‘Look at this! What do you think? Five weeks on the treadmill?'

‘No.' Marie prodded the thigh critically. ‘At least eight.'

‘Cow,' said Helen, laughing.

Anne pointed over towards the framed abstract. ‘Love that print, Mattie. Gorgeous colours.'

‘Yes,' agreed Rachel with a nod. ‘Goes beautifully with your drapes.'

‘Well, I have to thank Hilda for the drapes.' Mattie glanced around the room. ‘Actually where
is
Hilda?'

‘Is that the older woman with the pink top?' asked Rachel. ‘If so, she's in the kitchen.'

Mattie got up, stretching, and went out into the kitchen to wash her dip-sticky hands and see if Hilda was all right. Or if she needed to be introduced to some people. To her surprise, she was sitting at the kitchen table with Mattie's mother and Hannah, having an animated conversation.

‘So Geoffrey Withers ended up marrying Sophie, after all that,' said Hilda in her melodious accent, shaking her head grimly ‘He soon found out there
was
something worse than being widowed.'

‘Someone should have warned him.' Mattie's mother shook her head, rather sadly.

‘I went to school with his daughter,' put in Hannah, stirring a cup of tea. ‘Mary. We were quite good friends once. You don't know what happened to her, do you?'

‘Mary Withers, hmm . . .' Hilda paused, thinking. ‘Yes, I remember. She married, quite young, this absolute fool of a man. Ended up leaving him though and put herself through university. Last I heard she had married again and was living down at Mt Eliza.'