Chanel Sweethearts (24 page)

‘Richard's dead.'

‘Excuse me?' Jess looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor of the study. Her world tilted. Had Genevieve just said that the lift was broken? That they had run out of milk for coffee? Surely that must have been it. There wasn't enough emotion in her voice for it to be anything else.

‘Your dad died this morning,' Genevieve repeated. ‘I'm so sorry, Jess.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Jess scoffed at the woman. ‘Last night the doctor said he was doing really well. He's going to be fine. I'm just sorting out his desk for him. He'll be so pleased when he comes home: he likes everything neat and tidy...' Her voice was high and wavering; her heart a thumping boulder in her chest. He had been in hospital for three days; he was doing well. The doctor had said. Genevieve was just making a bad joke.

Jessica needed time to stop; for the room to stop spinning so she could take a breath, just get her thoughts in order, because something bad had just happened and she couldn't quite work out what it was. She looked down at the papers in her hands, at the solid reliability of her father's desk. He loved that desk: it was strong, dependable, the kind of desk that would be in a family for generations, he had told her when he'd bought it.

What was I doing? Jess thought. She shook her head uselessly. There was a very bad noise humming inside it and a terrible pain somewhere in her body. She looked up. Genevieve was staring at her blankly. It was something that woman had just said, wasn't it? She really had to talk to her dad, she had important things to tell him ... Something broke deep within her and realisation floated to the surface of her mind.

‘Dad,' she croaked.

‘Yes, hello, it's me again. Sorry I had to get off the phone before. Look, it's all go, thank you, that's the plan I'd like to go with. Please draw it up as a final draft. I'll send a cheque this week. There has been a rather tragic development, but never mind, at least we won't have any more hold-ups. I'll call you later today to arrange a meeting. I might be in a position to lodge plans with council in a couple of months so I need the plans ASAP. Goodbye.'

Jessica mashed her lips together to stop herself from crying and picked up the phone. She dialled and waited.

‘Graham here,' came the voice on the other end.

‘Hello Graham, it's Jessica.' She stared across the paddocks at the cows trying to huddle under gum trees to escape the driving rain. Their faces were forlorn and their ears drooped as if they were aware of the sadness enveloping the property.

‘I know it's you, I have caller display,' Graham said.

Jess sighed. ‘I'm ringing to tell you that my dad, that Richard, passed away on Monday.' One cow raised its head and let out a deep, mournful bellow.

‘Oh, I already knew: I saw it in the paper,' Graham said.

‘Right, okay then.' She steeled herself and continued, ‘I am ringing, Graham, to ask you to please bring the boys to the funeral on Thursday.'

She needed her boys with her; she needed to feel the energy from their vital little bodies and to remind herself of the good, positive things in life. And besides, Richard had been their grandfather, he had loved them and they had adored him and they had the right to farewell him with the rest of his family.

‘Thursday! Jessica, that's tomorrow. It's a bit inconvenient, honestly,' Graham said. ‘I've got a conference all day. And all the way down there ... You can't do it in town, I suppose? I could escape for an hour, maybe. No, I guess not. Look it's just not doable. Sorry.'

Once, Jessica would have conceded and hung up. But, no, fuck him, she thought. ‘No,' Jess said. ‘No, that's not good enough, Graham.' Her voice was thick with tiredness and grief, but for once her thoughts were clear and she felt her resolve strengthen; she'd had enough of this bullshit. ‘You listen to me, you nasty, nasty little man. Those are my boys too. I have contributed to most of their lives, I love them and I need them here tomorrow. You will get them here or I will make your life so ugly, so bloody messy with court orders and custody hearings that you'll wonder what's hit you. You got it?'

‘Right ... okay ... I'll see what I can do,' he answered, too shocked to fight back.

The morning of the funeral crawled around. The sense of deja vu for Jessica was stifling: it was the same house, the same mourners, even the same kind of miserable, drizzly weather, as when her mother died. Jessica floated through the homestead, distant from the action, unable to anchor herself to any reality.

Caro had bustled in with her usual efficiency and had taken over – which was a relief. This was so much worse than when her mother had died. Jess hadn't known then how terrible the pain was going to be. Now she could see the long road of sadness and grief that stretched out before her, and she couldn't shake the dreadful, painful thought that she was an orphan. The natural order of things seemed out of balance: there was no one behind her, supporting her. She was grief-stricken, mad with sadness and furious at Genevieve.

The house was packed with family members busy finding rooms, changing into funeral-appropriate clothes and setting up for the wake that would take place on the property afterwards. There had been no sign of the boys yet.

Nick came into her bedroom carrying a steaming mug of chamomile tea. She smiled at him warmly. ‘That's exactly what I needed, thank you.'

He looked down at her fondly. ‘Why are you sitting in here by yourself? Don't you want company?' he asked as he perched on the corner of her bed. From her seat in the large floral wing-backed armchair, she stared out over the fields. She envisaged Richard striding up the hill in his gumboots. Her eyes started to water again.

‘Not really,' she whispered. ‘How am I going to get through this, Nick?'

‘You're a very brave, strong woman, and we will all be here with you,' he said, squeezing her shoulder.

The family rallied around the cars in the driveway and the somber convoy to the church drifted down the hill. Although there was a seat in Angus's family car, Jessica decided to travel with Nick.

The family was ushered to the side door of the church to be seated before the congregation was admitted. Caro linked her arm into Jessica's as they stepped through the side door. They gasped: front and centre, as proud as the Queen Mary, sat Genevieve in the family's front pew. Jessica grabbed Caro's hand.

After she'd heard the news of her father's death, Jess had taken a taxi straight to Caro and Angus's house, where the family had held each other and grieved. Jessica had told them at once what she'd found out about Genevieve. The women had looked immediately to Angus: as a solicitor surely he could make it all okay.

‘This is undeniably a nasty situation,' he'd said, pacing the room, frowning. ‘I am sure it will be okay, but I need to get on to Dad's solicitor immediately.'

‘This is ridiculous,' Jessica had wailed. ‘The day Dad's gone, we're already bickering over the will.'

‘Don't say that,' her brother had responded gently. ‘It's not like that at all. We don't know anything for sure. Let's wait until we have the facts.'

But walking into the church to see Genevieve acting like a mourning widow was almost more than Jess and Caro could deal with. Angus made a diplomatic move and sat next to Genevieve to separate her from the others.

As the church began to fill, Nick went quietly up to Genevieve and whispered in her ear. She looked horrified and rushed out of the church. Angus, Caro, Jessica and the rest of the row slid up. When Genevieve returned a few minutes later, her seat was gone and she was forced to sit a few rows back.

‘What did you say?' Jessica whispered to Nick as he sat next to her.

‘That her car had been broken into,' he replied.

‘Oh, no, really?' Jessica asked.

‘No, not really,' Nick replied and looked to the front as the service began. Jessica marvelled at how even today Nick could make her smile.

Just as the minister began, Jessica heard feet clattering down the aisle of the church. She gasped and her eyes filled with tears. It was Callum and Liam, all dressed up in neat little suits. The family shuffled left and right and the boys wedged themselves on either side of her. Her arms went around each slender set of shoulders and squeezed. She kissed each little head, then turned back to acknowledge Graham. But it wasn't Graham at the back of the room, it was Karen.

The funeral service was less painful than Jess had feared. It celebrated the life of a great man – a family man – and Jess felt privileged to have been his daughter.

The eulogy, delivered by Richard's best friend, Uncle Al, was magnificent and even evoked a few laughs as the congregation remembered some of Richard Wainwright's finest moments.

Jessica travelled back to the house with Callum and Liam in Karen's car. She couldn't keep her hands off them. She stroked Callum's plump little cheeks; slicked Liam's hair out of the way. Instead of squirming away, both boys revelled in the ministrations, chattering and snuggling up to her in the back seat. As soon as they got to the house they ran inside to check out their old rooms and Jessica was relieved she had left them as they were.

The wake was an awkward affair, with everyone trying to outdo each other with service, catering and cleaning – anything to distract from the real reason for the day. Even Tori, Pip, Fi and Cat were working their designer-clad butts off.

Jessica was in the living room, holding the boys' hands while they talked to Angus, when Karen sidled up to her. She was such an awkward woman, Jessica thought. ‘Hi, Karen,' she said.

‘I'm sorry, Jessica, but I have to get the boys back.'

‘No! No, wait a bit longer. I know, let's all go for a walk.'

‘I really shouldn't – I'll be in trouble. I wasn't even supposed to come, Jessica.' She hopped from foot to foot, pulling at her cardigan sleeve.

‘Oh, come on, the fresh air will do us all good.'

Jess led them all down the back stairs, through the garden and out the back gate. The winter westerly whipped their hair into disarray. Much to their delight, the boys' jackets blew into instant superhero capes, and they whooped off into a caped crusader game.

‘How's it going, Karen?' Jessica asked as they walked together, arms folded against the cutting wind.

‘Oh, you know, it's okay.' Karen flicked a nervous glance up at Jessica.

‘It's hard to keep up with his demands, isn't it?'

‘Oh, yes,' Karen said. ‘He expects me to be a mind reader. And he's not particularly tolerant.'

‘I know all about that,' Jessica said.

Jessica watched the boys play chasey. It hurt that they called her Jessica now instead of Mumma. But Callum explained that their dad had insisted. But at least she could see that they were happy and healthy and well-loved. That was all she ever wanted for them. To insist on making them come to her every week would just be unnecessary and cruel, but she was damned if she was going to be completely cut out of their life.

The two women stood side-by-side and watched the boys hollering into the wind.

‘I'd really like to see the boys more regularly, Karen,' Jessica said. ‘Just once a month or something. I could pop in. It wouldn't hurt anybody. I would just have a play and a chat. You or Graham could be there if that's what you're worried about.'

‘Oh dear, oh dear,' Karen twisted her hands together. She was so brow-beaten, Jessica thought. She recognised something of her old self in Karen. ‘Graham warned me you were going to say this. I'm sorry but he says no. He says that they're doing fine and we need to just leave it as it is. I wasn't supposed to even be here. We were meant to leave straight after the church.'

Jessica felt sorry for her, caught in the middle. ‘Never mind, Karen, I shouldn't be bringing this up with you anyway. I'll talk to Graham. Thank you so much for bringing the boys down.'

As she stood on the step waving goodbye, Jessica didn't even notice the tears begin to run down her face. She felt like she'd been crying for years. The boys leaned into the back window of the little BMW and waved until they were out of sight.

She turned and went inside the house. Rainbow and Songbird were putting on their coats.

‘Oh, girls,' Jessica said. ‘I am so sorry that I haven't done anything to help you yet. I will get onto it next week, I promise.'

‘Don't be daft, you stupid cow,' Songbird said. ‘You have a lot on your plate at the moment. We'll be apples. Anyway, we're chucking it in.'

‘Why?' Jessica asked.

‘The universe isn't with us on this one,' Rainbow explained. ‘Once you have to fight cosmic forces you may as well just stop. We're waiting though: something will come up – it'll happen. But we can't keep battling to make this work.'

‘It's too late to save the planet anyway,' Songbird said gloomily.

‘What about your investor? They didn't really drop out, did they?' Jessica asked from the door as the girls walked towards their Smart Car.

‘The investor was–' Rainbow started.

‘Not interested, never mind,' Songbird finished for her mate. ‘Cheers, see you on the flipside.'

‘Jessica,' Caro called from the doorway, ‘this arrived for you earlier.'

Jessica turned to look. It was a potted lavender plant, from Jimmy. ‘How, um, thoughtful,' she said. He wasn't to know she hated lavender with a passion.

It was the creepy little lavender plant that spurred Jessica into action. Her family was surprised when she announced she was leaving early to get back to the city just a few days after the funeral. But she couldn't sit around feeling miserable for one more minute.

Richard's death prompted an urgency in her to get on with life; to grasp it with both hands. She felt a sense of clarity that seemed to have been missing for the past two years, and she didn't want to waste a moment before getting things sorted out. She knew from experience that grief was unpredictable and vicious: although today she felt seized with strength and resolve, tomorrow she could be dashed by despair once more.

Her mind was filled with pictures of her dad as she sped down the freeway towards the city, and hot, fat tears plopped onto her lap as she drove. She'd loved him so much; he'd been a rock, and she wasn't sure how life could continue without him. Sobs hiccupped from her belly and she had to pull over to wipe her eyes and wait for the storm of grief to pass.

She took a few deep, shuddering breaths and for a moment considered turning back to the farm and her family. But she wanted to get things moving; she'd have time with her family soon. She swung the car back onto the road and tried to distract herself by thinking about her job.

It was a fantastic opportunity; she knew that. The work suited her and the money was great. But it was the designing and creating she enjoyed most, not her workplace and certainly not her colleagues. She missed the warmth and inclusiveness of Stumpy Gully; she missed her store and her friends. She knew now she could have the best of both worlds: an art career and an idyllic lifestyle.

She pulled her Patrol into a car space in front of her flat. There was no way she'd dare go to her dad's place; she was nervous she might find Genevieve there. Angus said he was having the locks changed first thing in the morning, when the evil witch would be at work.

The next morning Jess awoke from a night of troubled dreams and lay in the cold dawn as the sense of loss and grief washed over her once more. But her sense of purpose was still strong, so she dragged herself out of bed and splashed water on her face, avoiding the dark-rimmed eyes that stared back at her from the mirror.

She quickly drank a chamomile tea, grabbed her favourite denim jacket and charged down the flight of stairs, arriving at the stop just as her tram did.

She walked into Still Life as the clock ticked over to nine a.m. Sventana kept her nose in a magazine, ignoring her as always.

‘Morning Sventana,' Jess waved breezily as she passed. Then she stopped and turned back. ‘Oh, and by the way, Sventana dear, you can have Jimmy back,' she said nonchalantly. ‘I've finished with him.'

She felt outstandingly bitchy as she swung up the stairs, but it was quite a pleasant feeling, she decided.

She entered the workshop and greeted her team. ‘Love your skirt,' one of the girls said. ‘It looks like a tablecloth.'

Jessica smiled and thanked her for the compliment. The project she'd briefed them on last week was coming along perfectly. And she knew Mimsy loved it; she was able to read the woman now. When Mimsy took off her red specs and looked Jess straight in the eyes, it was her way of saying ‘Sensational'.

Not that it really mattered much anymore. Jessica knew her work was good. She was proud of it and no longer needed the approval of others. She finally knew she was ready – ready for success, ready for the big time. And there was only one place in the world where that was going to happen.

Jimmy came in to her office to offer his condolences and express shock that she was back at work so soon. He tried his best puppy-dog look on her. ‘You must need some comforting, sweet pea,' he soothed.

‘I do,' Jess answered, amused to see his eyes light up. ‘It's lucky I have such a wonderful family and close friends in Stumpy Gully.'

‘Well, I'm here for you too,' he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and giving her one of his trademark deep-and-meaningful looks.

Jess laughed and Jimmy walked away, unsure how to deal with her. She turned to her desk and started clearing out her drawers. As she gazed at the display of artworks on her shelf, she felt a jolt of pride. She had done well here, she was a success, but it wasn't what she wanted.

She loved creating, but she missed working on her own stuff. This work was manufactured, uninspired, and to a formula. She needed the creative surge of the Peninsula, of Stumpy Gully. She missed her community. She missed being home, where everybody knew her name (and her business). Jess threw old papers in the bin, washed out her coffee mug for the last time and threw it in her briefcase.

She needed to be home to defend her township. She and her brother had to fight off Genevieve. Rainbow and Songbird needed her help to win their battle to save the planet. And Nick ... well, that was more than she could think about at the moment, she decided, giving her pot plants a last watering. She was pretty sure any chance of them working out as a couple had been ruined, but if she could keep him as a friend that would be enough.

When her office was packed up she went to see Mimsy.

‘Sit,' Mimsy commanded when she saw Jessica standing in her open doorway. Jessica chose to stand.

‘Mimsy,' she said, ‘I'm resigning. I need to go home and take care of things, since my Dad...' She couldn't say the word out loud.

‘Hmm.' Mimsy looked up. ‘In that case you will have to leave today. Our policy is same-day departure as we have a lot of confidential work we would hate to see fall into the wrong hands, thanks to a disgruntled former employee.'

‘Yes, Mimsy.' Jess turned to go.

‘It's a shame you're leaving, I quite liked your work.'

‘Did you? You never said.'

‘Didn't I? I thought I had. Still, it's not the end of the world. Funnily enough, I was probably going to have to let you go anyway.' She pushed her glasses on to her head.

‘Really?' Jessica was unable to hide her bitter tone.

‘Yes, young Jimmy's had some brilliant ideas lately.' She leaned her heavy bosom on the desk. ‘In fact he's turning the styro-chandelier into an exquisite piece that will bring us to the cutting-edge of millennium design. Brilliant. We don't need a separate head of design if Jimmy can do it.'

‘Well, good luck with that,' Jessica smiled.

‘You can go now,' Mimsy said. She pulled her glasses down and turned back to the photographs on her desk.

Jessica took the back stairs out and walked through the rear warehouse where the larger work took place. It was all set up for the work on Mimsy's precious chandelier, which had been transported from the shop to the rear of the warehouse in a large truck as it was too big to go through the building.

The fluoro silk petals were ready in bins and a team surrounded the sculpture, ready to take part in artistic history. Large commercial spray adhesive pumps were whirring into life. Jimmy stood at the helm, directing the process.

‘Bye, Jimmy,' she called and waved as she stepped out the back door.

‘Goodbye, angel, happy travels,' he replied with a wave and a wink. Sventana scowled at him and stomped off back to reception.

And so Jessica left Still Life for the last time. As her car crawled through the stop-and-start city traffic she reflected on her knowledge of chemical reactions. It really was a fascinating field. For instance, she mused, when styrofoam was sprayed with adhesive it instantly shrivelled up into tiny lumps. A shame, that.