Home Truths (6 page)

‘Electrical,' Calum answered. ‘Bob wanted a connection for his computer, one that wouldn't make it crash. As I said, be extra careful and don't venture up there.'

Jennifer massaged her neck, hoping to stop the headache threatening at the back of her skull. Her shoulders ached all the way up to her eyebrows.

‘I promise not to touch any wires. Anyway, we're only here a few days.'

‘Ma'am,' Brock said, dusting his hands off, ‘that would be a pity.'

‘Thank you, Brock. Just one thing, could you please cut the
ma'am
stuff? Every time you say that, I age ten years. At this rate I'll be dead soon.'

‘Miss Dove?' Brock deadpanned.

Jennifer groaned and rolled her eyes. A loud knock on the front door drew her attention away from Brock and his teasing and focused on Calum as he moved to answer it. She could watch him walk anywhere: his confident and relaxed stride made her breath hitch in her throat.

Hot!

His worn leather boots squeaked across the dusty mosaic tiles; moments later he returned with a container and a bulging plastic bag.

When the smell of hot food hit Jennifer's nose, she wished she
hadn't
been such a snob and had ordered a hamburger with the lot — grease, sauce and all.

‘Shall we go upstairs to the living room?' she said, collecting her bag on the way. ‘Where's Tony?'

‘Don't worry,' Brock said. ‘He'll turn up.'

‘Shouldn't you go look for him?' Calum asked, doing the sideways nod again.

‘What is it with you? You got a cricked neck or something? I can fix that.' For his size, Brock moved remarkably fast as his big hands reached for Calum.

Calum stepped back. ‘Knock it off. I'm fine.'

They sat down on the leather lounge, and Calum handed out parcels of food. He gave Jennifer a small carton that served as a tray. In it sat a large, lidded paper cup filled with pumpkin soup, a plastic soupspoon, and a buttered wholemeal roll.

Jennifer removed the lid and took a deep breath through her nose. ‘This smells delicious.'

‘I remember seeing you as a kid.' Calum peeled the paper off his hamburger. ‘You're the one living in London.'

‘That's me.' She inclined her head and asked him, ‘Why are you grinning?'

‘It's your posh accent; not all the time, just some words. Are there any more relatives coming to the funeral?'

‘We're all the family our uncle kept in touch with — my sister Sofie and her daughter Claudia, who are at the motel. And God only knows where my brother is, but he's supposed to be here too,' she sighed. ‘Before I forget, thanks for keeping such a vigilant eye on Uncle Bob's place.'

‘Bob was a great bloke,' Brock said, ‘always ready to help in the community. It's right that we look after his shop now that he's gone.'

‘We're all gunna miss the old...' Calum looked slightly embarrassed and took a large bite of his hamburger.

‘Pharmacist?' Keeping an eye on Calum, Jennifer blew across the hot soup before tasting it.

Calum took a long drink of water and set the bottle down again. ‘Let's just say he was quite a character and we'll miss him.'

‘I adored my uncle.' Jennifer's voice choked with a rush of sweet memories.

‘Brace yourselves. Once folk get to know Bob's nieces are in town, they'll be lining up to ask you all sorts of questions.'

Chewing on a mouthful of burger, Brock rumbled and nodded with enthusiasm.

‘What would they possibly want to ask me?' Jennifer bit into her roll.

Calum ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What I'm trying to say is, talking about happy memories makes people feel good, especially at a time like this. Memories they'd like to share with you. And you, in turn, can do the same for them. Bit like an Irish wake.'

‘Right, I see what you mean...' Jennifer's thoughts drifted. ‘I'm so tired I can't string a sentence together.'

‘Yeah, you look ready to drop,' Calum smiled. ‘We'll take off.'

Jennifer waved a weary hand. ‘That's okay. Finish your burgers. I haven't finished my soup yet anyway.'

Calum and Brock settled back in the lounge chairs and chatted about an upcoming wine festival. Jennifer felt comforted by the low murmur of their deep voices. Slowly their words faded into some distant place. It became impossible to keep her tired eyes focused. She didn't have the strength to fight off sleep anymore. She snuggled into the corner of the couch and barely noticed someone gently remove the paper tray from her hands. Nestled into Calum's warm jacket, her chin dropped. Her shoulder and head slid sideways onto the arm of the sofa.

Her last thought was,
God, I hope I don't drool. No one in the Dove family drools. Mother would not allow it.

She was vaguely aware of someone covering her with a blanket, and then that someone removed her shoes.

‘G'night, Twinkles,' Calum whispered.

Jennifer caught the smile behind his words. A moment later, sleep claimed her weary body.

Chapter 4

Jennifer sat bolt upright and blinked at her surroundings. Her fingers played with the tea-rose quilt cover as she tried to focus on the snippet of a thought that had woken her with a pounding heart. Holy crap, she was with a man last night. No, make that three men. Images of a living room — soft couch, hot soup, hot bloke — and falling asleep crystallised in her mind, and a flush of heat burned her cheeks.

He had covered her with a blanket. Fingertips in her hair, Jennifer rubbed her scalp hard, hoping it would stimulate her brain to remember his name. A manly essence mixed with pine hit her senses. She pulled his soft leather jacket closer around her shoulders.

‘Calum.' She lifted the lapels: folds of gold satin lining gleamed. She buried her nose in the warm, dark hollow and inhaled. ‘Damn, no one should smell this good.'

Then she remembered more. Had she nuzzled his shirt, or was that a dream?

‘Christ, what if I was dribbling?' Horrified, she felt around the corners of her mouth and her chin. No sign of any drool. Jennifer ran her tongue around her teeth. ‘Ugh.' She swung her legs off the couch, found the fancy pink stilettos, and slipped them on.

A faint knock echoed somewhere. Downstairs? Listening, Jennifer tilted her head and a sharp twinge ran up her neck. She stretched her neck and hauled herself off the couch, then padded down the hall to the girlie bedroom. She pushed the drapes aside, yanked the sash window up and yelled, ‘Keep your shirt on, Sofe, I'll be there in a sec.'

Quickly she splashed her face with cold water and swished her mouth out. She couldn't find a towel so used her Veronica shift, leaving dark wet patches around the hem. As she hurried out of the bathroom, a dishevelled image caught her eye. She did a double take at the full-length mirrors on the massive old closet. ‘That's
not
me.' Her skin was tight and pale, her cheekbones more prominent than usual, which may have had something to do with the shadows under her green, bloodshot eyes.

More knocking on the front door, and Jennifer called out, ‘Oh crap — I'm coming, Sofe!' She mussed her hair with her fingers and clattered down the creaking stairs. Two shadows, like a couple of long armed aliens, stood outlined on the newspaper covering the glass front door. She wondered why Sofie hadn't come around the back through the garage.

Jennifer hurried across the tiled floor, her stilettos sounding like gunshots in the empty shop; she flinched with every step. ‘Hope you've got coffee!' she yelled, sliding the bolts across to fling the door open. Early morning sun smacked her in the eyes. ‘Ooh, that's a bitch!' She clapped a hand over her forehead and peered at two silhouettes. ‘Get in here, Sofe!'

No response.

Oh-oh,
Jennifer forced her eyes to focus.

‘Hello, dear. Didn't mean to wake you,' said a sympathetic, aged voice.

Jennifer stared, surprised to see two elderly women at her door. The taller woman had weathered skin that spoke of years in the hot sun and dry, cold winds. But none of the lines and wrinkles detracted from her natural elegance. Her soft grey hair curled out from under a straw hat and wisped around her face. Hazel eyes, enhanced by a lilac blouse, crinkled as her warm smile widened.

A younger, stockier woman, probably in her mid-fifties, stood next to her. Glossy brown hair, cut in a severe bob, suited her round face. She seemed sad and tired, her tentative smile worried.

Jennifer turned back to the taller woman, and thought,
I've seen those hazel eyes before.
She frowned trying to recollect where. Out on the street a four-wheel drive crawled past.
I've seen that car before.

The driver poked his head out the window and waved.

I've seen that face before...Calum!
Hot hunk — big trouble — killer smile.

‘Who —?' Jennifer asked, blinking at the elderly woman.

‘Connie McGregor,' the woman said, extending her hand, her voice direct and friendly. Strong bony fingers clasped Jennifer's in a no-nonsense greeting.

Her thoughts slowly came together. ‘Oh, you're...' she found herself looking and pointing at the empty street.

‘I'm Calum's grandmother, dear.' She looked at Jennifer with a perceptive eye. ‘His leather jacket suits you.'

‘We…' Jennifer began. ‘I should return it. But he's...' she looked down the street, ‘gone.'

Connie's smile deepened. ‘Not to worry, dear. I'd like you to meet Shirley Jarvis, your uncle's housekeeper.'

Mrs Jarvis had a firm grip. Her bright, grey eyes sparkled from a round, rosy-cheeked freckled face. ‘Bob Feldman was a pleasure to work for.'

‘We are so sorry about your uncle.' Tears glistened in Connie's bright eyes. The depth of her emotions made her voice thick and unsteady. ‘You've come a long way to be here for him. Bob was a
wonderful
man.'

Jennifer rubbed her face, hoping her brain would catch up with time zones, a drastic change in climate and cultural differences of a magnitude she hadn't experienced since arriving in London.

‘We've caught you at an awkward time,' Connie continued. ‘We just came by to give you this.' She handed over a large basket.

The mouth-watering aromas of freshly baked bread and warm scones drifted into Jennifer's nose. Among the food was a jar of vegemite, a tub of butter, a pot of strawberry jam, a jug of cream, and a thermos.

‘This smells so good, thank you. I never imagined...'

‘Compliments of the Country Women's Association; we like to help the immediate family cope with their bereavement.' Connie's chin began to crinkle and her eyes glistened again. She turned away and fumbled for a handkerchief hiding somewhere down her blouse.

Shirley put a comforting arm around Connie's shoulder. ‘We'd better be off. We're arranging flowers at the chapel.'

‘We heard Father Thomas is looking after things — but a chapel?' Jennifer asked, surprised.

‘Oh dear girl, I know your uncle was
strongly
against all religions, but Bob being Bob, threw himself into fund raising. As a result, he spent time with all the clergy in town. But Father Thomas and your uncle became great friends. They'd have rip-roaring debates about all sorts of things, but always with a laugh. Didn't they, Shirley?'

Shirley smiled. ‘They were great friends.'

Connie chuckled. ‘Bob once said no one was going to stomp around in his head and make him feel guilty for the harmless things he did. I hope that's helped you understand why it will be at St Mary's, dear?'

The harmless things he did?
Was
that the same as his comment to us
that
he meant no harm
?

Jennifer patted Connie's arm. ‘What about a suit for Uncle Bob? He was a dapper dresser. There must be some lovely ones in his room.'

Connie fluttered her hand in an animated fashion. ‘Oh no-no-no, his clothes are taken care of. But thank you anyway, dear.'

‘Can I help with the flowers? Perhaps I could take them to the chapel for you?'

‘I understand your need to be involved and I don't want to disappoint you, but as it is, we have so many willing hands, the hall will be like a chook pen with a fox let loose. A lot of clucking and flapping arms.'

The image that formed in her mind made Jennifer laugh. ‘What about after the service? I've had no time to prepare anything.'

‘Your uncle took care of the catering some time ago. There'll be plates of sandwiches, little pies, cakes, lamingtons, coffee, and tea set up in the town hall.' Connie took a deep breath and dabbed her eyes again.

Jennifer's heart went out to them. ‘I'm so sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. Would you both like to come in for a glass of cold water?' she said, moving back from the doorway with a sharp clack-clack of stiletto slip-ons.

Shirley peered down at Jennifer's feet. All colour drained from her face.

Connie clutched Shirley's arm. ‘N-no thanks, dear, we won't bother you,' she said breathlessly.

Jennifer reached for Connie's hand. ‘Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?'

‘I'm fine, dear, thank you.' Connie smiled and dragged her gaze away from the stilettos. She patted Jennifer's hand. ‘Will you be saying a few words at the service?'

Jennifer sneaked a peek at her feet. The pink stilettos were frivolous, but otherwise there was nothing about them that should cause a reaction. She met Connie's steady gaze. ‘A few words? I had planned to. Perhaps my sister Sofie will as well. My parents won't be coming. At least, they bloody better not,' Jennifer said lightly, but irritation flared.

Connie gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I'm so glad you understand about Bob's wish regarding his siblings.
You
were his family; he adored all of you. We must go. Enjoy your breakfast, dear.'