Other People’s Diaries (19 page)

She concealed her surprise at having succeeded, bending down to pick up her bag, hair falling in a shield across her face. When she sat back up, Andrew hadn't moved. She looked across
at him and saw him looking at her with a grin. Involuntarily she smiled back. She sometimes forgot how much he knew about her.

‘You are absolutely delighted you managed to do that, aren't you?'

She smiled slightly and opened the car door.

‘Maybe,' she threw over her shoulder. ‘Come on, let's eat.'

L
illian had never thought that a pair of shoes would be her touchstone. But as the wave of panic threatened once again to engulf her, she looked down at her feet.

She hadn't owned a pair of high-heeled boots in her life, let alone brown suede ones. And yet, matched with her new beige slacks (tan trousers, she reminded herself) they felt right. It wasn't as though they were stilettos. The heel was only slight but it was enough to make her stand up straighter as she walked. They were the kind of shoes that someone flying to Paris by herself would wear.

The boarding call for her flight finally echoed through the departure hall. Lillian stood up and moved toward the silver chute leading to the immense aeroplane. Too late she realised that everyone else had done the same and she was standing halfway down a line that stretched back toward the duty-free shop. A handful of obviously seasoned travellers still sat, clearly waiting for the final call.

She pushed her handbag self-consciously toward her back. It wasn't terribly old, but it looked tired beside her new outfit. Perhaps she'd pick up a new one in Paris, she thought, a bubble of excitement racing through her and then popping just as quickly.

Lillian had oscillated from excitement to panic and back again over the last few days. The travel agent and Kyla had both
convinced Lillian to fly straight away, while there was a special on flights and before winter settled in France. So after checking with her doctor, Lillian was leaving less than a week after she'd decided to go.

She'd be away for almost three weeks. Since booking her flight, she'd often looked around the house, feeling a sense of intoxicating release to be escaping its sameness. At other times, though, she had yearned desperately to be facing her normal routine of endless, uneventful days rolling one into the other.

But those days seemed to have disappeared anyway. The last few weeks had been dominated by medical tests, with the MRI scan and the lack of any other diagnosis pointing toward multiple sclerosis. There wasn't much to be done now but wait and see whether the symptoms recurred.

So here she was. But she hadn't told Alice. Maybe because doing so would make it seem too real. Or maybe because she wanted to keep this as her own adventure, not part of the group project. She would send Alice a postcard from Paris.

A friend had offered to take Lillian to the airport, but she'd refused. This was something she wanted to do by herself, without the need to make conversation or pretend that she was not scared stupid.

But Ross wouldn't be put off. He had refused point blank to accept her argument that she could take a taxi and badgered her for days until she told him her flight details.

He'd been waiting outside forty-five minutes before she had to be at the airport and had chatted cheerfully as he slung her luggage in the back and settled her in the front seat. He had closed Lillian's door for her and she had wondered if he was actually older than she'd thought. His old-fashioned manners were those that she associated with older men.

She had buckled her seatbelt and looked over at Ross, who was smiling at her.

‘It's okay, I drive much better when there's someone else in the car,' he'd said.

She'd smiled nervously, not really believing him until they'd
been driving for fifteen minutes without a tyre screech or running a red light.

Lillian had passed most of the drive in silence, staring out the window, terrified at the thought of what she was about to do. Ross, too, had been uncharacteristically quiet. As they approached the airport he had cleared his throat.

‘I'm really happy to come in with you, but I think maybe you'd like to just get dropped off?'

Lillian had smiled gratefully at him. She'd been wondering how to say that without being rude.

‘Thanks, that'd be great,' she'd said.

They had pulled up with a small screech in the drop-off zone in front of the airport.

‘Sorry,' Ross had winced. ‘Forgot for a moment.'

He had walked around to open Lillian's door, then pulled her suitcase out of the back.

‘Well, bye I guess,' Lillian had said awkwardly.

‘Hang on,' Ross had said. ‘I almost forgot something.'

He'd opened the back door and pulled out a paper bag with a book inside.

‘It's about female explorers in the eighteenth century,' he had said, smiling. ‘I figured it was appropriate.'

Lillian smiled back at him, an ache in her throat. She had thought about hugging him, but a car waiting to pull into their spot tooted.

‘All right, keep your shirt on,' Ross had muttered.

‘Well, I'll see you in a few weeks.' Lillian had raised her hand in farewell.

‘Yeah. Have a great trip, Lillian. See you soon.'

She had turned away, pulling the suitcase behind her.

‘Lillian!'

Ross had been standing next to the car, ignoring the increasing agitation of the driver of the car double parked beside him.

‘Forgot to tell you, I put a copy of Liverpool's match schedule inside the book. Just in case you want to pop across the Channel to London for a night!'

‘Great, Ross, thanks,' Lillian had laughed.

Now, standing in the queue, Lillian rubbed her thumb rhythmically over her passport, the textured cover rough against her skin. She'd finally found it in the back of a drawer, where it had lain for years.

So here she was.

The man in front of her accepted a stack of passports back from the flight attendant and jammed them into his shirt pocket.

‘Madam? Your passport and boarding card please.'

Lillian's attention snapped back to the stunning girl at the gate. Her uniform was patterned in coloured flowers against a royal blue background, the low neckline showing off beautiful collarbones and an elegant neck. The straight skirt fell to just above her ankles.

‘I'm sorry,' she apologised, flustered. She felt old and pallid next to the girl's serene beauty.

The attendant handed Lillian's travel documents back to her. ‘Have a wonderful holiday, madam,' she said.

Lillian looked down at her boots. Suede – and with a heel.

It was enough.

Sometimes the very act of dreading something removes its sting
.

I'd even go so far as to venture that it is better to visit the art gallery with a hangover than without. With a hangover your expectations are low – survival until bedtime is your only goal. Last Sunday there was nowhere else in the world (other than bed – clearly not an option) that I wanted to be. So the fact that Annie loved the paintings of the dancers made me happy too. And standing in one spot and staring, the only life skills left to me at that point, were by some extraordinary coincidence exactly what was required. Admittedly I did receive a few strange looks from people who noticed that my eyes were closed for most of the time. But I just smiled sagely and hoped they'd think I was contemplating deeply what I had seen. Perhaps the gallery's new slogan could be ‘Drunk one Day, Brisbane Art Gallery the next …' Then again, maybe not …

K
erry pulled off his cap and wiped his forehead, flicking the sweat onto the ground. The sun was almost directly overhead and it was stiflingly hot, even in the shade.

He stopped for a moment and looked around.

This was by far the most glamorous of the markets he worked at. The people swarming the pathways between the stalls weren't
here for a bargain. They were looking for boutique produce and price was an afterthought. Which was just as well because nothing was cheap.

Kerry charged almost double for his plants here. It was fair, he figured. New Farm residents with their Gucci sunglasses and Swedish-designed pull-along trolleys could bear a bit of a mark-up. With its renovated warehouse buildings housing thousands of glamorous apartments, the suburb was full of people with a high disposable income. Kerry was very happy to help in the disposal process.

He pulled another box of mother-in-law's tongue toward him. His own mother had refused to grow it for months, declaring it to be a toxic weed. Kerry had eventually convinced her that a few of the tall green blades stuck in a decent-looking pot sold itself. From Kerry's point of view, it had the additional benefits of being almost impossible to kill and having a name even he couldn't forget.

Hefting the box, Kerry struggled around the truck, dropping it on the ground beside the stand.

The teenage boy behind the counter looked over.

‘Ah great. The lady over here wants three of them – biggest you've got.'

Kerry smiled broadly, pulling out three of the pots. ‘Lovely choice, madam. These are a personal favourite of mine.'

Sometimes Kerry amazed even himself with his outrageous lies. They were harmless enough, but he felt vaguely uneasy about how easily they slipped off his tongue.

The stand was on the fringe of the market. This was the best place, Kerry had decided. People were ready to go when they reached him and happy to tuck a pot under their arm. His sales were almost double what they'd been when he'd been in the middle of the market, too many people promising to return on their way to the car but not managing it. Of course those figures were also before he'd come up with the idea of making a bit of a performance of it all.

It had started because he was bored with answering questions on plants which he couldn't care less about. Kerry's dad
had been an auctioneer for a number of years. Kerry remembered standing in blistering hot sun in the ordinary backyards of ordinary houses all over Brisbane. It had been anything but glamorous but he'd loved the auctioneer's patter, absurdly proud of his father for motivating expressionless crowds to part with money.

‘Well, I don't know what's so funny,' Kerry's voice, addressing no one in particular, was louder than the general hubbub. ‘This rosebush is a family heirloom – each leaf carefully polished by my mother every day of my childhood. It broke my heart to dig it out of her garden to sell today. But I told her – you've got to do what you've got to do.

‘Mate, why are you looking at me like that?' He spoke to a smiling man in front of him. ‘It's God's truth, I promise.

‘Okay, if that's not your thing, maybe the bougainvillea is for you – it was grafted in Los Angeles for a Hollywood superstar in honour of his latest wife. Sadly he fell on hard times and is selling off his best assets. The fleet of cars, the plants, the wife …'

As always tended to happen, people stopped in front of the stall. They smiled over at Kerry.

‘You, madam,' Kerry gestured at a lady toward the back. ‘I can tell by the look in your eye that you are desperately in need of something lovely and green for your kitchen table. Perhaps a …' Kerry paused for a beat, glancing at the prompt cards he'd stapled to the inside of the stall. ‘Spathaphyllum,' he finished, raising his eyebrows.

The woman smiled slightly, shook her head and walked away.

Kerry grinned. It always took a little while – he saw it as a bit of a challenge now. Selling plants to people who never intended to buy one. He saw it as his small contribution to fighting global warming – and of course his own takings.

He searched the crowd, looking for a likely person to target. Someone who'd get into the fun and who other people would copy.

His eyes rested on a familiar face. Even behind large sunglasses
and a hat, he recognised Alice. His rush of pleasure at seeing her surprised him.

She was aware of his gaze and gave a small wave.

Kerry wondered what she was doing here. New Farm was a fair drive from Paddington, too far to go for a nice piece of cheese. He wondered briefly if she could have come here to see him.

He looked back at Alice, aware that the silence was already a beat too long. She was dressed more casually than he'd seen her before, in faded jeans and a white T-shirt. Strangely she looked younger than when she was all dressed up.

He looked away. ‘All right – what can I do to convince you to buy something? How about a little bonsai for that outdoor table? My Japanese suppliers got carried away this month and sent me a hundred all from the garden where the Karate Kid learned how to fight. Normally I charge a hundred dollars for these babies – they take years to grow and train in the right direction. But for you people today, just fifty. The offer's only on the table,' he looked at his watch, ‘until eleven forty-five – five minutes away.'

‘Okay,' a man at the front pulled out his wallet. ‘I'll take a couple.'

‘Me too,' a lady off to the far side said.

Kerry looked at Alice, tilting his head to indicate the side of the van.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pushing through the crowd. After serving two people, he slipped out of the stall.

Alice was standing awkwardly beside the van, hat in hand and fingers pushing her sweat-flattened hair off her head.

‘I wasn't expecting to see my beautiful guru here today.'

Kerry's words were low.

Alice laughed self-consciously.

‘I needed some things and I was in the neighbourhood,' she waved a basket vaguely.

There was a silence.

‘I'd like one of your bougainvilleas,' Alice said suddenly, a fraction too loud. ‘Do you have any thornless ones?'

Kerry shook his head. ‘Sorry, I don't do thornless. Seems like
a good idea, I know, but they just aren't as good as the real thing. You just have to plant them somewhere the thorns won't drive you crazy. Where are you planning on putting it?'

‘I need something to cover the wall of a carport.'

‘Won't do.' Kerry looked serious. ‘The thorns could puncture your tyres.'

He lowered his head, mouth to her ear. ‘Buggers of things really,' he whispered. ‘Wouldn't own one for quids.'

Alice stepped back quickly. ‘Oh well, never mind. I should be getting along really anyway,' she said nervously.

Kerry suddenly wanted her to stay. ‘Well, wait on a minute … I don't offer this to just everyone …' Kerry broke off as a boy stepped around the side of the van and stood beside Alice.

‘Ah, I see you aren't travelling alone. Very wise. Can you vouch for this man?'

‘This is John, my son.'

‘Nice to meet you, John.' Kerry held out his hand, hiding his surprise.

He pulled out a stool and gestured for Alice to sit on it. He opened the door to the cabin and, keeping up the performance of secrecy, draped an old towel over something inside.

Alice laughed again.

He stood in front of her, hand poised on the towel.

There was a sudden silence. ‘Ta dah.'

‘It's jasmine,' Alice said.

Kerry was outraged. ‘Jasmine? Jasmine? I present you with a plant that heralds the coming of spring with scent and mystery and all you say is, “It's jasmine.” '

He turned to John. ‘Just like a woman,' he said conspiratorially.

John shrugged. ‘Women,' he said. ‘Can't live with 'em …' And the three of them burst out laughing.

Alice recovered first and reached for her purse. ‘How much do I owe you?'

Kerry waved her away. ‘I drank a lot of champagne that first night. The jasmine is on the house.'

Alice looked at John.

Sensing her discomfort, Kerry pointed John toward a large box off to one side. ‘Have a look in there – I picked up a stack of Venus flytraps cheap yesterday. Unfortunately the public don't appear to think they're as irresistible as I did. Give them some of the bread next to the box. Just watch they don't close on your hand, though. Some of those big ones could take your finger off.'

He winked at Alice.

‘You certainly don't look like you hate your job,' Alice said bluntly.

The showman's smile disappeared from Kerry's face. ‘No. But isn't that what we all do? Pretend we're happy when we're not?'

‘I guess so,' Alice answered slowly. ‘But you being around something nice like plants must help, surely?'

‘I hate plants,' Kerry replied flatly. ‘Give me a nice paved backyard any day, and if you really want flowers, a few fake ones. Hell of a lot easier than growing the things.'

‘You're serious, aren't you?' Alice looked at him closely.

‘Sure am. I didn't like them when I started doing this and after four years I like them even less. Bloody dirty, high-maintenance things. But don't tell my fans.' The mask slipped back into place and Kerry smiled playfully. ‘A plant seller who thinks plastic turf is a fabulous option is not going to have much of a business.'

Alice didn't smile. ‘So how did you get into this?'

Kerry puffed up his cheeks and blew out the air.

‘Just one of those things, I guess. My folks have always run a little nursery on the south side. It's never done more than really provide a living, but then a while ago business got really crappy. One of those huge nurseries opened nearby and Mum and Dad just couldn't compete. At the same time, these farmers' markets were becoming bigger than Ben Hur.'

He pulled off his cap and ran his hand through the flattened curls.

‘I was sick of fixing people's cars and I had an idea to help Mum and Dad out. It actually works pretty well. They grow the
plants, drill into me what they are; I forget, they tell me again, and then we load them up to bring here for the weekend markets.'

He paused and then added, ‘And then they tell me again what the plants are – I've got the worst bloody memory for plant names. It's a bit of a joke really. Customers think the big name tags on them are for them.

‘Anyway, Mum and Dad have a bit of an income ticking over at the nursery. But most of the sales come out of these things.' He waved a hand around. ‘I've also picked up some deals to supply apartment blocks and small offices around here. Flogging plants for my folks doesn't really set my world on fire. But neither does changing oil in fifteen cars a day. And I haven't had anyone knocking down my door to have me restore their cars – or to offer me a hundred grand for my car that I restored. Guess I've gotta be realistic, huh?'

He took a breath. ‘So – glad you asked?'

Alice looked at him squarely. ‘Actually I am,' she answered.

Their eyes locked.

His assistant's head poked around the side of the van. ‘Kerry, I've got chaos out here. You revved everyone up for those bonsais and then buggered off. Come on!'

He disappeared and Kerry stood up, jamming the cap back onto his head.

‘Duty calls. Better go …'

He smiled and ducked back around the corner.