Chanel Sweethearts (8 page)

The upbeat tempo of folk music drifted through the stalls at the Stumpy Gully craft market. Delicious early-morning smells of brewed coffee and egg-and-bacon rolls filled the air. Above, patches of blue sky flashed between the leaves of the gum trees that filled the racetrack market site.

Locals and townies meandered along the dusty paths, enjoying the free samples of fresh berries, pâtés and home-cooked fudge offered by stallholders and searching for unique arts and crafts to complete their Christmas shopping.

A flock of rainbow lorikeets squawked past, insistent that the crowds appreciate their lurid beauty. Kookaburras laughed at them, and a fluffy baby kooka hopped from branch to branch, its head tilted to keep a watchful eye on the sausage sizzle.

The eucalyptus litter, mulched in piles under the smooth grey trunks, was steaming from last night's rainfall, releasing a musty gum fragrance that wound its way among the stalls, competing with the aroma of samosas and enhancing the floral fragrance from the many soaps and bath salts.

The Christmas market was Rainbow and Songbird's big day. They had been knitting furiously for the past month, turning Eugene's wool into a colourful assortment of berets, throws, leggings and wraps. It was just one of the many markets they attended each year, selling their funky woollen designs at exorbitant prices, but this pre-Christmas market was their most important, thanks to the thousands of cashed-up tourists who attended, desperate for that eclectic little piece that would mark them as unique, unusual and different at school pick-up during the winter months.

Eugene, naked and shivering, had stared at his owners reproachfully that morning as they'd set off in their Smart Car packed with wares. ‘Can't he come?' Rainbow had begged. ‘He'll be lonely.'

‘No chance,' Songbird had replied as she skilfully reversed onto Stumpy Gully Road. ‘You know he bites.'

The Smart Car was a recent acquisition; and one the women were both thrilled with. They got around the little town on bikes most of the time, but the car got them to markets in style and comfort.

Now that their stall was set up, the two women sat back and surveyed the passing throng from behind their knitting needles. They'd discovered very early on in their market career that the tourists were even keener to spend when they could actually see the work being made. ‘These amazing-looking hippie women make the goods right in front of your eyes. It's so earthy, so organic...' Songbird had once heard a market-goer exclaim to her companion. From then on Songbird and Rainbow made sure they kept knitting needles in their hands to give the punters a show and increase their sales, although due to the huge demand for their product they now had a team of local grandmothers who knitted the bulk of their wares.

‘Wow, girls, you've outdone yourselves. Eugene must be on steroids!'

Rainbow looked up at the familiar voice. ‘Jess!' she called out. ‘Songbird, Jess is here.' She threw down her knitting to greet her friend with a warm hug. ‘I love your skirt!' she declared. ‘Is it hemp?'

Jessica's taupe and crimson skirt was full and swishy, made up of a series of vintage patches. She hip-twisted to let it flare out and laughed at her hippie friend. ‘No, it's a vintage Issey Miyake,' she said. ‘I've had it for years.'

‘Well it's “toooo divine”.'

Jess laughed at Rainbow's mimicking of an upper class Gucci Mama.

‘Thanks, pet,' Jessica said with a smile, flicking her Luna Gallery raspberry shawl over one shoulder. ‘How are you, Songbird?' Jessica asked. Songbird was wrestling with a knitting catastrophe.

‘Can't talk,' she muttered, ‘swearing.'

Jessica smiled and turned back to Rainbow. ‘So, how's it going?'

‘We're great,' Rainbow said. ‘Business is booming: we've put on another two knitters to do our designs, which makes five.'

‘Are they still complaining about the patterns?' Jess asked.

‘Of course,' Rainbow grinned. ‘One nanna keeps trying to talk us into doing a range of baby layettes and booties in pastel wool. It's hilarious, but she does such an amazing job: just look at this stitching.' She indicated a rasta-style hat with rows of vibrant colour.

‘So neat,' Jess said, nodding. ‘We must have another exhibition of your work. You have some wonderful new styles now.'

‘Maybe after the Christmas rush,' Rainbow said, then winked slyly and added, ‘and we'll make sure all the pieces we give you are Rainbow and Songbird originals!'

‘Deal,' Jess said.

She had met Rainbow and Songbird, or Kylie and Susan as they had been known back then, when they were all students at the tiny local high school. Kylie and Susan had been inseparable best friends since they'd met in Year Seven. Susan, now Songbird, had come to Rainbow's defence when a bunch of Year Nine girls had begun teasing the frightened teenager, surrounding her in a circle of mocking faces.

‘Oi, bugger off,' Songbird had called, pushing her way into the circle and putting an arm around the quivering Rainbow. ‘She's my mate. If you mess with her, you mess with me,' the nuggety girl had snarled, fists clenched and spit flying from her mouth. The bullies had slunk away and left the beginnings of a firm friendship in their wake.

Both women had married, had children and divorced before they realised that they were happiest when they were together. They'd pooled their assets, blended their six children into one big, chaotic family and had never been happier.

Jessica had helped plan their weddings, divorce parties and finally their civil union on the beach the previous year.

‘That bitch sister-in-law of yours is here,' Songbird grumbled, finally throwing her knitting down in exasperation.

‘Songbird, don't be such a nasty pastie,' Rainbow said.

‘Is she?' Jessica asked, moving to the side of the stall to make room for four well-dressed women who were exclaiming over the alpaca wares. ‘She must have driven down this morning. Did she stop to chat?'

‘Chat! Criticise more like,' Songbird spat, ignoring the surprised faces of her customers.

‘Apparently our alpaca wool isn't as soft as bloody mohair ... bloody cheek.'

‘Oh dear, what a dreadful thing to say,' one of the shoppers interjected. ‘Clearly this fibre is far better than mohair. I have extremely delicate skin and,' – she brushed a purple knitted glove gently against her cheek – ‘this is far superior in softness to mohair, I can assure you.'

Songbird snorted rudely.

‘That is so sweet of you,' Rainbow said, sliding quickly in front of her partner. ‘We just love our alpaca.'

Songbird shook her head and rolled her eyes theatrically at Jess, who had to walk away to hide her laughter.

‘Bye, girls,' she called with a wave over her shoulder. ‘Good luck today.'

‘Thanks, Jess,' Songbird tinkled. ‘Oh by the way, Caro said she was desperate for caffeine, so you'll probably find her in the coffee aisle. I'm sure we'll have a great day.'

‘Yeah, if the effing townies can bear to part with their precious cash,' Songbird muttered to herself.

Caro Wainwright tapped her Prada riding boot impatiently. Dust rose from the ground and swirled about the immaculate leather. ‘Shit,' Caro said and immediately stood still to lessen the damage. She sighed to herself as the coffee queue slowly moved forward.

There were some things about country life she just couldn't stand, and waiting ten minutes for a simple latte was one of them. Her lovely Gloria Jeans at Chadstone knew how to do it: take order, take payment, deliver coffee. No bother, no fuss. No chitchat with each and every customer about the weather, their mother's arthritis or their sister's baby, for heaven's sake. Pop a Gloria Jeans in town, and country life would be far more comfortable.

‘Caro, darling, hello!'

‘Oh, Jess dear, hello.' The women air-kissed and Caro stood back, relieved at the distraction from the queue, to appraise her sister-in-law. ‘Honestly, Jess, I know it's just a country market, but you really do need to get up to High Street, Armadale, more often: you look like you've rolled around in an op shop. That Miyake piece is decades out of fashion, and what's with the wool scarf on a summer's day? And is that a Chanel Baguette? I can't believe those bags are back again, though yours looks a bit well-loved.'

Jess smiled at Caro's customary tactlessness and said, ‘I love your blazer, Caro. Have you got a meeting today?'

Caro had been a formidable real estate agent before becoming a mum, and now kept her hand in by buying and selling properties privately.

‘A meeting?' she repeated. ‘Don't be silly, dear, it's Ralph Lauren; my country look. Although I really ought to get my finger in the pie down here. It's positively rocketing. Let's drop in on the local real estate agency on the way home. How have you been?'

‘Quite busy. I opened the store this morning and did the breakfast shift, so it's already been a full day for me.'

Caro stared at her blankly. ‘I mean really, how are you, Jessica? How are you feeling?'

‘Oh, good, fine, getting there.' Jessica didn't feel like delving into her true feelings in the middle of the coffee queue. ‘So, where are the children?'

‘On the jumping castle. Now, I just spoke to your father, he'll be at the house for lunch so I thought I'd buy some organic bits and pieces and do a cold meal. Is that okay with you?'

‘Sure, Caro, you know the house is for all of us to enjoy. Angus coming down?'

‘This evening: he has a client golf day or something. I saw your hippie friends. They have frightful concoctions on sale, haven't they? Do they ever sell anything?

‘Oh, you'd be surprised, that look's quite popular down here, and with the tourists.'

‘Yes, I'm sure it is.' Caro sniffed in the direction of a local woman who was standing in front of her decked out in what appeared to be an alpaca wool beret and fingerless gloves. ‘But it's hardly designer label, is it?'

‘Perhaps that's not important to some people,' Jessica suggested, smiling.

‘Ha, don't make me laugh,' Caro replied. ‘Now, I'm worried about you. Frantically worried.' She turned to place her order. ‘Decaf latte please, skim milk, and not scalding like you normally do it.' She frowned at Doris, the coffee lady from the local CFA, to make sure her message was clear, but fortunately her recent Botox injection turned her frown into a blank look and Doris just smiled and nodded.

She turned back to her sister-in-law. ‘What was I saying? Oh that's right, I'm worried about you. I told you that Graham was no good from the beginning.'

‘No you didn't.' Jess shifted uncomfortably as a group of Pony Club mums wandered past. ‘Can we do this later, Caro?' she suggested.

‘Oh, didn't I tell you what I thought about Graham?' Caro continued, ignoring Jess's concern. ‘Well I certainly thought it. How dare he leave you for another woman after you raised those children of his? I've been thinking about it, you should really send him an invoice for nanny duties. Four years at eighty thou a year is a fair figure. Angus could handle the case for you.'

‘Here you go, love.' Doris passed over a steaming latte. ‘Something for you, Jess?'

‘No thanks, Doris.' Jess blushed, sure the woman had heard Caro's rant.

She pulled her sister-in-law over to a bench under the gums.

‘Look, Caro, it's over. Good God, I've told you this for almost a year now, why won't you let it go? I really would prefer to put it all behind me and just move on. Is that okay? Can you help me with that?'

‘Humph, if you insist, but it's just not right.'

‘Life sucks I guess,' Jess said to end the topic. ‘Now, how are the kids?'

‘Oh, it's terrible darling, just awful,' Caro said, tipping artificial sweetener into her coffee and stirring vigorously. ‘There is a hideous bully who is making little Hamish's life absolute anguish at the moment. Such a dreadful boy.'

Jess nodded absently, distracted by the sight of Hamish, whom she spied over Caro's head trying to bounce smaller children off the jumping castle. It was hard to imagine the strapping ten-year-old in the role of playground victim.

‘Well, he's very, ummm, assertive,' Jess reassured Caro. ‘I'm sure he can look after himself.'

Hamish was now holding a little boy's cap above his head as the smaller child fought to get it back.

Caro went on. ‘I said to the principal, “If you can't guarantee my son's psychological wellbeing I will just have to–”'

‘Hamish,' Jess called sharply, unable to watch him taunt the other child any longer. ‘Come here and ... ah ... give Aunty Jess a kiss.'

Hamish dropped the cap and ran over as fast as his solid legs would carry him.

‘Hello, Jess,' he said, wrapping his arms around her waist, his sweaty hair in her face. ‘Mum, I'm hungry. Can I have some money?'

‘You're insatiable,' Caro said with a grin and selected a twenty-dollar note from the thick wad in her purse. ‘He'll eat me out of house and home,' she laughed indulgently as he pushed in front of harassed mothers in the
poffertjes
queue.

‘Well, I'm off for a wander.' Jess stood and shook out her shawl. ‘See you at the house this afternoon.'

‘Ciao, darling.' Caro shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at Jess. ‘We'll have a lovely lunch and sort you right out, you'll see.'

Jess trailed around the colourful stalls, enjoying the spicy aroma from the satay vendor, blended with the familiar sizzle of the scouts' barbecue and the gentle waft of incense from the Tibetan craft stall. She was relieved to be free of Caro: her sister-in-law meant well, but she could be hard work sometimes.

Smiling and waving at the familiar faces soaking up the late spring sunshine, as she walked past a flower stall Jess suddenly felt a jolt of sadness. Her boys had loved this market. It was a family ritual to get up early on market days, eat breakfast beneath the dangling gum branches, stock up on fresh-baked goods and locally grown fruit and vegies. The last time they'd been here the boys had pooled their pocket money and bought her a bunch of fragrant sweet peas from this stall, their little faces flushed with the excitement of the gift.