The Alphabet Sisters (10 page)

There had been a moment a year ago when she’d thought the feud was about to be over. The terrible time when Ellen was attacked by that dog. Bett and Carrie had been shocked when she’d told them, and Lola knew for a fact that they had both contacted Anna in the days afterward. Bett had written, and Carrie had rung and left a message with Glenn. But nothing more had come of it. Which was when she’d realized she was going to have to try another way …

Oh, if only this had all happened years ago, when her bones weren’t as creaky, her mind faster, when she didn’t feel so tired all the time. “You are nearly eighty,” her doctor had said at the last visit, when Lola admitted she needed a long afternoon nap some days. “Though you’re in remarkably good nick, I’ll give you that.”

“That’ll be the gin,” Lola said. “I’m preserving myself.”

“Good Irish blood, probably, and all that hard work over the years. How are those hips of yours?”

Lola had had both hips replaced five years previously. “I feel like they’ve been mine forever.”

“Are you still doing those stretching exercises twice a day?”

Lola nodded. “I’m so agile I could get a job in a Bangkok nightclub.”

The doctor had nearly choked. “Lola, you get worse every visit and you know it. I can’t give you any more advice. You already know what you have to do. Try to take things easy, don’t get too stressed about anything, enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

Of course she did. And she did try and take things easy, having her nap most afternoons, drinking eight glasses of water a day. Well, eight glasses of something every day. Surely there was plenty of water in tonic water? And on the days she didn’t feel so good, there was always makeup. It helped that her skin was still in good condition. All those years of wearing inch-thick foundation, Anna had said once. Her skin probably hadn’t felt a ray of sunshine in sixty years of living in Australia. She picked up her perfume bottle, an expensive French brand, one of her few luxuries, and squirted a little on her wrists. What was that joke she’d overheard two schoolboys tell last week? “Why do girls wear makeup and perfume?” “Because they’re ugly and they stink.”

Lola put a finger on each temple and gently massaged, thinking hard. Her birthday party was just hours away, and she was certainly in no mood to have the girls edging around each other the whole time, the way they had been so far today. Anna was so rigid it was amazing she’d been able to walk at all. Bett was a bag of nerves. Carrie was sulking and stomping about. None of them was being anything like their usual lovely selves.

How much farther could she push them? She had been treading on thin ice today already, she knew. There had been little flashes of anger from all three of them, when she had joked and tried to ease the tension between them on their first meeting. But it was so hard to be patient. Every day she was so conscious of time ticking away from her. The idea of turning eighty had hit her with a terrible shock and propelled her into making these plans, getting them back together. There was something so
old
about being eighty. She had never had such a sense of urgency, or such a feeling that she was living on borrowed time.

She looked over at the portable bookcase and writing desk in the corner of the room. Jim had made it especially for her, so she could wheel it from room to room and feel immediately at home. The folder containing her special project was tucked well out of the way on the third shelf. Should she take it out now? Get everything out into the open? Would they be angry with her? Or would they guess the whole purpose of it was to keep them together for as long as possible? Get them working closely together again? She didn’t mind if they did guess. But no, it was too soon. Besides, she wanted to reveal it in a far more dramatic fashion, and in front of as large an audience as possible.

What could they work on together in the meantime? The food was prepared and the room was arranged, so there was nothing to be done there. Then she thought of the large pile of twigs Carrie would soon be putting into vases. Or not, perhaps … She picked up the phone and dialed the florist shop in town.

A
n hour later Lola was standing in the function room with ten newly emptied vases, eight bunches of freshly delivered flowers, and three stony-faced granddaughters. Carrie had been summoned from the office, Anna from the kitchen, Bett out of her bed. Ellen had been dispatched to the kitchen to find ice cream.

Lola gave them her most winning smile. “I know I’m the very devil for changing my mind at the last minute, but seeing the three of you together again reminded me of those wonderful room decorations you used to do for me when you were little. Do you remember that one Christmas, when you strung up mistletoe and pinecones all over the motel for me?”

Bett stared at her blankly. Perhaps it was jet lag, but she couldn’t remember ever doing Christmas decorations for Lola. It had always been Geraldine in charge of the decorations. They’d be hung up neatly exactly three weeks before Christmas, then folded away just as neatly exactly twelve days after Christmas.

“And I realized it would be the icing on my birthday cake to see your flower decorations at my party tonight,” Lola continued. She patted each of them on the cheek as though they were small animals. “So will you get to work? And no hard feelings about the bush theme, Carrie? I’m sure we’ll find a use for all those twigs.”

H
alf an hour later, eavesdropping from outside, Lola was forced to admit her plan hadn’t worked. It was more dysfunction than function room in there. No laughing and joking together as they merrily arranged the flowers. No cheerful “Doesn’t the room look beautiful for the party?” conversation. No lively chitchat as they took the opportunity to catch up on each other’s lives. Just several frosty exchanges.

“Please don’t put that vase there, Anna,” she heard Carrie say in an overly polite voice.

“Why not? I think it looks good.”

“All the flowers are to go on the side tables.”

“But you’ll hardly see them once you’re sitting down.”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past few weeks and decided that is the most practical place for them.” Carrie was now speaking in a steely tone.

Outside, Lola winced. The underlying message being that Anna had no right to just march in and do what she liked …

There was silence for a minute or two, then she heard Bett’s voice. “Are there any more vases?”

“I’ll get them for you.” Carrie, her voice still stiff.

“That’s all right. I can get them.”

“They’re in the cupboard under the bar.”

“Yes, I know.”

Carrie’s tone was sharp again. “It’s just you’ve been away for so long, I thought you might have forgotten.”

After Bett came back there’d been more silence, broken only by the sound of vases being moved and stalks being snipped. Lola wasn’t quite sure what to try next. Should she go in and tell some of her jokes? She’d thought of a good one. What’s brown and sticky? A stick. Perhaps not. She had a feeling it would take more than a joke to fix this.

She walked into the room. The flowers were beautiful. Much nicer than the twigs had been. “Oh, well done, girls.” There was no response. She ambled over to the piano, lifted the lid, and experimentally ran her fingers up and down, playing one or two chords.

“Do you remember this one, Anna?” she said loudly. She thumped out the beginning notes of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.”

Anna shook her head.

“Poor Anna. Your memory gone and you still so young. Bett, your turn. What about this?” She played a swirly introduction to “Danny Boy.”

Bett glanced over. “I can’t place it, Lola, sorry.”

“Too much smog in London, darling. Your brain cells obviously need a shake-up. Carrie, what about you, my dear? What’s this one?” She played the introduction to “My Favorite Things” from
The Sound of Music.

“I’m not sure,” Carrie said, not looking up.

Lola was shocked by a surge of anger. Enough was enough. She stood up and clapped her hands, once, twice, three times. “Right, you little buggers.”

Three startled faces turned to her. Lola rarely swore and she even more rarely used Australian swear words. “I want to speak to the three of you. Over here, now.”

She gave them a moment to get closer and then glared at them, genuinely cross. “I know I should be more patient with you. I know you are probably jet-lagged, Bett, and you must be tired, too, Anna. But I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting three years for this, wanting this feud to be over every single day, and I can’t wait any longer to get it all sorted.” She pointed a long, varnished fingertip at her middle granddaughter. “Bett Quinlan, tell me the truth. How do you feel right now?”

Bett colored, transported straight back to being a ten-year-old. “I really don’t want to play this, Lola.”

“Play it, Bett. How do you feel right now?”

“Lola …”

It was a game she had played with them when they were children. Some trick she’d picked up at a drama class or from some TV documentary. Back then she’d had a magic wand that she would point at them. The truth stick, she called it. She said it saved time. Point and talk. How are you? What’s wrong? How do you feel and why? They had to answer. Back then the answers had been simple. “I’m cross because Mum told me off.” “I’m sad because I didn’t win the race today.” “I’m mad because the other two got more ice cream than me.”

Lola turned away from Bett. “All right, then. Carrie, I’ll start with you instead.”

Carrie was looking at her feet.

Lola kept pointing. “Carrie, the quicker we do this, the quicker it is over and done with.”

A long pause and then a low voice. “I’m cross because you keep changing your mind about the decorations and it’s driving me mad.”

It wasn’t what Lola had hoped to hear, but it was a start. “The customer’s always right, Carrie, remember. Anna, what about you?”

Anna glared at her. “I’m furious because I am thirty-four years old and you are treating me like a child.”

“You’re all behaving like children, so I’m going to treat you like children. Thank you, Anna. Bett?”

Bett hesitated. “I’m upset because I hate this.”

“Do you really?” Lola said a silent thanks. Now she was getting somewhere. Say it, Bett, she urged. Say how much you have hated fighting with your sisters. How much you’ve hated being away from them. “What do you hate exactly?”

Bett lifted her head, a picture of defiant misery. “You telling us off. And this truth stick business. I’ve always hated it.”

Lola put down the imaginary stick. It had been a last-ditch effort in any case. “Very well. I’ll try some straight talking instead. You see, I’ve always had the idea that you might have missed each other during the past three years. That perhaps there had been times when you’d wished you could call on each other. And then I had the even more obviously ridiculous idea that all it would take for you to become friends again was to get you together to talk about it.”

No response.

“No? Then it seems in my old age I am getting not just feeble of body but feeble of mind, and I have got it all wrong. Such a shame. However, as has always been my wont, I am going to try to make the best of a bad situation.” She glared at them. “So, my little brat-faced princesses—”

Bett suddenly had to bite back a smile. Lola hadn’t called them brat-faced princesses in years.

“Do you think it would be possible for the three of you to put this ridiculous fight—all right, not ridiculous, this extremely worthwhile and valid fight—behind you for a short time? Because, girls, the way of it is, I want to enjoy my party and I certainly won’t if I have to see your sulky faces all night long. Or all week long. And possibly beyond that. In fact, let’s say definitely beyond that.”

She ignored their looks of surprise and clapped her hands again. The three of them jumped. “From now on, there is to be conversation between you, do you hear me? I want some smiles, too. So I hereby lay down the law. There is to be no mention whatsoever of the events of three years ago. Do you understand?”

There was a flash of temper from Anna. “Oh, sure, Lola. As if we aren’t thinking about them.”

“You can think all you like. You can think of nothing else if you like. But while you are all living and working here, I want peace and conviviality between you.” She turned to Carrie. “I know this will be hardest on you at the moment, Carrie, Matthew being your husband and all. But I’d like you to keep him away from here for the time being. Do you think you can manage that?”

Carrie swallowed hard. If Lola only knew how easy it was going to be. She nodded, not daring to speak.

“I think it’s better if he doesn’t come to the party tonight, either. Tell him I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. There’ll be enough gossiping about you all without him being there as well and everyone watching and listening to see what happens. Besides, I want all the attention to be on me, not him.” She gave a broad grin.

Carrie looked at her feet again. She’d long ago banned Matthew from coming to the party.

“So there we have it. Now, get to work please. It won’t be long before my guests come marching up the carpark, and there’s still plenty to be organized. Carrie, ask your sisters to help you. Bett and Anna, do what she says.” She was almost at the door when she remembered something else. “One last thing.”

They turned to her as one, like a chorus line, waiting.

She gave them a beautiful smile. “Thank you all for being here. You’ve made an old lady very happy.”

Chapter Six

T
he function room was a mass of fairy lights. There were ten round tables, each set with white linen, sparkling glasses, and gleaming cutlery. Irish music played quietly in the background, overlaid with conversations from the seventy guests, a mixture of older couples, teenagers, middle-aged women, several elderly men, and even a baby in a carry-cot. There were candles and the vases of fresh flowers on the long side tables, with several bottles of wine already opened on each. Young waitresses in white shirts and black skirts were circulating with trays, collecting empty champagne glasses. Everything was in the room except the guest of honor herself.