The Boy in the Olive Grove (10 page)

ALAN STUBBS ACTED
as if I hadn’t signed the
partnership
agreement. ‘I’m afraid it’s a no-go, Bess. Charlie won’t agree.’

I breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. ‘He doesn’t have to agree. I’m in charge. It’s my decision.’

Silence, then he said, ‘Very well. It’s a sensible course of action. I’ll attend to the paperwork. But I advise you to tell your father about it.’

I picked up the phone again and rang Iris. ‘Is Dad strong enough to be able to yell at me, do you reckon?’

‘Depends how big a yell. Why, what’ve you done?’ It sounded like she was getting ready to yell too.

‘Leased out the side lawn.’ I shut up, letting her join the dots — make Dad mad, or get a chance to save her home.

‘Come to dinner,’ she said. ‘We’ll go to the hospital first and tell him together. And Bess, I think you’ve done the right thing.’

I let out a breath. ‘Thanks.’

She hadn’t mentioned Gwennie, and I didn’t remind her.

THAT JOURNEY
to the hospital was dislocating. I felt I was swinging between a whole collection of different personas. I was Bess in charge of a factory. I was the daughter who never measured up. I was the sister who’d driven her brother into non-
communication-land
. As well, my witch-burning self was always there, menacing at the edges of my mind, along with the nagging mystery as to the identity of the one presence in my life capable of giving me fleeting joy: olive grove guy. Iris didn’t talk much and I wished she would. I needed distraction.

Once we got to the hospital, it wasn’t the easiest visit with Dad. He was sitting up, all bright and perky. We got the
my two favourite girls
greeting, then immediately: ‘What’s new, Bess?’

He looked so hopeful it hurt my heart. I gave him progress reports on the clean-up, the fence and the gate, but had to finish with the news of Eddy’s failure so far to get any orders. He did his best to keep up the perkiness. ‘Never mind. You’ve given it a good try. Couldn’t ask for more.’

‘We’re not beaten yet, Dad.’ I glanced at Iris, who gave a small nod. ‘You’re not going to like this, but I’ve leased out the lawn to Lisette from the bakery.’

Iris held his hand and I swear I could see calming vibes emanating from her. He frowned, took a few deep breaths — and said nothing. The three of us sat there in silence until he asked, ‘Any news of Hadleigh?’

‘No. Not a thing.’

We chatted about nothing much after that — their neighbour’s puppy, the tennis club — and left as soon as Dad started looking tired.

‘Is he okay?’ I asked Iris. ‘I was expecting an explosion.’

‘I’ve told him I know about the money,’ she said. ‘I could see him thinking about that. Weighing up if the lease agreement might save our home. It’s hard for him, Bess.’

I knew it was. I hated seeing him lying there, being powerless, being a supplicant. ‘If it was Hadleigh doing all this it wouldn’t be hard. He’d be happy about it.’

‘He’s grieving for the loss of that dream. He knows you won’t stay once he’s well again. I think he’s in a quandary — he wants you to save the business. Desperately, he wants that. But if you do, then he’ll have to run it, and right now it all feels too much.’

I thought about that while we went down in the lift. I said, ‘If Dad wants a successor, Eddy’s his man.’

‘Let’s not worry about it now.’

But I couldn’t switch off that easily. ‘Can I ask Eddy to eat with us again?’

‘Of course.’

So easy with Iris. So freaking strange too.

Now there was just Mum to deal with.

I screwed up my face, holding the phone out from my ear, waiting for the ice-storm while I explained I’d not be home for tea again. It was a doozy. ‘You’re a thoughtless, ungrateful girl, Bess Grey. I cannot understand you and I cannot begin to comprehend what I’ve done to deserve such treatment. Why you continue to put your father before me, I’ll never know …’ On and on she went.

‘I’ll see you later,’ I said at last, and cut her off. ‘Aaaargh!’

‘Ask Gwennie to give you some strategies to deal with her,’ Iris said. ‘She can see you on Friday at ten. In her office in Auckland, where you have friends you might like to visit, if I’m not mistaken?’ She slid me a particularly witchy grin.

 

THE HEARTY
(
ORGANIC
)
beef casserole Iris had in the slow-cooker smelled divine. Eddy had better not be late or I’d eat his share. I was busting to know how he’d got on. He’d sounded cheerful enough on the phone, but mention food to a guy and he’ll always be cheerful.

Iris put a pot of spuds on to cook and I created a salad of greens, flowers and herbs. ‘Better a dish of herbs where love is than scoff a fatted calf with a bitch,’ I muttered. Okay, so not an exactly accurate quote, whichever bible you chose, but Iris looked pleased about the love bit.

‘I feel terribly sorry for her,’ she said.

‘Huh! Why? She feels sorry enough for herself. She doesn’t need a back-up team. She’s never like this with Hadleigh. But me! I can’t do a thing right.’

Iris handed me the scrap bucket. ‘Go and throw these at the compost heap. Get rid of that negative energy.’

I snatched it, and used up more negative energy in stomping to the compost, where I hurled each scrap as far and hard as I could. When I got back to the kitchen, Iris took my shoulders and gave them a firm shake. ‘Now listen to me, Bess. This is bad for you. You must ask Gwennie to help you cope. You can’t let your mum get to you like this or it’ll end up destroying you.’

I pulled away. ‘I thought Gwennie was going to douse the flames in my head. I’m not doing another trip into spooksville about Mum, so don’t even think about it.’

Iris didn’t react to my anger — a revelation all on its own. ‘You don’t have to. Gwennie can simply give you strategies. She won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. See how you get on with her. If you don’t like her, we’ll find somebody else.’

I found I was crying. Something to do with Iris being motherly, strong and — I had to admit it — loving. She threw the roll of paper towels at me. ‘Mop up. That’s Eddy arriving.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Look, Bess, I should have done more to protect you when you were little. But mostly you were at school, and, well …’

I scrubbed my face. ‘Don’t talk about it. We’re one crazy, mixed-up family.’

Eddy came in. Actually, he bounced in. ‘Two orders, boss! Two of the suckers! A dining table and an extension table for a boardroom, and can we deliver before Christmas? Yes sir, we can deliver!’

We went berserk then, the three of us dancing around the kitchen, waving our arms in the air and yahooing. ‘Ring the men, Eddy. Iris, do you want to give Dad a call?’

‘Bless you. I’d love to.’

‘You’re the man, Eddy,’ I said. ‘Sit down. Dinner’s ready. Don’t know about you, but I could eat an extension table.’

We didn’t even try to get the grins off our faces. And when Iris came back from talking with Dad she had a bottle of wine in her hand. ‘Here’s to new beginnings,’ she said, pouring glasses for each of us.

I made mine last all evening. Iris offered me another, making no comment when I declined.

Then the phone went again. It was Dad wanting to talk to me. ‘No, Charlie,’ said Iris. ‘You have to let Bess run the show. Stop meddling. Go to sleep.’ She hung up. ‘He’s worrying about Bernie now. Wanted me to tell you the tables have to have turned legs.’

Eddy’s excitement hit the floor and I damn near hit him. When would these guys realise I was not my father? I faced him, sitting on my hands to be sure I didn’t reach out and yank him upright. ‘We use your designs. We give the customers what they want.’

‘What’ll you tell Bernie?’

I shrugged. ‘Dunno yet. He’s busy with the gate for a while anyway. But get one thing clear, Eddy — we’re not going to send the place down the tubes for want of some lateral thinking.’

He blinked at that, but said, ‘I hear you, boss. Give you a ride home?’

‘I’ve got the car.’ Should have tagged
thanks
onto the end of that. Didn’t feel like it. I wanted to bellow at him
Get on board! Have some confidence in me, why can’t you?

‘Glass of wine. You can’t drive,’ Iris said.

Ah yes, zero blood alcohol for kiddies of my tender age. ‘I could stay here.’

‘If you want,’ she said, leaving the decision up to me, as was her usual trick.

Eddy’s eyes swivelled from me, to her, then back to me.

‘So tempting,’ I said. ‘But so much pain to follow.’

Eddy got up and handed me the tablet. ‘Here. Don’t forget this. Let’s get on the road, eh. Work tomorrow.’

I didn’t talk to him on the way to Mum’s. When we stopped, he said, ‘You mad at me?’

‘Steaming.’

‘Why?’ He sounded hurt.
Good job.

I let him have it, both barrels, though I was aware that some of my rage was residual Mum-fury. ‘You guys all need to be behind me. Every time I do something different from the way Dad does it, you’re ready to give up.’ I snapped the seatbelt undone. ‘Think about it.’ I slammed the car door, then pulled it open again. ‘And by the way, I’m stoked about the orders. Better than I dared hope for.’

He leaned over to hold the door open. ‘Thanks for having such confidence in me, boss.’

‘Touché! See you tomorrow.’

I went inside to the Mum storm, which escalated when she caught sight of the tablet. It was
her
property and I was not to use it in any way to help That Man.

‘Don’t speak about my father like that,’ I said and stalked off to bed, still with the tablet under my arm.

I knew I should check on the bids on the tables, but I’d had it up to my eyebrows with the business for one day. I needed a dose of sanity.

There was nothing from Hadleigh, but Clodagh and Maddy were on line.

I need distraction! Toxic mother overload!!

Maddy:
Going caving tomorrow. Nettlebed!! Yay, been wanting to do that for yonks.

Clodagh:
Gran wants me to make a YouTube vid of her making lace hearts. Good for Valentine’s Day she reckons. Likes to be prepared, does Gran.

Maddy:
Report on Bess-world please!

Dad & factory improving. Mum — you don’t wanna hear. Coming to Auck to escape. Fri + weekend. Need a bed. Clo?

Clodagh:
Great! Plenty of room. Parents in Argentina again.

I logged off, thinking about our so different lives. Maddy’s family farmed near Reefton. Clodagh’s parents owned businesses in Auckland, South America and Malaysia. They were out of the country a lot and felt it was too much of an imposition to leave her and her twin brothers with their grandmother, hence boarding school. It was unusual for them to be away during the holidays.

The previous night’s lack of sleep caught up with me in a rush. I turned out the light.
Please, let there be no return of flames and burning flesh
. I didn’t want the olive grove either. I didn’t need taunting with a happiness I could only dream of.

Meantime, there were three nights to get through before Gwennie could sort out my head. I dreaded having to do it, but the uncertainty of when those images, or the olive grove ones, would strike again wasn’t too flash either. The devil or the deep blue sea. This time, I was opting for the deep blue sea.

THE FACTORY
was becoming my haven. A place of retreat. I arrived early, looking forward to greeting a pumped and positive workforce. But no, Clint gloomed his way in, followed by despondent Alton, lugubrious Maurice and sad Eddy.

‘What?’ I snapped.

Clint shook his head ‘Can’t do the orders, boss. Nobody in the finishing room now.’

‘Can’t one of you do it?’

‘No,’ said Clint. ‘It’s a specialised job. You need the eye. Got to have the artistic flair.’

I examined each of them, but no one offered a solution, a way out of this dilemma. Eddy, I reckoned, was drafting his resignation in his dumb head. ‘Anybody here ever done any finishing? Any at all?’

One synchronised headshake. I should put it on YouTube. ‘What about Bernie?’

Clint nodded. ‘Bernie’s done everything.’

‘Good. You lot go and get started on the orders.’ I held up a hand. ‘And don’t ask me who should make what. How the hell would I know? Eddy, you got the orders, you decide.’

He looked pleased, and positive. How nice. But of course, there was a quibble. ‘There’s work for two of us, boss. Not four.’

Be a good boss, don’t yell. Don’t do a Mum on them.
‘Make some wooden toys or something. There’s still plenty of docked ends there. Make them for the kids in your lives.’

Alton shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. ‘Ah, Bess — just an idea. But could I make miniatures of the orders? I’ve always wanted to do that. No time till now.’

Lesson for Bess. Oh, big fat ‘be nice’ lesson
. ‘That’s a brilliant idea!’

‘And how about I make a Christmas nativity scene,’ Maurice said. ‘Asses, cows, wise men.’

I clapped my hands. ‘You guys are awesome. Do your best work. We’ll get a finisher, don’t worry.’

They strode off to the workshop, happy, positive and confident that the boss would sort it. She’d better.

Bernie always came in later than the others. While I waited for him, I wrote out what I wanted on a sheet of the unused A3, beginning with:
Bernie, we’ve got a problem and I’m hoping you can help solve it.
I didn’t want him, even for a second, to think I was sacking him. I wrote about the orders and the lack of a finisher, and ended with:
If I find somebody, would you be able, and willing, to train him?

I put the kettle on and had the tea made when I heard the squeak of the door. ‘Morning, Bess. How’s Charlie?’

I gave him the usual thumbs-up, but beckoned him to the table and the teapot. He sat himself down. ‘What’s up, lass?’

I put the sheet of paper in front of him. He took his time reading it through, then reading it again. I sat patiently, and prayed.

‘I reckon I could do that,’ he said at last. ‘To tell you the truth, I’d be pleased to teach a young ’un. You find me a good lad. Doesn’t matter what he looks like. It’s his heart I’m interested in. I won’t work with a sniveller.’

What qualifications will he need?

‘Doesn’t need the exams. Needs the touch, the feel for it. Try and find a lad who likes art.’ He grinned at me. ‘Be good if he’s got a loud voice, eh Bess?’

I laughed.
When do you need him by?

‘Monday. He can help me assemble and stain the gate, then I’ll get him working on some finished ends. I can get some of those ready tomorrow.’

I hugged him, and he went off chuckling. I didn’t tell him that tomorrow I wouldn’t be here. I’d have to leave Eddy in charge, with instructions to keep everyone positive and on track. Oh, and I’d better
reschedule
the appointment with Beverly Maketawa — in fact it would be good to talk to her before I hired anyone. How much did I pay a trainee?

Beverly was her usual brusque self. ‘Four-thirty this afternoon,’ she said.

‘Um, I need some advice before then. Could I come in half an hour?’

‘Make it 11.30.’ She disconnected.

I checked Trade Me on Dad’s computer — Mum had refused to let me take the tablet. Six hundred! Yay! I clicked
sold
. The other bid was up to $370. One down, three to go. I put up the next one.

After that, I tussled with the question of how to find a lad with a good heart and an artistic eye. The high school was the obvious place to start, but it felt peculiar to be phoning up as the prospective employer of one of its students when I was going to be a student there myself next year.

I picked up the phone, dialled and asked for the head of the art department. I introduced myself, then cut to the chase. ‘Could I come and see you? I need an employee with an artistic flair and I’m hoping you can help?’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘After school today?’

‘It’s kind of urgent. Any chance I could pop down now?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Interval’s at 10.30. Bring me a custard square from Lisette’s and I’m yours.’

Lisette! Oh my god, the lease! It had completely slipped my mind. I rang Alan. He gave me a time for the following Monday which I wrote down in huge letters and left on Dad’s desk so I wouldn’t forget. I felt like a juggler — so many things to remember. How had Dad done it all these years?

At the school, I followed the receptionist’s
directions
to the art department, and with every step tried not to compare this school with St Annie’s. I
would
make friends here — Harriet for a start. Boys too. I’d like to have boys for friends. And if Nick was out of bounds, why shouldn’t I find myself a boyfriend?

I prepared myself for Ms Kendrick’s doubt,
astonishment
, amusement blah blah when she saw me. I should have changed into something more formal than my denim shorts and tee-shirt.

But, wouldn’t you know it, Ms Alisha Kendrick was Maurice’s wife. She greeted me with both hands out to take mine.

‘Maurice thinks you’re the bees’ knees. He can’t quite get over it. Comes home like a stunned mullet these days.’ She let me go. ‘Anything I can do for you, Bess Grey, I will. The prospect of an unemployed husband is not one I wish to contemplate.’

I gave her the custard square which she promptly cut in two, offering half of it to me on a flowered plate. While we ate and dropped crumbs all over her bench I told her what Bernie had asked for.

She processed that while she finished the custard square, then flicked through the phone book and rang a number, all without a word about what she had in mind. ‘Arini? Has that boy of yours got a job yet? Where could I find him, do you know? Okay. Thanks.’ To me, she said, ‘His name’s Jason Crossland. Artistic, but wouldn’t do exams. Hated school, loved his art.’

He didn’t sound promising, but she said, ‘He’ll get on with Bernie like a house on fire. Jason responds well to father-figures. He’ll like the work, and he’ll like being one of the men.’

I couldn’t see Beverly M being impressed. ‘Is he the only one you can think of?’

‘He’s the right one. Trust me.’

It felt like a huge step to take, but she knew the kid, I didn’t. ‘Okay. It’s your hubby out of a job if it all goes pear-shaped.’

‘Turns to custard, you mean.’ She laughed. ‘Tell Lisette she hasn’t lost her touch. Listen, Bess — young Jason’s a risk, but so is anyone. My pick is that he’ll blossom, and your dad will have a loyal and able employee. You’ll find him in the skate park. Look for a yobby type with a diagonal stripe through his hair. It was green last time I saw it. Yellow the time before. The yellow was a mistake.’

The bells shrieked and right away kids were at the door, peering through and begging to be let in. ‘The darlings,’ Ms Kendrick said. ‘I do love my Year 10s.’ She opened the door and they fell inside — a bunch of puppies. She had them organised and working in five minutes flat. I timed her.

 

THANKS TO JASON’S
stripe — pink today — he was easy to spot. I bellowed, loud enough even for Bernie to hear me, ‘Jason Crossland, can I talk to you?’

His mate elbowed him — ‘Yer girlfriend wants you’ — and for a moment Jason teetered on his board. But he ignored me, skated up to the lip of the bowl, down and up the other side to land tidily on the edge. There was possibly an arcane name for such a move. I sat myself down on the edge of the bowl. I’d wait him out. His curiosity would get the better of him sooner or later.

It took eight minutes before he skimmed over. ‘Whatcha want?’

‘You interested in a job?’

‘Nah.’

‘Ms Kendrick said you’d be good.’

‘Don’t want a job.’

‘Okay. I won’t tell you what it is then. Bye.’

‘What is it then?’

I made a snap decision. ‘I’ll show you. You want to come with me or ride your board? It’s the other side of town.’

After a good hard stare at me, he said, ‘With you.’

He followed me to the car. He looked a bit surprised that I actually knew how to drive, and said, ‘You’re just a kid.’

‘True.’

He didn’t know what to do with that. His
suspicions
filled the car.

‘Oh shit, not Charlie Grey’s,’ he said when I pulled up outside. ‘Don’t want to make furniture. Dumb bunny.’

‘I don’t want you to make furniture,’ I said, ‘so dumb bunny yourself.’ I headed off towards Bernie’s work area, not really caring if Jason followed or not — but he did.

Bernie had a piece on the lathe. I waved at him to get his attention, then when the machine was quiet, said, ‘Jason, Bernie’s deaf. He’ll probably hear you, but he can’t hear my voice. Tell him your name please.’

That got me a sulky glare, but he said, ‘Jason.’

Bernie held out his hand. ‘Glad to meet you, Jason. You come along with me. I’ll show you the finishing room.’

Jason shrugged his shoulders but tagged along behind him. I left them to it. Bernie might decide he could transform him into a willing, skilled worker who’d turn up on time every day and work his butt off. Stranger pigs have flown the skies.

Besides, I had other problems to deal with. Beverly was expecting me, and wouldn’t be impressed if I turned up late.

I got there with a minute to spare, gave her the required report, then asked how to go about hiring Jason or some more prepossessing adolescent.

Well, would you believe it, Beverly Maketawa smiled at me. ‘You’ve surprised me, Bess. Very
pleasantly
. I confess I rated your chances at less than zero.’

‘And now?’

She laughed. ‘I’m betting you’ll do it. The place will be thriving by the time you go back to school.’

For some reason
back to school
amused the heck out of her. I didn’t mind.

She snapped right back into being Beverly the Banker. ‘Here’s the info you need about hiring.’ She handed me a computer printout. ‘Three months to see how he goes, then your dad can decide from there. Good luck.’

I took myself back to the factory, half expecting to meet Jason on his board along the way, but he and Bernie were still in the finishing room. Bernie had one of the turned rods for his gate on the bench. Jason had a brush in his hand and concentration on his face. He looked alert, purposeful — manly. Wow, who would have thought it?

‘That’s it. That’s the ticket.’ Bernie watched every move. ‘Easy does it. Good. Good.’

Jason, in a clear, carrying voice said, ‘A golden colour would be better. Reckon this is too dark.’

‘Gold,’ said Bernie, rubbing his hands like he’d struck a vein of the stuff. ‘You could be right. We’ll mix up a batch of gold.’

I snuck away. It was lunchtime and I was hungry. I paid Lisette a visit and used my own money to buy pies all round, cunningly figuring that Jason might stay long enough to get hooked if he had a full
stomach.
The men normally brought their own lunches, but I’d not met too many blokes who couldn’t fit in a pie as well.

Back at the factory, I poked my head round the finishing-room door. Bernie was holding up a tin and explaining a recipe — for a particular shade of stain, apparently. I went in, and Jason’s face closed down.

‘Jason, would you mind telling Bernie there are pies for lunch?’ I turned away, but not before I’d clocked the hungry look in his eyes. At the door I said, as if it had just occurred to me, ‘Oh, there’s one for you if you want it.’

I got out of there. If Bernie thought he could turn the kid into a craftsman, then I didn’t want to screw the deal by getting in the way.

Jason trailed Bernie over to the tearoom, where I introduced him to the men. ‘This is Jason, everyone. He’s spending some time with Bernie to suss us out.’

Clint said, ‘Think you could work with us, Jason?’ He cocked a thumb in my direction. ‘Don’t worry about her. The old man’ll be back in a few weeks and this one will be back to school.’

Typical bloody Clint. But being a boy himself, it seemed he knew exactly what to say to a sulky streak of teenage male, because Jason treated him to a
man-to
-man grin.

Alton said, ‘We could do with some young blood around here.’

Clint caught my eye and gave a quick flick of his head. I got the message and stood up. ‘Sorry, guys, I’ll have to leave you to it. Thanks for coming, Jason.’ No pressure from me, not a hint that we needed him urgently, because I had the feeling the little toe-rag would do the complete opposite of what I wanted.