The Ripple Effect (8 page)

He pushed his chair back and stood up. Joelle did the same. Shay paid Annie at the counter, ignoring her curious eyes, and followed Joelle outside.

At The Garden of Earthly Delights, he held out his hand. “Thanks Joelle. It was nice of you.”

“Call in if you come to see your relatives again,” she said. She gripped his hand tightly and gazed at him.

He nodded, unable to speak. Suddenly he bent down and brushed his lips over her cheek.

“Goodbye,” he murmured and hurried away before he broke a promise he wished he’d never made.

When Joelle arrived at her parents’ party on Sunday both sides of the street were choked with cars. She squeezed her sunshine yellow Beetle up on to the nature strip outside old Mrs Wilberforce’s further along the road and walked back up to the house.

The right heel of her strappy, new, high heeled sandals sank into the heat-softened tarred surface. Mid March and still stiflingly hot. The sun blasted down from a cloudless sky.

Sailing and swimming off Spindrift would have been wonderful today. Joelle had a momentary pang of regret but really, the end result was worth missing a day on the ocean. Paul hadn’t called and when he inevitably did she’d be able to explain with great tact exactly how she felt. She’d had time to practise the perfectly worded phrases.

No, she had no regrets about what had happened, only the manner of its happening. Her biggest regret was in regard to Shay. She’d let him get away. One cup of coffee was enough for her to realise this could be the man of her dreams. He’d listened to her, understood her aspirations, opened up about his childhood, admitted loving his family quite unselfconsciously, gazed at her with those gorgeous eyes. He was perfect.

But he completely baffled her. He lived and worked in Sydney. He wasn’t coming back and he hadn’t suggested any kind of long distance courtship. Not even a ‘Can I call you?’ Her intuition must be way, way out of whack because she would have sworn he found her attractive when he first walked in to the shop.

And the way he’d kissed her so gently, almost a loving gesture.

Perhaps a doctor thought a florist decorative but not quite up to his intellectual level. Was Shay a snob? She didn’t think so but then, she had no idea what he was thinking. He hadn’t really told her anything much about himself beyond the adoption thing. She’d done all the talking. Joelle frowned and paused on the bottom step.

He’d asked lots of questions in a chatty way. He knew far more about her than she did about him.

The front door was on the latch. Dad’s favourite music filled the house with infectious Latin American rhythm—a samba. He insisted it forced people into the mood for celebrations and after years of hearing the pulsing rhythms and abandoned, joyous singing at every similar gathering, the family’s reaction to any Latin American music anywhere was automatic—party time.

Guests spilled from the front room down the hall and on into the kitchen. The back garden would have been taken over as well. A typical Paice affair. Joelle exchanged greetings with two neighbours chatting by the front door, both clutching cold stubbies of beer. She knew fewer and fewer of the guests at her parents’ parties as the years progressed and their lives diverged.

“Where’s Mum?” she asked.

“Last spotted in there,” one of the men said and pointed.

A girl in a waitress’s black skirt and white blouse came out of the living room and disappeared down the hall with a tray of empty glasses. They must have decided to splurge on a caterer this time.

Joelle hovered in the doorway. Her mother was surrounded by people Joelle didn’t know, grey-haired women with full glasses, loud voices and cackling laughs. She glanced up, saw Joelle and rushed towards her with arms wide and a delighted smile. Despite the enthusiastic welcome, her mother remained in elegant control, stylish. Her hair behaved perfectly, her dress never creased. She never, ever lost her chic.

“Darling. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Joelle was crushed in a most unexpectedly warm embrace. How much bubbly had they drunk already? She returned the hug and kissed her mother’s cheek, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Happy birthday, Mum,” she said.

Her mother took the proffered gift and unwrapped it carefully, casting little smiling glances at Joelle and murmuring, “how lovely,” and “thank you, darling.” Multi coloured silk swirled in her fingers and the hand printed scarf unfolded in a burst of colour.

“It’s gorgeous, Joelle. Thank you.” Another hug and a kiss. “Come and have a drink, darling. How have you been? We haven’t seen you for too long.”

“Only a week or so, Mum.” She followed her mother to the kitchen. Plastic wrapped plates and bowls of food covered every available flat surface. The waitress was restocking her tray with juice and wine. She smiled at Joelle and offered her a drink.

“Have some champagne instead, darling,” said her mother. The waitress picked up her tray and headed out the door to the back terrace.

“Thanks. Is Dad all right?”

“Absolutely. His latest results showed nothing to worry about; he’s outside wrestling with the barbecue even though I insisted the caterers could do it. You know what he’s like. Your Uncle Phil’s helping.” A little trilling laugh accompanied the information.

“I haven’t seen Phil and Marge for ages.”

“Gran’s here. She came down with Tom and Kelly from Newcastle and Callum and Susan are here too. Susan’s pregnant.”

“Really. First Paice grandchild. Takes the pressure of Bridget, Mel and me to produce one.”

“I’ve never pressured you to make me a grandmother,” said her mother. “I can wait, don’t you worry.”

She took an opened bottle of champagne from the fridge, filled a flute to the brim and handed it to Joelle.

“Bridget rang me this morning. She sounds happy but I miss her.”

“So do I. But apart from her, the whole family’s here,” said Joelle. “Cool.”

“Well, we thought we should make it a big one. You never know, do you, when things will change?” Her mother’s smile wavered slightly.

“No.”

The cancer had frightened them all. Terrified them, to be precise. No-one could envisage the family without William at the helm keeping his all-girl crew on course, safe and secure. Joelle still didn’t like to think about it, what might have been.

“Is Mel here?”

“Not yet. She’s coming though, she promised. I spoke to her yesterday.”

More guests arrived and crowded into the kitchen with cries of, “Happy birthday, Natalie.”

Joelle escaped with her champagne to the relative peace of the garden. It was too hot to sit in the sun. Most of the guests stood or sat in the shade of the large umbrellas on the terrace. Gran was ensconced on a cane garden chair in the shade of the large broad-leafed tree in the corner. Aunty Marge and Joelle’s cousin, Kelly, sat with her. The waitress was offering them drinks.

“Hello Joelle, dear,” said Gran. “You just get prettier and prettier.”

Joelle kissed the soft, powdered cheek, then her Aunty Marge’s tanned leathery one. They both had the same beaky nose and angular build as her father. Somehow she’d missed out on that Paice feature. Bridget had it. Mel had it in a modified fashion but Kelly had ducked it as well. She resembled her father, Phil, with plumply rounded arms and soft comfortable body.

“Mum said Susan’s pregnant,” said Joelle. “How is she?” She glanced around the garden but couldn’t see her cousin Callum and his tall, willowy wife.

“She’s sick every morning,” said Kelly. “Must be horrible. Puts me right off having babies.”

“I was sick in the mornings with you,” said Aunty Marge, “And the evenings with Callum.”

“Does it follow in families, I wonder?” asked Joelle. “That’s something to look forward to, Kel. I remember Mum was sick a lot with Melanie. I was only small but I still have memories of her lying down a lot and a blue plastic bucket by the bed.”

“Yes, she had a difficult pregnancy,” said Gran. “We were all terribly worried. I carried babies very easily. Not a day’s illness with Margie or William. So did my mother, she popped all four of us out like piglets. I think it may run in families.”

“I wish I was more like your side of the family Gran, but everyone says I look more like Mum than Dad.”

“Anyone like another drink? I’ll find that girl.” Marge leapt to her feet and strode across the lawn to the house despite the fact everyone’s glasses had just recently been replenished. Joelle watched her abrupt departure with surprise.

“Was it something I said?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and laughing.

“Probably a hot flash. She’s at that age,” said Gran. “Tell me what you’ve been reading lately, Kelly, I need some new romance authors to look for at the library.”

Joelle stopped listening. Champagne on a lazy afternoon in the heat—sleep inducing. She lolled in her chair and closed her eyes. What would Susan’s baby look like? Sometimes they skipped a few generations. Mel was the image of Gran in photos of her at the same age, apart from the clothes and hairstyles. The Paice beaky nose was a prominent feature.

Joelle imagined she resembled her mother’s family but the few surviving photos she’d studied of Natalie’s late parents weren’t very helpful. Single child Natalie didn’t resemble them much either. The French Connection as her Dad put it had, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist. Even he hadn’t met them. They’d died in a car accident soon after Mum arrived in Australia as an adventurous young French girl on summer holiday.

She’d immediately returned home to Lille, of course, but the lure of clear, sunny skies and a young man name William Paice had proven too strong. Joelle, Bridget and Melanie knew the events by heart. Letters, phone calls, photos, more letters, more phone calls, a long distance proposal and acceptance.

“Une affaire de coeur,” said her mother.

“Love at first sight,” said her father. “If she hadn’t come back I would’ve gone straight over there and got her.”

The girls loved to hear the story, so romantic, passionate and wonderful.

Aunty Marge returned with her own tray of cold drinks. Joelle nabbed a glass of chilled punch and roused herself to say hello to her Dad and Uncle Phil at the barbecue.

“Hello, love,” said Phil. “Long time no see.”

“Hi Uncle.” Joelle hugged her father. “How are you two doing?” she asked eyeing the raw sausages and steaks piled on a tray.

“Not quite up to speed yet,” said her father, swatting at a marauding fly with his tongs. “But it’s all under control if you’ve been sent out to spy by your mother.”

“No, I’ve only just walked in the door. Anyway I’ve been talking to Gran and Marge and Kelly.” Joelle laughed. “Whose idea was catering?”

“Mine. I didn’t want your Mum working on her birthday.”

“Will had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed to do the meat after last time apparently. What happened exactly?” Phil asked with an exaggeratedly innocent expression on his face.

“Never you mind,” said her father as Joelle opened her mouth to explain how twenty guests had eaten charcoaled meat in the middle of the night. “Accidents can happen. It was a new barbecue and I hadn’t learnt all its little foibles.”

“How are things in The Garden of Earthly Delights?” asked Uncle Phil. He rolled the name off his tongue with relish. It never ceased to amuse him.

“Really busy. We had a big wedding yesterday. I was exhausted last night. We had to get up early to finish everything. The bride was extra fussy but it went well.”

“Is that where you were yesterday?” interrupted her father. “Your Mum was worried when you weren’t home all day. She kept getting ‘leave a message’ when she rang and your mobile was off.”

“Yes. I had heaps of messages from her. What was that about? Why was she so desperate to remind me to come today? Did she think I’d forget her birthday?”

“No, she…you know what she’s like…she wanted the whole family here.”

“It’s nice,” put in Uncle Phil. “We don’t get together often enough.”

“No, I’m glad you all made the effort. Especially Kelly and Tom bringing Mum down with them.”

“I hear you’re to be a grandfather, Uncle. That’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it? For once I’ve beaten this character to the punch.” Uncle Phil flung an arm around his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

“I’m not even in the race,” said Joelle. “Sorry, Dad, and I doubt whether Mel is either. Bridget could be your best hope.”

“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” her father said.

An elderly man approached across the grass. “Will, I’ve been sent to tell you it’s time to start cooking,” he said.

“Thanks, Gordon.”

“Too bloody hot out here.” Gordon saluted and wandered away towards the house.

Joelle watched her father toss the meat onto the sizzling hot plate. Almost immediately, a mouth-watering aroma drifted around the garden, taking her back to countless other Sunday barbecues with or without hordes of guests. Sometimes he’d cooked for just the four of them, sometimes two or three friends dropped in or one of the girls had a group stay overnight.

How could they function without Dad in his ‘Famous Chef’ apron given to him by Mel, his surprising and uncharacteristic passion for Latin American music, his enthusiasm for trying different recipes on his hotplate, his love for his girls?

She slipped an arm around his waist and deposited a kiss on his cheek.

He turned his head, surprised, tongs raised in one hand. “What’s that for?”

“That’s for being the best Dad ever,” she said.

He squeezed her with his free arm and returned the kiss. “You’ve made a pretty good job of being a daughter.”

“Here’s the other one. Melanie,” said Uncle Phil. “Hello there.”

“Hi Uncle.” Melanie gave him a quick hug. “Hi Dad, hi Jo.”

“Hello, love.”

Joelle studied her sister. She’d added another stud to the collection in her ears and her hair had changed colour again. Deep burgundy with orangey tips cut in a shaggy style. Hairdressing was her current focus. She had on a black singlet top barely reaching the waistband of her short wine coloured skirt, thong style sandals, ankle bracelet and her toes sported two silver rings. A stubbie of beer swung from one hand.