The Alphabet Sisters Page 13

  “It was great novelty value, too, having the three of them waitressing. Especially when you’d get them to sing at the end of the shift. I never saw anything like those tips in all my years in motels.”

  “It is years now, isn’t it? But you’ve never regretted going into the motel business with me, have you? Resented all that moving around?”

  “Of course I have. Bringing me up like a gypsy. My entire childhood spent in kitchens and bars, never knowing how long I’d call one place home.”

  Lola leaned back and smiled. She always enjoyed it when Jim teased her like this. “That’s right. And don’t forget you were chained to the sink since you were barely able to walk.”

  “Exactly. Rinsing glasses, washing pots and pans. Do you know I was the only boy in any of my schools who had dishpan hands?”

  “And don’t forget I always used to drag you out of those schools, just as you started to make friends.”

  “Not to mention ruining any chance I had of being a professional footy player. Remember that time we moved motels three weeks before the grand final?”

  “I’d forgotten that. Probably the best thing for you. You’d be a mass of broken bones and bruises if you’d gone on with the sport.”

  “The move after that was the best one we ever made, of course.”

  “Was it? Why?”

  Jim laughed. “It was where I met Geraldine.”

  “Of course.” Geraldine had been working in the kitchen of that next motel, training as a cook. When Lola and Jim had moved on again, two years later, Geraldine had come with them, as his wife, and already pregnant with Anna.

  Lola often wondered if Jim had ever noticed that she and Geraldine couldn’t bear each other. Oh, they were both polite on the surface—with all of them living in such close proximity, there had to be good manners. But it had still been difficult. In the early days, Lola had seriously considered moving to another motel, leaving Geraldine and Jim to their own devices. But then the girls had come along, and Lola had quite simply fallen in love with them. Since then she’d made a pact with herself to keep things fine between her and Geraldine. Jim was devoted to her, but Lola still couldn’t see why. She was too much of a cold fish, in Lola’s opinion. Buttoned-up. More interested in Jim and the motel than her daughters. It always hurt Lola to see the three girls trying to get Geraldine’s attention and usually failing. It had been another reason for her to shower them with attention. If she had needed any more reasons.

  Lola reached into her bag, took out a folder, and passed it to her son.

  “For me?”

  “For you. For you and Geraldine, in fact.”

  “What is it?”

  “Have a look and tell me what you see.”

  “Tickets.” He opened them. “First-class train tickets.” There were two sets, one for a two-night trip on the legendary Ghan from Adelaide through the desert center of Australia to Darwin. The other for the Indian Pacific, a four-day journey from Sydney across the Nullarbor Plain to Perth. In another folder were plane tickets for their connecting flights. He glanced through them, too. “All in the name of Jim and Geraldine Quinlan.”

  Lola loved these sorts of moments. “And now look at the dates.”

  “Departing from Adelaide next week? And not coming back for a month? Lola, we can’t take these.”

  “Of course you can. I insist.” She held up her hand to quell his protest. “I’ll run the place while you’re away. And don’t tell me I can’t because I was doing it long before you even had a notion. And I’ve got the girls to help me now, as you so rightly pointed out. I’ve been in touch with Geraldine’s stand-by cook, and she said she’d love the work. Carrie already knows this place backward. Bett is a terrific cleaner once she sets her mind to it. And so is Anna, as long as you give her ten pairs of gloves. Ellen could help, too. And all three of them are very good waitresses. I’ll take care of all the rosters myself.”

  “Have you asked the girls about this? No, don’t answer that one. And presumably you’re going to tell me that these tickets are nonrefundable and that if we don’t take them now and do as you say you’ll never talk to me again?”

  Lola nodded happily.

  “And you’ve got the rest of your argument all worked out, too, I suppose. That we haven’t had a holiday in years and this is the best chance to do it.”

  “That’s right.”

  Jim was grinning. “So I’d better go straight to Geraldine and tell her to start packing, is that it?”

  “In a nutshell. Come here, darling.” She reached up and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Jimmy. You always were such an obedient boy.”

  Chapter Eight

  In her room the next day, Bett stopped midway through unpacking the last items from her suitcase. She’d checked the bookings register, and it looked as if she’d have this room for the next few nights at least. That had always been the drawback of sleeping in the motel rooms, having to pack up quickly and do a hasty but thorough cleaning job when real guests turned up. As teenagers, the three of them had got it down to a fine art. Carrie held the record, having once moved all her belongings, remade the bed, and cleaned, polished, and vacuumed a room in the time it had taken the guests to walk from the reception desk to their car and drive around to the parking space in front of the room.

  When they were in their mid-teens, their father had presented each of them with a large box on wheels. The boxes were perfect for storing or transporting their clothes, pictures, vases, posters—all the things they liked to bring into the rooms to make them their own. Even better, they looked official enough when they were being wheeled in and out of rooms. Their boxes of tricks, he called them. Lola had called them their personality boxes, after seeing them lined up side by side one afternoon, when they’d hurriedly needed to move out of their rooms. Anna’s had been full of makeup samples, a small gold-framed mirror, a theater magazine, a book of tips on stagecraft, and a length of fake fur that she had taken to wearing dramatically wrapped around her shoulders. Bett’s box of tricks had held a smaller box crammed with music cassettes, a portable tape player, a bundle of imported pop magazines, sheet music for the piano, empty chip packets, and books. Carrie, animal mad at the time, had stored her two cloth mice toys, a book of horse tales, and three packets of plastic farmyard animals.

  Bett had to force the wardrobe door shut. There was only just enough room for the shirts, skirts, and dresses she had brought on the plane with her. The rest of her things were coming by ship. She’d slowly put together a whole new wardrobe over the past three years, having taken hardly any of her belongings when she’d left the Valley in such a hurry. She remembered ringing Lola from Melbourne a few weeks after the big fight and apologizing for leaving so much behind. “Mum told me you’d packed up all my things. Thanks, Lola. You’ve gone to so much trouble for me.”

  “No I haven’t.”

  “But she said you’d packed up all my things and stored them.”

  “I did. But I didn’t go to any trouble. I just flung everything into lots of boxes and taped them shut. You’ll have your work cut out whenever you decide to come back.”

  It had turned out to be a good thing, in a way. Being forced to start from scratch, on a very small budget, most of her clothes had been picked up at vintage shops and secondhand clothing stores around Dublin and London. The high-street shops had never been any good for her, stocked with clothes made for women with far smaller and more willowy bodies than she possessed. And vintage clothes had their own appeal, or so she’d convinced herself. She’d smiled at the irony. After years of protesting about being forced to wear vintage clothes as the Alphabet Sisters costumes, she’d voluntarily started going out and buying them for herself.

  A noise at the open door interrupted her thoughts. It hadn’t quite been a knock, more of a soft shuffle against the wood. She turned in time to see Ellen duck out of sight.

  “Hi, Ellie,” she called, in a bright, cheery voice.

  The
re was no reaction from Ellen. “Hi, Ellie. You can come in if you like,” Bett said again, in a more normal voice.

  The little girl came in, sidling against the cupboard.

  Bett smiled at her. “How are you?”

  “Good.” The voice was very soft.

  “Have you been helping Grandpa with the bottles?” She’d seen the two of them pushing the trolley that morning, her father giving Ellen little rides back and forth.

  A nod.

  “And did you have a good time at Lola’s party?”

  Another nod.

  Bett wasn’t sure what to talk to Ellen about. It had been years since she’d had anything to do with a child. And she didn’t really know Ellen anymore, did she? There was a big difference between a four-year-old and a seven-year-old girl. Especially one who had been through what Ellen had been through. Bett had a flash of how Lola used to talk to them—as if they were her co-conspirators, her equals. Could she talk to Ellen about her weight-loss and lack-of-boyfriend troubles? No, not much common ground there. They could talk about children’s TV programs, perhaps, except Bett hadn’t seen any in years.

  Ellen was fiddling with the bottle of sunscreen Bett had left on the cupboard. She was feeling just as shy, Bett realized. Oh, the sweet thing. “Come and sit here beside me, Ellie, and let’s have a chat.” She left her unpacking and sat down on the floor, patting the carpet beside her.

  Ellen hesitated. “On the floor?”

  Isn’t that what children did? Sit on floors? “That’s right. Would you rather a cushion? I didn’t realize you were from a royal family.” She bit her lip. Keep your sarcasm to yourself, Bett. She is a child.

  To her surprise, Ellen smiled. “If I was royal, it would have to be a velvet cushion, wouldn’t it?”

  “With tassels,” Bett agreed solemnly.

  “What’s a tassel?”

  “A sort of—um, a sort of ponytail of thread attached to the edge, like a decoration.”

  “Yes, I’d have tassels. And a waiter standing there with a silver tray and some drinks.”

  This was more like it. “And what sort of drinks would we have? You mean we, don’t you? You are planning on sharing?”

  “Perhaps.” The little smile again. “It would be chocolate milk for me and for you …”

  Bett waited.

  “Beer.”

  “Not champagne?”

  A shake of the head. “Beer.”

  Bett pulled a face. “And after we’ve had our drinks, what will we do?”

  “Play in the castle.”

  “On our own? Or have we got pets?” Oh, bloody hell. Now what had she done by bringing up animals?

  “No dogs. I’m scared of big dogs now.”

  I bet you are, Bett thought, glancing quickly at the scar again. She was surprised Ellen had even mentioned dogs. She couldn’t help herself blurting out a question. “Do you remember much about it, Ellen?”

  A little nod.

  Should she be asking this? “You must have been very brave, afterward. It must have been very scary.”

  The little girl wasn’t looking at her now. She was concentrating on her feet. She shrugged.

  “And you’re so much better now, aren’t you?” Bett said, feeling like a car hurriedly reversing out of a one-way street. Back to the game, quick. “So we won’t have a dog. Will we have a cat, then?”

  “No, a sheep. Like Bumper.”

  Good. They were back on track. “What a great idea.”

  A voice from outside interrupted them. “Bett? Are you there? Is Ellen with you? I need some help.”

  Bett had never been so glad to hear her mother’s voice calling. “Come on, sweetheart. It sounds like you’ve got potatoes to peel.”

  Geraldine appeared at the door. “There you are, Ellen. Come in and help taste some of tonight’s desserts, would you? I can’t tell if they’re ready.”

  Ellen skipped off cheerfully. Bett put away her empty suitcase and checked the time. Nearly three o’clock. She’d better hurry. Time for their first production meeting, as Lola was calling it. A get-out-of-this-if-we-can meeting, Bett was calling it. She peered into the kitchen as she went past. Geraldine was back at the stove, Jim at the table with Ellen on his knee, bowls of chocolate pudding in front of them. They were poring over a map of Australia and a pile of travel brochures.

  Bett had been taken aback at the news of her parents’ holiday. “Don’t take it personally now, Bett,” Lola had said to her that morning. “They’re not in a hurry to get away from you. It’s a practical decision. Your poor parents haven’t been away properly in years, and casual staff are so expensive. With the three of you home to lend a hand, this is the perfect opportunity for them to get away.”

  “But we’ve all just got here.”

  “And you’ll see plenty of them when they get back.” She had pulled Bett close, planted a big kiss on her forehead, then lowered her voice. “I’ve actually done it deliberately, so I can have you all to myself. You know I never liked sharing you girls with your parents.”

  Anna, Carrie, and Lola were already in the function room when she arrived. Anna was explaining to Lola that it might be better if she left them alone for a little while. “We want to talk about it on our own first, Lola. You know, in case—”

  “You hurt my feelings?” At Anna’s guilty nod, Lola laughed. “I’m eighty, darling. I’ve no feelings left to hurt. No, talk away among yourselves, and I’ll look forward to hearing what you’ve got to say.” She gave them a cheery wave, then moved through the front door, around the side of the motel to the back of the function room. She’d been in earlier and opened all the windows, knowing their voices would float out. She’d even taken a chair out there. Silly things, as if she was going to let them talk about her musical without her hearing.

  The sisters pulled their chairs around a table in the center of the room, the scripts and a plunger of coffee in front of them. Bett shot both of them a look. Anna was as sleekly turned out as ever—designer clothes, dramatic silver jewelery, all thin lines and sharp hair. Carrie looked as if she was on her way to film a shampoo ad, bouncy blonde hair and trim body, in hipster jeans and tight-fitting T-shirt. Bett tucked her unruly hair behind her ears, tugged at her waisted jeans and fortunately not tight-fitting T-shirt.

  “So,” Anna said, taking charge. The mood was tense. “Have you both read it?”

  Carrie and Bett nodded.

  “And what did you think?”

  Neither Bett nor Carrie spoke, both looking down at their scripts. Anna waited a moment. Still nothing. Then she leaned forward and spoke, her voice very low and very firm. “When I was at acting school, there were sometimes things I had to do that I didn’t like. Pretend to be a dog. Stand in a chorus line when I’d rather have been the lead. It happens at work still. I have to take on some jobs I’d rather not because that’s just the way it is. Sometimes you have to do things you would rather not, either to please other people or because they need to be done.”

  Bett tried not to react. She’d always hated it when Anna lectured them like this.

  Carrie felt like rolling her eyes. Who did Anna think she was? Their mother?

  “Now, I don’t know whether Lola spent ten years or ten minutes on this, but I think we owe it to her at least to talk properly about it. You both know as well as I do how good she was to us. Right now putting on a musical is the last thing I want to do, to be perfectly honest. But the way I see it is, the sooner we at least talk about it, and decide whether we do it or not, the sooner it’s over.”

  Bett stared at her script some more. The worst thing about Anna was that apart from being so bossy she was also so often completely and maddeningly right.

  “I’m not asking you to do it for me,” Anna continued. “I’m asking you to do it for Lola. It would make her very happy.”

  Carrie looked up then. “It’s easy for you to say. She’s been driving me and Mum bananas the past few months.”

  “She’s been driving Mum
bananas for more than thirty years, Carrie, and you know it. And as for you—just think of it as good practice for when you and Matthew have children. If you can handle Lola, you’ll be able to handle any naughty child.” She ignored Carrie’s intake of breath and poured herself some more coffee.

  Outside, Lola was weighing up whether to be hurt by anything she’d heard. After a moment’s reflection, she decided not to be. Nothing there she hadn’t known, anyway.

  Anna took a sip of coffee before tapping the script in a businesslike manner. “So then, shall we start again? What did you both think of it?”

  Recalling several of the scenes, Bett suddenly found herself trying not to laugh. “It was certainly different,” she offered. She noticed quick answering grins from Carrie and Anna, before their shutters came down again. Different—the word used in the Valley for anything a bit challenging or out of the ordinary, a polite way of saying appalling. “I like your dress, Anna. It’s different.” “You’ve had a new haircut, Bett. Gee, it’s different.”

  “Let me rephrase that,” Bett said. “I think it’s the maddest piece of musical theater I have ever read in my life.”

  Anna’s lip twitched. “I’d agree with that. Carrie?”

  Carrie still looked a little sulky. “If you ask me it’s like she took all her favorite pieces from all her favorite musicals, flung them into a blender with a few lines of dialogue, and this is what came out.”

  By the window, Lola smiled serenely. Good girl, Carrie. That was exactly what she had done.

  Bett turned to Anna. “Could you actually work out what was going on?”

  “I think so. It’s set in Terowie, at wartime, where the townspeople—”

  “Or the villagers, as she calls them,” Carrie interrupted.

  “The villagers get wind that General Douglas MacArthur is coming through on a train—”

  “Cue three verses of ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo,’ ” Bett recalled.

  “And a big row breaks out between two rivals in the local Country Women’s Association over who will organize the welcoming party at the railway station. Which develops into a full-scale row—amazingly like the fight scene from West Side Story. And of course the son of one rival and the daughter of the other are secretly in love.”