Three Days before the Fire
The routines were less depressing already. Fran’s goals were small, time was plentiful, her patient very lovable. She no longer missed people-packed streets, wearing shoes she couldn’t run in and staring at a screen all day in the job she’d accidentally had for many years. Most of all, she didn’t miss being with a man who didn’t love her enough, and who she didn’t love enough either. She was starting to wonder why she’d been so reluctant to leave it all behind.
It was only lunchtime, but it was already well over thirty-five degrees. The air-conditioning in her dad’s four-wheel drive didn’t have time to take effect by the time she reached The Captain’s. Camembert was leaking out of its bag onto the passenger seat. She rescued what she could, and knocked on the door.
There was no-one in the farmhouse. Fran walked round the side and along the track towards the old shearing shed. She’d never ventured into the heart of the Ryan farm. It was a mysterious wonderland that she knew nothing about. She loved it.
The nine-year-old twins were playing Jacks in the old dipping trenches.
‘Hey girdles, I have something for you.’ Fran had bought the cheese at Annie Gray’s farm shop. She sat beside the country ragamuffins, both dressed only in large T-shirts, which Fran realised probably belonged to their late mother. 125‘Now I know one of you is called Amy,’ she said, opening the greaseproof paper to reveal the beauties she had purchased – a huge slab of Roquefort and a very runny Camembert.
‘I’m Harriet,’ said the other one, whose T-shirt was pink.
Amy, closest to the cheese, and in a blue T-shirt, looked on with disgust as the Camembert oozed out onto the paper. ‘It smells like vomit.’
Excellent. Having given it some thought, Fran didn’t feel at all comfortable smuggling the girls food that wrecked the planet, considering their dad was trying so hard to save it. Also, she wanted the cheeses. She’d bought a nice Malbec and some peppery crackers to have with them. ‘If you think that one’s strong, you should taste the blue, it’s got mould in it,’ she said.
The girls looked depressed. ‘That’s disgusting!’
‘Yuk!’
Fran was about to wrap it up again when Harriet leaned over and dipped her finger in the dripping Camembert. Her shaky finger made its way to her mouth, the dollop entering tentatively, her eyes closing as she took in the texture and flavour of the cheese, then opening wide in anger and horror: ‘Has this existed all my life?’
Amy, realising the cheese was obviously good, plunged her finger into it and had a taste. Both of them were so overwhelmed they were on the verge of tears.
‘Quick,’ said Amy, looking round. ‘We need to get this out of here.’ And the girls raced off to hide the cheese.
Fran knew she looked keen coming here today. To hell with it, she was. 126
The old shearing shed was as rustic as the cheese. The Captain was out, according to his chef – a Syrian named Sami. He and Perla lived in the old shearing quarters and did most of the wedding graft.
‘No worries,’ said Fran. ‘Who you got today, then?’
Sami checked his tablet. ‘Mr and Mrs Jones from Benalla, renewing their vows after ten years, no difficult allergies, nothing to indicate they’re dicks.’
‘I give them a year,’ said Fran.
The space was already beautiful. There were hay bales at both ends of the open wooden shed. Candles in jars lined the inner rafters, the tables were made of old sleepers, and the chairs were all different shapes and sizes. There were potted flowers and herbs everywhere – Perla was arranging them on the tables at the other end of the shed. The guests would look out from their tables at horses grazing in the paddock yonder, and many other farm delights: chooks and puppies and goats and pigs and lambs and flowers and fruit and veg and tractors, and farmers. Fran would get married here in a heartbeat if she was the marrying type.
She found herself leaving as fast as she could. The Captain might get home and read her thoughts.
Dante arrived at seven with Nonna’s fusilli pomarola, a beetroot and red onion tarte Tatin, and a girlfriend called Tiffany whose neck was one sprawling, blue, floral tattoo.
‘So nice to meet you,’ said Tiffany.
‘Hi, Tiffany.’ Dante hadn’t mentioned the woman. Ever since Lucia broke his heart in Viareggio, he’d had a two-date rule. And Fran had never even met Lucia. 127
‘I love your name – Francesca,’ said Tiffany, ‘especially the-chesca part. Can I call you Chesca?’
She wanted to say no, not Chesca, certainly not to you. ‘Call me whatever you want,’ she said, wondering what she was supposed to talk to this Tiffany about and deciding on food: ‘You hungry?’ She’d forgotten to tell Dante that the two V’s were bringing Japanese takeaway for dinner.
An hour later, the table was crammed with an odd assortment of hot and cold foods, and an even odder assortment of people: disabled father, disgruntled daughter, ex-something-or-other, clever son and his stupid girlfriend.
She was finding it difficult to look at Vincent. When she did, her heart sank. He was on call at the housing association all weekend, so she’d see him off quick smart after the meal.
‘I have good news,’ said Dante, taking Tiffany’s heavily manicured hand.
‘Don’t waste good news on me,’ said Gramps, who’d been nodding on and off for half an hour.
‘Tiffany and I are officially boyfriend and girlfriend.’ He kissed her on the lips.
Everyone looked away.
‘That’s such good news,’ said Fran. Dante had obviously been watching too much Love House, or was stuck in the eighties, when boys passed notes to girls saying: Will you go with me?
‘To celebrate we’re heading to the beach for a few days. Wondering if we could take the four-wheel drive? My car’s in the garage.’
Obviously, Tiffany didn’t have a vehicle of her own. Or a purpose. ‘Sure,’ Fran said. She didn’t need a car. Gramps was still refusing to leave the house, and she preferred walking or running anyway. 128
Vonny had been texting since she arrived, the beep going off incessantly, no-one daring to ask her to mute it. Each time she read a message, a little smile appeared on her face that she probably thought was secret. It was making Fran angry. Her own mobile was in her pocket and her thigh had not vibrated once. ‘Can you at least turn off the beep?’ Fran said at last.
Vonny put her phone on silent. ‘Can I be excused?’
‘Sure,’ said Vincent.
They’d not finished the meal, and Vincent knew it was a family rule to stay until everyone was done. Fran was angry enough to almost look him in the eye.
‘Can I go to Rosie’s?’ said Vonny.
‘Sure,’ said Fran.
Vincent was mad now. He didn’t know this Rosie girl, or her family.
‘Ring and I’ll collect you,’ Fran said, excited that she might see The Captain tonight. A moment later, when her mobile vibrated in her pocket, she jumped in her chair with excitement. As hoped, it was The Captain:
Thanks for the cheese! Amy is doing the smelliest farts. DO NOT LIGHT A MATCH!
OMG sorry, she replied, my plan failed. Sitting here with Dante’s new gf. I am the mother-in-law!
Excellent, you can be a rude bitch. Mother-in-laws are allowed, it’s the perk.
Already coming naturally … 40 tomorrow.
I know. We’ll be at the pool at 12, staying all day. Bring some shade with you x
He’d put an x!
Will do, Fran typed, smiling to herself the way Vonny just had, then adding an x of her own. 129
When she finally looked up, she accidentally caught Vincent in the eye, but her mood was so high that he only made a dent in it.
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ she said.
Fran and Vincent’s bad moods never lasted more than an hour or so, during which time they tended to remain silent and avoid each other, which was what they were doing now.
‘We’ll never get enough time together to get over tiffs,’ she said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t be my best friend anymore. Constance won’t allow it.’
‘Sure she will.’
‘No she won’t. No woman would. I wouldn’t.’
‘You’re being daft.’ Vincent hugged her. ‘I love you. I’ll always be here for you.’
He left for Melbourne a minute later.
She waved Dante and Tiffany off in the four-wheel drive at 9.30 pm, then remembered she’d offered to collect Vonny. Bugger. She was about to text when she walked in the door with Rosie. ‘Do you mind if we have a sleepover tonight?’ Vonny asked.
‘Dad’s learning the flute,’ Rosie explained.
Fran watched as they headed to her old bedroom and closed the door. She wondered what the rules should be, and whether she should check with The Captain. She’d let Dante’s girlfriend sleep over at sixteen (after he promised to use protection). Decision made – intervening would be discriminatory. Anyway, they might just be friends. She 130hoped so, for selfish reasons. She was not keen on an incestuous Brady Bunch situation.