The caterers, musicians, flowers and celebrant had all been taken care of. While the new front garden was raw, the curves of the paths passed as sculptural, and the plant beds were sprouting colour. The pit for the spa pool was still ugly and unlined, but it was tucked away out of sight from the front balcony.
Around the back of the house, the orchard was shimmering with early summer growth. Rows of fruit trees radiated like the spokes of a bicycle wheel from the old apple tree in the centre. Towering over the others, the central apple tree had exploded into a canopy of green. The boys had decided to formalise their commitment in its shade, underneath the heart carved in the ancient trunk.
With the dismantling of the servants’ quarters complete, the Grey Army were concentrating on the more pressing task of putting up white banners along the driveway. They fluttered festively, drawing attention away from the fire-damaged parts of the property.
True to his word, Terence delivered a sheath of outfits, including shoes, for her to try on. They were all beautiful garments and most were surprisingly flattering. Lisa was about to settle for a modest grey suit when Terence persuaded her to try on what amounted to a full-length cobalt blue petticoat. The outer layer of silky fabric was an even brighter blue. On top of that was a free-flowing jacket that covered (hallelujah) the tops of her arms. The neckline wasn’t prudish, but high enough for her to feel comfortable bending over seated guests.
Terence coaxed her into a pair of high-heeled sandals. He smoothed the garment over her hips and asked her to turn around. Leaning into the mirror, she found the birthmark Scott had mentioned the night they were together. He was right. With a stretch of imagination it could be the reverse image of a map of Australia. The gown floated around her. She loved the colour.
‘Beautiful!’ he said.
The word awakened shudders of recognition through her animal body. She hadn’t heard it since that night at Scott’s place.
Scott showed up early each morning to work near the gate. With the aid of a ditch digger, his efforts to uncover a billabong seemed to be paying off. Jake said it looked more like a swamp. She was confident the end result would be fantastic. Scott’s plans included a waterfall, footbridge and water deep enough to spawn native fish. Since that night, there’d been no more talk about putting the garden on hold. Lisa still hadn’t heard from Vanessa, but she’d given up caring. She remembered what her father used to say to her with a philosophical smile . . . Something will turn up, Panda Bear.
Scott declined offers to have lunch with everyone inside. Instead, he’d shelter in the shade of a blackened gum tree away from the house. She’d take him trays of tea and sandwiches, but they both keened for something else. When he tried to kiss her one morning, she disentangled herself and glanced anxiously back at the house. She told him about Portia’s rule. Being caught kissing in front of other people would be almost as shocking as holding hands.
There was no hope Scott’s efforts were going to be anywhere near complete in time for the wedding, so Ted and the Grey Army brought in extra banners to camouflage the earthworks.
Subconsciously or otherwise, Jake tuned into the primal energies in the air. He bought a pair of shorts and took to rising early and jogging down the road on his weedy white legs. While Jake jogged, Belle, who was becoming increasingly petulant, disappeared on long walks, only to reappear furious and sunburnt, using her phone as a fly swat. Even with Kiwi hygienically ensconced on her new bird stand in the corner, she declined to appear in the kitchen for breakfast. Instead, Jake, with the humility of a toothless dog, would carry a tray laden with muesli and stevia-drenched coffee upstairs.
Belle seemed to be talking to the office most nights, and Lisa began to wonder whether she’d been born clutching her phone. At mealtimes, Belle would arrange the machine upright in front of her as if it was a pagan altar. Any attempts at polite conversation were invariably interrupted by its shrieking or the unnerving plunk of a new text message. Clearly some kind of crisis was going on back at work—Belle’s minions were calling her around the clock.
In the meantime, Lisa checked her emails daily, waiting to hear from Vanessa. At last, the day before the wedding, there it was. Lisa’s finger hovered over the mouse. If she deleted the message unopened then she’d never have to live with the humiliation. She drew a breath and clicked . . .
‘Hi Lisa, So sorry for the delay, but the ms for the “new War and Peace” came in and I had to drop everything to read it. I LOVE your new book! Congratulations. Marketing thinks it’ll go great guns. More soon, hugs, Vanessa xxx’
Lisa leant back in her chair and let the relief wash over her. The hours spent chained to her computer hadn’t been wasted. Going by Vanessa’s enthusiasm, she’d have the money to pay for the garden—to be honest, prospects of keeping the house remained unlikely.
That afternoon, James and Ted set up trestle tables in the orchard and put on a magnificent barbecue for friends and family. James’s parents, Bill and Sue, had arrived with generous quantities of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Bill’s bright blue eyes were set in a face that resembled a battered cliff. Sue’s dark hair was cropped short, and laughter lines radiated from her warm, hazel eyes. If they’d suffered any angst over their son’s new commitment it didn’t show.
Stella, Heidi and their friends arranged themselves around one table, while the older generation, including Maxine and Gordon, sat at another. Portia was in deep conversation with Zack. Lisa was thrilled to see her daughter not only pick up a piece of bread but actually allow it to pass her lips.
Jake appeared with a fractious Belle. When Lisa suggested it could be a good idea to switch the phone off for a while, Belle looked at her as if she’d swallowed a crazy pill, and once more set her phone up in a cradle in front of her, where it blinked malevolently.
‘I know you’re exhausted,’ Lisa said.
‘Tell me about it.’ Belle sighed loudly before swigging from a glass of sauvignon blanc. ‘I can’t wait to be married and get a decent rest having babies.’
Lisa stifled a chuckle. Across the table, Jake cowered like an animal trapped in a box for research purposes. Lisa felt a ripple of pity for him. Still, she could think of no better punishment for Jake than having to spend his later years pushing a stroller, preferably one designed for triplets, around Soho.
‘What’s this I hear?’ Portia said, appearing at her father’s elbow. ‘I’m going to have a little half-brother or sister?’
Jake dabbed his lips with a napkin. The attention of both tables was suddenly on him. ‘Well, not just yet . . .’ he mumbled.
‘What do you mean?’ Belle said in a tone dripping with icicles.
‘It’s just a little early . . .’ he said, staring up at the sky. ‘Strange there aren’t any stars out tonight. What’ll we do if it rains for the service tomorrow?’
Ted assured him there was a Plan B.
‘You think thirty-eight is early to become a mother?’
Somewhere across the valley a creature emitted a sorrowful whooping sound.
‘There’s no hurry,’ Jake said.
James’s dad Bill rose to his feet and raised his glass. ‘Um, I’d just like to take this opportunity to thank . . .’
‘Oh yeah!? So make that forty-five by the time I start IVF!’ Belle’s voice was ragged with rage.
Bill sat down again.
‘If you think it’s been easy for me pretending to feel comfortable here with your ex-wife and her weird animals and this . . . this . . . gay wedding . . .’ Belle was shaking.
‘You have a problem with it?’ Ted asked. His tone was cool and solemn, and Lisa wanted to run over and hug him.
‘Everyone knows God made marriage to be sacred between man and woman,’ Belle announced.
‘She’s religious?!’ Portia said, aghast.
‘Republican,’ Jake muttered.
Now Belle was crying angry, overwrought tears. Pushing back her chair, she spun on her heel and hurled her glass into the orchard, before running sobbing into the darkness.
Thank heavens, Lisa thought, she’d talked the boys into getting plastic glasses.
‘Oh no!’ Jake cried.
‘What’s the matter, Dad?’
‘She’s left her phone!’
‘Never mind,’ Portia said, dethroning the thing and switching it off.
Jake seemed momentarily torn. But when Ted put his arm around his father’s shoulder and escorted him to the young people’s table there was no argument. The gesture sparked a wider exchange of seats, making both tables intergenerational. Stella produced a guitar and called Heidi to her side. Tension dissolved as they sang ‘Till There Was You’ in soothing harmony. Cheers erupted when James presented New Zealand’s famous dessert—meringue topped with cream and kiwifruit—otherwise known as the pavlova.
‘Don’t you know we Aussies thought of that first?’ Ted joked.
‘Oh, don’t you start!’ James said. ‘Anything good that comes out of New Zealand always gets claimed by you Australians.’
‘That’s why I’m claiming you,’ Ted said, kissing James on the cheek.
A cheer went up over the orchard. It was echoed by another cry in the distance—not of happiness but abject misery.
Jake jumped to his feet. ‘Belle!’
Lisa went inside and found the torch Ted had given her. Jake strapped it to his head and strode around the side of the house, with Lisa and the rest of the dinner guests on his heels.
The night was moonless, profoundly black. ‘If we spread out we should find her,’ Jake said, clearly forgetting he was the only one with a torch. ‘Belle!’
His cry was answered by a cross between a roar and a moan.
‘Over there!’ he said, charging into the labyrinth of Scott’s paths in the front garden. They arrived at the edge of the empty spa pool pit. Jake directed his torch into the chasm.
Belle’s eyes shone wildly up at him. ‘Get me out of here!’ she yelled. ‘You did this on purpose!’
‘Did what?’ Jake said.
‘Humiliated me in front of everyone.’
‘Belle . . . I . . .’
‘Oh and by the way. I’ve got a message from the boss for you. You’re fired!’