‘What have you done to your hair? It looks awful,’ said Moira but Rachel knew it did not look awful, so she ignored the insult. For so long she had thought everything Moira said was true. But she was coming to realise she was nothing of what Moira said and so much more of what Joe and Tassie and Clara saw in her.
‘Clara says I could sue you,’ stated Rachel, trying to remember everything Clara had coached her on, and in what order.
The real estate agent had told Moira what Clara said and in three days Moira had called the shop relentlessly until Rachel agreed to go and see her.
Clara had offered to but Rachel knew Moira only wanted her so they discussed the approach.
‘You owe her nothing,’ said Clara. ‘Do not respond to insults or her manipulation. She’s only saying it to try and get you to get upset and cave to her demands.’
But Rachel was worried. No one was as good at manipulation as Moira Brown, and no one could survive one of her emotional attacks. Rachel prayed for neither but wasn’t holding out hope.
‘Sit down and tell me about the shop,’ said Moira, changing tack.
Rachel sat on one of the visitors’ chairs and remembered Clara’s words. ‘Tell her nothing. Everything is the same as usual.’
Rachel cleared her throat. ‘It’s fine. Same as always.’
Moira looked at her closely. ‘But that’s not true surely?’
Rachel tried to think what Clara had advised if Moira doubted her but she realised they hadn’t covered this part.
‘It’s true,’ said Rachel but her voice sounded uncertain to her.
‘Have you put the prices up?’ asked Moira. Rachel could feel her eyes searching her face.
‘No,’ she said, happy to have told the truth.
‘So nothing has changed but you’re making four times as much? How is that possible?’ asked Moira.
Rachel was silent, trying to think, wishing she had brought Clara, who was outside in the car waiting.
Moira leaned forward and dug her long nails into Rachel’s bare leg. ‘Why are you lying to me? I see the bank deposits. You didn’t think about that, did you? What have you done to my shop?’
‘It’s my shop,’ said Rachel in a small voice.
Moira’s nails went deeper. ‘No, it’s my shop. I bought it. I raised you. I fed you and clothed you. I gave you a job because you couldn’t do anything else. You owe me everything. I could have given you to the orphanage. You’re a sad, retarded girl whose own father didn’t want to be around her so he hanged himself for me to find.’
Her words pierced Rachel’s heart like Moira’s thumbnail was piercing her skin on her thigh but she thought of Joe and Clara and Alice and the shop. She thought of Tassie and Pansy and the lady who wrote to her saying she wanted to write a story about Rachel’s baking skills, and she thought about her father.
‘Get your hand off me,’ she hissed so fiercely that Moira did. Then she leaned forward. ‘You are a sad, ugly woman who my father hated so much he would rather die than spend another day with you. I read his will. Did you know he left a copy at the probate office?’
Moira’s face went even paler than it already was.
‘He left the money to me and his sister and somehow, you managed to not let my aunt know and you took me and the money and turned me into your slave.’
Rachel paused, trying to gather the right words. She had never been one to give speeches. Since her father had died, she had been told to be quiet, that she was stupid, that she was useless and hopeless.
Clara and Tassie showed her this wasn’t true. Her own skills in the kitchen proved Moira wrong but there was something else and she grasped the tiny acorn in her pocket that Tassie had told her to carry for strength and luck.
‘I don’t know how you have been able to live with yourself this entire time, Moira, so how you move forward in life is your decision, but my decision is I do not want you anywhere near me and my shop. I will pay you half of what the building is worth, so you can have some money to get started and that’s my final offer.’
‘I won’t accept,’ said Moira haughtily.
Rachel leaned forward and whispered in Moira’s ear. ‘You don’t have a choice, Moira. Otherwise I will go from here to the police and have you charged with abuse and fraud, so can you tell me if you will accept the deal now?’
She stared at Moira, waiting for the reply even though she knew the answer. Eventually Moira nodded and turned her face away from Rachel.
Rachel walked out of the building into the bright sunshine and to Clara’s car.
Gumboot jumped up at the window when she came to the side and Clara grabbed him so Rachel could open the door.
‘How did it go?’ asked Clara as Rachel sat in the seat and stared ahead.
‘She didn’t sign the papers to hand over the deed of the building.’
‘What a bitch, give them to me, I’ll get her to sign.’ Clara went to pull them from Rachel’s hands.
‘No,’ she snapped and held on to them.
‘Rachel, you can’t let her win. We talked about this at the pub. You agreed she needs to do the right thing.’
But Rachel shook her head. ‘I am not letting her win. I’m letting her go. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating her. I don’t hate her; I feel nothing towards her. I will sell the tearooms and give her the money, and keep the bakery. It will be enough to live on.’
‘But your dream for the tearoom,’ cried Clara.
Rachel thought about spending the future fighting Moira over her fraudulent claim to
