“I suppose it could be something nice after a tough day, although it might not be …”
Nick threw her a grateful look. “Exactly! Thank you for understanding. If Libby was pregnant I wouldn’t be so worried, but she tends to drop her bundle around—”
His phone buzzed again. “Jesus!” He flicked it onto silent, slid it into a drawer and slammed it shut.
His stress hit Alice in the chest, ratcheting up her concern. “Nick, tell Libby how you’re feeling about this otherwise you’re going to make yourself sick.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right. Come on, Alice, think about it. Picture Libby’s reaction when I reject what she’ll consider Jess’s thoughtful gift?”
“She might surprise you.”
“And pigs might fly.”
Chapter Six
March
Hilary van den Berg popped her head around the classroom door. Karen’s long-time friend was now the chairperson at the University of the Third Age—or U3A as all the members called it. The moment Karen had retired, Hilary had roped her in as a volunteer tutor.
“Have you got a minute?”
Karen paused in clearing away the remnants of the wine and cheese her French conversation students had enjoyed. Recently, she’d been wondering if she should just give in and drop the word conversation from the course entirely and call it, “English Chat with French wine and cheese.”
“Bien sûr.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hilary plonked her behind on the table next to Karen. “How’s Alice? I can’t decide if that serve she gave the Chamber of Commerce in the Gazette about business putting tourism dollars ahead of the environment is a sign she’s feeling more positive about life or the reverse?”
Karen stifled a sigh. She’d already been accosted by Henry Liu about the same article. “We do have a problem with the amount of cheap plastic that’s sold in town and then dumped on the beach and in the lakes.”
“At least she’s channeling her disappointment and anger into something worthwhile.”
Karen huffed. “I’d be happier if she was back in Melbourne. I’m furious with Lawrence and the Cahills. It was Alice who took their dingy art catalog from a small affair to a beautiful glossy magazine. It was the first time in her life she was leading not following. Now, she’s lost her confidence and you know Alice …”
Hilary nodded, understanding written all over her face. “I know you still worry about her, but look how far she’s come since she was a little girl with a squint and a wobbly gait.”
“Those were the easy fixes.” Karen’s mind slid to the terrifying months when Alice was fourteen, withdrawn and refusing to go to school. A time Karen watched her like a hawk, constantly fearful Alice might hurt herself.
“You’ve had a tough time recently with both twins having their hearts broken in different ways. It puts my worries about Dan ever meeting a nice girl in perspective. But dear Lord, I deserve grandchildren. I don’t suppose we can match him up with Alice?”
“Unlikely. They’ve known each other since they were kids and Alice isn’t really Dan’s type,” Karen said diplomatically. She was very fond of Dan but he wasn’t right for Alice. He worked hard and played hard and charmed his way through life—usually with young willowy model types ten years his junior. “But Alice’s started dating again, so I’m trying to take that as a good sign instead of another reason not to return to her life in Melbourne. I just wish she’d get a job that uses her talents.”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Summerhouse just called and they’ve got some funding. They’re looking for someone to help a group of frail oldies—” Hilary consulted the note in her hand, “—‘Scrapbooking as a way of connecting to the past and fostering memory and wellbeing.’ Personally, I’d be worried they’d cut themselves with the Stanley knife! Anyway, it’s arty and I immediately thought of Alice.”
The jobs that matched Alice’s skills, and provided the opportunities for her to reach her potential and achieve the sense of wellbeing she needed, only existed in big cities. That’s why Alice had lived in Melbourne for a decade. That’s why Karen wanted her to return. The longer Alice delayed, the more confidence she’d lose, and unlike Libby, Alice didn’t have any reserves in that department.
Hilary was watching Karen expectantly. “Hil, it’s really kind of you to think of Alice, but as I explained, her talents lie a long way from scrapbooking and the bay. It’s really not her thing at all.”
After popping into the co-op to buy some flathead tails for dinner and grabbing some groceries, Karen carried her reusable cloth bags into the kitchen. “I’m home.”
“In here,” Alice called from the living room.
Karen found her younger daughter on her hands and knees surrounded by photographs of every size, from tiny black and white prints to large color ones. Karen and Peter’s wedding album, such as it was—a white and gold photo album from the discount store, which Karen had filled with photos taken by friends—was open on a picture of them standing on the steps of the old Royal Mint. She and Peter looked so young, yet Karen remembered feeling as if she’d already lived a lifetime by then.
Pragmatic, cash strapped and without any family of her own, Karen’s idea was for a low-key wedding. She’d planned to be married in the dress she’d bought for her job interview at a prestigious school for girls, but the day before the wedding, Peter’s mother, Dot had arrived unannounced at their apartment holding a large white box. Nestled inside sheets of pale blue tissue was a white, tea-length frock with a full skirt, a sweetheart neckline and a lace overlay.
