The Bay Page 7

  Holly instinctively felt it hadn’t been easy for the woman who had lived in this house. That made her determined she wasn’t going to let the woman down and see her home become dilapidated or unloved. It was a place to be enjoyed, a place to be at peace, a place linked to the sea.

  She finished her tea and lay back on the pillows and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of being on a boat, huddled below deck as the wind whipped at straining sails; the low mournful sound from the rigging was like the shriek of a creature in distress.

  When she woke the morning was still, sunny and clear. Holly felt refreshed and headed to the beach with Curly for an early swim, which was becoming part of her new routine. She’d never been a morning person, loathed getting out of bed to see the children off to school, and Andrew always joked that he hid behind his newspaper until Holly had drunk her second cup of coffee. Yet here her eyes snapped open, she was alert and ready for the day. Maybe it was sleeping alone, maybe it was not having curtains so the sunrise wakened her early and gently.

  After her swim Holly pushed the pace of her climb up from the beach to give herself a workout. Her heart rate was well up and her breath a little strained when she reached the top and eased down, but self-congratulation was spoiled by the sound of the builder’s truck arriving . . . late again. This was the second week of renovation work, and they were taking advantage of sunny dry days to restore the stone walls and tiled pathways in the garden. Andrew had hired the builder soon after he and Holly had made a list of all the obvious things that needed to be done in the first stage of bringing new life back to the old house.

  ‘Mick, just call me Mick, missus,’ the burly builder with an impressive beer gut had said when Andrew introduced him.

  Her attempt to establish some personal involvement in the work was dismissed with as much subtlety as he could muster. ‘No sweat, missus. Have a chat any time you like, but there’s no need to hang about every day. The blokes get a bit put off by that sort of thing, ya know. We got Andrew’s mobile. Can always give ’im a bell if there’s a problem.’

  ‘But I want to be here, and involved,’ Holly repeated as firmly as she dared. She didn’t like the secret men’s business smile that swiftly passed between her husband and this builder from Central Casting – navy singlet, stubby shorts, work boots and football socks.

  And how right her instincts had been. Mick had left his two offsiders, Kirk the Scot and Dick the dill, as she privately called the rather slow-moving, silent Queensland boy, to get on with the ‘rough stuff’. Straight away Holly disagreed with what they were doing, but she might as well have spoken to a brick wall. They paused, they listened with exaggerated patience, they shrugged, and then continued what they were doing. Now as Holly entered the courtyard she noticed that many of the old Italian ceramic paving tiles had been smashed. Politely she asked Kirk what had happened.

  ‘Mick told us to clear the area.’ Kirk’s accent was thick and stubborn.

  ‘Maybe, but that doesn’t mean cutting down that beautiful frangipani tree, or breaking the tiles.’

  ‘Tree’s dead. Tiles are old and lots missing.’ He looked at her as if she was the village idiot.

  ‘That tree is not dead, they look like that until they bloom, and those are expensive tiles. I intend to re-use what I can. Please remove them without breaking them.’

  ‘We take our orders from Mick.’

  ‘And I’m telling you, and Mick, I want to keep as much of the old stuff as possible.’ Holly suddenly caught sight of a smashed stone figure of a lichen-covered cherub. ‘What the hell! How did that happen?’ She rushed to the broken statue.

  ‘That’s what happens when a hammer hits stone. It was cemented there, had to go,’ said Dick.

  Holly was furious – not just at the senseless destruction but at their almost mocking attitude towards her. ‘Don’t you touch another thing until I speak to Mick.’

  ‘Suits us.’ Kirk began rolling a cigarette, Dick opened his lunchbox and Thermos flask.

  Holly was unable to reach Mick on his mobile for fifteen minutes. She watched the two men stretch out, take off their hats and bask in the sun. When she eventually got hold of him at another building site, Mick was irritated at the interruption. ‘Those blokes know what they’re doing. It’s not up to you to tell them what to do, missus. Your husband gave me very detailed plans.’

  ‘Those plans did not include smashing everything in sight. I’m renovating, not knocking it all down to start again. I want you to come over here, your workmen won’t listen to me.’ She hoped her voice didn’t wobble. While she was angry, she was also feeling intimidated by these oafish men.

  ‘That’s because they’re under orders from me, and I take orders from Andrew. Sorry, missus, but that’s how it is.’

  If Andrew had been on hand she would have let him deal with the crisis, but he was in Sydney. She recalled how he had expressed concern at the idea of her getting involved with ‘the complicated heavy building stuff’ and that made her angrier. ‘Leave it all to Mick and his team, darling. Amuse yourself with planning the interior detail that will pretty things up,’ was how he’d put it. At the time she had let the arrangement with Mick pass without challenge because the excitement of the occasion was intoxicating. Now in a more emotionally sober situation, his ambivalence about her role in the project – which had been her idea – seemed monstrous, and the attitude of the workers preposterous. She took a deep breath, turned her back on the men, who immediately exchanged knowing grins, and walked to the verandah and looked out to sea, struggling to calm her rising temper and organise her thoughts.

  In the distance she saw a large freighter and suddenly thought again of the woman who’d lived in this house, a woman who must have been on her own for many months while her menfolk were away at sea. She probably had to deal with all manner of problems. No phones, no one close by and no one to make decisions for her.

  All the time Mick had been prattling on in reassuring, almost condescending tones on the phone about trusting him to do the right thing, that he would give Andrew a call, and yes he would tell the workmen to be more sensitive about the ‘bits and pieces’ in the garden. He even suggested that she take a drive into the country since it was ‘such a beaut day for getting to know more about the district’.

  She glanced back at the two workmen idly passing the time that she was paying for. Suddenly she remembered Mick’s surname. ‘Well, Mister Langdon,’ she interrupted firmly and loudly, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that my husband takes his orders from me on this job. I am terminating your involvement. I’ll tell your men to leave immediately.’

  ‘You can’t do that, lady,’ said Mick, ‘I have a contract.’

  Holly hesitated, Andrew had told her he’d hired them on a month to month arrangement. ‘I’ll pay out the month as agreed.’

  ‘I have an agreement with your old man for six months work. I can sue, you know.’

  ‘So sue me. I’m saving myself money by getting these oafs off my property. They’re doing more damage than good.’

  ‘That’s not a smart move, lady. You won’t get any other tradesmen to work there,’ Mick growled.

  ‘I hope you’re not threatening me, Mr Langdon. I’ll manage, thank you very much.’ There was a click at the other end of the line and Holly started to shake. What had she done? How could she do that? Had she really said those things to that man? A small sense of elation stilled her shaky legs and she headed to Kirk and Dick with a determined stride.

  ‘I’ve just fired your boss. You are free to leave any time in the next few minutes.’

  ‘What for? Why’d you do that? Mick said your old man was the boss.’ Kirk was aggressively defensive.

  Dick looked worried. ‘Not because of us. We haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Well, what you have done isn’t what I want. Good morning, gentlemen.’

  She went to the kitchen and made a strong black coffee then sat on the steps savouring the caffeine kick as the two men loade
d up their truck.

  Her husband was on the phone an hour later. ‘Holly, what the hell is going on? I’ve just been pulled out of a meeting by your builder saying he’s suing. What have you done?’

  ‘I’m sorry Mick felt he had to bother you, Andrew. I wasn’t happy with the standard of their work, or the fact that they wouldn’t listen to me. So I let them go. You said you had a month by month agreement, didn’t you?’

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ There was a short silence. ‘Fortunately I did only agree to a month by month deal. You’ll have to pay them out, and then what are you going to do? They could spread the word around their mates not to touch your place.’ Andrew sounded exasperated.

  Holly worked hard to keep her voice calm and pleasant. ‘I’ll deal with it, sweetheart, no worries. How’s everything down there? Haven’t talked to you for two days.’

  ‘Busy. The big project in Thailand looks like coming off. I might be away . . . so you won’t be able to reach me at the drop of a hat with any little problem that comes up.’

  ‘I didn’t insist you run out of your meeting,’ she reminded him sweetly. ‘I’m handling things. I’ll call you tonight.’

  ‘I’ll be late, dinner with the Thai bankers. Gotta run. Let me call you. Bye.’

  She looked at the phone feeling suddenly alone. Brave words had fallen so easily from her lips. What the devil was she going to do now? She could feel the shakes returning. She made another cup of coffee, stronger than the earlier one.

  Holly was washing up her breakfast plate and cup when an old utility rolled down the driveway with Lynn and Stolle in the front. As they turned to park she was amazed to see all the furniture from Richmond House.

  ‘Got hold of a friend’s ute so figured we’d bring your stuff around, seeing you couldn’t carry it the other day,’ Stolle said, making no reference to money.

  ‘Oh, that’s kind of you. I’m afraid it will have to go into storage in the shed, I’ve started all the renovations . . . well, I had until about an hour ago. What a day. What a night. How did you fare in the storm?’

  They both stared at her. ‘Storm? What storm?’

  Holly laughed, then stopped. ‘You mean you didn’t get the rain and wind? It was crazy.’ She looked around the garden and slowly it dawned on her – how tidy everything looked. No mess, no broken branches or fronds that one would expect to have blown down; it all looked very dry. She shivered and glanced up at the white railing around the widow’s walk.

  ‘It was a massive storm . . . pelting rain, and the wind . . .’

  Lynn and Stolle exchanged a look. ‘Ah, sometimes it rains on one side of town and not on the other. The hill attracts the rain clouds . . .’ They changed the subject. ‘So how’s the building, or rebuilding?’

  Holly was glad of the distraction. There was no point in telling them about the dreamlike events of the previous night. And her immediate problem was pressing.

  ‘My husband hired a builder who started two weeks ago and was hardly ever here and his two sidekicks were a disaster . . . I fired them.’ She gave a pleased smile. ‘Shocked them, and my husband, and me!’

  They all laughed.

  ‘So what are you going to do? Got a lead on a good team?’ asked Stolle.

  ‘No idea. They gave me dire warnings I’d never get anyone to work up here. I guess I’m blacklisted.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Lynn said, grinning.

  ‘Means you’re a thinking person of integrity with standards above the grunge level,’ added Stolle.

  ‘Well, thanks . . . I guess. But that doesn’t help me, does it?’

  ‘No worries. We know just the person for you. Let’s get this stuff unloaded, give us a cuppa and I’ll make a phone call,’ Stolle said.

  Lynn glanced at him as he began untying ropes looped over the furniture. ‘Mitchell?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Holly set up a small table and chairs on the verandah and poured the tea. ‘Sorry, I only have English breakfast. I’ll get a selection of herb teas in.’ Stolle had asked for green tea, Lynn for peppermint.

  ‘Cleansing, good for the digestive system.’ Stolle reached for a shortbread biscuit. ‘Haven’t had one of these for a long time. Loaded with fat, but what the hell, eh?’

  ‘So tell me about this Mitchell.’

  ‘Nice guy. Very creative, clever with his hands, good with people. Has a great bunch who work with him. There is one problem . . . well, we don’t see it as a problem, but your husband might.’

  ‘I’m running this show, not my husband,’ said Holly with some bravado. ‘So what’s the problem? He does sound too good to be true.’

  ‘No piece of paper. Got the okay up here from the bureaucrats and local clients, but he’s not, you know, official,’ Stolle said.

  Holly looked at Lynn who explained, ‘Not qualified. Never went to college, no degree in engineering, building whatever. Self-taught, just a natural gift.’

  Holly looked worried. ‘I’m not sure the wink-wink, nod-nod approach sits too comfortably with me, Stolle. There are building regulations, council inspections, all that sort of stuff.’

  ‘Ah yeah, but don’t let it get you down, Holly. You’ve spent too long in the city where everything needs a bit of paper – degrees, certificates, approvals – and there are enough rules and regs to confuse Confucius.’ Stolle grinned, rather pleased with his reference to the Chinese sage. ‘Nah, Mitchell knows what’s what when it comes to wood and tools. Born with talent, I reckon. Just went into the wrong career. He became a craftsman extraordinaire once he left his desk.’

  Lynn nodded. ‘Trust us, Holly, he’ll do the right thing.’

  Stolle ran his eye over the house and scanned the garden. ‘Most of what you want done around here is repair stuff, doesn’t need mucking about with council. He’ll get the right blokes to make sure water doesn’t come out of the light fittings and you don’t get a jolt every time you turn on a tap.’

  Lynn gave him a sharp elbow jab in the ribs. ‘Okay, funny man, stop trying to be the new millennium Paul Hogan.’

  Stolle doubled up in mock agony. ‘Ouch! I’ll sue, I’ll sue!’

  Holly laughed. ‘It seems to be a day for legals. That’s the second threat of suing I’ve heard today. Must be the moon phase.’

  ‘Talking about the moon, it’s full moon tomorrow night,’ said Lynn. ‘There’s a big women’s thing happening, Goddess Night. You must come.’

  ‘Not sure that it’s really me,’ said Holly, a little embarrassed. ‘I’ve never been a group person. Hardly got past girl guides and parents and citizens.’

  ‘Fair enough, but it’s not in the same league. You’ll love the sense of community, and you’ll make a lot of new friends. Every celebration is a bit different. Depends on who’s the energy behind it this year. Come on.’

  Holly hesitated, a Goddess Night sounded far too radical. ‘Where is it going to be held? Down at the beach?’

  ‘No. In a little church hall just out of town. Right by an avocado plantation. I’ll give you more details later.’

  ‘A church hall!’ exclaimed Holly in surprise. But she had already made up her mind to go along. Even though her experience of The Bay was limited, she figured that it was useless trying to cling to what was regarded as the norm by city standards. The Goddess Night wasn’t going to be anything like a View Club dinner, that was for sure.

  The full moon rose over the sea, fat, cheesy yellow, postcard perfect with the lighthouse silhouetted against it. Holly wondered what on earth one wore to a Goddess Night, and finally opted for white cotton slacks, a loose blue shirt and sandals. Lynn, no surprise, looked goddess-like in a floaty caftan with several rainbow-hued scarves, feathers in her hair and a rope of silver wound up her arm.

  ‘I’ve got a plate of date slices, some cheese and fruit,’ said Holly.

  ‘Great. The food is always delish at this thing. Now just go with the flow, girl, don’t worry about it.’

  Holly deci
ded to drive in case she wanted to leave early. Lynn had said she could always get a ride home with any number of friends.

  They parked the Forester in a grassy patch under huge Moreton Bay fig trees which formed a leafy arch over the dirt road. Groups of women were already clustered outside the cream-coloured, wooden church hall.

  All ages of women were represented, from grannies – hippy to matronly – to young mothers with babies. Some women looked like schoolteachers, others were the characters Holly had seen in the markets, body pierced, coloured hair in dreadlocks threaded with beads and feathers. Their babies were often identically dressed in hand-painted clothes. Most of the crowd was wearing elaborate and fanciful gear and looked happy, expectant, and non-threatening. Holly saw Amber, the young woman who made the cosmetics, and she recognised some other women from seeing them around in shops and on the beach and the streets.

  Lynn rushed over to a woman handing out leaflets at the steps of the hall and they hugged each other warmly, but Holly hung back.