That One Summer (The Summer Series), Page 5

  I followed Mum into her office – or rather workshop, really. Inside housed shelf after shelf of handcrafted, unique pieces of Nina Maskala pottery. It was unique all right – no two ashtrays were the same. And there were lots and lots of ashtrays. It seemed that Mum had moved on from such humble ashtray beginnings and since branched out into vases, fruit bowls and …

  Oh my God, what was that?

  My mum followed my eye line.

  “Do you like it?” She beamed, picking up her piece with pride.

  I swallowed deeply. Whatever it was, it was hideous. “W-what is it?”

  “It’s my new thing I’m working on; it’s a flower.”

  That’s a flower?

  “What do you think?”

  Oh, dear Lord. How did I tell my mum that her flower looked like a vagina?

  “I’m going to make a whole bouquet of them!”

  A bouquet of vaginas.

  “I thought I could make up baskets and bouquets and donate them to the local nursing home.”

  “What does Dad think of them?” I eyed the flower sceptically.

  “Oh, I gave up showing him my work ages ago; he would only ever grunt a reply.”

  “Well, I definitely think you should seek his approval.”

  “Yes.” She tilted her head and admired her handiwork. “They are rather beautiful.”

  Mum placed the flower back onto the mantel and turned to me, her eyes meeting mine, and for the first time today I felt like I had her full attention.

  “Go!” she exclaimed, raising her brows. “Honey, you need to take a break. Make the most of your break from uni and just go have fun with your friends.”

  It wasn’t that simple. Of course, I didn’t explain the sole reason for not wanting to go.

  Yeah, perhaps I would be a third wheel.

  Sure, I didn’t fancy being confronted by the endless array of questions from Amy, the ones I knew I couldn’t avoid forever.

  The last thing I wanted was to go into the embarrassing details. With Chris at the bakery until Ellie and Tess showed up, I’d missed my chance to find out which Onslow Boy had said what about me, so my brilliant plan? I had ended lunch early with the ‘I’ve got a headache’ excuse so I wouldn’t get grilled by Amy. Yep! I used the old ‘I have a headache’ excuse, a new low. Mind you, since I was holding an ice pack to my face it was extra believable.

  But I couldn’t tell my mum any of those reasons.

  Aside from my own personal anxieties about going on the trip, any excuse would seem lame; they all sure sounded lame to me.

  As if on cue, I was startled by my mobile buzzing and vibrating in my pocket. The screen flashed Amy. Biting my lip and staring at the screen, I winced as I was about to do something I had never done before, especially to Amy.

  I pushed the mute button, silencing the phone.

  It was official, I was a shitty friend. No, even worse.

  I was a coward.

  My mum’s shoulders sagged as she read the look on my face.

  “You’re really not going, are you?” Mum said with a sigh.

  I shook my head, cementing the decision and pocketing my phone again. I would tell Amy tonight, once I had psyched myself up a bit, worked out what to say. So that was it: I was not going. I’d made up my mind. I waited for the onset of relief to flood me, but instead I couldn’t help but wonder. If this was what I really wanted then why did I feel so miserable?

  Chapter Eleven

  Okay, so I didn’t expect that.

  I hung up the phone, feeling quite mystified with the conversation that had just gone down. I had psyched myself up in order to have the ‘I’m not going’ speech ready for Amy. I had even thought of multiple comebacks and reasonings in my defence. I had taken in a deep breath, sat down on my bed and prepared myself for what was to come, so when Amy had said, “Okay,” I had fallen into surprised silence.

  Okay?

  And it wasn’t even a short, sharp okay, or a ‘pfft whatever’ okay. It was a chirpy, upbeat ‘no worries, maybe next time’ okay. I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “If you change your mind, we leave at lunchtime tomorrow. I better go, I have a million things to do. If I don’t see you tomorrow then I’ll just see you next year. Next millennium!” Amy laughed before hanging up the phone.

  Not only had I not expected that in a million years, I was not prepared for how utterly shit it made me feel. I straightened my spine. Yep, I had made the right decision. It really was no big loss. I wasn’t going and Amy was obviously happy and preoccupied by the big trip anyway. It would be a good chance for her to get away and spend some time with Sean; she wouldn’t want to spend the trip babysitting me anyway.

  It seemed I had seriously over-thought my own importance to the expedition.

  Good. What a relief; I was officially off the hook, good news indeed. I eyed the handwritten notes I had made in point form, all the reasons for not going, the list I had apparently not needed anyway. I flipped over the paper, my lips pinching into a smile as I recalled how yesterday, before leaving early from my ‘headache’, Tess had handed out stapled A4 sheets of an itinerary she had worked on. Apparently she had quizzed Toby on the details and customised it into a schedule that we could all follow. She had even gone so far as to make a list of travel essentials and recommendations. Tess was truly adorable, if not a little neurotic. A rather endearing fact, really, and I could totally relate. Aside from the long-forgotten foundation tube in my bathroom drawer, my little flat was organised on an OCD level of standards. It kind of had to be – my life didn’t allow for anything less. Aside from my part-time job as a personal trainer I was studying full-time for my Bachelor in biomedicine. I needed to be organised, especially since I had a new social agenda that meant every spare minute was spent with Amy and the Onslow gang. Well, had been with. Now it seemed I would have a couple of days all to myself, more time to …

  Well, to work on scrapbooking my trip to China like I had always wanted to, to re-categorise my CD collection, rework a new fitness track for the new clients that would inevitably start up a fitness regime in the New Year. It was always a busy time for personal trainers, the start of a new year. New Year’s weight-loss resolutions ruled. But until then, I could even go down to the Onlsow for a quiet drink if I wanted to, knowing that Chris wouldn’t be there to serve and stare daggers at me. Yep! I had so many projects I could take care of – repainting the laundry, cleaning out my wardrobe … Lots to do.

  I paused for a moment. New Year’s Eve … Oh God, I had visions – visions of me sitting wedged in between my parents on their sofa, watching Mum’s favourite movie, The King and I, for the millionth time. A coldness swept over me – so many hours to fill over the next few days.

  No, Tammy! Positive, positive, positive!

  ***

  I sat bolt upright in bed, clutching at my heart, breathing heavily. I was twisted in my sheets, a light sheen of perspiration across my skin. My eyes blinked at the whirring of the ceiling fan as I gathered my bearings.

  Oh, thank God, it was just a dream.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, burrowing my head in my hands. Just a dream, I repeated over and over. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

  I had dreamed that Mum had roped me in to making bouquets of clay vaginas over the holidays. Hundreds and hundreds of them – they filled Mum’s woman cave to the ceiling, vaginas towering over, threatening to topple and bury me forever. Actually it wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare, and potentially my fate for the next week if I didn’t escape Onslow.

  It was ten a.m., a massive sleep-in by my standards. No doubt I was mentally exhausted from the day before, if not suffering a mild concussion from being kneed in the face. After having fallen asleep reading Tess’s itinerary over and over, I had awoken with a new attitude. Scrapbooking and painting the laundryroom was not a positive way to enter the new millennium.

  Peeling the sheets back, I dived out of bed and grabbed my phone on the w
ay to the bathroom. I rang Amy’s mobile but it went straight to message bank.

  “Hey, Amy, it’s me. I changed my mind. I’m coming; I’m definitely coming, so wait for me, okay? See you soon.”

  I ended the call, smiling at my new-found feeling of excitement. This was going to be great – a road trip! A better chance to hang out with fun people and escape Onslow. What had I been so afraid of? Ellie was right – the thought of staying in Onslow was horrific; I would sooner be a third wheel.

  If nothing else, the journey would prove to be a spectacular one. The boys had planned to take the route up the Queen’s Highway, through the ranges and along the remote coast. Apparently it was one of the most picturesque highways in Australia, or so it said on the itinerary.

  Shoving clothes and my make-up bag into my green Esprit beach bag, I was grateful now that it was a lunchtime start; I was going to need every spare minute and still I felt like I wasn’t ready.

  I ticked off the list methodically:

  Sunscreen

  Lip balm

  Leave in conditioner

  I laughed, wondering if the Onslow Boys’ list read the same.

  Any personal medication needed

  Oh crap! My migraine tablets, way to go, Tess! Pedantic people were often picked on, but you could never accuse them of being unprepared. Highly organised people would always have the last laugh. I circled the sentence as a reminder to grab them before ticking off other key items.

  My pen hovered on the sheet.

  Sleeping bag? Bugger!

  Chapter Twelve

  My mum was officially a saint.

  After a mini-freakout and blind panic over all the things I didn’t have from the list, I had rung Mum, jabbering away like a lunatic as I watched the clock count down before my eyes. I had tried Amy again but she was obviously busy sorting out her own list. I left another frantic message.

  “Wait for me, I am coming!”

  Mum, sensing the urgency, arrived in record time. She carried two armfuls of goods from the Land Rover as I shut and locked the door behind me.

  “Leave them, Mum, there’s no time! I’m going to be late.”

  Mum let the contents of her arms spill back onto the back seat. “I guess that means you need a lift?” Mum curved her brow in good humour.

  I pecked Mum on the cheek. “Would you?”

  Mum shook her head. “Hop in.”

  The wheels screeched as we turned the corner crazy fast. It wasn’t because of the time limitations – Mum always drove like that. You always knew when Mum was nearly home; you could hear her turning up our street and roaring into the driveway.

  Dad always shook his head. “She is going to go straight through that bloody garage one day,” he’d say.

  It was our own personal joke.

  Accompanying Mum’s horrendous driving was Mum’s horrendous music. Barry Manilow blared out of the speakers. Any time we stopped at the traffic lights, I would slink down in my seat and pray no one noticed me, although Mum did draw attention our way, slapping the steering wheel and singing at the top of her lungs:

  “At the Copa, Copacabana

  Music and passion were always the fashion

  At the Copa ... they fell in love!”

  Ugh, seriously, take me away from this place.

  The light took a painfully long time to turn green, but when it did Mum slammed her foot onto the accelerator as she bore through town like Steve McQueen on the streets of San Francisco. She flew up Coronary Hill and made a large sweep into the drive. I instinctively turned down the music.

  “Thanks, Mum. You’re a lifesaver.” I hopped out of the car, working to open the back door to retrieve my things. I had never been so happy for Dad’s garage sale obsession – everything I needed to complete my list had been found in the garage.

  “Did you want to have a look and check if what I grabbed is all right?” Mum called from her seat.

  I slammed the passenger door, shouldering my cargo and dragging the big duffle bag from Mum along the stone drive.

  “No, it’s okay; it will be fine. Thanks heaps.”

  Mum smiled. “I knew you would change your mind, I read it all over your face yesterday.”

  What? Surely not. Yesterday I had been displaying my most resilient ‘I am so not going’ look. And I’d meant it, too.

  “Don’t look so puzzled, Tam, I can read you like a book. Go have fun with your friends and stop stressing for once.”

  “I don’t stress.” I lifted my chin.

  Mum shook her head, as if not believing a single word. Not that I could blame her, I didn’t believe them myself.

  Mum started up the engine. “Behave yourself, especially with those Onslow Boys in tow.” Mum winked.

  “Mum!” I looked around in horror.

  “I mean it, Tammy – condoms were the one thing I couldn’t find in the garage.”

  “Oh my God! I’m going!” I blanched, juggling my baggage and wanting to get far away from my mother’s awkward jokes. Not that they were entirely jokes.

  “I’ll see you next year,” she called, before pulling into gear and circling out of the drive, Barry Manilow’s ‘Mandy’ following her down the hill.

  I waved, watching the dust settle in the drive. Could she be any more mortifying? Luckily no one had come outside to witness it.

  I continued to drag the duffle bag Mum had packed with travelling essentials toward the hotel verandah. Bloody hell, what had she packed, a freaking toaster and kettle? This thing weighed a ton. All of a sudden I wished I could take a moment to examine the contents of the bag; with Mum in control, God only knows what else she’d thrown in there. Her openness and honesty seriously creeped me out sometimes. You would never catch Amy’s mum talking like that. Not in a million years. And as if conjuring her into existence, I heard Claire Henderson’s voice.

  “Hello, Tamara.” She always called me that. “I hope you had a nice Christmas.”

  Claire Henderson sat comfortably in a white Adirondack chair on the verandah of the Onslow Hotel, wearing white capri pants and halter, her thick, ash blonde hair in a high ponytail, her eyes shaded by Chanel sunglasses, her perfectly manicured hand holding an iced tumbler with clear liquid. No doubt her infamous lunchtime G and T.

  “Hello, Mrs Henderson,” I groaned. Backing up toward the hotel, pulling my bag up the steps …

  Thump-thump-thump.

  Clearly out of breath by the time I got to the verandah, it was of no surprise that Claire Henderson hadn’t budged from her shady recline; Claire Henderson didn’t do ‘help’.

  She lifted her sunnies to spy my bags as I let them fall by my feet.

  “And what have you got there?” she asked.

  I fought to catch my breath, placing my hands on my hips. “Camping gear,” I managed to breathe out, stretching my aching back.

  Claire’s confused blue eyes snapped up. “Camping gear?” she asked.

  “For the road trip,” I said.

  If Claire Henderson didn’t have a face full of Botox, she would have probably been frowning at me right then, but seeing as she was unable to do that, I had to take the blank stare instead. Maybe Amy hadn’t told her about it. It had happened kind of quickly, I suppose.

  “The New Year’s road trip,” I repeated.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know how to tell you this.” Claire Henderson sat up straight.

  “Tell me what?” I asked.

  “Sweetie, they’ve already gone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  This morning?

  “But I’m sure the itinerary said twelve …” I fumbled the papers out of my pocket, my eyes ticking side to side until I found it clear as day: ‘Meet at the Onslow at twelve.’

  “See?” I all but shoved the paper into Claire’s face.

  “Yes, well, apparently the boys wanted an earlier start; I would have thought Amy might have mentioned it.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to go, but then I left her a message this morning lett
ing her know I was coming.”

  “And she never got back to you?”

  I shook my head, folding up the itinerary and tucking it back into my pocket.

  Claire sighed. “She was running around like a headless chicken this morning, squawking orders at everyone. The new time threw everyone off, maybe she forgot to check her messages?” Claire said soothingly.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, although we both knew when it came to Amy and her new beloved Nokia phone, she was rarely parted from it and checking it every five minutes. There was no way she would have not received my several messages.

  A pit formed in my stomach. Maybe Amy hadn’t wanted me to go? Maybe she was punishing me; after all, I was the one that had ignored her phone calls. She might have been mad at me for not telling her what really happened at the Bake House. I would have left me behind too.

  I looked over my pile of camping gear.

  Well, this was awkward.

  “Oh, leave that there, Tamara. Come inside and I’ll get you a drink.”

  I sidestepped away from my gear, not really wanting a drink. Instead, I just wanted to call up Mum and get her to take me away from here. I could lock myself away, scrapbook and paint my laundry like I had originally planned. I swallowed down the tears that threatened to bubble to the service. My best friend didn’t want me around.

  I followed Claire as she pushed against the main door. Eric Henderson was perched at the bar, talking to Max, one of the barmen, who was restocking the fridge.

  Both sets of eyes turned expectantly toward Claire and me, confusion dawning across Eric’s face the same way it had with Claire.

  “Don’t ask,” Claire said; maybe I looked more upset than I realised.

  Eric held up both hands as if silently stating, ‘I’m not saying a word.’

  “Max, can you please get Tamara a drink – anything she wants, our shout.” Claire squeezed me reassuringly on the shoulder before motioning me to sit at the bar. Even though they weren’t the owners anymore, not much had changed; they were still living in their apartment upstairs until they found a place to buy. Sean had made it perfectly clear that there was no rush. They spent most of their time living in their town house in the city anyway, except for occasions like now when they agreed to hold the fort for what would be Sean and Chris’s last chance to get away before they officially took over. My heart sank; they would be well and truly winding their way through the picturesque scenery of the Perry Ranges by now, all laughing and joking, full of excitement. I didn’t want a drink; I just wanted to call for a ride home.