The Patterson Girls (4 page)

Ignoring Madeleine's sarcasm, Lucinda walked off towards the door that led from the house into the back of the motel.

‘The Christmas tree isn't up yet,' Charlie told them.

Abigail frowned. ‘Shouldn't it be up by now?'

‘I'm not sure there are any rules,' Charlie said, suddenly wishing she hadn't said anything, ‘but Mum always put it up at the beginning of December. For some reason Dad hasn't. I'm not sure if it's because he doesn't want to, hasn't had the time or can't be bothered.'

‘We can't have Christmas without a tree. Where will we put the presents if we don't have a tree?' Abigail sounded outraged. She pushed back her chair and then slammed her glass on the table as she stood. ‘We should put it up.' With that she flounced out of the kitchen, leaving Charlie alone with Madeleine.

They both sighed at the same time.

‘It's going to be harder than I thought being here without Mum,' Madeleine said, giving Charlie a rare glimpse into what she was actually feeling. ‘Everywhere I look she's there. I remember her buying these glasses for my twenty-first party.' She held up the one in her hand and looked at it like it might contain the answers to a zillion world problems. ‘She said she'd give them to me when I got married.'

Charlie half-smiled, remembering that party like it was yesterday. She'd been almost fifteen and she and Mitch McDonald, her best friend, had snuck a bottle of Midori (one of Madeleine's birthday presents) and some lemonade out of the house. They'd taken it to the swings behind the motel and drunk way more than they should have. Or rather she had. Mitch, despite being a tall, lanky thing, had been able to hold his drink. He'd snuck her back inside, put her to bed and left her a glass of water on her bedside table for when she woke up. The last thing she remembered was him taking off her shoes, swinging her legs onto the mattress and stroking her hair back off her forehead. Although she hadn't been sick, she'd woken the next morning with a killer headache and had never touched the green poison since.

‘I remember.' Charlie took another slow sip of her wine. ‘Is there a wedding on the cards?'

Madeleine almost choked on her wine. She slapped her hand against her mouth and coughed, recovering eventually to say, ‘For that I'd need a man and hospital shift work is not exactly conducive to matchmaking. Most of the men I meet are married to my patients.'

‘What about a woman then?' Charlie asked.

‘I'll leave them to you,' Madeleine retorted, wriggling her eyebrows.

Charlie laughed. Her sisters would never let her live down the experimental kiss she'd had with one of the barmaids from the local pub on the night of
her
twenty-first. They didn't know she'd dated a couple of women since. Truth was it wasn't usually a person's gender that attracted her. It was deeper things like their sense of humour, their values—the way they looked at, and responded to, life.

Abigail waltzed back in before either of them could say anything further on the subject of men, women or relationships. ‘I found it.' She bounced on the spot, far too lively for someone who'd just flown halfway across the world. ‘I've put the box in the lounge room, but I can't find the decorations. Anyone know where Mum kept them?'

Madeleine shrugged and topped up her glass. ‘Dad might know.'

‘Maybe we should ask him if he's okay with all this before we put the tree up,' Charlie suggested, not wanting to put a dampener on Abigail's enthusiasm (which she guessed was her way of coping) but at the same time not wanting to upset Dad. The tree had always been Mum's thing.

‘I'll help you look.' Madeleine downed most of her wine and then put the glass on the table. She turned to Charlie. ‘I think putting the tree up will be good for Dad. For all of us. Mum loved Christmas. We need to do this for her.'

As usual Madeleine had the last word.

Charlie rubbed her lips together as Madeleine followed Abigail back out of the room and down the hallway to the storage cupboard. Her older sister's degree might not be in psychology, but she was a doctor, so maybe she knew more about dealing with grief than the rest of them. And at least they'd relaxed a bit around each other. The wine had helped, and maybe getting into the festive spirit would assist even more.

*

Lucinda pushed open the door that led from the house into the back hallway of the motel. As the door thumped shut behind her she walked forward, detouring via the reception, bar and restaurant area on her way to the kitchen. It was just after six o'clock and so she guessed Dad would be behind the bar, chatting with guests and locals as they ordered their pre-dinner drinks. There weren't a great many dinner options in Meadow Brook: the pub served counter meals and the service station greasy fast food, so the motel had always been the go-to venue for people wanting to sit down and be served. The menu wasn't flash—home-style cooking rather than five-star cuisine—but the portions were always generous and everything came with a smile. Many of the older guests chose a drink at the motel bar over having to walk down the main street after dark to drink alongside the farmhands, road workers and backpackers that frequented the pub.

But tonight, as she stepped into reception and glanced ahead to the bar and restaurant, Lucinda frowned. The smell of sizzling steak wafted towards her but only one table was occupied and one person stood, their back to her, at the bar. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

Smoothing her hands over her outfit, she rushed over, apologising to their customer as she lifted the hatch and ducked behind the bar. ‘I'm so sorry, can I get you a drink?' She looked into the man's eyes as she came to stand in front of him and gasped with recognition. ‘Mitch!'

‘Hello stranger.' The boy who had been Charlie's best friend all through school grinned back at her, his face tanned but his eyes as bright and mischievous as ever. He leaned over the bar and pulled her into a hug. ‘Heard you girls were back for Christmas. How are you?'

Lucinda smiled as she withdrew from his embrace to take a better look at him. She'd seen him briefly at Mum's funeral but there'd been so many people to talk to and barely time to say ‘hi' to any of them. ‘We're okay. They say the big occasions are the hardest—first Christmas, birthday, anniversaries—but at least we're all together, here for Dad.'

He nodded, his smile fading. ‘Yes. It'll be good for him to have you around.'

‘Speaking of families, how's yours?'

‘Dad's hanging in there.' Mitch stared down at the bar, clearly uncomfortable talking about his father. Charlie, or maybe Dad, had mentioned that Rick McDonald had recently gone into full-time care. ‘Macca's great, though. Did you hear that he and Kate have just had their fourth?'

‘Really? That's great?' Lucinda forced a smile, trying to sound enthusiastic, but then quickly changed the subject. ‘So what are you doing here?
Can
I get you a drink?'

‘Yes, I'll have a Coopers Pale Ale, please.'

Lucinda spun around and scoured the glass fridge behind her. She was thankful he hadn't asked her to pull a pint as she wasn't sure she remembered how. There was little call for bar tending in the classroom. ‘Um, I'm not sure we have one.'

‘Never mind, I'll have a Carlton Draught instead.'

‘Great.' She opened the fridge, pulled out the bottle, cracked the lid and then handed it to him. ‘Are you meeting someone for dinner?'

He took a sip and then shook his head. ‘Nah. Just came to see your old man. Been popping by every now and then, since … Well, you know.'

Lucinda swallowed. Yep, she knew. ‘That's lovely of you.' Mitch had always been a sweetie. If he hadn't been four years younger than her and a walking extension of her sister, maybe she'd have been interested in him as more than a brother figure. He might have been a little weedy and a little nerdy in a class clown sort of way back then, but he'd filled out in all the right places and grown into one very good looking guy.

‘Brian was always good to me, and after Annette died, knowing you girls weren't around. Well, I …' He shrugged.

‘Thanks so much.' She reached over the bar and squeezed his hand. ‘In your opinion, how's he coping with … with everything?'

Mitch took another long drag of his beer, sighed and then glanced back into the reception as if checking Dad wasn't in hearing distance. ‘I'll be honest with you, I'm a little worried.' He gestured to the fridge behind her. ‘I don't think he's keeping up with orders and Mrs Sampson'—one of the motel's long-time employees—‘confided in me that some bills aren't being paid and he doesn't always bother to answer the phone. Reservations are down, and you can see for yourself that things aren't as busy as they used to be. Maybe I'm speaking out of turn, but this place used to be crowded on a Friday night.'

At that moment, the chef, Rob, came through from the restaurant and put a pizza box on the bar in front of Mitch. ‘Enjoy,' he said and then tipped his head to Lucinda. ‘Hi Lucinda, welcome back.'

‘Thanks.' She smiled at Rob but was glad when he turned away again. He'd only been an employee for about a year and she didn't know him well enough to grill him, but she wanted to talk more to Mitch.

He opened the box and gestured to the Hawaiian pizza inside. ‘Want a slice?'

She shook her head. ‘Do you know where Dad is now?'

‘In the office I think.' Mitch took a bite of his pizza.

Lucinda hoped he was wrong about her dad not coping, but he wasn't the type to exaggerate.

‘Charlie back too?' Mitch asked, jolting her out of her thoughts.

She smiled inwardly at his fake-nonchalant tone. She'd always suspected he had a sweet spot for her sister and it looked like he still did. ‘Sure is. Why don't you head on inside and say hi? I'm sure she'd love to see you.'

His cheeks flushed and he slammed down the lid on the pizza. ‘Nah, maybe later. Give you all a chance to catch up. I guess now you're here I don't need to check on Brian anyway. You have a good night.' Then, leaving half his beer un-drunk, he picked up the box and all but fled from the motel.

Lucinda planted her elbows on the bar, cupping her head in her hands. If Mitch was right about Dad, that was just another worry to add to her list. She looked up again and glanced at the grey-haired couple in the restaurant. They seemed happy enough; at least Rob was looking after them. Then she looked at her watch. Should she try and give Joe a call, tell him she'd arrived safely and bid him goodnight? Or should she confront Dad to see if Mitch's worries carried any weight? Of course he'd be different now—he'd lost his wife. He was allowed to be sad, allowed to be a little more quiet than usual. They all needed time to heal. But what if it was something more serious?

Argh
! She wanted to scream or cry or throw something. Why did everything have to be so damn hard?

‘Hello love. I've been so excited about seeing you.'

Startled from her thoughts, Lucinda straightened and then turned to look at the motel's housekeeper, who'd just entered the bar area. A widow with two adult sons who now lived in Adelaide, Mrs Sampson had been a good friend of Mum's as well as an employee for about twenty years. Lucinda opened her arms and rushed over to give the older woman a hug. Mrs Sampson was a good cook and had a physique to match, so Lucinda's hands didn't meet around her back like they did whenever she'd hugged her mother, but the embrace was almost as comforting. She felt her eyes tearing up, but forced the waterworks down and pulled back to get a proper look at the woman whose warm, caring nature and bubbly personality had made her like a second mother to them.

The two of them held hands, looking each other over a moment. Where Mum had been a trim, lithe woman and almost six foot, there was more of Mrs Sampson to love. She still wore her greying hair in a thick plait and had often joked about being happy to grow old gracefully.

‘How are you?' Lucinda asked, finally letting go of the older woman's hands.

‘Feeling annoyed at myself. That's what I am. I popped home a few hours ago to feed the blasted cat, sat down on the couch for a quick cup of tea and then woke up fifteen minutes ago and realised I'd lost most of the afternoon.'

Lucinda smiled. ‘You must have needed the rest.'

‘What I needed,' tsked Mrs Sampson, ‘was to be here when my girls arrived home and to have had dinner and your favourite desserts on the table. I suppose you're all going to eat in the restaurant instead? Rob is a fabulous cook but I thought you might prefer to be in the house tonight, this being your first night back without …'

Her voice drifted off but Lucinda guessed what she'd been going to say. People didn't quite know how to bring her mother into the conversation without things getting awkward. Everyone was censoring themselves for fear of upsetting someone else.

‘Oh no, we wouldn't expect you to do that. I find cooking therapeutic, so I'm going to whip something up.' Lucinda gestured towards the motel kitchen. ‘I came to steal some ingredients from Rob.'

‘Well, I'll help you anyway. Can't wait to see the others.' Mrs Sampson started towards the kitchen, but Lucinda reached out to put her hand on her arm.

‘Can I ask you a question?'

‘Sure. Ask away.' Mrs Sampson smiled warmly.

‘It's … Dad.' Lucinda glanced towards the office and lowered her voice. ‘I'm worried about him. Mitch said he might not be coping so well. That things are falling by the wayside around here.'

‘Well, I won't lie. These past six months have been hard on all of us. Annette was the lifeblood of the motel and we're all struggling to work out how to continue without her, but of course, Brian the most. Don't you worry, I'm looking after him.'

‘But you look tired too. When was your last day off?' Something told her Mrs Sampson was putting in more hours than someone of her age should be. And if Mitch was right about Dad struggling with bills, was she even getting paid overtime?