Chanel Sweethearts (5 page)

Nick stuck his head in through the open rickety front door; its glossy green paint was chipped and scratched. Each mark represented a moment in the diverse inhabitants' lives; the time the kids had scratched their names into the door, the indignant hoof scrapes from a hungry goat sniffing out a tofu feast; and the thousand bangs and scuffs of everyday family life that were preserved in the veneer.

‘Hello!' Nick called down the hall, surprised to find Rainbow and Songbird's house so quiet. It was strangely peaceful, considering that Songbird had been quite specific that she and Rainbow had wanted to show him something amazing they were working on.

Eugene's haughty face peered around the living-room door as if to indicate his displeasure at being interrupted.

‘Where's the gang, old boy?' Nick enquired. Eugene simply rolled back his lips and flashed his yellowed teeth.

Happy squeals and whoops from the backyard caught Nick's attention, so he bid the alpaca a polite farewell and headed round the back.

Rainbow and Songbird's dilapidated house sat on an acre-and-a-half of scrubby land at the edge of Stumpy Gully. The building was perched almost on the front boundary, which gave the family plenty of room for a backyard-cum-paddock at the rear. Rainbow's much-loved vegie garden filled the front yard, while the alpacas – Eugene, Digger and Ralphie – had free reign over the backyard – though they were much more partial to Rainbow and Songbird's futon.

Nick could see the two women at the back fence, squealing and hugging each other. Rainbow was jumping from foot to foot with excitement. The children were on the other side of the property on mountain bikes, flying off the jumps that made up their makeshift bike track.

He meandered down the paddock, familiar with the rough terrain that he'd helped the girls to fence last winter. The soil was poor, a weak grey colour, and hard as concrete after a decade-long drought. The clumps of dry grass were pale and lifeless. He had to be careful he didn't trip negotiating the uneven rocks.

‘What's the hooting and hollering all about, ladies?' he called. ‘You discovered oil or something?'

‘Yes!' Rainbow bellowed back. ‘But black oil!'

Songbird shook her head and muttered something to her.

‘Oh, I mean black gold!' Rainbow giggled.

As he reached them Nick saw the girls were standing next to an area of soil the size and shape of a backyard swimming pool. The soil was mixed with straw and to Nick's surprise appeared to be steaming. ‘What's this?' he asked. ‘A new compost heap?'

‘Not quite, mate,' Songbird said. ‘Rainbow and I are on to something huge here; it's a bit bigger than rotting vegies, that's for sure.'

Rainbow hugged her in delight as she went on.

‘But we can't do it on our own. We need help, and you're our man,' she gave Nick an ironic wink.

‘Ooh, I do feel honoured,' Nick teased. ‘But what is it exactly?'

‘Terra preta,' Songbird boomed proudly. ‘It's fucking brilliant!' She couldn't resist the triumphant grin that creased her leathery face.

‘We're going to save the planet!' Rainbow squealed and embraced Songbird rapturously again.

‘Settle, petal,' Songbird said, shaking her off like a naughty puppy. ‘Take a breath or you'll hyperventilate.'

‘This?' Nick said looking at the rectangle of dirt and straw. ‘This is going to save the planet? How? And what's terra preta?'

‘El Dorado!' Rainbow beamed and said, ‘This is El Dorado.'

‘She been smoking?' Nick asked Songbird.

Songbird chuckled. ‘Come on; we'll pour you a wine and explain it all.'

The trio headed towards the house as Songbird explained. ‘Apparently the ancient Amazonian Indians had shit soil,' she began. ‘So they made good, fertile soil by making bio-char. They made a hole like we did–'

‘How deep's the hole?'

‘Couple of metres ... then they filled it with compost, timber scraps, fish guts, shit, animal carcasses, anything and everything organic. Then they set fire to it, right? Covered it with straw and soil and left it to burn.'

‘Like a luau pit? Cooking a pig over a few days?'

‘Exactly!' Rainbow said, excitedly applauding Nick's quick grasp of the subject.

Songbird continued. ‘Then, after weeks of this process, the soil attracts bacteria, which grows, as well as worms, bugs and other creatures that filter it through their systems. It turns into this most way-out, rich black stuff you cannot believe. And fertile, man – you could grow a politician a conscience in this stuff!'

‘So you're making really good compost; that's great – but what's so new about that?' Nick asked.

‘But there's more, there's more, there's more, this is where we save the plaaaaa-net, tra la la la,' Rainbow sang as she skipped around them.

Songbird ignored her mate's antics and went on. ‘Instead of the slash-and-burn method that we use today, which completely roots the environment and sends greenhouse gasses hurtling towards the ozone layer, the slash-and-char method not only keeps the carbon in the ground but – and get this – sucks it out of the atmosphere!'

‘You can't be serious?' Nick said. ‘I thought only trees could do that.'

‘No, dude, it's true. It's because it's slow-burning organic material in an oxygen-deprived environment under massive heat and pressure.'

Nick looked at her and shook his head. ‘Jesus, Songbird, you sound like a textbook; you must have been seriously reading up on this.'

She nodded soberly.

‘That's amazing. It could be really, really important,' Nick said, trying to digest the information.

‘And just now we checked the pit for the first time since we set it alight last week. It's been burning slowly underground for all that time, which means...'

Rainbow interrupted with a delighted screech, ‘Which means it's working! Yahoozalee!'

‘Which means it's working,' Songbird repeated, giving Rainbow a fond look.

They sat at a table on the back courtyard while Rainbow grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses from indoors.

‘So basically, Nick,' Rainbow trilled as she filled the mismatched glasses, ‘what we have here is a system that can increase plant growth, improve soil structure, reduce soil acidity, lower evil greenhouse gas emissions, reduce the need for poisonous fertilisers, reduce nutrient leaching and fully improve soil water retention; all while cooking up delicious, healthy microorganisms and fungi – AND sucking carbon back!'

The pretty blonde hippie hardly stopped for breath as she went on. ‘These soils not only contain higher concentrations of nutrients such as nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium and calcium, but also greater amounts of stable soil organic matter.' Rainbow finished her spiel with a dainty pirouette and then dropped to a deep curtsey.

Nick was gobsmacked at Rainbow's scientific explanation. He turned, wide-eyed, to Songbird.

‘Yeah,' she nodded, ‘I still get surprised even though I've known her thirty years.'

‘Oooh, pretty – look!' Rainbow cried and skipped off in pursuit of a passing butterfly.

Jess grasped the dust cloth tightly between her fingers and marched down the hall to fling open a door that had been closed for months. Inside, the red-white-and-blue quilt she'd made three years earlier lay crisp and neat across the base of the single bed.

A gingham teddy perched cheekily on the pillow. One glass eye was crooked and it made him look disappointed, as if he'd been hoping for a different visitor.

Only a few toys remained; mostly vintage things her brother had grown up with. The shelf above the small white desk showcased things nautical: a sailboat, a miniature life-preserver, an antique boat in a bottle.

Dr Suess's
Hop on Pop
lay on the white wicker armchair in the corner. She knew the book word-for-word after reading it over and over in the four years she'd been a stepmother. The boys had called Richard ‘Pop'. He missed them too.

She shook the memories from her head, bustled in and dusted the bookshelves, the desktop, the headboard and windowsills, refusing to linger over the photos on the pin board.

It was probably time to clean the rooms out altogether and turn them into guestrooms, but she couldn't face it yet. Maybe they'd come back one day; even just for the night, and they'd think she'd forgotten them. No, she'd leave the rooms set up for now. Just in case.

The phone rang, jolting her back to reality. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed it on the fourth ring.

‘Hello? Oh hi, Caro.'

Jess had hoped for a pleasant diversion from her sad thoughts, but knew from experience that a phone call from Caro was hard work.

She clicked the phone on to speaker, and pulled out the long duster to attack the plantation shutters in the kitchen – no point in wasting a perfectly good cleaning urge.

‘Hi, Jess, can you hear me?' Caro's voice crackled from the base.

‘Yep, how are you?' Jess said, climbing the stepladder to start above the sink.

‘Fine. You?'

‘Yeah, great. How are the kids?'

‘Hamish is brilliant, as always, brought home a sterling project mark today. Charlotte's a little minx. Has her father around her little finger at the moment.'

‘Good on her,' Jess grinned. She liked Charlotte's forthright manner. ‘Angus well?' Jess hadn't seen her brother for ages. He was always flat-chat at work. She reached up higher to get a recalcitrant spider and its elaborate home. God, those webs spring up overnight, she thought.

‘How would I know? I haven't seen him in months. He eats and sleeps here, but that's about it. He's at the office or in court or interstate constantly. And of course I'm running around after him, doing all the little SMS lists he sends me. Pick up this, organise that. It's just a nightmare. The kids are miserable.'

‘Charlotte still has time to wind him round her finger though?'

‘Well, yes, they do see him occasionally. He still drops them at school on Wednesdays. And I only just found out that all year he's been going in and helping with their readers and music lessons. I didn't even know!'

Jess stepped down a level to address the dust on the windowsills. ‘How lovely. What a good dad.'

‘Yes, wouldn't it be nice if he could find the same sort of time for his wife? I couldn't tell you the last time we did something together.'

Jess shook her head in silent frustration. She happened to know Angus and Caro went out just a few nights before. Her sister-in-law used exaggeration like salt, to spice up any conversation.

‘So, how
was
last Thursday night?' she asked and turned around to perch on the kitchen bench in order to reach the window ledges.

‘What? Oh, when Angus and I had dinner with your father? It was fine; your dad's well. As dynamic as ever. Very keen on that Genevieve. Actually that's why I'm calling.'

‘Oh, is something wrong?' Jess's duster paused.

‘Well, I am a bit concerned actually...' she began.

Jess climbed down the stepladder. ‘Is something happening with Dad?' Jess's throat felt tight.

‘I don't like to bring this up, Jessica, but I feel I must tell you that Genevieve is flashing around
another
new piece of jewellery.'

Jess's tension dissolved, to be quickly replaced with a hot flash of anger.

‘You're concerned that Genevieve has a new bit of bling?' She was incredulous at her sister-in-law.

‘Not just bling, darling, it's the new Bulgari ring. It's worth absolutely thousands.'

‘What has this got to do with us, Caro?' Jess had had enough of this conversation.

‘Jessica, don't you understand the implications of this?'

‘Ummm, no, I guess not.' Jess's voice was muffled as she searched out a Chux from the back of the cupboard under the sink.

‘You know they're in Port Douglas, don't you?'

From jewellery to Port Douglas? Maybe Caro was having too many chardys with lunch these days. ‘Yes, Dad said they were taking a mini-break.'

‘A break?' Caro crowed. ‘The man's semi-retired, what kind of break could he possibly need? Didn't he buy her the Tiffany tag pendant for her birthday?'

‘Err, I can't remember,' Jess said vaguely, her attention more focused on the mould behind her tap.

‘Jessica, your father is spending all of his money on this ... this ... woman.'

‘So what?' Jessica snapped. ‘It's his money, he's worked hard for it.'

Caro sniffed. ‘I'd have thought that the fact that your father is frittering away the family estate might have been of concern to you,' she said haughtily.

Jessica rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips to speak firmly to the handset in its holder. ‘Caro, I'm sure you're overreacting, there's nothing serious going on here. What's wrong with some gift-giving in a normal loving relationship?'

‘Oh, Jessica, open your eyes. Don't you see that as soon as she becomes Mrs Richard Wainwright she'll be in control of the estate? She'll be a part-owner.'

‘Well, I hadn't thought of that, but I still think you're overthinking it.'

‘Someone has to, Jessica. Surely you don't want the family fortune all spent on fripperies and girlfriends. Not to mention the risk to the future of the family estate. What would your mother have said to this kind of behaviour?'

An invisible line had just been crossed. Jess threw her cloth into the sink, picked up the phone and spoke slowly and firmly. ‘Caro, I think it's time we said goodbye.'

‘Well, this won't be the end of it. He's gone crazy: jewellery, expensive dinners, OTT holidays – it's neverending. You're down there in the country, you don't see what I'm seeing. I'll keep tabs on the situation and keep you informed.'

‘Goodbye, Caro,' was all Jess could manage before stabbing the disconnect button.

She leaned heavily against the kitchen bench and peeled off her pink rubber gloves, seething with anger. How dare Caro bring her mother into this? She'd never even met Eva Wainwright, for God's sake, and to use her memory to manipulate her own greedy ends was unforgivable.

Jess thought about her mum every day. It had been twenty years since she died, but the ache of missing her had never dissipated.

She turned to gaze out the window as evening crept silently across the property that had once been her parents' home.

What
would
her mother have said about her dad getting on with his life? She thought back to the last time she had seen her mum. It was at a party on the homestead's back deck; a party for Eva. The family had just sold the lavender fields on the east edge of the property, with their adjoining cafe and distillery. It would mean an end to the long hours Eva had worked for years to make the business a success.

She had been giddy with the excitement of being a retiree at just forty-eight. It was a stunning summer evening, balmy and still. She'd had several of her special ‘Lavender Bubblies' and was regaling the group with her ‘must do' list as a lady of leisure. Her dreams were getting sillier and sillier and they were all in hysterics imagining the gregarious Eva Wainwright living for a month in Coober Pedy, mining for opals, but she insisted she just loved those dear little underground homes.

Then she'd died. Just like that. Without warning. Cruelly and stupidly, as if fate were listening to her plans and decided to stomp on her dreams for fun.

It was an aneurism. That very night; she didn't even get the dignity of finishing her own celebration, Jess thought bitterly.

The crowd had thinned about midnight and only family was left. Someone noticed Eva was missing. Richard went to look for her, joking she'd probably done a runner and snuck off to bed early. He'd found her on the bathroom floor.

When she'd fallen, a bottle of lavender essential oil had crashed to the ground with her and the sweet stink had filled the house. Jessica remembered the smell filling her nostrils just as her father came back, ashen, to the deck.

What
would
her mother have said? Jessica mused. Probably, ‘Go for it, darl.'