Anna,” she heard Carrie say in an overly polite voice.
“Why not? I think it looks good.”
“All the flowers are to go on the side tables.”
“But you’ll hardly see them once you’re sitting down.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past few weeks and decided that is the most practical place for them.” Carrie was now speaking in a steely tone.
Outside, Lola winced. The underlying message being that Anna had no right to just march in and do what she liked …
There was silence for a minute or two, then she heard Bett’s voice. “Are there any more vases?”
“I’ll get them for you.” Carrie, her voice still stiff.
“That’s all right. I can get them.”
“They’re in the cupboard under the bar.”
“Yes, I know.”
Carrie’s tone was sharp again. “It’s just you’ve been away for so long, I thought you might have forgotten.”
After Bett came back there’d been more silence, broken only by the sound of vases being moved and stalks being snipped. Lola wasn’t quite sure what to try next. Should she go in and tell some of her jokes? She’d thought of a good one. What’s brown and sticky? A stick. Perhaps not. She had a feeling it would take more than a joke to fix this.
She walked into the room. The flowers were beautiful. Much nicer than the twigs had been. “Oh, well done, girls.” There was no response. She ambled over to the piano, lifted the lid, and experimentally ran her fingers up and down, playing one or two chords.
“Do you remember this one, Anna?” she said loudly. She thumped out the beginning notes of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.”
Anna shook her head.
“Poor Anna. Your memory gone and you still so young. Bett, your turn. What about this?” She played a swirly introduction to “Danny Boy.”
Bett glanced over. “I can’t place it, Lola, sorry.”
“Too much smog in London, darling. Your brain cells obviously need a shake-up. Carrie, what about you, my dear? What’s this one?” She played the introduction to “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music.
“I’m not sure,” Carrie said, not looking up.
Lola was shocked by a surge of anger. Enough was enough. She stood up and clapped her hands, once, twice, three times. “Right, you little buggers.”
Three startled faces turned to her. Lola rarely swore and she even more rarely used Australian swear words. “I want to speak to the three of you. Over here, now.”
She gave them a moment to get closer and then glared at them, genuinely cross. “I know I should be more patient with you. I know you are probably jet-lagged, Bett, and you must be tired, too, Anna. But I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting three years for this, wanting this feud to be over every single day, and I can’t wait any longer to get it all sorted.” She pointed a long, varnished fingertip at her middle granddaughter. “Bett Quinlan, tell me the truth. How do you feel right now?”
Bett colored, transported straight back to being a ten-year-old. “I really don’t want to play this, Lola.”
“Play it, Bett. How do you feel right now?”
“Lola …”
It was a game she had played with them when they were children. Some trick she’d picked up at a drama class or from some TV documentary. Back then she’d had a magic wand that she would point at them. The truth stick, she called it. She said it saved time. Point and talk. How are you? What’s wrong? How do you feel and why? They had to answer. Back then the answers had been simple. “I’m cross because Mum told me off.” “I’m sad because I didn’t win the race today.” “I’m mad because the other two got more ice cream than me.”
Lola turned away from Bett. “All right, then. Carrie, I’ll start with you instead.”
Carrie was looking at her feet.
Lola kept pointing. “Carrie, the quicker we do this, the quicker it is over and done with.”
A long pause and then a low voice. “I’m cross because you keep changing your mind
“Why not? I think it looks good.”
“All the flowers are to go on the side tables.”
“But you’ll hardly see them once you’re sitting down.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past few weeks and decided that is the most practical place for them.” Carrie was now speaking in a steely tone.
Outside, Lola winced. The underlying message being that Anna had no right to just march in and do what she liked …
There was silence for a minute or two, then she heard Bett’s voice. “Are there any more vases?”
“I’ll get them for you.” Carrie, her voice still stiff.
“That’s all right. I can get them.”
“They’re in the cupboard under the bar.”
“Yes, I know.”
Carrie’s tone was sharp again. “It’s just you’ve been away for so long, I thought you might have forgotten.”
After Bett came back there’d been more silence, broken only by the sound of vases being moved and stalks being snipped. Lola wasn’t quite sure what to try next. Should she go in and tell some of her jokes? She’d thought of a good one. What’s brown and sticky? A stick. Perhaps not. She had a feeling it would take more than a joke to fix this.
She walked into the room. The flowers were beautiful. Much nicer than the twigs had been. “Oh, well done, girls.” There was no response. She ambled over to the piano, lifted the lid, and experimentally ran her fingers up and down, playing one or two chords.
“Do you remember this one, Anna?” she said loudly. She thumped out the beginning notes of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.”
Anna shook her head.
“Poor Anna. Your memory gone and you still so young. Bett, your turn. What about this?” She played a swirly introduction to “Danny Boy.”
Bett glanced over. “I can’t place it, Lola, sorry.”
“Too much smog in London, darling. Your brain cells obviously need a shake-up. Carrie, what about you, my dear? What’s this one?” She played the introduction to “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music.
“I’m not sure,” Carrie said, not looking up.
Lola was shocked by a surge of anger. Enough was enough. She stood up and clapped her hands, once, twice, three times. “Right, you little buggers.”
Three startled faces turned to her. Lola rarely swore and she even more rarely used Australian swear words. “I want to speak to the three of you. Over here, now.”
She gave them a moment to get closer and then glared at them, genuinely cross. “I know I should be more patient with you. I know you are probably jet-lagged, Bett, and you must be tired, too, Anna. But I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting three years for this, wanting this feud to be over every single day, and I can’t wait any longer to get it all sorted.” She pointed a long, varnished fingertip at her middle granddaughter. “Bett Quinlan, tell me the truth. How do you feel right now?”
Bett colored, transported straight back to being a ten-year-old. “I really don’t want to play this, Lola.”
“Play it, Bett. How do you feel right now?”
“Lola …”
It was a game she had played with them when they were children. Some trick she’d picked up at a drama class or from some TV documentary. Back then she’d had a magic wand that she would point at them. The truth stick, she called it. She said it saved time. Point and talk. How are you? What’s wrong? How do you feel and why? They had to answer. Back then the answers had been simple. “I’m cross because Mum told me off.” “I’m sad because I didn’t win the race today.” “I’m mad because the other two got more ice cream than me.”
Lola turned away from Bett. “All right, then. Carrie, I’ll start with you instead.”
Carrie was looking at her feet.
Lola kept pointing. “Carrie, the quicker we do this, the quicker it is over and done with.”
A long pause and then a low voice. “I’m cross because you keep changing your mind
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