Page 58 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Never mind. Maybe one day you will.’
She frowns. What doesthatmean?
‘Gotta run,’ he says, and grins. ‘Ciao.’
‘Ciao.’
He tosses her the ball and she catches it just in time, giggling for no apparent reason.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘They didn’t have your butter,’ Cecilia says as she unpacks the shopping, placing items on the kitchen bench.
‘That’s outrageous,’ says Grace Maud drily. ‘I presume there was an alternative. And please do not say margarine.’
‘No, not margarine.’ Cecilia smiles as she pulls out a stick of another brand of butter and waves it at Grace Maud.
‘Thank you for going to the shops.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The shopping is now something that is in Cecilia’s domain alone. Grace Maud used to insist on going, as she thought that not going meant she was starting to resign from life. But she almost had a car accident the other day and it made her think that perhaps her eyesight isn’t as good as it should be for driving after all. So instead of having it tested then possibly having her licence revoked, she’s chosen to not drive. Patricia picks her up for yoga; Cecilia goes to the shops. And driving to the farm is no longer something she wishes to do, so she doesn’t really need to drive and her life is less stressful without it.
‘I like your dress,’ she says, admiring the fine cotton number she hasn’t seen on Cecilia before.
‘Thanks. Mum hates it. She told me when I wore it to church last Sunday.’
‘Then I presume you won’t be wearing it to church again.’
‘No.’ Cecilia starts slamming items down on the countertop.
‘I hope you’re not going to do that to the eggs,’ Grace Maud says.
‘Sorry, what?’ Cecilia turns towards her and there are tears in her eyes.
‘My dear – are you this upset over a dress?’
‘A dress and …’ Cecilia sighs, then huffs and shakes her head. ‘I haven’t seen Luca for over a week.’
‘Ah.’
Grace Maud doesn’t really want to involve herself in this relationship, but she can hardly be uninvolved given the parties. And if she didn’t expect Cecilia to keep her informed of events – or lack of them – she’d be fooling herself.
‘That’s farm life,’ she explains. ‘When the harvest is on, everyone has to work until it’s done. You can have several days in a row where you work all day, sometimes into the night.’
‘But he hasn’t even called!’
‘The phone’s in the house,’ Grace Maud says gently, ‘and that’s a long way from some of the paddocks. If he’s working far from the house he wouldn’t be back until very late at night. Too late to call. And before you say he should call you in the morning, they leave before dawn.’ She smiles reassuringly. ‘He will call you as soon as he can. I’m quite sure of it.’
The phone in the kitchen rings and they both raise their eyebrows at each other.
Cecilia picks it up. ‘Hello? Cecilia speaking,’ she says breathlessly.
She listens; her eyes go to Grace Maud’s and she looks startled. ‘It’s Tom,’ she says, her hand over the receiver.
‘You know I’m not taking his calls,’ says Grace Maud, cross for an instant. Cecilia has been running interference for her all this time, so why would she stop now?
‘You have to take this one,’ Cecilia says, and startle has given way to fear.
