Page 13 of The Side Road
‘Are you hungry?’
Always.
‘Do you love me?’
Forever.
Snood gave her more love than she had ever received. When he looked at Mia, his resting dog face was adoration. A low-maintenance companion, he fitted perfectly into her rural life. His favourite activities were a short stroll around the village, cuddling on the bed, and the warm patio. The dog’s expressive eyebrow muscles, typical of Labradors, conveyed a full range of emotions, from surprise to indifference.From concern to happiness. She always knew his mood.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Mia said. ‘And you’re right. It’s time we got up. Holly will be here in half an hour and we have things to do.’
In 1890, Mia’s modest three-bedroom house was a four-bedroom convent built by the Sisters of St Joseph. The stone and timber cottage had had many owners over the years. The community had used it for fruit storage, as a place for shearing sheep, and a garage.
This was the first home Mia had lived in by herself. Redecorating the house, she had added gilt mirrors and tasselled lamps to the cosy living room. A folded rug hung over the arm of every chair. In the bathroom, was a claw-foot bath. The fittings included an old wicker chair, a ladder repurposed as a towel rack, and a stool for holding bathing items. A shaggy rug on the floor kept her feet warm.
The last renovation had preserved the herringbone floorboards and restored the steel-framed windows in the kitchen and sitting room. Botanical prints decorated the light green walls. The wide window ledges held neatly stacked art and craft books.
This house was nothing like her childhood home, a modern glass and concrete mansion. One hundred and twenty years of history separated the two buildings, but to Mia, it felt like a millennium.
Her phone pinged, startling her; personal emails were unusual. The message was from Jamie, her older brother. They were a family who rarely talked, but when they did, they corresponded by email. Mia’s parents spent most of their time in France, and both her older brothers lived in different states. The emails were brief and formal. Only the most basic facts were included. They informed one anotherabout work promotions, awards, weddings, divorces, and the occasional vacation update (destinations were optional).
Jamie’s last email to the family had said,‘FYI. I’ll be on annual leave in January.’Mia hadn’t had a conversation with her eldest brother, Richard, for three years. On Christmases and birthdays, she sent him a text message. He responded accordingly.
She opened the email. Jamie wanted to know the combination of the family safe in her father’s home office. Her parents were selling a Tom Roberts artwork, a small pastoral sketch from the 1880s.
This was the first Mia had heard about the sale. Jamie’s email said that the auctioneer needed the original receipt before they could sell the painting. Forgery was common in the art world. The receipt was in the safe.
Calling the artwork a painting was a stretch; it was a pencil sketch of a man shearing a sheep. A preliminary work for one of the artist’s more famous pieces. Rare, it would still fetch a good price at auction.
A constant throughout her childhood, the sketch had hung in the kitchen of her family home. Ever-present, it had an unpretentious beauty.
‘Why are Gary and Beth selling?’Mia wrote back. ‘Did they buy an island?’
Jamie replied,‘No.The place in France needs a new roof.I’ve tried Dad’s birthday, Mum’s birthday, the year they bought the house, and their wedding anniversary. Do you think it might be one of our birthdays?’
There was no way her parents would use their children’s birthdays. Mia doubted her father knew what day of the month hers was.
She typed, ‘Try 140379. The first day of the university term, the day the lovebirds met.’
A few moments later, Jamie replied, ‘Bingo.Nothing can ever happen to you.’
‘Write down the combination and put it in the safe for safekeeping,’Mia replied, and giggled at the absurdity of her suggestion.
When Jamie didn’t answer, she realised he didn’t get the joke.
Mia filed the correspondence underFamily Matters.
In the kitchen, she made bread with local honey. Her toaster had broken. Leo had taken it to the Men’s Shed to be fixed. Many broken appliances went into the Men’s Shed; a week later, they emerged in good working order. But last week, Leo advised that the repairs on her toaster were beyond the capabilities of the Men’s Shed. It was a European model. An unfamiliar brand, they couldn’t get the parts.
Four months pregnant with her first child, Mia’s friend Holly arrived carrying a box of cloudy olive oil.
Three years ago, when Mia had left Sydney, a job in Eagle Nest was waiting for her. Holly had seen to that. A city girl, Holly had married Miles Wood, a local man. Miles’s family owned a small vineyard and olive plantation fifteen kilometres out of town.
Mia had managed the oil-tasting room at the Mill Family Olive Estate and Winery. There, she had learned how to classify the different types of oil – late-harvest varieties were more golden because they contained less chlorophyll, but you couldn’t judge an oil by its colour. Green oils were as good as the golden ones. She became proficient at describing the taste – delicate, buttery, robust, and rancid. Unlike wine, oils did not improve with age.
After an unpleasant experience with a rancid batch of oil – it was an imported variety – Mia decided her stomach couldn’t handle another drop. While the family was upset tosee her leave – her knowledge of olive oil was borderline expert – her side business was bringing in more money than the olive oil business. Already selling homemade knitted products at local markets and country fairs, she moved her sales online. A traditional retail store followed.
Holly was a head shorter than Mia. With smooth, dark hair and large doe eyes that people found alluring. Pregnancy fatigue had hit Holly hard at the four-month mark. Sometimes, when she relaxed, her weary expression softened into an amused, friendly smile, which evoked a warm-hearted approachability. These days, that was rare. Apprehensive about her future, Holly seldom relaxed.
