Page 21 of The Side Road
‘Light refresh?—’
‘Sandwiches with the crusts cut off.’ The reverend got to her feet. ‘Are you planning on sticking around?’
Oliver hesitated. ‘For the funeral, yes. I’ll be there.’
When she reached for the folder in Oliver’s lap, he raised a finger, indicating she would need to wait. After slipping his phone from his pocket, he took several photos of Elsie’s will and the accompanying documents, then, along with a brief message, he emailed his lawyer.
‘Equity and Associates, they’re in Sydney. They’ll be in touch.’ Oliver handed her the folder. ‘The Death Certificate?’
‘Should be here next week. Unless you want to pay for priority post.’
‘Forward it to me when it arrives.’
7
CAMELS HAVE WOOL?
Tash arrived at Hook& Knot with her friend Mary, a small, intense, dark-haired girl with mid-brown eyes. Despite Mary’s short, thick fingers, she was a consistent knitter. The opposite of Tash. At last week’s lesson, the wool appeared to be attacking Tash’s knitting needles. Struggling with tension, the tightness of her stitches made them impossible to knit. But early learners were April’s speciality.
Circling a crew of amateur knitters seated at a long table at the back of the store, April checked tension, counted stitches, and fixed mistakes. She offered support and encouragement. A veteran knitter of Sit & Knit groups, she had seen it all: adultery, partner swapping, fistfights, biting, attempted strangling (with wool), stabbings (with needles), and many accounts of wool theft. She had witnessed the rise and fall of many relationships. Comforted people through divorce, death, a midlife crisis, and marriage. Optimistic and chatty, nothing fazed her. Until last year, when her wife, Ivy, left her.
After eight years of marriage (they wed in 2017, a month after the Marriage Amendment Act allowing gaymarriage had passed), Ivy told April that their relationship had taken her independence. She had created a life that merely checked boxes: a beautiful wife, two devoted grey schnauzers, a house in the country, and a dream job as a rural firefighter. No longer fulfilled in an authentic way, Ivy was on a journey of self-discovery to find who she was. A year ago, she moved to Perth with a woman who worked in the mines as a heavy vehicle operator.
It had been a difficult period for April. But having recently dipped her toe into the world of dating apps, she encouraged Mia to do the same. ‘When you fish for love, you want to cast a wide net, use an app, not a rod,’ she had said. Ivy had been a keen angler.
On the other side of the store, Mia handed Saige a sheet of notepaper. ‘I have a list of jobs for you. It’s getting cooler, so we’ll be selling cosy.’
‘What does that even mean?’ Saige asked.
‘Chunky knits, warm socks, and scarves. The chic grandmother look is trending.’
‘Is that what you’re wearing?’
Mia looked down at her jeans and knitted top. ‘No. Can you please take your headphones off when you’re at work?’
‘It’s just music.’
‘I’d prefer it.’
Saige removed her headphones. Holding her list, she disappeared into the storeroom to unpack a new delivery.
Mia wandered over to the knitting table to see how the beginner class was progressing.
Tash held up her completed sampler to show Mia. ‘Dad fixed it for me.’
Mia took the knitting and ran her eyes over the tension. ‘Your father did this?’
‘It’s good,’ Mia confirmed. The piece was better thangood. It was borderline expert. The tension was perfect, the stitch size consistent, the edges even, and there were no mistakes. This piqued Mia’s interest. ‘Has he knitted previously?’
‘This was his first time, but he watched a video,’ Tash confirmed.
Mia handed the work back. She hoped it was one of her social media beginner videos because the results were excellent.
When the bells on the front door jingled, Oliver stepped into the store, and all heads turned toward him. In one hand, he held a takeaway coffee cup, minus the lid. His other hand clutched a half-eaten toasted sandwich. At the sight of the exposed drink and greasy food, the group of knitters seated at the table inhaled. There was a No Food or Drink sign on the front door.
Again, the bells jingled. As the front door swung open, it hit Oliver firmly on the elbow. Losing his grip on his coffee cup, it fell from his hand and landed on a nearby display table. The spilled drink soaked through two pairs of mohair gloves, which were arranged in a fan formation around a stack of pinecones.
Mia winced.
