Chapter 11

CHAPTER

11

‘I am so sorry, Mrs Fuller.’

Rose looked up from the overnight bag she was packing. Her housekeeper Janet was standing in the bedroom doorway, holding some strangely shaped crystal in her hands.

‘Janet? What happened?’ It had taken months for Rose to convince Janet to call her by her first name. She only used Mrs Fuller when something was wrong.

‘I am so sorry. I knocked this while I was cleaning the mantel.’ She held out her hands to reveal two halves of a broken vase.

Rose knew that vase. It had been presented to her by one of the charities she’d worked for when William was still alive. A momentary sadness struck her. Here was another part of her life gone. She bit back her dismay.

‘It’s fine, Janet. Honestly. It’s an old thing. Don’t worry.’

‘I can replace it, Mrs Fuller. Or pay for it.’

It couldn’t be replaced. Another crystal vase wouldn’t have her name engraved on it, wouldn’t hold the same memories. That vase was a precious part of her life. It had sat on that mantel, a constant reminder of the person she was. Or of the person she had once been. Her dismay faded to be replaced by a question. Was it a reminder or was it a relic? And did she actually care if it was on her mantel or gone?

‘Are you sure, Mrs Fuller? I know it’s precious.’ Janet was clearly distressed. She had no doubt read the engraving on the side of the vase as she dusted it time after time after time. Months, years of being dusted, but never used. Barely even looked at.

‘Of course, Janet. Don’t give it another thought.’ This time Rose meant it. ‘Just dispose of the pieces. It’s fine.’

Still looking unhappy, Janet left. Rose put the last couple of items in her bag. She was going to Wagtail Ridge today for the inaugural meeting of the knitting club to support Bree, just in case no-one turned up. She didn’t think that was likely, but you never knew. And she had to admit she was looking forward to joining the group, even if she didn’t know anyone there.

Didn’t know anyone? Who did she know here in Sydney?

The conversation she’d just had with Janet was the longest face-to-face conversation she’d had in a week. Maybe more. She always spoke to the shop assistants when she went for groceries, but that was little more than a greeting. The same applied to the doormen in this apartment building. She’d spoken to Margaret on the phone once in the last fortnight, but that too had been little more than an impersonal check that she was all right.

The truth was, Janet was the person she saw most in her daily life, and the closest thing she had to a friend.

Rose picked up her overnight bag and left the bedroom. Janet was in the kitchen, her gloved hands busy cleaning. Rose put the cash to pay for her services on the table.

‘I’m heading up to the country now, Janet, to visit my granddaughter for a couple of days.’ Rose would have liked to tell Janet, or anyone really, how proud she was of Bree. How much she hoped her granddaughter’s venture would be a success. But Janet had returned to her work, reminding Rose, if she needed the reminder, that Janet was an employee and not a friend. ‘Just lock up as usual when you are done.’

The drive north was slower than she had hoped, but as the kilometres passed, Rose felt her heart lifting in the hope that the people she’d be joining were interested in more than just polite conversations.

***

Bree fiddled with the arrangement of the packages laid out on the trestle table. For the fifth—or was it the fiftieth?—time, she ignored the little voice in her head that said the fearful words, No-one is coming.

‘Bree, they look fine.’

‘Thanks, Nan.’

Rose had arrived a short time ago and was sitting on one of the chairs set around the main table. The two of them had spent some time pushing tables together to create a central workspace that could easily accommodate a largish group. That was optimistic, Bree thought, as she looked at her watch again. The starting time for this first session had been advertised as two o’clock. It was ten to two now, and she and Nan were the only ones in the hall, which seemed very big, very cold and very, very empty. On the smaller table in front of Bree, knitting kits waited for knitters to buy them. She’d made up a dozen starter kits, each containing needles and instructions for a simple scarf. She’d also assembled larger kits, with slightly more complicated patterns ranging from a lace scarf to cushion covers, soft toys and jumpers. These she would sell to anyone who wanted to try their hand at something more complex. There was a mixture of her own alpaca yarn and cheaper yarns for those who wanted them. Some of the knitters might bring their own materials, and that was fine. This exercise was really more about getting people involved than it was about making money.

Always assuming some people will come.

‘Why don’t you go into the kitchen and put the urn on, Bree? So people can have a cuppa when they get here.’

Nan was trying to distract her, and it wasn’t working. Bree had filled the urn and turned it on earlier, while laying out biscuits on plates for the knitters.

What knitters?

A cold gust of air blew into the hall as the door opened and two people came inside.

At last!

Bree immediately recognised her first knitters. ‘Matt. Vicki. Hi.’

‘Hi,’ Matt replied. ‘Are we early?’ He looked around anxiously.

‘No. Not at all. You’re just the first.’

‘Is this alpaca wool?’ Vicki had already found the table with the kits and yarn samples.

‘Yes, it is.’ Rose joined the girl at the trestle table. ‘Hello. You must be Vicki.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Bree told me about you. I’m her grandmother, Rose.’

The door opened again and three women walked in. Bree recognised Deb from the pub and the woman from the store, Kelly. The third was a younger woman she hadn’t seen before.

‘Hi, Bree,’ Deb called.

‘Hi. Welcome.’ Bree hoped her relief didn’t show in her voice.

Even if no-one else came, this group was enough to start with.

‘This is Lou, our mobile librarian,’ Deb said. ‘Lou, this is Bree. Alpaca farmer.’

‘My husband is Jake Barnes. He’s done some work for you.’ The young woman smiled in a friendly fashion.

The hall door opened and two more women walked in.

‘Well, I’ll leave you girls to it,’ Matt said. ‘What time should I come and collect Vicki?’

‘Daddy. No. You have to stay and learn to knit too.’

‘Honey, I should go back to the office. Deb and Kelly and Lou are here. You’ll be fine.’

‘I want you to stay.’

‘Honey, this is a girl thing.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not.’ Bree wasn’t sitting still for that sort of nonsense. ‘Do we agree there are no rules telling girls what they can be, like knitters or mechanics or scientists if they want to?’

‘Well, yes of course. But—’

‘In exactly the same way, there is no rule that says a man can’t knit. I know quite a few men who do. And there are male knitting fashion designers too. So that’s no excuse.’

‘Yay!’ said Vicki beside her.

Matt looked at his daughter and then at Bree. His blue eyes began to crinkle and he laughed.

‘Well, okay. You’ve got me there.’

‘What are you going to knit, Daddy?’ Vicki was back at the table of kits. ‘I want to knit this.’

The package she presented to Matt was for a jumper made from Bree’s finest alpaca yarn. She saw Matt’s eyes widen when he looked at the price tag.

‘That’s for a really experienced knitter,’ she jumped in. ‘And it takes a very long time to knit. I’m not sure that’s the best one for you, Vicki.’

Matt put the package down. ‘You listen to Miss Johnston. She’s the expert.’

‘I’ve got a good idea.’ Bree reached for two kits at the other end of the table. ‘These are for someone who has never knitted before. They are scarves and really quick and easy to make.’ She presented them for inspection, making sure that Matt noticed the much cheaper price tags. ‘Vicki, you could take this brown one and knit it for your dad. And Matt, you could knit this pretty cream one for Vicki. How does that sound?’

‘That sounds lovely, Vicki.’ Lou joined the conversation. ‘Now, Bree, what do you suggest for me? I used to do crafty stuff when I was a kid, but never knitting. I always wanted to try.’

While Bree suggested kits for Lou, another two women arrived. Bree could barely contain her happiness. This was shaping up to be the first success of her new life, and it was time to get it properly started. With a wave of her arm, she invited everyone to take seats around the work table.

‘Thank you for coming, ladies—and gentleman.’ She smiled at Matt. ‘For those who haven’t met me officially, I’m Bree Johnston. I’m going to be farming alpacas at a place called The Gums, which some of you may know. This knitting club is associated with that—but no pressure at all. There’s no joining fees or anything like that. I have kits and yarn and accessories for sale, but you don’t have to buy from me. Feel free to bring any existing projects or yarn bought anywhere at all. This is all about sharing the joy of knitting.’

There was a movement across the table as a woman lifted a multicoloured bundle of yarn and some needles from a bag she’d hidden under the table. ‘That’s good to hear,’ the woman said as she spread her work out in front of her.

‘But if anyone does want to buy a kit or some yarn, there is a discount for regulars. I have met some of you before. But not everyone, so why don’t we start by everyone telling me your names, how much you already know about knitting, or showing us all what you’re currently working on.’

***

Rose was the last to introduce herself. She pulled a half-knitted cardigan out of her bag. She’d been knitting most of her life and the enjoyment had never faded. She’d taught Bree to knit when she was about Vicki’s age. Strangely, though, she’d never joined a knitting club like this one. She’d never felt the need, probably because her life had been full of people.

She turned to the woman sitting next to her. ‘So, you run the mobile library? That must be fun.’

‘I love it,’ said Lou. ‘It’s a community project, not funded by the council at all. It serves more than a dozen small towns and we also have a swap system going for resources for school groups and that sort of thing.’

‘And everyone chips in?’

‘They do, in some way or other. I used to live in the city but I’ve never regretted moving here. It’s a great place to live.’

Rose let that sink in, then turned her attention to Lou’s attempts at casting on. ‘Do you need some help with that?’

‘I think so.’ She grimaced. ‘What am I doing wrong?’

‘Are you right-handed or left-handed?’

‘Right.’

‘Then let’s try changing the way you hold the wool. You need to keep a constant tension as you knit. Otherwise you end up with loose knots and holes and things. Try it like this.’

Rose took a spare ball of yarn from her own knitting bag and picked up Lou’s empty needles. In a few easy moves, she had a couple of stitches cast on. Then she cast on a few more, very slowly.

‘Now you try.’ She pulled her stitches off and returned the needles.

Lou got her first two stitches cast on, then dropped the wool. ‘Damn. I’ve got no idea.’

‘Wrap the yarn around the other side of your finger.’

‘Like this?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Ah. I think I have it now.’

Lou’s fingers began moving more confidently, and stitches appeared on the needles. They weren’t the best stitches Rose had ever seen, but they were recognisable. A low masculine chuckle from the other side of the table drew her eyes to where Vicki and her father sat. Their heads were close together as they shared the puzzle that was knitting. For them, it seemed, the rest of the group didn’t exist. Matt’s cream knitting project looked to be well in hand, but Vicki was in the throes of sorting a pile of knotted wool on the table in front of her. She looked so happy to be sharing this with her father. Less than half an hour ago, Rose had caught a glimpse of something else behind the little girl’s face as she had pleaded with her father not to leave. She’d seen a frightened child who had lost one parent and was now scared of losing the other. Rose’s heart had ached for both of them. But this little girl was different. Happier. More confident. It was good to see.

Bree joined them, pulling a chair next to Vicki to give her some guidance. She’d been giving everyone equal attention and, watching her, Rose thought her granddaughter looked as relaxed and happy as she had seen her in a long time. Rose sometimes wondered if she was to blame for the lack of love Margaret had bestowed on Bree, though, deep down, she knew she wasn’t. She and Margaret had been close when her daughter was younger. But university, law school, the firm and marriage to a man just as driven as she was had consumed Margaret’s life. There was little of the girl Rose had known in her now. And she’d had so little of herself to spare for Bree. That little cluster on the other side of the work table looked more like a family than Margaret, Gary and Bree ever had.

Rose realised she wasn’t the only one looking in that direction. The women of Wagtail Ridge were missing nothing of what was going on at the table. Rose’s eyes met Kelly’s and she understood—these women were Vicki’s surrogate mothers and Matt’s helpers. They walked Vicki safely to and from school with their own children, and looked after her when Matt had to work. They wanted a better future for their charges, and were already beginning to wonder if Bree might be that something better.

Rose wasn’t one to interfere, especially not in relationships, but those other women were not necessarily wrong. She’d only met Matt a couple of times but already knew he was much more the sort of man she’d want Bree involved with than those career-focused, stupidly self-involved and busy city types she had occasionally dated, but never for very long. It had always seemed to Rose that those young men were dating Sydney’s most prestigious law firm, rather than a woman. Not one seemed to understand that inside Bree was a warm, creative and caring soul. Well, Bree had kept that side of herself hidden for far too long.

The woman sitting to her right interrupted her thoughts. ‘So, Rose, that’s a lovely pattern you’re working on. Is it terribly hard?’

‘Not really. It’s all just knit and purl, but there is a lot of counting involved.’

The woman nodded, her rather alarming orange hair bouncing. ‘It’s pretty. Is it for you? You’re Bree’s grandmother, aren’t you? It’s so nice to meet you. What a marvellous thing this is, this knitting club. And imagine Bree running an alpaca farm! Where on earth did she get that from? Did she inherit it from you or some other family member?’

Rose knew a gossip when she saw one. Especially a gossip so unsubtle about pumping her for information. Rose could deal with that. Maybe the orange-haired woman had forgotten that gossip can go two ways. Not that Rose was a gossip, but she would like to know more about the community her granddaughter had joined.

The knitting club broke up an hour later. As various members promised to bring cake for the next session, Rose decided she might be back again sooner than she planned. Not only to see Bree—Rose had enjoyed the afternoon far more than she had expected.