Short and Sweet Part 24

Sarah, wearing an ancient, faded dressing gown, glared at Signor Parvone, then turned to her mother. *You'll catch a chill, Mum. Do come inside!'

*Not just yet, dear. Signor Parvone and I have a few things to discuss.'

*Surely that can wait until morning? It's three o'clock at night! What will the neighbours think?'

A window opened in the next house and a flood of Italian poured out.

*She says I'll catch a chill,' whispered Niccolo. *It's three o'clock at night. What will the neighbours think?'

They stared at each other, then burst out laughing again, leaning helplessly against the fence, holding hands.

They were still chuckling when Gina stormed out into the garden, magnificent in a purple satin housecoat. Ignoring the others, she began to scold Niccolo loudly in Italian.

Sarah took the opportunity to tiptoe across the patio and hiss at Jenny. *Mum, for heaven's sake come inside!'

Jenny glanced sideways at Niccolo.

He rolled his eyes at her, then turned back to his daughter and snapped, *Basta!' in a very sharp tone.

His daughter's tirade stopped mid-sentence and she took a step backwards, looking uncertain.

He turned to Jenny and his expression softened. *We won't get the time we need here, cara.'

*No.'

He winked and breathed the word *Courage!' Then added loudly, *How soon can you pack your things? I think this would be a good time to take that little trip down south we were talking about.'

She did not hesitate. *Half an hour.'

*Mum, you can't! John, stop her!'

Jenny smiled at Niccolo. *No promises about what this may lead to, my friend?'

*Not yet. Later, perhaps.' He let go of her hand.

She hurried back to the house, fending Sarah off, trying desperately to look calm and collected. Her hands were shaking, though, as she packed her suitcase. I'm not used to being a rebel, she thought, then raised her chin. But it's my life, after all! And Niccolo is a is such a dear, gentle man.

When everything was ready, she took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

John was outside, barring her way. *Mother, please don't go off like this! We'll talk about it in the morning.' He tried to take her suitcase away and she clung to it tightly.

*Let go of it.'

*No. I'm sorry, Mum, but we can't let you do this.'

The spark of rebellion became a fire in her veins. *If you don't get out of my way, John, I'll scream for help as loudly as I can. The window's open. Not only will Niccolo hear me, but so will all the other neighbours.'

He let go of her case and jumped aside, looking shocked.

When Sarah peered out of the kitchen doorway, head jerking to and fro like a nervous hen, laughter began to well up in Jenny again. *I'll be back in a few days.' She opened the front door, then turned to add, *Perhaps.'

Niccolo was waiting for her outside, standing by his car. He looked rumpled and extremely angry. He kissed her cheek with a loud, defiant smack and helped her into the car, then went to put her case in the boot. He glared at his daughter's house before settling into the driving seat.

When he didn't start the engine up, Jenny asked softly, *What's wrong, Niccolo?'

He fiddled with the ignition key. *Are we mad? Gina says so.'

*Oh, yes. Quite mad.' Jenny leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He turned and kissed her lips, stroking her hair tenderly afterwards with his hand. When he pulled away, his smile echoed hers. *So a we're mad, then. Let's go and have some fun.'

She felt quite breathless as she fastened her seat belt a breathless and young and full of hope. *Where are we actually going, Niccolo?'

He shrugged and turned the ignition key, giving her another of his thoughtful glances. *Who knows? Only time will tell.'

Show, Don't Tell.

Anna's Notes.

It's one of the rules you're taught early on when you start to write: show, don't tell. In other words, show your characters in action, show what happens, don't just talk about it and miss the excitement.

One day, someone mentioned the good old rule yet again and the idea for this story hit me. I enjoyed writing it. I love stories about women who get their act together and make necessary changes in their lives. Some people call these *coming of age' stories.

It's what happened to me. I got published as my second career, when the children were teenagers. And my goodness, I've enjoyed it so much more than my first career. I'm now utterly addicted to storytelling.

*But Mum, I was counting on you to babysit Ben!'

Jenny steeled herself. *You didn't ask me early enough. Sorry, but I'm going out tonight.'

*But you never go out at night since Dad died!'

She moved to hold the door open before Helen could ask any more awkward questions. *See you soon.'

Once her daughter's car had pulled away, she sagged against the wall. She'd done it. Stood her ground. Just.

It wasn't that she objected to looking after her grandchildren occasionally, but her daughters had been taking her babysitting services for granted since her husband died. Especially Helen, who had recently got divorced.

At eight o'clock that evening the phone rang.

*I thought you were going out, Mum.'

*Oh. Well a um, yes I was. But my friend had to cancel at the last minute.'

*Oh, good. I mean, I'm sorry about your night out, but I still haven't found a babysitter, so I'll just bring Ben round.'

Before Jenny could say a word, her daughter had put the phone down.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later and Helen dumped four-year-old Ben then rushed off. *See you in the morning, Mum!'

As soon as his mother left, Ben started to cry and wanted to be cuddled. It was one o'clock before Jenny got to bed and even then she lay awake for ages, annoyed at herself.

She'd worked out a campaign to gain more independence from her family a and what had happened? She'd failed to carry it through, that's what. Why, oh why had she picked up that phone?

Helen phoned first thing, waking Jenny after only three hours' sleep. *Look, Mum, I'm running late. Will you please keep Ben till I get home from work? Sorry to dump on you, but it's the first good night out I've had since the Rat left me.'

*But I-'

The phone clicked down. Jenny looked at herself in the mirror opposite. *If you don't do something drastic, my girl, you'll turn into the family drudge.'

By mid-morning she was so tired of being shut up with a fretful toddler she took him out for a walk. When it began to rain, they took shelter in the nearby shopping centre. She bought Ben a comic and herself a magazine.

It wasn't till she sat down with a cup of coffee at home that she realized she'd picked up the wrong magazine. Ben sat happily turning the pages of his comic. Maybe he would be a reader like his grandmother one day. The rest of her family weren't interested in books.

*"Writing Australia",' she read the t.i.tle of her magazine aloud. *Well, that'll make a change.'

It was more than a change. It was fascinating. She'd never realized how much went into writing a book, though she'd dabbled with writing short stories a few years ago a had even had a couple published a but in those days there had always been someone calling, *Mum, can you just .a.a.' and she'd given up.

She was about to close the magazine when she noticed the advertis.e.m.e.nt.

SUMMER SCHOOL. Learn to write in peace.

and privacy. Beginners welcome..

*Ah,' she sighed. *It must be wonderful to-' She stopped and read the advertis.e.m.e.nt again: *Beginners welcome.'

After Helen had collected Ben, Jenny went on line and found out more about the Summer School. Did she dare? Would the other people all be younger than her? Was she making a fool of herself?

First thing in the morning she went on line again to apply, then went out to buy a new computer. She'd hardly touched their old one since John died and it was a bit elderly; took ages to download anything.

She went up to a woman her own age who was straightening a display. *I need a new computer, a good one.' The company's insurance policy on John's life had been so huge that Jenny would never want again. It was no compensation for losing him with shocking abruptness in an accident, but there was no denying it helped you to get on with life if you had money.

By the time the two women had spent an hour together deciding what was needed, they'd also discovered they were both widows and had exchanged phone numbers. As an afterthought, Jenny bought a fancy new telephone that told you the callers' numbers.

That evening she heard the phone, tiptoed up to the new machine and forced herself to let it ring.

When she picked up the message from the answering service she heard it was Liz. *Tom and I are going out on Sat.u.r.day night and wondered if you'd have the twins for us.'

Jenny immediately rang up her new friend and invited Rose to go out for a meal on Sat.u.r.day evening.

Then she rang her daughter and said she was going out, so couldn't help them.

She set up the new computer in John's old office and kept the door locked when her family visited.

They made encouraging noises about how nice it was that she was developing new interests, but they didn't like it when she wasn't always available for babysitting.

She did it sometimes, of course she did. She loved her grandchildren. But she did want a life of her own a and that included weekends.

She still hadn't worked out what to do about Christmas. Liz and Helen were hinting about spending it here in the house where they'd grown up. They a.s.sured her they'd help with the catering, but she'd been taken in by that last year and had run herself ragged trying to make it just like their old family Christmases without John's help.

It was Rose who found the solution: a Christmas holiday on the other side of the country in Western Australia. It was for over-55s and included all sorts of group activities. Jenny was only fifty-two but Rose said no one would notice or ask.

Jenny invited the whole family round for a drink the following Sunday afternoon and announced her plans then. There was instant uproar.

*But Mum, it won't be Christmas if we don't come here.'

*No one else has a big enough table, or the time to do things properly.'

She took a deep breath. *Well, if you want to come round here and use my table, that's fine by me a as long as you clear up after yourselves.'

Dead silence.

It was broken by the arrival of young Matt, who was eight and precocious with it. *You didn't tell me you'd got a new computer, Gran! I can't get into it. What's the pa.s.sword?'

Jenny frowned at him. *How did you get into my study, Matt? I locked that door.'

*I knew where the key was. I wanted to play on Grandpop's computer.'

Tom swooped on his son. *Well, you can just tell your grandmother you're sorry then we'll lock up Grandpop's office again.'

*Sorry, Gran.'

Jenny nodded, took a deep breath and said firmly, *And it isn't Grandpop's office any more. It's my office.'

Another dead silence.

When Tom came back he said, *I didn't know you were into computers, Ma. That's a good one.'

*Oh, they're part of modern life, aren't they?' Did he think she was still living in the dark ages?

Helen smiled at her. *No need to be ashamed, Mum. It's the age of adult toys. Everyone plays computer games and goes surfing the Net nowadays.'

Jenny didn't contradict her. Writing was too new a dream to share with others.

She came home from Summer School so enthused she signed up for a correspondence course on romance writing and spent a lot of time during the next few months learning how to write. On her tutor's advice she became a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, joined their on-line chat list and started entering their compet.i.tions.

Her family a.s.sumed she was going out with Rose and the *oldies', as they called the new friends she'd made. How patronizingly they said it a *oldies'. Well, she'd show them!

Eighteen months later she sat back and stared in wonderment at the pile of paper she'd just printed out. Her second novel. The first one had taught her a lot but it hadn't been good enough. This one had gone well from the start, however, and now a well, it was ready. She hoped.