“She’s going to drop around again soon. She’s not dating anyone.” The small smile curved once more.
She put out a hand and squeezed Sophie’s. “Guard your heart this time. Please. Don’t forget there were bad times as well as good. Please think hard before you go there again.”
“I will.”
If only it were as simple as putting up a Perspex shield. Sophie didn’t need any more hurt or heartbreak in her life. Not now. Not ever.
Together they stared out at the yard. The wisteria needed trimming, and as many weeds as flowers sprouted from the planters. Allie blinked against moisture in her eyes. The yard had been Sophie’s pride and source of relaxation. She’d make time to tidy it up for her.
“I had a call from Tarryn today,” Sophie said. “She must have looked the number up on the website as she came through via the landline—apparently the mobile didn’t answer. Obviously, she thought she was talking to you.”
“The mobile you gave me is turned off. What did Tarryn want? Another lecture about the pointlessness of marriage?”
Sophie gave her a startled look. “Is she that bad?”
“Not really, but she’s hardly the poster child for the festival.”
“She updated me on the council permits for the wineries. They should arrive tomorrow. And the ballot boxes are in place. She seems very competent. However, apparently Phyll is trying to take over the organisation of the parade. Kirra’s at her wit’s end. Phyll got a couple of local church groups involved. That’s no problem, apparently; they’re the welcoming ones. But she’s also got the local kindergarten signed up to march dressed as little brides and grooms—all in traditional white dresses and mini tuxes, although she has specified two brides or two grooms per pair.”
“Oh no,” Allie murmured. “I thought we’d steered her away from her fixation on white lace and gendered clothing.”
“Exactly. Apparently, some parents are happy for their kids to march, but don’t want the expense of hiring that sort of costume. And other kids just want to run in a group. Phyll’s sticking her nose in the other committees too. Tarryn asked if there was any chance I could come back three weeks before the festival, instead of two. I’m also to call Phyll and tell her to back off.”
“Surely, Kirra would be best to do that. Or Tarryn. Phyll’s her bloody aunt.”
“Is she? Wouldn’t have picked it.” Sophie sighed. “Please don’t hate me, Al, but I said I’d call Phyll tomorrow and would arrive back a week earlier. And of course that means you, not me.”
Allie’s insides plummeted. It had been hard enough pretending to be Sophie for four days. She’d already been worried about the upcoming two weeks—and now it was three. Three weeks of not stuffing up, of pretending to be Sophie, acting like she knew what she was doing rather than winging it more than a crackle of cockatoos.
But then what else did she have to do? And even if her diary was stuffed fuller than a politician’s on election day, she’d drop everything to help Sophie. Concern for her sister pushed into her throat. What if Sophie’s leg didn’t get better? What if her nerve pain continued and she couldn’t bear it any longer? Her sister was suffering through her days, and Allie was only slightly put out by having to spend an extra week in Quandong. She was the fucking bitch, not Bree. “That’s okay.” She reached out to clasp Sophie’s hand. “Kirra’s apartment is gorgeous. A lot nicer than mine. It would be a free holiday if it weren’t for all the work.”
“Thanks.” Sophie squeezed back. “At least there’s one less thing I have to worry about.”
Allie crossed her fingers. Hopefully, that was true.
Chapter 8
The twisty road to Quandongran alongside Silver Creek into town. Allie wound down the car window and took a lungful of cool air. She could almost taste the freshness, so very different from the smog that hung over Sydney on warm days. The back of her car was jammed with various things Sophie had deemed essential items for the well-organised event planner.
She pulled up outside Kirra’s Kafé and swept the scrunched sausage roll wrapper and empty chip bag into the footwell where they cosied up to the apple cores already there. Despite those, her stomach had a Kirra’s lemon-slice-sized hole in it. Entering the cafe, she looked around. A muted mid-afternoon buzz of noise reached her ears from a couple of women chatting over their drinks. Kirra stood behind the counter with an irritated look on her face as she punched a calculator.
“Girlfriend!” Kirra hustled around to kiss Allie on the cheek. “You’ve timed this perfectly.” She thrust the calculator at her. “I’ll read out the numbers, you enter them in. So far, I’ve done it six times and got six different results.”
“Sure.” This was the easiest thing for an ex-accountant to do. Her fingers flew over the keys as Kirra rattled off the list. “$3,185.27.”
“Hm. That’s the seventh different result. One more time for luck?”
The total was again $3,185.27. Kirra high-fived. “I should have called you earlier.” She set down the paper and put a piece of lemon slice on a plate. “Your reward. It’s good to see you back. You’ve been missed.”
“Oh? What fires do I have to fight on your behalf?”
“You have to rein in Phyll and remind your gorgeous assistant of the jail time if she murders her aunt.”
“I called Phyll. I thought she was backing down.” Allie blew out a breath.
“She did. For a couple of days. She’s agreed the kindergarten kids can march in whatever costumes they like, either in same-sex pairs or in a big happy group. It’s going to be so cute. But Phyll’s gone away and rattled her brain and what fell out was a flower-arranging competition and wedding handicrafts. Best crocheted wedding dress. Even if someone could crochet something in the three weeks left, I don’t think the result would be what she’s expecting. All those holes.”
“Phyll will have to be tomorrow’s project. Today, I just want to grab some takeaway and sit in the sun on your balcony with a glass of wine.”
