The Peppercorn Project (8 page)

The moment Isabelle sat down at the table at their favourite Torquay waterfront cafe, she sensed something was different. She cast her eye around the group, but after a quick acknowledgement of her arrival, they had turned as one back to Sarah, who was clearly holding court.

For the next five minutes Isabelle sat in silence, a smile glued to her face, as she endured Sarah’s tales of her European honeymoon with her second husband: candlelit romantic dinners beneath the Eiffel tower, moonlit walks along the River Seine, and lazy mornings where the loved-up couple had fed each other breakfast in bed. If Sarah brought out pictures, Isabelle was going to find an excuse to leave. It had been hard enough watching her friend get married six weeks earlier.

Over the years, the five friends had shared all aspects of their lives – Skye’s infertility issues and multiple miscarriages, Sarah’s messy divorce and subsequent remarriage, Ebony’s parenting challenges with her autistic son, and Alex’s battles with her weight. Dan’s death signalled the darkest day for the group. At one time or another, each of them had something that kept them awake at night, but until then, Isabelle had lived a charmed life with barely a ripple on the surface.

Isabelle’s hot chocolate arrived and she took her time stirring the milky froth.
What is going on?
She hadn’t missed the several furtive glances between Skye and Ebony, nor the way Alex was barely listening to Sarah, twisting a sugar sachet in her fingers. Even Sarah’s usually high-pitched voice sounded more shrill than normal. There was a definite chill in the air, and the early morning sea breeze coming straight off Bass Strait wasn’t the cause of it.

‘You’re going to do it then?’ Sarah finally said.

There was an unmistakable accusatory tone to her question. Silence descended. They all looked in Isabelle’s direction. That was why there was so much tension in the room. A week earlier, she’d sent the girls a group text message with the news she was moving to Stony Creek. This was the first time they’d had a chance to catch up face to face.

Dan’s death had changed the dynamics of the group, and now her move would completely cut the cord that tied them together. Isabelle was well aware her friends’ lives would move on. They would go back to their families, their jobs, their husbands with barely a second thought for her. She cared for this group of women, but the reality was, they would drift apart.

‘Yes, I’m moving to South Australia.’

‘I think you’re making a rash decision,’ Sarah said.

‘Even though you’re being incredibly brave,’ Alex added, trying to take the sting from Sarah’s words.

‘I’m not sure whether it’s brave or stupid,’ Isabelle replied, struggling to stop her voice from wavering, ‘but it’s my only choice.’

‘You know I would have helped out if I could,’ Skye said. The others nodded in agreement.

Isabelle reached over and touched her friend’s hand. ‘I know, Skye, but you guys have spent so much money on IVF. I wouldn’t have wanted to ask.’

‘We should have organised a trivia night fundraiser or something.’

‘Or set up one of those “Go-fund-me” websites.’

‘Personally I think Dan’s work should have helped out more. How long had he been with them?’ Sarah said.

Isabelle shook her head. ‘They can’t go giving money away like that – they’re a huge organisation. It would set a wrong precedent.’

‘I disagree,’ Sarah said. ‘
Because
they’re such a massive company, they should have done something.’

Isabelle sighed. ‘I don’t want to be a charity case.’

‘Isn’t that what you’ve become?’ Sarah’s tone was sharp.

Alex picked up another sachet of sugar. No one spoke. Isabelle’s stomach knotted.

‘We think you’re making a massive mistake.’ As usual, Sarah was the self-appointed representative for the group.

‘Why?’

‘You’re running away. You’re taking the kids away from all their friends. For heaven’s sake, you’re moving to a town none of us have ever heard of, in the middle of
South Australia
! How many more reasons do you want?’ Sarah’s voice ended with an upward inflection.

‘You could have sold your house and found a rental,’ Alex added, ‘then you could have stayed in Torquay.’

If only it were that easy.

Isabelle searched her friends’ faces. She understood their concerns, but she needed them to accept why she was doing this. ‘It’s not only about the money. I need to get out of Torquay. There are too many sad memories here. Every time I walk down the street I bump into someone who knows what happened to Dan. It’s not getting any easier. I need to start afresh where no one knows us.’

Up until then Skye had been quiet, taking everything in. ‘What do you need from us, Issie? How can we help you?’

Isabelle suppressed the urge to cry. Skye had always understood more than the others that she needed space and time to grieve. Instead of telling her to move on and find another life partner, as many people did, Skye had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed.

The others leaned in, waiting for Isabelle’s reply.

‘I don’t know.’ What she meant was, she couldn’t explain it.

‘I’m happy to help you pack,’ Skye said.

‘I can look after the kids for you,’ Alex added.

‘I could contact that church who helped you last time,’ Ebony said. ‘Maybe they can arrange meals again.’

Inwardly Isabelle groaned. In the days after Dan’s death, they’d eaten so much lasagne her kids would probably always associate it with death.

Isabelle didn’t want her friends to make promises they wouldn’t keep. They had stuck like glue after Dan’s death, but things were changing. The week before she went to Stony Creek, Isabelle had overheard snatches of Alex and Sarah’s conversation as they waited in the carpark to pick up their kids after school. Alex admitted she didn’t like the way her husband Rob was so willing to help Isabelle out with things around the house. Isabelle had listened in shock. Never mind that Rob had been Dan’s best friend and was surfing with him the day before he died. How could Alex think Rob was doing anything more than what a friend would do? Isabelle had put the conversation out of her mind, but the comments hurt her deeply.

Skye looked at her again. ‘Right now, what do you need the most?’

‘All my life I’ve prided myself on being organised and always on top of things. I work hard, fulfil my commitments. You know me – I cross off my to-do lists every night before I go to bed.’

Her friends nodded. They knew her well.

‘Then Dan died. Everything changed in an instant and as a result,
I
was changed.’ Isabelle sat forward and rested her arms on the table. ‘I’m always tired. I don’t return your phone calls all the time. Text message and emails bank up in my inbox until I just delete them rather than sort through them. I can’t even find a pen and paper to
write
my lists. I miss appointments. I promise catch-ups for coffee and forget to show up.’

‘We understand,’ Ebony said, reaching out to touch Isabelle’s arm. ‘Truly, it’s okay.’

Isabelle shook her head as the tears welled. She was not going to cry again. ‘It’s okay
now
, but for how much longer? A disconnected, grumpy, forgetful, chronically late, overwhelmed imposter has overtaken my orderly, organized, everything-in-its-place life. Every day I feel like I’m letting people down. Often, I know I am.’

‘I think you’re being way too hard on yourself,’ Skye said, and the others murmured in agreement.

‘What do you need?’ Sarah asked, getting back to the original question.

‘I need your support. And somewhere soft to fall if this whole Peppercorn Project thing fails.’

‘We can do that,’ Skye said with a smile.

‘I’m praying for you, Isabelle,’ Alex said.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows. Since when was Alex the praying type?

Ebony’s phone chirped and everyone looked at her. Phones were supposed to be on silent. That was their rule.

Ebony’s brows furrowed as she read the text message. ‘I’m sorry, guys, I have to go. The nanny isn’t coping with Ollie. He’s having one of his meltdowns.’ She looked at Isabelle apologetically. ‘Apparently she didn’t make his breakfast in the right order.’

‘It’s all good. Go,’ Isabelle assured her. Ollie’s behaviour was not a pretty sight when he got worked up over something. Isabelle had no idea how Ebony coped. No wonder she employed a nanny. ‘We’ll catch up again before I leave.’

‘When
do
you leave?’ Sarah asked standing and pushing her own chair backwards. The phone call apparently signalled time was up for the others too.

‘Three weeks.’

‘Oh wow, so soon?’ said Skye. ‘I’m serious about the offer to help with packing.’

Isabelle smiled. ‘Thanks. As long as you don’t ask me to throw out Dan’s things. I’m not ready for that yet.’

They pulled her into a hug and Isabelle melted into their arms. She would always feel the loss of her husband, but at least for a few more weeks she would still have her friends. She hoped she wouldn’t lose them too.

*

Isabelle drew packaging tape across the final box and sighed deeply. Standing, she straightened her back, feeling the tired ache of her muscles. She looked around her, seeing the ghosts of memories everywhere. There wasn’t a corner in the house that wasn’t filled with them. She slowly twisted her neck from side to side, feeling the tension ease. It was good to have the stressful job of packing finally over, and with only moments to spare. She checked her watch. The kids were due home from school any minute and the removal van would arrive shortly. The past three weeks had flown.

The sun shone through the open doors, and in the distance waves crashed relentlessly onto the sand. Not long now and the town would double in size with tourists. Isabelle gazed lovingly at her garden, remembering it wasn’t hers any longer – it belonged to the bank, and soon a lucky new owner.

Isabelle gazed at the tree in the centre of the patch of green lawn, and at the surrounding garden beds. Spring was her favourite season and her garden was at its best ever. It was an unseasonably warm start to spring with a promise of another hot, dry summer. The lawn wouldn’t stay green for long without the watering she gave it every morning.

After the house was completed, Dan had spared no expense on the garden, insisting instant turf be rolled out. At the time, Isabelle had fought him all the way – she didn’t want Fletcher to experience what she termed a ‘pre-cooked’ garden. She would have preferred him to help plant lawn seed and water it, watching it grow. In the end Dan had won, but only because they were having a Christmas party and needed to use the outdoor entertaining area in the new house. Overnight their barren yard went from a building block to an oasis. Isabelle was secretly pleased with the result and had loved her garden ever since. It became her sanctuary after Dan’s death and she would mourn its loss. Her mind raced ahead to a vision of herself as an old woman, stooped and grey, watering her lawn. Over the past three weeks as she had packed up their entire life into cardboard boxes, Isabelle had asked herself how much longer the pain would last. Now, staring out at her garden, she was struck with the realisation that the pain wasn’t going anywhere. She was stuck with it. Years from now, when she was an old woman, she would still feel the pain of losing Dan – her husband, her best friend.

Isabelle stepped onto the timber deck and leaned against the veranda post. From her vantage point, she could see the ocean. She was terrified of leaving the house, with its ocean views. She was terrified of leaving Torquay with its familiar front beach. Most of all she was terrified of leaving behind the memories of Dan.

She closed her eyes, willing her mind to remember the way he smelled, the sound of his laugh, the stubble of his beard against her cheek when he hadn’t shaved for days. On countless nights, they stood side by side in this exact spot. He would drape his arm across her shoulders, smelling of sand and surf, and they would talk for hours. Isabelle inhaled. She could still smell the ocean, but the heaviness across her shoulders wasn’t from his embrace. She wished she could talk to him. Wished she could pick up the phone and ring him. Chat. More than anything, she wished she could tell him about this strange new life and the new journey she was embarking on.

She remembered the words she spoke at Dan’s funeral – the only words she’d managed for most of the day.

‘
Over the years you have shaped me in ways I cannot comprehend. From the first moment we met, to the last time I saw you, you continue to shape me.’

Now it was a new day. A new season. Time to discover who she was on her own. Isabelle Cassidy. No longer ‘Dan’s wife’. Just Isabelle. Single Mum. Widow.

Pain gnawed at her chest. ‘I’ll never forget you, Dan,’ she whispered.

The doorbell chimed, breaking her reflection. With heavy steps and a heavier heart, she went to greet the removalists. As difficult as this day was, deep down she knew that if Dan were here, he would tell her to go for it.

She inhaled deeply and drew her shoulders back. It was time to move.

Isabelle let herself into her parents’ townhouse and kicked off her shoes at the front door. She stopped to listen. Classical music played softly on the stereo system in the living room, and from the kitchen came the muted clatter of her mother unpacking dishes from the dishwasher. She walked down the hallway and stepped silently into the kitchen. Her gaze flitted around the gleaming benches and stovetops, and white ceramic floor tiles that shone with a recently-mopped look.

Karen spun around. She stood at the dishwasher, still dressed in her work clothes, complete with high heels. Her entire outfit looked simple and understated, but it was worth more than most people earned in a week.

‘Hello, darling. I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you haven’t eaten already. I’ve put a meal aside for you.’

There was no way Isabelle would dare admit to having just eaten pizza, even if it meant forcing her way through a second dinner. She drew in a breath and forced her mouth into a smile. ‘No, I haven’t eaten,’ she lied.

‘You look tired. You have bags under your eyes. You really should wear foundation, darling. Now, sit down and I’ll zap your dinner.’

‘Where are the kids?’

‘Your father has taken them to a movie.’

Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘What?’

‘They were getting restless here waiting for you. We had no idea what time you were coming back from the house. What time did the truck leave Torquay?’

Isabelle ignored the reprimand. ‘Five.’

After the removalists had finished packing, they drove to the depot to park overnight. Moments after they left Isabelle’s girlfriends had arrived with pizza, and the five friends had sat cross-legged on the plush carpet and eaten straight from the box, their laughter echoing around the vacant house. Once they had gone, Isabelle opened the envelope Alex had thrust into her hands as they were leaving, and she burst into tears. Along with an unexpected four thousand dollars in cash, was a card, signed by the girls and their husbands. The money was a welcome surprise, but the words in the card, a quote from CS Lewis, meant more.

‘
There are far better things ahead than what we leave behind.’

Isabelle stuffed the empty pizza boxes in the recycling bins and slammed the front door closed for the last time. Her tears had flowed freely all the way to Geelong.

Her mother put a steaming bowl of chicken curry and rice in front of her now. ‘Eat up. You’re looking far too thin. Men don’t like skinny women,’ she said. ‘And don’t frown.’

Isabelle’s stomach clenched. She shovelled a forkful of food in her mouth and willed her mother to leave the room and find something else to clean. Instead, she kept talking.

‘I’m glad you’re moving. It’s such a wonderful opportunity for you and the children. And you might finally be able to get ahead financially.’ Karen tapped her long acrylic nails on the marble bench and attempted a smile. ‘And you never know, darling, you might meet someone special. You’re still young enough to get married again. Besides, your children need a father figure, especially Fletcher. You don’t want him getting out of control.’

Isabelle bit back an urge to scream. Why did her parents always manage to push her buttons? Her father had given her the exact same diatribe the week before.

‘I’m not looking for anyone else. No one can replace Dan.’

‘Daniel’s gone, Isabelle,’ Karen snapped, wiping at an invisible spot on the bench. ‘He’s not coming back. You cannot keep living as you are, stuck in the past. You have to move on.’

‘It’s only been nine months!’ Isabelle cried, brushing angrily at the salty tears running down her face. She pushed the half-eaten curry towards her mother and stood.

Why didn’t her parents at least try to understand?

*

The next morning they took off with barely a backwards glance, as the first rays of sunshine were trying to break through a cloudy eastern sky. Isabelle heaved a sigh of relief as they navigated the traffic and headed for the ring road. She had made the right decision. After one night, Isabelle missed their old home. Instead of waking to the sound of waves crashing over the beach, she had woken to the drone of trucks and cars rushing up Latrobe Terrace in a steady stream towards Melbourne.

This time the trip passed smoothly and quickly, thanks to recently loaded movies on the kids’ iPads. Now the day had arrived, Fletcher and Mietta were finally excited. Fletcher had only moved house once as a toddler and had no memory of it. Mietta had always lived in the same house. Like Dan would have done, they were focusing on the big picture and seeing everything as an adventure. On the other hand, all the little details had captured Isabelle and held her in a tight grip. It was a stressful three weeks, and she’d worn her Grumpy Mummy hat every day.

The long drive gave Isabelle hours of reflection time, and the closer she got to Stony Creek the more a deepening sense of worry pervaded. It was against the grain for her to be spontaneous. She took pride in always being in control. Always being the one who planned for everything. She reminded herself that all she needed to do was place one foot in front of the other and repeat. It didn’t always work, but she at least had to try.

Her biggest concern right now was her furniture. Only an hour earlier they’d passed their removal van carrying all their worldly possessions. At the speed the truck was travelling, it shouldn’t be far behind them when they arrived in Stony Creek. Isabelle hadn’t seen inside their new house and had no idea if their furniture would fit. Their old house in Torquay was big – a ‘McMansion’ her parents had described it when they had first visited. It was big, Isabelle agreed, but not as large as other houses in their street. But she had enough furniture to fill four bedrooms, a study and two living areas. She hoped the cottage had a garage or shed to store the extra things that weren’t going to fit inside the main house.

‘How much further, Mum?’ Fletcher asked. He hadn’t spoken much throughout the whole trip.

‘Another hour at the most.’

‘Will we stay in the house tonight?’

‘Yes,’ Isabelle replied, with a small frown. ‘Where else would we stay?’

‘Oh.’ She glanced sideways and saw his disappointed look. ‘I thought you said we could stay out on the farm tonight.’

‘I don’t want to burden Jim and Fran again.’

‘But you said they’d offered.’

‘Let’s see how we go,’ Isabelle said. ‘If we get everything off the truck in a reasonable timeframe I don’t see why we can’t sleep in the house tonight. I have a bag of linen in the boot ready for when the beds come off the truck. At least we’ll have beds made!’

‘Whatever.’

In three short weeks, Isabelle had seen a complete turnaround in Fletcher’s bad moods. He’d actually been excited about the move, and yet there it was again – the attitude. Her heart twisted. How was she supposed to untangle the emotions of a pre-teen boy? She was glad he’d shoved his earphones back in and missed her sigh.

An hour later the speed limit dropped to eighty, quickly to sixty, and bang, just like that, they were in the centre of town. The sun was already setting and a concerto of colour greeted them. Dusk descended and hovered, the mountain casting long shadows, bathing the town in a soft, constantly changing, pastel glow. Dozens of rosebushes in full bloom lined the centre nature strip of the road – a noticeable change from when Isabelle had driven through the town less than a month earlier. Then, the roses were full of shiny green leaves and buds, but no flowers. A large banner stretched across the main street, welcoming the new arrivals. Isabelle smiled and her heart sped up. Her new home was just around the corner.

At the pub, instead of turning right and following the main road, she drove a short distance straight ahead, flicked her indicator, turned left and they were there. Mountview Street – an unimaginative name, given every street in Stony Creek had a view of the mountain, but still an apt name. Isabelle squinted, peering out the bug-splattered front window. The entire street was lined with cars. Pulling into the driveway, she gasped. A small crowd stood on the front veranda of her new home.

‘What’s going on?’ Fletcher asked.

‘I have no idea.’

‘I see Leah!’ Mietta squealed.

Isabelle smiled. Surely, Leah was behind this – whatever
this
was.

They stepped out of the car to a smattering of applause from the small welcoming committee. Leah pulled Isabelle into a massive hug. Over Leah’s shoulder Isabelle spied Rachel, standing alongside Joe and Jane Jenkins from the pub. Jack O’Rourke was there and other faces Isabelle vaguely recognised. An overweight police officer in uniform stood beside Alison Monahan. That must be her husband, Geoff.

Rachel pushed past Leah to get to Isabelle. She, too, wrapped her arms around Isabelle. ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she admonished, her voice carrying loudly.

Isabelle blushed. Would she ever get used to Rachel’s bluntness? ‘It’s been a stressful couple of weeks. So much to do in such a short period of time.’

‘You’re here now so I’m sure we’ll fatten you up,’ Rachel replied.

Isabelle stifled a laugh at the face Leah pulled at her sister. At least her new friend was on her side. Leah snatched the keys from Isabelle’s hand and held them high above her head in victory. She jiggled them before grabbing Isabelle by the hand and pulling her forward.

‘Come on, what are we waiting for? Let’s show you your new home!’

Like puppies straining at their leads, Fletcher and Mietta raced ahead up the path towards the front door. Isabelle followed behind, arm in arm with Leah, dried weeds crunching beneath their feet. She snuck a quick look around the front garden and swallowed hard, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. The poor cottage garden was in desperate need of more than one or two decent rainfalls. The withered shrubs lining the front fence were the first things she would pull up. In the corner were two fruit trees in desperate need of pruning. The whole place was an unwelcoming sight after the oasis she had left in Torquay, but she pushed the negative thoughts aside and followed Leah. She was grateful they had a house, and she’d do whatever she could to turn it into a home.

Leah handed Isabelle the keys and she inserted one into the lock and swung the old door open. She was greeted by a narrow hallway and a musty, old-house smell which pervaded over the cloying smell of fresh paint. Fletcher and Mietta pushed past her. Isabelle took a moment to pretend to examine the polished floors while she gathered her scattered emotions. Heavy weights pressed down on both shoulders.

‘They look like originals,’ she said, stooping down to touch the Baltic timber floors. ‘I love old houses.’

‘Just as well,’ Leah replied with a wink, ‘’cos this one isn’t in the best nick. But I’m sure we’ll be able to help you fix it up,’ she continued, her enthusiasm bubbling over.

To Isabelle’s left was the main bedroom, complete with an ornate open fireplace. Directly opposite was another smaller bedroom. Isabelle instantly decided this one would be Mietta’s. Dust particles hung suspended in the dappled dusky light. To Isabelle’s right was another bedroom – perfect for Fletcher. A lounge room was opposite Fletcher’s bedroom. Isabelle hoped there were floorboards under the threadbare carpet. Ripping that up would be her second job. The first one was attacking the front garden. Years earlier, someone had installed an ugly electric heater in what would have once been another original fireplace. Boring, off-white paint leaped off the freshly painted walls. Isabelle preferred bold colours, but at least the walls were clean.

Through a doorway at the end of the hallway was the kitchen and meals area – serviceable, but outdated. Through the back window Isabelle surveyed the backyard – a patch of brown dirt and two large trees. Not a single plant or shrub was in sight.

She summoned the courage to open the door to the bathroom. With fingers crossed, she slowly pushed the door open. Pale pink vitreous china greeted her. Matching toilet, bath and sink. At least there was a bath! Thankfully, everything was spotless enough to pass even her mother’s white glove test.

Joe shuffled up beside her. ‘What do ya reckon then, love?’

‘It’s great,’ Isabelle replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt.

‘The house belonged to Hilary Gleeson before she moved to a nursing home. Lovely lady. I’m sure she’d like to meet you one day.’

‘It’s so generous of her.’

‘We’ve given it a spruce up for you.’ There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

‘I can see that,’ Isabelle said. ‘Thank you.’

‘A coat of paint, that’s all,’ Leah said quickly. She’d obviously seen the look on Isabelle’s face. ‘We can help you do more when you know what you want to do.’

‘Am I allowed to?’ Isabelle asked.

‘Yes, absolutely.’ Leah smiled. ‘Anything you want to do to improve the property you can – at your own expense.’

Isabelle looked around. A fresh knot of worry formed in her stomach.
At my expense.
She had no money to make the house into the home she was used to. No dishwasher in the kitchen. No stainless steel six-burner gas cooktop. No Caesarstone bench tops. She tried to hide her disappointment. When had she become such a snob? She was no better than her parents were.

‘We’ll pitch in and help, okay?’ Leah said.

‘Oh, it’s not that,’ Isabelle reassured her. ‘I’m simply overwhelmed by it all and exceptionally tired. I’m sorry if I’m not sounding more grateful.’

Fletcher and Mietta rushed back inside from the backyard, the flyscreen door slamming in their wake.

‘The truck’s here,’ Fletcher shouted as he raced past her to the front of the house.

The important moment had arrived. Where was she going to put all her furniture?