Making Peace Read online

  ‘Really? Do you think so?’ Sam said, blushing.

  ‘Breathtaking,’ Jasmine said, and promptly put a red dot on the one wearing a bright pink, broad-brimmed hat at an angle. ‘If someone comes along and desperately wants it I’ll reluctantly give it up,’ she said.

  ‘Then I’ll make you another one,’ Sam said.

  ‘Where do you get them fired? Do you own your own kiln?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘I wish,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe one day. No, I just use a kiln-hiring service. There are plenty of places around that do it – they charge by the piece or you can hire a whole kiln.’

  ‘How interesting. I had no idea.’

  ‘The main problem is getting the pieces there and back again without them breaking. That’s why I’d love to have my own kiln, but at the moment I’m not sure how much I’m going to do with ceramics. And, of course, there is the cost involved. Anyway, it’s no problem to get them done.’

  Hannah wanted to buy a collection of the figurines. They’d make a wonderful display to signify their friendship group. She could see tiny similarities to each of her friends in the pieces. The one with the glasses with thick multi-coloured frames could be Caitlin, the one with the walking stick Beth, et cetera. But Hannah didn’t want Sam thinking it was a pity purchase. Although she hadn’t said anything to Jasmine when she bought one, so hopefully she was on the up. Hannah also loved every one of the small, framed linocuts – a series of well-known Melbourne landmarks Sam said she’d done especially for the tourists who would hopefully be stopping by.

  Sam had brought along plenty of wrapping paper and cardboard and sticky tape – things Hannah hadn’t even considered. She’d been too busy taking care of their personal comfort – bringing fold-up chairs, a large umbrella to protect them from the summer sun, thermoses of tea and coffee, sandwiches, buttered date loaf and plenty of water and sunscreen. She was determined to make it a day to enjoy as well as hopefully a profitable one for Sam. Thankfully the weather was going to be kind.

  They had just settled back in their deck chairs with mugs of coffee when their first potential customer appeared. Jasmine immediately stood up.

  ‘Let me know if I can help with anything,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks. I quite like this,’ the woman said, pointing to a small abstract painting. ‘But I’m looking for something larger – I have an enormous blank wall just begging for something big and bright.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’m sure Sam could do a piece for you on commission,’ she said, looking back at Sam with raised, eyebrows.

  ‘Of course,’ Sam said, taking the cue to get up and join Jasmine.

  ‘This is the artist, Sam Barrow,’ Jasmine said proudly. Sam put her hand out to the lady who shook it.

  ‘It’s very nice to meet you. You have a lot of lovely pieces.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d be very happy to do something especially for you and your space.’

  ‘Do you have a business card?’

  ‘Oh no. I don’t, but I’ll be here next week.’

  Hannah made a mental note to remind Sam to organise cards during the week.

  ‘Here, put your details on the back of one of mine, Sam,’ Jasmine said, producing a card and a pen from her bag.

  ‘Thanks,’ the woman said, accepting the card. ‘Ooh, you’re an interior designer. Good to know. Thanks again, I’ll think about it,’ she said to Sam before moving away.

  ‘Damn, I didn’t even think about business cards,’ Sam said. ‘Thanks for that, Jas. You should have told her more about what you do while you were at it.’

  ‘Sam, today is about you, not me. Why don’t we quickly do up some handwritten cards – you can sacrifice a few pages from your sketchbook, can’t you?’

  ‘You could also add some colour and details to each one, like swirls maybe,’ Hannah suggested. ‘Oh, what would I know? You’re the artist,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said, and set to work.

  ‘You know what we should do?’ Jasmine said an hour later when Sam had produced a dozen handmade business cards and they’d watched plenty of people wander up, pause to check out their wares, and then keep walking.

  ‘What?’ Sam and Hannah said at once.

  ‘Set Sam up as a working visual display.’

  ‘A what?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘You know, artist at work – an exhibit – sketching, painting, carving her lino. It would create interest and draw people in.’

  ‘Oh, now that’s a good idea,’ Hannah said. ‘What do you think, Sam?’

  ‘It’s a bit gimmicky, isn’t it? And I’m not sure I want people watching me while I work.’

  ‘It’s okay, it was only a suggestion,’ Jasmine said. ‘But you do realise we were looking over your shoulder and commenting on your business cards the whole time you were drawing them, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh. You’re right, you were. But strangers would be different.’

  ‘As I said, it’s up to you. Maybe think about it for next week.’

  ‘You could do one of your clever cartoon sketches,’ Hannah said. ‘They’re awesome. Keep you from getting bored, too.’

  Now they were all set up, there wasn’t much to do but sit. Hannah was starting to feel that it was going to be a long day. Especially if everyone kept wandering past without making a purchase or even asking questions. She wondered if it was because they were at the start of the line of stalls and she hoped that people would come back after seeing what else was on offer at the other end.

  They tried to look eager and attentive, but it was becoming harder as time went on. So they settled back in their chairs and watched the flow of tourists.

  ‘Do you have any of these with black accessories?’ a woman asked, pointing to the ceramic figures.

  ‘No, sorry,’ Sam said. ‘But I could make you one – here, take one of my cards.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ She pocketed the card with little interest and moved on.

  ‘They’re fun, that’s the point, that’s why they’re colourful!’ Sam hissed at Hannah and Jasmine as she sat back down. ‘I know we live in Melbourne where black is practically compulsory, but still!’

  ‘You can’t please everyone all of the time,’ Jasmine said kindly.

  ‘I know, it’s frustrating,’ Hannah said, offering her a sympathetic grimace. Hannah wondered how she’d feel in the same position. She wasn’t creative, so didn’t really know what it was like to put your heart and soul into making something. Though she did cook. And she’d be hurt if someone openly criticised her food.

  Unfortunately, a big part of being an artist seemed to be holding an already fragile soul out for all to tear apart. Poor Sam. Hannah knew that being an artist wasn’t a choice – according to Sam, creativity forced itself into you and you could never escape it for too long. You could try, but it was fruitless, so you may as well accept it. As melodramatic as it sounded, Hannah knew not to laugh – she’d known Sam for a long time, watched the ups and downs, the self-doubt.

  She opened up the newspaper she’d brought in case there wasn’t enough action.

  ‘Are you making Pikachu? Cool.’ Hannah looked up. A little boy was practically standing over a slightly startled Sam who, she now noticed, had created some sort of creature out of yellow putty.

  ‘Sorry?’ Sam asked.

  ‘That,’ the kid said, pointing. ‘It’s Pikachu, isn’t it?’

  ‘What or who is Pikachu?’ Sam asked.

  ‘A Pokémon. Duh,’ he added quietly. ‘This,’ the kid said, thrusting out a smartphone towards Sam.

  Since when do children under ten have smartphones? Hannah thought.

  ‘Oh. Well, I see it does look a little like it. Hang on a second.’ Sam quickly fashioned a jagged tail, added two little patches of red to the cheeks, made a mouth, added some black to the ears and eyes, and then held it out to the little boy. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Oh, wow. Look, Mum, I found one. A real real one.’

  A woman walked up to them. ‘O
h dear, you’re not bothering these ladies are you, Jacob?’

  ‘But, Muuum, she’s got Pikachu. Look.’

  The woman looked at Sam. ‘How much is it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for sale. I was just fiddling about.’

  The little boy was crestfallen. His chin wobbled.

  ‘I tell you what. If you promise to be very careful with it, I’ll let you take it home,’ Sam said. ‘But it’s delicate, so you’ll have to be very gentle. Do you think you can do that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I promise.’

  ‘It’s putty,’ Sam said to the boy’s mother. ‘Pop it in the oven at one-ten for thirty minutes and then it’ll be fine. Until then it can still be worked so will be a bit fragile.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks very much. Are you sure you don’t want anything for it?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I was just playing around, really.’

  ‘Well, thank you. You’ve made him very happy. God, this Pokémon Go craze!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I thought it had stopped, but apparently not in our house. Honestly, it’s doing my head in. And I warn you, you might have a tribe of little boys and girls next week all wanting them once they see what Jacob has. Do you mind if I take your card? I really love some of your pieces, but money’s a little tight at the moment. Though your prices are very reasonable,’ she added, looking embarrassed.

  ‘It’s okay, I completely understand,’ Sam said, offering her a warm smile. ‘Let’s just put Pikachu in this paper bag to stay safe. Here you are, Jacob,’ Sam said, holding out the handles of the bag to the child.

  ‘What do you say?’ Jacob’s mother said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jacob said, beaming. He then held out a hand to Sam.

  ‘You’re very welcome, young man,’ Sam said, returning his handshake.

  The day dragged on with only a few sales.

  ‘I can’t believe the most excited customer was a little boy and a freebie blob of putty. If it wasn’t so depressing it would be funny,’ Sam said. ‘I’m really sorry it’s been a wasted day for you both.’

  ‘It wasn’t a wasted day,’ Jasmine said. ‘It’s been a lovely day relaxing with friends and people-watching, which is never boring.’

  ‘What about all the people who took your cards and showed an interest? They might buy next week or get in touch,’ Hannah said.

  ‘And you kept Tabatha’s stall secure for her, remember,’ Jasmine said. ‘So you’ve done a good deed too.’

  ‘I guess I just expected more,’ Sam said.

  ‘Well, there’s your problem,’ Jasmine said gently. ‘Expectations lead to disappointment. Next week come along just to have a day out with us and nothing more.’

  ‘Are you coming back again next week? Really?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Of course. This is a reconnaissance mission for my business down the track, too. It’s good for me to see what approach might work for me.’

  *

  ‘See what I mean about Sam?’ Hannah said after they’d dropped Sam off at her house and unloaded all of her things into the garage.

  ‘Yes, she doesn’t seem like the happy-go-lucky person who was at your birthday party just last month,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘I’ve tried to get her to talk to me, but she uses the markets as an excuse.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s all it really is about. It’s a bit of pressure to create on demand and put your babies out on display for the first time. And then only to have people criticise – not openly today, but when someone says they’d rather it was a different colour or a little more like this and a little less like that, it is being critical of her work.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Unfortunately, if Sam wants to be a career artist she’ll have to find a way to deal with it.’

  ‘Hmm. In some ways I sort of hope there’s something else going on because, like you say, it doesn’t bode well for a budding professional artist.’

  ‘You’ll have to let it go, too, Hannah. Just leave her be. She knows where you are if she needs you. But you have to be careful not to make it about you and your need to solve someone else’s problems. Sorry, that sounds a little harsh.’

  ‘No, you’re absolutely right. I’ve been telling myself the same thing – it’s not about me.’

  ‘But it’s hard to turn it off, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s why we love you, Hannah – because you care so much. So, changing the subject completely, are you looking forward to going back to work soon? Craig’s missing you like crazy.’

  ‘That’s nice. Yes and no, actually. I’ll miss the cats, but I am starting to get a little bored. There’s not a weed in sight in the garden!’

  ‘Ha-ha, says the girl who hates gardening.’

  ‘Exactly. See what I mean? Organising the market has been good. If there’s anything I can do to help you, let me know.’

  ‘Careful what you offer – I’ll have you setting up the books and filing system for my non-existent business in no time!’

  ‘I’d be happy to. Seriously. I love that sort of thing – crazy, I know,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Horses for courses and all that.’

  ‘Okay. So, I’ll see you on Wednesday for lunch?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Thanks again so much for coming along today.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine,’ Jasmine said. ‘I really did enjoy it.’

  They hugged in the car and then Jasmine waved as she made her way to her door and Hannah backed out of the driveway. Jasmine was right, she had to leave Sam be. She knew Hannah was there and could be counted on for anything – they’d been best friends for over ten years. Whatever was up with Sam, she wasn’t ready to share and might never be. Hannah had to respect that.

  Chapter Five

  On Monday morning Hannah’s doorbell rang. She briefly considered ignoring it; she was sitting cross-legged on the lounge-room floor playing with Holly and the kittens, who were starting to get more mobile and adventurous.

  ‘Back in a sec. Stay here,’ she told the cats as she got up with a sigh.

  ‘Rob. Hi.’ Hannah peered around him to see if Sam and the boys were waiting in the car.

  ‘It’s just me,’ he said, running a hand through his sandy hair. ‘Do you have a minute? Can I come in?’ The formality of his words and the flat tone in his voice caused Hannah to study him carefully. He looked terrible – drawn and pasty, dark shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in ages. A bit like Sam, really. And there again was the hand through his hair – a clear sign he was troubled about something and out of his depth. The last time she’d seen that was Christmas Day before last – the day of The Accident.

  ‘Of course. Come in,’ she said, snapping back to the present and standing aside to let him in.

  She was surprised and disappointed when he went straight through to the lounge room. Whatever was going on was clearly too serious for sitting at the informal kitchen bench. Holly and the kittens were nowhere in sight – probably hiding behind the curtains that went almost to the carpet.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Hannah asked, hovering as Rob settled himself on one of the couches. Something stronger, brandy perhaps?

  ‘No, thanks. Please, Hann, I really just need to talk to you.’

  Hannah felt the blood drain from her face as she sat down on the couch opposite with the coffee table between them. Oh god, this is serious. He’s sick. Or Sam is. Oh god.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she prompted when he sat silent, running his hand through his hair.

  ‘Sam hasn’t told you, has she?’

  ‘Told me what? We’ve been talking about her art a lot, but nothing personal – if that’s what you mean – no.’ Of course that’s what he means! They were both stalling.

  Rob’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh, along with the words, ‘We’ve split up.’

  ‘What? You’ve what?’ Hannah felt her mouth drop open and whatever blood was still in her face drained away. ‘Whe
n? Today, just now? How?’ How! Come on, Hannah pull yourself together.

  ‘I’ve left her. It’s a bit of a long story.’

  ‘I’ve got all day, Rob. You’d better start from the start.’ Oh god, poor Sam.

  ‘Okay. But I want to say from the outset that I will completely understand if you end up hating me and never want to speak to me again. You’re Sam’s friend, you’ve known her for years, so naturally you’re going to side with her and …’

  ‘Rob,’ Hannah interrupted. Just bloody tell me.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ he said, holding up his palms as if in surrender. ‘There will be no hard feelings. I’m here because I’m worried about Sam.’

  ‘Just tell me, Rob.’

  ‘I’m gay, Hannah. I’ve been …’

  ‘You’re what?’ Hannah was so shocked she almost laughed. A montage of images of him with his arm around Sam, nuzzling her neck, snogging under the fake mistletoe over the doorframe, being the perfect attentive husband flashed through her mind. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Oh god, where did that come from. Sorry I didn’t mean … Are you sure? I mean …’ Shut up Hannah! Hannah closed her mouth.

  ‘I know it’s a shock. Yes, I’m sure it’s hard to believe. And, yes, I’m sure. I think I’ve known all along, but I’ve wrestled with it for a long time – pushed it aside, tried to pretend I’m not. I love Sam and the boys so much. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt them and turn their lives upside down. And despite all the progress towards acceptance of homosexuality, coming out is not a great career move in the world of finance.’

  Yet you have. Or have you? Hannah blinked. Her head whirled. ‘But you’ve got two children, and a wife,’ she blurted. She knew she was sounding like an ignorant, naïve child, but she couldn’t help it. ‘So, hang on, if you’ve always known and pretended to be …?’

  ‘Normal?’ he prompted, with slightly raised eyebrows.

  ‘Heterosexual,’ she corrected. ‘Why now? What happened? Have you met someone?’

  ‘No. Yes. Not really. But that’s not really it. Last year losing Tris was devastating to me – he was one of my best friends, Hannah. It served as a pretty serious wakeup call and made me start to question everything.’