and mozzarella rolls, baked mushrooms with parmesan, potato fritters, roasted peppers with olives, capers and garlic, grilled clams and bacon on the half-shell. A bowl of her famous home-made parmesan cheese and chive biscuits followed.
Annie, her call concluded, stepped outside the cubicle and joined Meredith to lean over the table and coo with pleasure at the feast glistening with virgin olive oil. Nina was a fabulous cook—they’d forgotten that. The freezer gave up a bottle of good chilled Margaret River sauvignon blanc.
With Annie and Meredith both sitting at the table and swooning over the food and wine, Nina continued: ‘Just think, you’d have me cooking for you all the way! You could both do with some fattening up.’
Meredith and Annie sensibly ignored this comment. That was Nina’s mother, Wanda, talking. But it was true—the food was spectacular.
Now that they both had their mouths stuffed full, Nina made one final, heroic effort. ‘The thing is,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve been thinking about those times on the road with Sanctified Soul and, well . . . they were the best times! After all that, I met Brad, and had kids. It feels like I’ve been a wife and mother for almost half my life.’ Her bottom lip trembled ominously. ‘You don’t know what it’s like living with three teenage boys. It’s never quiet. I can’t hear myself think, and I’m not sure I’m actually thinking anything anymore. I need to get away, I really do.’ She sniffed back tears of last resort. Meredith and Annie set down their knives and forks. Maybe Nina was closer to the edge than they’d realised.
‘And I remember you, Meredith,’ Nina snuffled, ‘leaving Sigrid and Jarvis at home because you knew, even back then, it was important for women to spend some time on themselves.’
‘“Self-actualise”, they called it in those days,’ Meredith interrupted. ‘But I think really it was just about getting away from smelly nappies.’
Annie took up her wineglass. ‘But you could go away with Brad, or by yourself. What do you hope this whole . . . exercise . . . will achieve?’
‘I want to be with women friends.’ Nina was genuinely passionate on this point. ‘People who speak the same language as me. We’ve known each other all these years, but never spent real time together . . . not . . . you know . . .’ Nina gripped the edge of the table, trying to avoid sounding like a cut-rate Oprah.
‘If you say quality time, I’ll hit you.’ Annie was only half joking.
‘Maybe we’ll never have the chance again. Maybe in another ten years’ time, when we’re almost sixty . . .’
‘Hey, I’ll only be forty-nine then!’ Annie protested.
‘Yes, yes, Annie, we all know you’re the “baby” of the group.’ Meredith was doing her own sums and realised that in ten years’ time she would be almost sixty. How had that happened?
‘Anyway,’ Nina continued, ‘let’s go while we can. We’ve got the occasion—Siggie’s wedding—and we’ve got the van. Brad’s father says he’ll pick it up in Byron. He wants to keep going north to Fraser Island, so we can fly back.’
Nina took up her glass, her fingers gripping the stem tightly. If they didn’t agree to come right now, she’d have to throw in her tartan tea towel. She had nothing more to offer.
Annie kept her head down, silently tearing at a crust of bread. Meredith sighed loudly. Nina took a nervous sip of wine and watched them both intently. Silence and sighs. That had to be a sign that she was making some headway, surely.
Meredith was almost beaten. She set down her glass and raised one last feeble flag of protest. ‘What about that thing?’ She pointed accusingly at the wall. It was a gold-framed photograph of Gracelands, Memphis, Tennessee.
‘It’s gone!’ declared Nina. She scrambled over Meredith to pull down the offending item and shoved it in the locker under the bed.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .’ Meredith dropped her head into her hands and pressed her palms into her eyes, ‘OK. I’ll come. Let’s start packing.’ Nina whooped and jumped in triumph.
‘But when it all goes pear-shaped,’ Meredith added, ‘remember . . . I told you so.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ Nina clapped her hands. ‘This will be such fun, you’ll see. We should have a toast.’ She raised her glass. ‘To Byron or . . .’
Annie’s leather handbag vibrated with shrill alarm. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’ Annie’s hand plunged into the depths of her