Chapter 40
CHAPTER 40
F irst thing Wednesday morning, I checked that my second Christmas post, Red , had gone live. Tick. Thank you publish scheduling.
‘Mum, can Hunter come over this afternoon?’ Lexi asked as I drove her to school.
‘You’ve got several assignments to complete before the school year finishes. Remember what Mrs Westley said.’
‘I’m doing them, I promise.’ She pinched my thigh. ‘Please, Mummy? I’ve promised to stay at school, and today I’ll come home straight after netball, so can he come over? Please?’
I nodded. ‘But I don’t want the two of you at home alone.’
She removed her hand. ‘Gross! We’re just hanging out.’
‘Can he come for dinner instead?’
‘Dinner?’ Lexi snorted. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘What’s wrong with sharing a meal with us?’
‘Because you’re not normal.’
‘I’m a mother. I’ll never be normal again.’
‘Exactly. If he comes for dinner, you might bring out the lame Family Conversation Starters cards.’
I grinned. ‘They’re a great way of getting to know people. ’
‘This afternoon?’ Lexi persisted. ‘For an hour?’
On Wednesdays, Lexi had netball practice until four thirty, and Arnaud had changed soccer practice this week to today. Theoretically, I could swing by and pick Angus up from the oval and still be home by five. ‘Okay, but I’m going to be keeping my eye on you both.’
Angus wasn’t happy when I dropped him at school at ten minutes after eight.
‘The clock’s slow,’ I lied. ‘It’s closer to twenty past eight. Love you, sweetheart.’
He smiled. ‘Love you too, Mummy.’
‘Jack’s mum’s picking you up from school and taking you to soccer practice. Remember your manners and wipe your feet before you climb into her car. And don’t forget to bring home two reading books. Proper reading books, Angus. Books that have more than six words of two syllables on each page, okay? I’ll be at the oval before five.’
Angus’s lips puckered. ‘I miss walking Rupert with you. We used to do that all the time.’
My heart swelled. ‘Let’s do that tonight before dinner.’
He beamed. ‘Yay.’ Moments later, he was inside the school gates. Shoelaces undone. Shirt hanging out.
Entering the Image Ink offices, cappuccino in hand, I tried to recall the previous night’s dream. It annoyed me that I couldn’t quite remember, interrupted by Rupert’s pre-dawn barking. Eventually, it’d come to me.
Walking towards the studio, I heard raised voices booming from Graeme’s office. Door wide open, I stopped and peered in. Fern was blasting him.
‘This little problem, as you call it, won’t disappear by itself. You caused it, remember, so you need to fix it. Today.’ Way to go, Fern. The woman had style. She didn’t let Graeme bully her. She was all action.
Graeme pushed his chair out from behind his desk and stood. ‘No, Fern. Christ! Didn’t I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, but?—’
‘You’re not listening to me.’
I quickly stepped out of sight, mesmerised, struck by their fury. Surely, the entire floor could hear Graeme’s raging voice. He was a seething mass of anger about to explode.
Fern, master of control, dropped her voice so low I could only hear snatches. ‘Graeme, we need Mara… MasterChef …’
‘Either she goes, or I do,’ Graeme thundered.
‘Be reasonable. We’re committed to a Wednesday deadline – one week! The only way that’s going to happen is if Mara’s here.’ Fern’s voice softened and I couldn’t hear what she said next. I edged closer, worried I’d get caught gawking. Still, I was amazed crowds hadn’t gathered in the hallway.
Graeme’s door slammed. Fern imprisoned inside. I hovered a moment longer, but Graeme was obviously aware his raised voice had reverberated throughout the building because I could only hear muffled sounds.
Arriving at the studio, I opened the door, stepped inside and turned on the lights.
‘Hey,’ Coco trilled. I jumped and spilled my coffee. ‘Ascertained Fern’s locus?’
‘She was with Graeme a moment ago. Maybe they’ve gone downstairs.’
‘Whatevs,’ Coco said. ‘I require blueprint endorsement. And since there’s no Mara, I need Fern.’
‘Need Fern for what?’ Fern was standing in the doorway.
‘Layout approval.’ Coco hesitated. ‘Graeme as well.’
‘Graeme’s left for the day.’ Fern’s tone was sharp, not to be messed with. ‘Go on, Coco, I’ll be right with you. Kate, about the Bush Magic Christmas photos?’
‘Those? Playing around?—’
‘They’re fantastic. Fresh, light. I’m using one for the front cover of the special edition coming out Thursday week. I was going to use Graeme’s, the one with the exotic feathers, sequins and black satin, but yours are so much more innovative and sophisticated, not to mention, Christmassy. Let’s not tell him though, he’ll find out soon enough.’ Fern clicked her tongue and sighed. ‘That’s why I’m the boss. I make the hard decisions.’
‘Fern… Thank you.’
‘No, thank you . I wouldn’t use them if they weren’t brilliant. I’m loving the online festive advent posts too. Very good. Getting lots of likes and comments. Well done.’
‘I’m having fun.’ I paused. ‘If Graeme’s out for the day, I’ll make the most of my time and meet with Dana to discuss the food for the next round of nativity releases.’
My recent dream flashed before me as Fern walked out of the studio. I was in the back seat of a car with Graeme doing something… and we stopped. Then we were in a taxi, again in the back seat with Graeme, and we were heading… to his apartment.
Dismissing my unreliable memories, I got on with the Delicious Bites online nativity calendar. Day eight: Christmas Trees . Day nine: Traditional Christmas Baking . Day ten: Music . Day eleven: Everything’s Green . Day twelve: Family . Day thirteen: Sweet Treats . Day fourteen: Festive Flowers.
‘Kate,’ Fern said later when we crossed paths in the corridor. ‘Come with me.’
I followed her into her office. Fern’s walls were painted a calming pale green. We sat in comfortable burgundy lounge chairs opposite a glass coffee table and floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked scruffy bush. To the side, Fern’s oak desk was uncluttered but for a vase of colourful dahlias, photos of her family and a computer. I glanced at Sarah’s book and a selection of Image Ink’s magazines scattered on the table.
‘Would you mind heading back up to the beach on Friday and taking more location shots? We don’t have enough.’
‘Sure. Any news about Mara? Or Simone?’
‘The good news is Simone will hopefully return in two weeks, but Mara’s still AWOL.’
‘And if Mara doesn’t come back?’
‘Not an option. She’s the driving force of the magazine. If she doesn’t…’ Fern shook her head. ‘She must. That’s all there is to it.’
‘I saw Sarah at the café across the street earlier this week. She hasn’t changed since college. There’s no humility about her at all.’
‘Look at her book.’
‘She doesn’t need any more glory.’
‘Stop! Graeme’s not here, you’ll have no interruptions. Take it and go.’ Fern reached across her coffee table, picked up Sarah’s tribute to herself, and handed it to me. Again.
In the studio, I sat at my workbench, eyeing the book. What was it that scared me so
much? First, there was the cover with the words SARAH STANTHORPE, INTERNATIONALLY ACCLAIMED PHOTOGRAPHER , plastered across the front. Internationally acclaimed photographer!
Her smug face was on the very first page, her superior self- righteous expression looking at me as if to say, ‘Ha-ha. My photography’s better than yours. I have a three-book publishing deal. You’ve got nothing. Nothing but envy, you talentless no-good piece of trash.’
Maybe not. Maybe Sarah was simply smiling a happy smile, but it looked like she was speaking directly to me, and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t turn the pages. My hand hovered over the acknowledgements page, frozen. Fear of what I’d see on the next page, I guess. The fear of finding Sarah was so much more talented than me and always had been. I had stomach cramps, a looming headache and was sweating profusely. Why did I care so much? So scared her photography would be so poignant, so meaningful, so soul-crushingly perfect that I’d never want to pick up a camera again in my life?
Absolutely.
Quietly, I flicked through several pages, then several pages more, until I reached the double-page spread in the middle of the book: a stunning portrait of three lions, two adults and a cub, basking in the sun on a flat rock surrounded by lush green grass. The adult female was licking the cub, her eyes wide open. Beautiful. Their upper bodies were perfectly framed – the photo taken at the precise moment the sunlight hit the back of their heads.
The accompanying caption read: Words cannot express the exhilaration I felt being up close and personal with these magnificent animals as they watched over their cub in the late afternoon sun. Image taken at Kruger National Park, South Africa, Spring, 2019: Nikon N90s/600m lens and Kodachrome 64 film.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Fern. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? I remember the day that photo was taken.’
‘October fourteen, 2009.’
‘Your photos, Kate. Part of your final assessment portfolio. ’
My breath hitched.
I almost laughed through my tears. ‘I waited hours to get that bloody shot. Waiting for the right moment. Africa, hey? At least she got the lens and film details right.’
‘I bet Sarah’s publisher would be very interested to know it was you who took this photo at Taronga Zoo, Sydney, not Sarah at Kruger National Park, South Africa. And you know what, Kate? Your photo is by far the best. No matter how many times I look through the collection, yours stands out.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wanted you to see it for yourself.’
‘But she stole my photo.’
‘Yep. What are you going to do about it?’
I shrugged, too stunned to speak.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Because you asked me, and when you asked, it hit me: I realised what my life had been missing all these years. I love taking photographs, bursting to shoot everything I see. I’m so angry with myself for giving up. I feel like I’ve wasted so much time, lost so many opportunities.’
She nodded. ‘Kate, you have to get out there. You’re an artist. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love you to stay at Delicious Bites permanently, but you have real talent. Use it.’