‘Grand. I have something that may help with that.’
‘Oh?’
There’s silence for a few seconds.
‘I know you don’t care about clothes,’ Daphne says.
‘That’s not true.’ Adelaide cares about the clothes she wears on her person, just not the clothes anyone else wears.
‘It’s somewhat true.’
Adelaide’s silence is the only sign of affirmation she will give.
‘I need a volunteer at the frock shop.’
‘Right.’ Adelaide is stalling, trying to come up with an excuse to –
‘Stop thinking of excuses,’ Daphne says, sounding amused. ‘It’s not as if you don’t have the time.’
This is an inescapable fact: Adelaide has had nothing but time since she moved back to Sydney, and there are only so many novels she can read, crosswords she can do and concerts she can go to at the Presbyterian Church.
She sighs again, more for effect than anything. ‘What would I have to do?’
‘The till,’ Daphne says. ‘And the occasional bit of sorting and putting things away.’
‘No fashion advice?’
There’s a noise that sounds like guffawing. ‘I’ll keep that job for myself,’ Daphne says. ‘You know I enjoy it.’
‘I do.’
‘How about Wednesdays – eleven to four?’
Today is Monday. Two days in which to prepare herself for something she’s never done before: retail work.
‘Fine.’
‘Fine, then. All right – see you Wednesday at eleven?’
‘Yes. Cheerio.’
‘Toodle-oo.’
As the call ends Adelaide wonders how she will get up the hill to where the shop is. The tram used to run almost to the reserve opposite her house, making its perilous way down the hill to the beach. She never needed it because she used to walk everywhere in this suburb, but she wishes it was there now, because walking up the incline of Raglan Street to Mosman Junction is beyond her aged legs. She could drive, but it seems wasteful when it’s less than a kilometre away.
Something she can think about between now and Wednesday. Although not much today, as she has a reporter coming to speak to her.
At two o’clock the woman rings the doorbell. Susie, her name is. Susie Something-double-barrelled. Adelaide really should know but she only wrote down Susie and the date and time of the interview.
‘It’s a lovely home,’ the reporter says as she glances around the sitting room after Adelaide ushers her in.
‘Thank you,’ Adelaide says, and gestures to the couch.
‘I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,’ Susie says. She’s a sturdy-looking woman of the variety who favours a turtleneck in winter and a cowl neck in summer. Strong-looking hands – probably a pianist. There must be some musical interest there, after all, for her to want to interview Adelaide.
‘All I have is time,’ Adelaide says lightly. ‘I’m surprised you wish to talk to me, though, considering I’m retired.’
‘Well, it’s just so special to have someone asesteemedas you back in Australia!’ Susie beams. ‘I said to the editor, “She’s a nationaltreasure! Wemusthave her in the magazine!”’ More beaming. ‘So here I am.’