Roadside Sisters Read Free

never seen a woman with dreadlocks before. All I could think of were the dags on a sheep’s bum!’
    And then it was Nina’s turn: ‘Do you ever think of poor Genevieve, with her Indonesian clove cigarettes and God-knows-what-else she was on?’
    There was a pause as they all remembered Genevieve, dead now for twelve years, but still alive in their minds, swaying with her hands on her heart singing ‘Asleep in Jesus’.
Asleep in Jesus! Blessed sleep,
    From which none ever wakes to weep;
    A calm and undisturbed repose,
    Unbroken by the last of foes.
     
    Asleep in Jesus! Oh, how sweet,
    To be for such a slumber meet,
    With holy confidence to sing
    That death has lost his venomed sting!
    Five of them had sung that song at Genevieve’s funeral. They could only hope that she had indeed found peace at last.
    ‘So, Annie,’ Nina paused to lick her spoon—and her fingers—‘how’s the real estate business going?’ Nina thought things must be going rather well, judging by the size of the diamond dress-ring Annie was wearing and the price of the wine she’d ordered ($60!).
    ‘It’s all good. Got a cute little place by the beach in Port Melbourne. One bedroom. Nothing like Meredith’s palatial ranch out east, of course.’
    ‘Yee-hah!’ Meredith swung her napkin over her head like a cowgirl riding a $10,000 Miele range oven and five-burner cooktop. ‘I’ve just finished another round of renovations. The “ranch” is looking fabulous. You must come and see. And come into the store if you’re looking for something special for the home. In fact, I’ve got my latest full-colour catalogue right here. I’ll give you a discount.’
    ‘So you’re still in the house-porn business,’ said Annie as the catalogue was waved in front of her. Meredith dropped it back into her bag. She’d forgotten how sharp Annie’s comments could be. Cutting. Right to the bone. Always delivered with that winning, country-girl ‘whaddya reckon?’ grin.
    ‘As a matter of fact, Annie,’ Meredith leaned across the table and whispered, ‘I just got a shipment in from Sweden and I am in possession of some serious objects of desire.’
    Annie remembered that Meredith had always been clever, quick-witted. How old was she now? Fifty? And still rail-thin and utterly intimidating. She was all cream suede and pearls this evening. The eighties feminist firebrand in overalls who had scaled billboards in the dark to deface sexist advertising had been spray-painted over. In her place was a tasteful mantelpiece portrait of carefully understated eastern suburbs affluence.
    ‘Ooooh, Swedish appliances!’ Annie teased and pouted glossy red lips. ‘Anything with studs and rubber? Maybe I will stop by.’
    Nina had been reading the menu in search of one last treat and had missed most of this exchange. ‘I love your hair. It really suits you,’ she said, admiring Meredith’s slim face framed by sleek silvery layers. ‘When’d you stop colouring it?’
    Meredith ducked Nina’s outstretched hand. ‘Six months ago. Not long after Donald left. I needed a change. How much of a cliché is that? “Husband walks out, wife runs to hairdresser.” Let’s order coffee.’ Meredith turned away and looked for the waiter.
    Nina, as the convener of the occasion and self-appointed cheerleader, was torn. Meredith and Donald had been married for . . . it must be close on thirty years. She needed more information. Then again—Nina checked her watch—it was almost 10 pm. She would just bet that Jordy was still on the bloody computer in his bedroom, that the twins hadn’t done their homework and Brad was flaked out on the couch in front of the television. She should probably call home in a few minutes.
    ‘How old are Sigrid and Jarvis now?’ Annie asked Meredith.
    ‘Well, that’s the big news. Sigrid’s getting married in Byron Bay in three weeks. Jarvis is coming back from London for the wedding. He’s been working at Sotheby’s in Asian art.’ The