Page 92 of The Mother-in-Law

‘That would be great,’ he says. ‘Or just send me the link and I’ll do it.’

I would be hard-pressed to find an upside to the whole tragedy of Diana’s and Nettie’s deaths, but if I was really trying, I’d say it was the new harmony between me and Ollie. Somehow we’ve found ourselves perfectly aligned on the goals of our family and we are equal partners. It never suited Ollie being the full-time breadwinner and, the funny thing is, I’ve always known that. Now, working as a team, I realise we are playing to our strengths again. I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow after this funeral. I don’t know if we can afford to keep renting our house. I have no idea what’s ahead for us. I know it’s likely to be bad for a while. But I’m hoping it won’t be bad forever.

‘It’s nearly time to go,’ I say.

I turn off the iron and peel Edie’s dress off the ironing board. Ollie appears right beside me and gently tugs at my necklace. ‘That was Mum’s, wasn’t it?’

I nod. I’ve been wearing it every day since Diana died. Ollie turns it over in his fingers. ‘I remember seeing it around Mum’s neck when I was little. She said it symbolised strength.’

We both look down at it. ‘It’s a shame she didn’t give it to Nettie.’

We’re quiet for a moment, staring down at the necklace. Then Ollie lets it fall back to my chest. ‘Maybe she knew Nettie wasn’t strong enough to wear it.’

64

LUCY

Ten years later . . .

‘Lucy? Abdul Javid is here for his interview. Is Ollie here?’

I glance at my watch. ‘He must be running late, Ghezala. I’ll come out.’

‘Okay. I’m going home now. Have a good evening.’

I hang up the phone and pull on my suit jacket. When I don’t have interviews on I often wear leggings and a T-shirt around the office—one of the perks of running your own business—but today Ollie and I have had back-to-back interviews. Our office is a short drive from our home, in a rundown old townhouse not far away from where Ghezala used to live. A lot of new refugees settle in this area, which makes it convenient for them and cheap for us. Ollie and I each have an office (formerly bedrooms) and Ghezala’s office is in the old living room. On the days Ghezala comes in, she brings in food for us to share in the living room. She has a playpen set up as well, for those days her youngest isn’t in daycare.

Ghezala has five children now. Hakem is making enough money that she doesn’t need to work any more, but she comes in to help us all the time—translating, making the candidates comfortable, helping explain cultural differences. As a member of the board of Diana’s charity, she was the one who approached us a few months after Diana’s death. She’d heard about the business we wanted to start and let us know about a sizeable pool of money Diana had bequeathed that was designated for ‘ventures deemed by the board to be in the interests of the charity’.

Our business fits this criteria.

I step into the hallway and shake the hand of a very tall man, his skin as black as burnt wood.

‘Mr Javid?’ I say.

‘Mrs Goodwin?’

‘Please. Call me Lucy.’

‘Then you must call me Abdul.’

Abdul smiles a brilliant white smile. Apart from the trouser legs of his suit, which are several inches too short, he is very presentable. Abdul was a project manager for a major construction group in Afghanistan. He arrived in Australia four months ago and has been working as a night cleaner at the local hospital while trying to find work more appropriate to his skills.

‘Come in, Abdul. Ollie, my partner, will join us in a moment.’

‘Did someone say my name?’

Ollie clambers through the back door, dressed in a shirt with jeans. The days of his shiny tight suits are long gone. Now Ollie does a lot of his interviews via Skype, so he can be found dressed smartly from the waist up and wearing God knows what from the waist down. He works hard, harder even than he did with Eamon. He is always running late, his paperwork is never done, but he’s also more alive than I’ve ever seen him. He spends hours with the candidates, doing whatever it takes to get them ready for an interview.

I do most of the work with our organisations, finding jobs where there aren’t any and opening the minds of decision-makers who may not picture a refugee as their ideal candidate. ‘Just give them an interview,’ has become my catchcry. ‘Oneinterview.’

More often than not, that interview gets our client the job. Like Ollie, I live for that now. As a team, we’ve become passionate about making sure everyone gets a go. I like to think we get that from Diana, and that she would be very proud of us.

Ollie and Eamon’s business declared bankruptcy shortly after Diana’s death. Eamon was investigated for misappropriating company funds and found guilty of fraud. Ollie never regained any of the money Eamon stole from him but he took some satisfaction from the fact that Eamon spent six months in prison (and that Eamon’s young girlfriend Bella had left him for an Iron Man. Last we heard Bella and the Iron Man were writing a Paleo cookbook together).

We take a seat at the round table and Abdul tells us about his time in Australia. He explains the difficulties he’s had finding work. Some have to do with his English, he explains.

‘We can help you with that,’ Ollie says. ‘English lessons, intercultural relations, mentoring.’