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| "Tiffany's Talent" Copyright Francis Blow, 1991. |
| CHAPTER 3 |
| Tiffany lay curled up in bed, sobbing quietly. The eviction notice was crushed in her hand. She had to be out of her house within three days! |
| Tiffany cried herself to sleep, though the notice was still there when she awoke on Friday morning. |
| Mr. Harding might have helped, but Tiffany was too frightened and embarrassed to talk to him. How could she trust him? She could not trust her best friend, Kylie, so why expect Mr. Harding to be different? |
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| Stale bread, with cheese and vegemite. The sandwiches were so dry, Tiffany could barely swallow each mouthful. Well, the bread was almost a week old. To cheer herself up, Tiffany bought an apple at the tuck-shop, and she enjoyed every juicy bit of it. |
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| Kylie sat next to her, as Tiffany finished the apple. "Hi, Tiffy. Still angry at me?" |
| Tiffany turned to the other girl, and could not help but notice that Kylie's uniform was new, even though Kylie left her blouse hanging out and not properly buttoned. Why did Kylie make herself untidy? |
| "Kylie, do you know how bad you hurt me, by not keeping your promise?" Tiffany tried to keep her voice normal, but a sob broke through, at the end. |
| "Sorry, mate. I really didn't think..." |
| "You never think, Kylie! Look at you," Tiffany lost her temper. "I wish I had your uniform, so I could look like the rest of you girls. You pretend to be underprivileged, by making your nice clothes messy. Big deal! Do you think I like wearing second hand uniforms? You buy your skirts short. I grew out of mine a year ago, but it's the only one I've got. I have to keep it clean all week, otherwise I'd have to wash it every day. When are you going to realise that I don't dress like this because it's cool? It's not cool! Looking like a dag is the pits! I don't have a choice, but if I had, I'd dress well all the time. You do have a choice, you and the other dudettes, who think they're cool. You choose to be dags, and I can't understand that!" |
| Tiffany stopped for breath, and so she would not start crying. Someone started clapping, and both girls turned to see Mr. Harding applauding. |
| "Well said, Tiffany. I hope Kylie and the other dudettes, as they call themselves, listen to you, and wake up to themselves," he told her. "Can I see you in my office for a few minutes?" |
| Mr. Harding invited Tiffany to have a seat. |
| "I had a call from a friend of mine, this morning. Reverend McClure told me he stopped by your house yesterday afternoon, but you weren't home." He looked questioningly at her. |
| "I didn't know who he was, so I went in the back way. I always avoid strangers, if I can." |
| "Fair enough. Could I suggest that you drop by and see the Reverend after school? I think he can do something for you." |
| "I've got work to do, tonight, and I won't be finished till late." For once she was glad of all her chores, as she could tell the truth about how busy she was. |
| "That's a shame. What about on Sunday, after the nine o'clock service? Are you doing anything on Sunday?" |
| Tiffany wanted to shout that, Yes, she was packing because she was being thrown out of her house. Instead, she shrugged. |
| "I don't have any clothes nice enough to wear to church." |
| "Oh, I see. Well why don't you wear your uniform? Please, be there. I sit with my family near the front, on the right hand side. I'll save you a seat with us, since we're always there early. Will you come?" |
| "I guess." Tiffany sighed, realising he would not give up until he got his way. |
| "Make it a promise." Mr. Harding grinned at her. |
| "Alright, I promise, I'll be there, sir." Tiffany smiled back, shyly. Mr. Harding wasn't such an old pain as he pretended. |
| Getting home from school, Tiffany had two loads of ironing to do. While she ironed, her school uniform was drying on the clothes line. She wore her cut-down top and the first skirt she made, as the longer skirt was not finished yet. |
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| The ironing over at last, Tiffany made two trips to Mrs. Feebry's, and returned home, ten dollars richer. The new dress kept Tiffany busy until ten o'clock, sewing the hem, and then cutting out a strip to make into a waistband. |
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| She brushed her teeth, after her shower, and noticed the toothpaste was almost empty; that was another thing she would have to buy. |
| That thirty six dollars a week would not cover all her costs. How else could she earn money? Work Sundays and Wednesday nights, too? That was all the time she had left, and what would that achieve? At best, an extra twenty dollars. Living on bread and cheese, wearing clothes made from bed sheets, and having no where to live, was not what Tiffany wanted out of life. |
| Tiffany knew she had to be earning hundreds of dollars, every week, just to live the way she was, never mind doing better. How could a skinny, twelve year old girl do that? |
| She rinsed her toothbrush, wiped her mouth on the towel, and walked through to her bed. With Missy held tightly against her, Tiffany fell asleep. |
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| Before going to Mrs. Brindle's, Tiffany moved the damp uniform and knickers inside, because the clouds promised a chance of rain. She ate the last of her bread, toasting it under the griller, with cheese melted on top. As an afterthought, she drank all the milk that was left. There would be time at midday to buy more groceries. Not that she knew where she would keep them, once she was thrown out of the house. |
| Tiffany started work at Mrs. Brindle's at eight thirty. |
| While the woman complained about what a lazy and careless girl she was, Tiffany started the first load of washing. Immediately the machine started its cycle, Tiffany swept out the kitchen, and cleaned the bathroom. |
| Leaving the bathroom spotless, Tiffany hung the washing out, and put a second load in the machine. Then it was vacuuming time. She went right through the house, doing all the carpets, and even under the cushions on the lounge chairs. |
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| With the house clean, Tiffany hung the last of the washing out, then found Mrs. Brindle. |
| "I'm going to lunch, now, Mrs. Brindle. Would you be able to pay me for what I've done this morning, so I can do my shopping? I'll be back at two." |
| "What? Pay you now? You don't get a cent, until the ironing is finished!" |
| "What if it rains?" |
| "That's not my problem. Not a cent!" |
| "What about the vacuuming?" Tiffany realised the woman was trying to cheat her out of everything. |
| "You only get paid if the whole job is finished." |
| Tiffany forced herself not to lose her temper. "I'll be back, at two." |
| "See that you do." |
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| The money Tiffany had would not buy much, though she would not be able to store a lot, anyway. She only bought enough for three days. There would be three meals a day, instead of two, and one litre of milk, not two. The rest of the money would be for emergencies, or for buying laundry powder, if, somehow, Tiffany managed to stay in her house. |
| It did begin to rain, after Tiffany left her home. She was walking to Mrs. Brindle's, and was soon soaked to the skin. |
| "You're not coming into my house like that. Dripping everywhere." |
| "What about the ironing?" |
| "I'll do it myself. I had to bring it in while you were off playing, or whatever." |
| "Are you going to pay me what you owe me?" |
| "You must be joking! Come back next week, and if you do a satisfactory job, then you will be paid." |
| "Mrs. Brindle, I'll never come back here. You're a cheat, a liar and a thief." Tiffany shouted at her, and ran away. |
| Not all the water streaming down her cheeks was rain. |
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| With her wet things hanging in the bathroom, Tiffany sat huddled in a blanket, in front of the TV. There was some silly sports programme on, and Tiffany switched channels, until she gave up, and turned the set off. |
| Her thoughts turned towards leaving. What could she pack in the suitcase? All her clothes, except for the uniform she would wear to see the minister. No, on second thoughts she would change out of her uniform, after the meeting, and wear the outfit that was drying in the bathroom. The sewing kit and iron. Missy, her doll. All her toiletries. A towel, blankets and the rest of the space would be taken up with sheets, to make clothes out of. |
| Tiffany hoped the rain would stop before Sunday. The suitcase did not look like it would keep its contents dry. She prepared as much as she could, then spent the rest of the day finishing the new dress. Tiffany cut up a white sheet, to make a slip. The soaking she received in the rain brought out the drawback of cotton clothing when it was wet, because her knickers had showed through the skirt. |
| Again, using trial and error, and lots of pins, Tiffany got the shape she wanted in the white sheet she used. She did not worry about wasting it, since she had more sheets than she would need. She sewed and adjusted, and sewed some more, ignoring her aching fingers, until she fell asleep on the floor. |
| Sometime during the night, Tiffany got up and went to bed. When she dressed for church the next morning, Tiffany was proud of herself. Except for her blouse, knickers and shoes, the clothes she wore were made by her own hands. True, the slip was a little rough, but no one except her knew that, and the long skirt fitted nicely. At eight thirty, she started walking. Luckily, the rain was holding off, and Tiffany stayed dry all the way to the church. |
| True to his word, Mr. Harding was keeping a seat for her. |
| "Good morning, Tiffany," he greeted her. "May I introduce my wife, Grace." |
| Tiffany shook hands with her, and with Mr. Harding's son, Perry, who was eighteen, and Shona, the sixteen year old daughter. The service was like any other service Tiffany had sat through. |
| She felt awkward and comfortable, at the same time, enduring it to the final hymn. |
| Mr. Harding and his family waited while other members of the congregation paid their respects to the minister. Tiffany waited, impatiently, with the principle. Then she was introduced, and Tiffany found herself alone with Reverend McClure. |
| "Come up to the house with me. My wife will have put the kettle on by now, and we can have a nice cup of tea. May I call you Tiffany?" |
| "Sure. I'm not really certain why I'm here." Tiffany hinted, wanting more information. |
| "We'll talk about it inside, because Donna, my wife, is involved more than I am." |
| Curious, Tiffany walked beside the minister, who held the door for her, then seated her at a dining table. Mrs. McClure was introduced, and she poured three cups of tea. Mr. McClure seated his wife too, before he found his own chair. Tiffany was impressed with his manners. |
| "I won't ask how you enjoyed the sermon," the Reverend smiled at Tiffany. "Young people tend to get a little bored. Tell us, Tiffany, how did you come to be in your peculiar circumstances?" |
| Slowly, at first, then with less restraint, Tiffany explained about her mother running away, and what she, herself, had been doing, to stay alive. |
| "And now, after I get home, I'll change clothes, and get ready to sleep in the streets." She finished. |
| "That's unbelievable," Mrs. McClure exclaimed. "Don't you have anyone you can stay with?" |
| Tiffany thought about how Kylie and her parents had answered her request. |
| "Nobody." Just maybe, the McClures would take her in. She would be willing to put up with church every Sunday, in exchange for a roof over her head. Church was no big deal, and she could get used to it. |
| "I take it that you're not in any hurry to get home?" The woman asked. |
| "Not really. I'm hoping that I won't have to sleep in the streets tonight, and I can get out in the morning, before the sheriff arrives." |
| "I'd like you to come with me for a little drive," Mrs. McClure suggested. "I do home visits for the elderly members of the congregation, the ones who can't get around and about." |
| Tiffany wondered what she had let herself in for. Could it be that these bible-bashers only wanted an extra helper? Well, as long as she did not have to sleep outside, Tiffany would go along. |
| "Sure, why not?" |
| "This little cottage belongs to Mrs. Coober," Mrs. McClure told Tiffany, as they parked in front of a small, brick house. |
| "The gardens are overgrown, unfortunately, because Daisy, Mrs. Coober, is confined to a wheel chair, now." |
| The minister's wife knocked, and an old voice told them to come in. |
| "Good morning, Daisy. How are you this glorious Sunday?" |
| "Fit and well, Donna. Who might this pretty young lady be?" Mrs. Coober looked about a hundred years old. |
| "Donna, this is Tiffany Bell. She's twelve, and abandoned. Tiffany, this is Mrs. Coober. Shall I put a pot of tea on, Daisy?" |
| "I'd love one. Hello, Tiffany. Your name is as beautiful as you are. Come closer, and let me see if your eyes are the colour I think they are," the old lady in the wheel chair peered at Tiffany's face. "Bless my soul, I've never seen eyes so violet!" |
| "Thank you, Mrs. Coober." Tiffany gave a self-conscious smile. |
| "Call me Daisy, child. Life's too short to waste on long names. You have an unusual skirt." |
| "Do you think so? I made it." |
| "Is that so, now? Who taught you how to sew?" |
| "No one. I just learned when I had to fix my own clothes." |
| "That's remarkable. Where did you get the material? It feels like a bed sheet." |
| Tiffany blushed. "It is. When I was left alone, all I had lots of, were sheets. I didn't have any patterns." |
| "That's obvious, from the cut, but your stitching is very even and precise. It must have taken you hours to do this." |
| "I don't have a sewing machine, and I can't afford to buy clothes. It was either steal clothes, or make them. And I'm not a thief." |
| "Well said, child. What do your friends call you?" |
| "Tiffany or Tiffy. I like Tiffy." |
| "Tiffy it is, then. Ah, here's Donna with our tea." |
| Tiffany had her second cup for the day, while the two women talked about her as if she were not there. It was annoying. |
| She was only half listening, when Mrs. Coober turned to her and asked "How long will it take you to move in?" |
| "I beg your pardon?" Tiffany was startled. |
| "I said, how soon before you can pack and move in here? Now close your mouth, it's undignified for a young lady." |
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| It was true! Mrs. Coober wanted Tiffany to move in as her permanent house keeper, in exchange for food and lodging. Tiffany was so happy she started laughing. |
| Mrs. McClure drove her home to collect her things. Along with her suitcase, she added an armload of sheets and blankets. |
| "What are they for?" Mrs. McClure asked. "I'm sure Daisy has plenty of linen." |
| "So I can make more clothes. I quit one of my jobs yesterday, and I can't see how I can get to the others, because Mrs. Coober's place is on the other side of the school from here," Tiffany explained. "I'm not complaining, because I'm sure I can find other customers. It's just that I'll need to have other things to wear. While I lived here, it didn't matter if I walked around in the altogether, but I don't want to shock Mrs. Coober." |
| "Oh, Tiffany, you're a wonder!" Mrs. McClure laughed. "You don't know Daisy. She's dressed more girls and women than most. Still, it can't hurt for you to practice, and it should keep Daisy happy, too." |
| "I'm not sure I understand." Tiffany was puzzled as to why the woman thought it was funny that Tiffany valued modestly. |
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| With the car packed, Mrs. McClure drove Tiffany to her new home. |
| "I'll leave you two to get properly acquainted," she said. "I've got other people to visit, but I'll try and pop by later this afternoon." |
| Tiffany saw Mrs. McClure back to her car, and thanked her, then she returned to the cottage. Mrs. Coober showed Tiffany around the tiny house. |
| "You can see the kitchen, and that table is where we eat. First door on the left of the hall is the bathroom and indoor toilet. I had the room converted a few years ago, and it's a tight squeeze." |
| "It's cosy. Are those bars for you to hold on to?" Tiffany asked. |
| "Very observant, Tiffy. Yes, I have trouble getting up and down. Across the hall is my bedroom. You can see I'm not one for fancy, big beds or dressing tables." |
| They moved on down the hall. |
| "Next to my room, is yours. It's small, too, but it should be all you need." |
| Tiffany inspected the room. A narrow bed took up all of the wall under the window. Near the foot of the bed was a small wardrobe, while on the wooden floor was a square rug. The curtains and bedspread were white with pale green flowers. |
| "It's perfect, Daisy." Tiffany was delighted. |
| "Glad you like it, Tiffy. Opposite your room, is the laundry. That's one place I didn't scrimp on money. Fully automatic washer, a dryer and a fancy iron. Out the back, there, is the verandah." |
| "Is that another room on the verandah?" Tiffany asked. |
| "Yes, I'll show you what's in there some other time," the old lady replied. "How good are you at cooking?" |
| "Not very." Tiffany admitted. |
| "Then it's time you learned. Let's get back to the kitchen, and we'll cook up some lunch." |
| With Mrs. Coober directing her, Tiffany grilled two pieces of fish, squeezed lemon juice over them and served their lunch at the table. Mrs. Coober even showed Tiffany how to set the table, with cutlery and serviettes. |
| "No, don't start yet, Tiffy. We say Grace, first." |
| "Grace?" Tiffany did not understand. |
| "We thank You, Lord, for this food You have given us, and, also, for bring Tiffy to help me in the hour of my need. Amen." |
| Tiffany thought about the old lady's prayer. Did Mrs. Coober think Tiffany was an answer to her prayer? If anything, it was Tiffany's prayers that were answered. |
| "Eat your lunch, child, or it will get cold and lose it's fresh flavour." |
| "Yes, ma'am." Tiffany took a bite. It was delicious, and her mouth demanded more, until nothing was left, except the bones. |
| "There's bread as well, Tiffy. You certainly were hungry. What have you been eating? Just sandwiches?" |
| "I had an apple this week. And I had milk." Tiffany admitted. |
| "What a wonderful diet for a growing young lady. Your body is missing out on many important things it needs. We'll fix that with red meat, vegetables and all the food groups that are vital to you. I'll enjoy it, too, since it's been awhile since I had much variety," Mrs. Coober decided. "For now, though, there's the most important part of your cooking lesson. Cleaning up. Let me see what kind of house keeper you are, Tiffy." |
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| Mrs. Coober was pleased with how well Tiffany cleaned the kitchen. Afterwards, they went into the garden. |
| "I used to love working in my little garden. Now I'm too old to be of much help to myself, let alone anyone else. I hate being helpless and useless!" The old lady thumped a fist against the arm of her wheel chair. After a moment, she turned a sad face towards Tiffany. "I'm sorry, child. Self pity never helps. Do you know how to mow?" |
| Tiffany shook her head. "I've never tried." |
| "This seems to be a day for firsts for you. Take me round the back. Just follow the path." |
| In a small, metal shed, there were gardening tools, including a mower and a small, red plastic container of fuel. |
| Under Mrs. Coober's directions, Tiffany put fuel in the mower, moved the speed control back and forwards three times, and left it at the "Start" position, then she kept pulling the cord, until the mower started with a roar. |
| "I almost forgot, Tiffy, you'll have to wear those boots, over there, for safety. The toe caps are steel, and will save your toes, if an accident happens." |
| A minute later, Tiffany was pushing the mower around the backyard, while Mrs. Coober watched from the verandah. She mowed around the clothes line, the shed, a lemon tree, two open-fronted boxes that held piles of old grass, and around overgrown gardens. |
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| When she finished the back, Tiffany was told to empty the grass catcher into one of the open-fronted boxes. |
| "That's our compost heap. When that one's full, we use the other. You did a pretty good job, Tiffy. So now you can start the sides and front." |
| By the time she was finished all the yards, Tiffany was dusty and thirsty. |
| "Come and have some lemonade, Tiffy. You could use a shower, too." |
| "Sorry." Tiffany pulled the damp top away from her chest. |
| "Why? Should there be anything wrong with the results of a good job, done well? God gave you a healthy body and a clever mind, so you can enjoy all your abilities and talents. Speaking of which, just what do you do well?" |
| "Not much." Tiffany shrugged, caught off guard by the question. |
| "Hasn't anyone commented on something you've done well? I can't believe that, Tiffy." |
| "Well, Mr. Wu does think my drawings of clothes are good. He said they were the best things I've done in art." |
| "Clothes? You draw clothes, as well as sew? Are you making fun of me, child, did someone put you up to saying that?" The old woman turned faded, suspicious eyes on the girl. |
| "Mrs. Coober? I don't understand. No one spoke to me about you, until Mrs. McClure asked me to come visit with you. I thought she wanted me to help do her churchy things." |
| "I believe you, child. It's true, that the Lord moves in mysterious ways," Mrs. Coober smiled at Tiffany. "I've got to show you that room on the back verandah." |
| She turned her wheel chair out of the kitchen, and Tiffany followed her to the back of the house, where part of the verandah had been converted to a large room. |
| "Open the door, Tiffy, and see what I spent my life doing." |
| Tiffany reached out to the door knob, turned it, and pushed the door open. The room was dark, filled with odd shapes. |
| She turned on the light. |
