A Bush Christmas by Margareta Osborn Page B

official looking paper and china plates piled with sumptuous cakes. The last woman stank of Lace perfume.
    The Cat took one look at the oncoming traffic and departed, a fluffy grey-blue ball streaking across the room, meowing loudly as he went. The fossilised bird landed right at Miss Lace Perfume’s feet.
    She didn’t bat an eyelid, just swept the thing away with the side of her elastic-sided boot. Jaime watched in admiration. If she’d been confronted with that disgusting sight, she would have screamed.
    The women moved into the kitchen. One put the kettle on the stove, another placed the delicious looking cakes on the bench, and the third just sat down at the end of the table and shuffled her papers. She looked very important with her gold-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, Bob Hawke eyebrows creasing her face with a frown. Even Jaime, a veteran of meetings with state government ministers and their aides, was suitably impressed.
    â€˜Um … I’m Jaime,’ she muttered, not sure exactly what the protocol was here. These women acted like they owned the place and she was only a visitor. Which she was … a visitor, that is. ‘What can I do for you?’
    The three ladies stared at her. The one sitting at the table (she was wearing the bauble earrings) beamed a wide smile. ‘We thought you might like to help us.’
    Jaime didn’t like the sound of that. She was here to house-sit and look after The Cat. Nothing more, nothing less. She pushed all her other extra-curricular activities firmly to the back of her mind.
    Miss Bauble Ears was talking again. ‘I’m Irene, and this here’s Susan and that’s Sharyn. Welcome to Burdekin’s Gap!’
    â€˜That’s Sharyn with a “y” not an “o”,’ interjected Miss Lace Perfume from over near the sink.
    â€˜We thought we’d call to say …’ and together they all chorused, ‘ Hi! ’
    The conversation baton was handed back to Irene. ‘We don’t get too many newbies up in these parts, so we’re here to say hello, and invite you to take part in the Burdekin’s Gap Christmas Tree.’
    â€˜Christmas Tree?’ said Jaime, faintly. But she’d already helped Stirling with the Christmas trees. Hopefully they were now in Lake Grace, outside the supermarket with the fire brigade doing a roaring trade.
    â€˜Yes, the Christmas Tree,’ said Sharyn with a ‘y’ not an ‘o’. ‘It’s next Friday night. Santa Claus comes in the big red shiny fire truck, the kids get presents and there’s a BBQ and everything! It’s very exciting .’
    The woman looked so ecstatic, Jaime was sure she was on the verge of an orgasm.
    â€˜We thought you might like to be involved?’ said Susan. This one appeared to be at least approaching what Jaime called normal. (Except for the flashing brooch. What was it? A snowman or something?) ‘We’d love you to make something.’
    Oh Lord. Make something? ‘Like what, exactly?’ Jaime asked.
    â€˜You know, maybe some decorations? Paper chains, baubles or anything Christmassy?’ said Susan.
    â€˜I love making baubles,’ said Sharyn. ‘All those glitzy, iridescent pins, sticking them in one by one. It takes ages to finish each polystyrene ball, but you kinda feel like you’ve accomplished something big when you do. And to fill in the time you can just pretend you’re a wicked witch doing voodoo.’ She mimed sticking in a needle. ‘Take that, you little sucker!’
    Jaime gaped at Sharyn. The woman wasn’t serious, was she? One glance at Miss Lace Perfume’s face and Jaime realised she was. Deadly serious. Great. Making Christmas decorations really floated her boat. For crap’s sake! Where was Myer or David Jones? They had Christmas decorations. Classy ones, not paper chains and polystyrene balls!
    â€˜No? I don’t think