The Happy Accident

Sitting stuck in a cardboard moving box, cursing and pushing sweaty hair away from her grime-streaked face was not the way this was supposed to happen. Sophie had dreamt of meeting Franco Napoli perched on a stool in ritzy club, swinging a designer-clad heel or bumping into him at a party in an elegant frock, not sporting a ratty old t-shirt and denim skirt.

‘Allow me,’ was all he said. She grabbed his outstretched hands and he hauled her body upwards.

‘Ugh,’ she said, righting herself and yanking down her skirt. She wiped her arm across her face and hastily grabbed her hair, retying it in a ponytail. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you. There was a mouse and it scared the living sh…gave me a fright and I fell.’

‘Ah. A mouse. I am not much of a tough guy around them myself. I stand on chairs and do all sorts of unmanly things.’

Sophie gaped at him, thinking there was no way on the world Franco could be anything but manly even if that were true. He had a capable, masculine air about him, her grandfather’s accountant. Late grandfather, she corrected herself. The thought brought an all too familiar lump to her throat but she tried to summon a smile and match Franco’s charm. No mean feat after such a disastrous first meeting.

‘Franco Napoli, isn’t it? I’m Sophie Cunningham, George’s granddaughter.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he said. She wondered when he’d seen her. She’d only ever spied him through the upstairs windows of her grandparent’s home. ‘I’m just here to grab some files. You’re packing things up, yes?’

‘Some of it,’ she said with a sigh, gazing about at the mess in the attic above the defunct offices. ‘Although there doesn’t seem much point now that the business has closed down and he’s…gone.’ That sad little word stuck and he nodded solemnly.

‘I know people often say this but I am so sorry for your loss.’

‘Yes,’ Sophie said, ‘still, at least it was quick in the end.’ The cancer had worked fast, which was one mercy. ‘He didn’t have to watch us shut up shop, either. COVID-19 has hurt many businesses but this place was more than that to Pop. It was his life.’ To say her grandfather had loved his travel business was an understatement. ‘He always said sending people on holidays made every day a holiday for him.’

‘That sounds like something George would say,’ Franco said. ‘You’ll have his wisdom as an inheritance…if not much else. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more,’ he added, his dark eyes pained.

‘You tried, we all know that,’ Sophie said. They were brave words really. Pop had been paying her rent since her boyfriend walked out, leaving her with a hefty lease on their apartment. She’d then lost her job at the mall and didn’t really know what she was going to do without Pop's help. ‘You’re right about his wisdom, though, that’s what I’m here for actually. I’m looking for a small black notebook. He used to keep all his travel adventures and favourite sayings in it. Quotable quotes and such.’

‘Ah, yes, the book. He wrote a few things in it when I was around. What was that last one he read to me again?’ He frowned then clicked his fingers. ‘When you lack the inspiration simply begin. Inspiration will follow.’

Sophie considered that. ‘That’s so true. Sometimes I do that when I’m painting – just start throwing paint on the canvas and hope for the best. Happy accidents can occur sometimes.’

‘I’ve seen some of your work. They are quite magnifico.’

Magnifico. What a wondrous word to use.

‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. ‘If only a happy accident would occur and find me a generous benefactor. Art doesn’t sell easily these days, especially with most galleries shut for now.’

‘Well, maybe you will have a happy accident now and find this book, yes?’ Franco said, looking around.

‘I feel like I’ve searched everywhere,’ she told him, ‘his office, his bedroom, the library.’

Franco walked around the room, gazing about thoughtfully. ‘He must have hidden it, like treasure. What were his favourite things? I know he loved his car.’

‘Already searched it.’ The old Morris Minor was the first thought she’d had too.

‘His boat and fishing box, what’s it called…tackle box,’ he said, clicking his fingers once more. ‘Sorry. Sometimes I forget the English word.’

‘I can’t speak any other languages so I think it’s kind of amazing that you do,’ she said before blushing properly now. She turned away to hide it.

‘Thank you. You are kind.’ Sophie busied herself searching along a shelf as he added. ‘Much like him.’ That compliment brought the lump back and she didn’t respond. There was silence as they both potted about the room then she stopped abruptly and spun about with a gasp.

‘Saxon!’

Franco stared at her like she’d gone a bit mad. ‘You think he attached it to his dog?’

‘Not the actual dog,’ she said, rushing for the door. ‘Come on!’

She didn’t even wait to see if he followed as she clambered down the stairwell and through the corridor to George’s near empty office. Franco arrived behind as she stared at Saxon’s portrait on the wall. She given it to her grandfather at Christmas and he’d loved it.

‘It looks just like him.’

Saxon’s adoring big brown eyes stared at them both as she answered. ‘Pop said it was painted with love, of someone he loved, by someone he loved. An artistic trifecta, he called it.’

Franco smiled. ‘I’ll bet that’s in the book. Ready to maybe find out?’

She nodded and he helped her take the enormous painting off the wall. Slowly they lowered it to the ground but there was no book attached behind, only a piece of paper with Sophie’s name on it and something unexpected.

‘A key?’ Sophie said, pulling the sticky tape away and picking it up.

‘What does it open?’ Franco asked.

She turned it over, squinting to read the name printed there. ‘Cunningham’s Hut.’ She lifted her gaze to stare at Franco. ‘I thought he sold that property years ago.’

‘He did,’ Franco said, ‘I helped him with the paperwork myself.’

Sophie shook her head confused, but there was no mistaking that George wanted her to go there. The painting was only six months old and the key had to have been placed there recently.

‘It’s getting dark,’ Franco said, ‘and it looks like rain. Maybe I should drive.’

***

Sophie hadn't questioned her decision in acting so swiftly. Weirdly, she hadn’t questioned the fact that Franco Napoli, a man she’d just met, was sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her either, but she was glad to have him here as they navigated the dark, tree-lined driveway up in the Blue Mountains two hours later. This place would feel creepy if you were on your own.

The tires of his Land Rover crunched over twigs and leaves as she peered out, recognising the hut as the headlights found it. Any sense of creepiness melted away as she took in the familiar, welcoming porch and worn sandstone walls and she realised how much she’d missed it over the years. It was freezing cold as they climbed out, however, and she commented on it.

‘Ah, but the stars are magnifico,’ Franco said and she tried not to feel put out at his repeated use of the term. It was slightly idiotic to be jealous of stars.

‘Here goes nothing,’ she muttered as they climbed onto the porch and reached the door. It unlocked easily and she pushed it back, fumbling for the light switch. Sophie blinked, taking the room in at a glance. It was much the same, save a few new pieces of furniture, but there was one thing that stood out immediately and she rushed over to it.

‘The book!’

Franco followed and she grinned at him, picking it up off the table and hugging it to her as a note fell out. She retrieved it curiously and scanned a few lines before reading them to him aloud.

Dear Sophie,

If you are reading this then I am gone and truly sad to be leaving you all, especially you, my baby. Sophie paused, swallowing tears. I knew you would come for the painting and find this here, at our old favourite place.

I have something to ask of you, if you don’t mind humouring me as I holiday in heaven with your Nana.

This notebook is my most prized possession because it contains my adventures and all the things I have learnt and valued, the only stuff that matters in the end. I know you will treasure it but I ask that you read each page front to back as that is how I have written it - and how my life unfolded.

Enjoy my life trip, my dearest girl, and always remember that when you do what you love every day's a holiday. It was my greatest learning of all.

Your loving Pop.

Sophie picked up the book, wiping away tears, and looked at Franco. He clicked his fingers.

‘I’ll get the wine.’

He was doing it again, being a part of this like he’d known her forever, yet she didn’t mind. Somehow he felt like another happy accident of her day and Pop had always spoken fondly of him.

Besides, she appreciated the company as they sat, wine retrieved from the back of his car, and the gas fire on as she read chronologically, as instructed. Amongst the travel sketches and anecdotes there were observations, some deep and meaningful: ‘a rose unfurls with infinite care’, others touching: ‘a baby’s toes are the sweetest little miracles on earth,’ and some just plain hilarious: ‘never motivate an idiot. You’ll end up with a motivated idiot.’

Into the night they drank and read until she finally reached the last page and the words there were written in the same green ink as the letter. Sophie braced herself for what it might say.

Sophie, this is my last advice and I think the most important.

1) Don’t work so hard that you forget to enjoy your life. I’ve rented this place for the whole of Winter. Consider this my second last gift: a holiday.

Sophie let out a gasp but Franco merely sipped his wine, smiling as he asked. ‘What’s the last?’

2) Money is a wonderful thing when you have it, a curse when you don’t. You can’t take it with you and I’m not sure how much will be left when this damn COVID-19 is done with us. As such, I kept a little aside for you. Don’t tell Franco. Not unless…

Sophie paused, blushing, and Franco prompted. ‘Unless what?’

‘Nothing.’ She was hardly going to read the next words aloud: ‘…you start dating and confiding in him. He’s a handsome bugger.’ She skipped to the last bit instead.

‘You’ll notice a carved, wooden box on the shelf. It was a souvenir from my first trip overseas, to Fiji. Open and use what’s inside to start afresh, Sophie. Make your whole life a holiday, not just this Winter, filled with adventures and my love from afar, always.’

She rose from the couch and walked over, picking up the box and lifting the lid. It was filled with cash, a rubber band around it, and with a note atop saying ‘$20,000’.

Sophie stared in disbelief as Franco peered over her shoulder.

‘So that’s what all those cash withdrawals were about.’

‘Can I keep it?’ Sophie said, finding it hard to conceive.

‘I wasn’t even here,’ he said, putting up his hands in mock denial.

Sophie looked at him and a slow smile spread over her face as all her financial worries fell away.

'Well, seeing as you accidently are,' she said, happiness making her bold, 'I don’t suppose you need a holiday?’