House for All Seasons Page 6

  ‘When all the gossip and innuendo finally died down, Mum started seeing pictures of Amber and her father in magazines. I wasn’t here but from what I heard, Sweet Caroline went absolutely ballistic. She would’ve throttled either one of them if they’d shown up in Calingarry Crossing, especially Amber.’

  ‘Who’d blame her!’

  ‘Don’t suppose you know what happened to … you know?’

  Sara hesitated, his interest in Amber piquing her own.

  ‘You can ask her yourself come autumn.’ She sucked a string of spaghetti through her lips. ‘Wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall while Amber’s here.’

  ‘You mean she’s one of you? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Good grief!’ Sara giggled. ‘When you say it like that we sound like some weird witchcrafty cult.’

  They laughed in unison. ‘To my mother that’s exactly what you all were. Sweet Caroline is anti anything she doesn’t understand. That included Gypsy the Bohemian. She well and truly warned me to stay away from her and from all of you back then. Guilty by association, I think you call it. As if any of you had time for a football boofhead like me anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were a boofhead.’ Sara could have kicked herself.

  ‘Good to know.’

  Spurred by the awkwardness of the moment, she slid out of her seat, taking the chance to stretch and distance herself from the man she was trying hard not to like too much.

  ‘These are great,’ she said, pointing to the row of photographic prints adorning the wall above the bench seat. ‘Especially that one.’ The photographer had captured a bee hovering over a massive sunflower. It reminded Sara of Willow’s funny thing for sunflowers and of the room she’d woken up to this morning—all sunshine and smiles. If she couldn’t take the room with its smiling kookaburras and bees back to Sydney, maybe she should buy the print. ‘And this other one looks like Cedar Cutters Gorge.’

  ‘It is Cedar Cutters. Know it well, do you?’

  ‘Ha, ha! Maybe not as well as the blokes from the footy team.’

  She knew Will was teasing. Cedar Cutters Gorge had been the place for parking, necking and generally hanging out. Probably still was. Some things didn’t change from generation to generation.

  ‘Well, not this bloke, which is how come I managed to stay out of the Amber Bailey web. And believe it or not, this boofhead now spends a good part of his day baking. So how about it?’ He wheeled his chair behind the refrigerated display case and slid open the doors. ‘Behold my magnificence.’

  ‘After all that spaghetti!’ Sara patted her stomach and groaned. ‘I don’t think I could—or should.’

  ‘You’re not going to knock back my carrot and walnut cake with orange icing, are you? Or how about sticky date pudding with warm butterscotch sauce? Mixed berry and white chocolate muffins, maybe? Black forest cake—which let me say is the colour of your eyes. Oh, and strawberry-topped cheesecake, which I fear is the colour of my face after saying that boofhead line about your eyes being like black forest cake. Then there’s …’

  ‘Stop! Stop! I give up.’ Sara laughed, awkwardness gone. ‘I just put on ten kilos listening to you.’

  ‘Then you might as well have the pleasure. What’s it to be?’

  She contemplated the sweet feast. ‘Sticky date.’

  ‘Good decision. Two sticky date puds with the works.’

  After several slams of the refrigerator door and the ding of the microwave timer, Will emerged from the kitchen with two steaming sticky date puddings, cream and ice-cream, garnished with a toffee shard.

  ‘Impressive!’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing. I’m full of hidden talents. Speaking of talents, you looked pretty familiar with the whole wages thing. How come?’

  ‘I spent a lot of time in retail. Heard of Etc, Etc?’

  ‘That’s the mob selling fancy teas and even fancier teapots. Stands for the Emporium of something-or-other.’

  ‘Yes, the Emporium of Tea and Coffee. My husband’s family started the business. I started in their pilot store and worked my way up from sales assistant to manager, and then I moved into training franchisees.’

  ‘And you married the boss?’

  ‘The boss’s son. Joel’s father doesn’t give up the reins too easily.’ Why was she talking in present tense? Why not tell Will that even if her ex-father-in-law didn’t easily let go, his son most definitely had no problem with the concept.

  ‘Mmm, this is good.’ Sara let the hot, velvety dessert melt in her mouth. ‘How long have you had the café now?’

  ‘Three and a half … no, four years. Had to stop and think. Keeping track of time is something I gave up a while back. A day is a day. A week is a week. As long as they’re always different.’

  ‘Are they, Will? Your days? Always different?’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ he said, his enthusiasm genuine. ‘Not much choice with a nearly-nine and a seven-year-old.’

  Sara remembered two children from the various magazine stories. Woman’s Day had published a family portrait photo—the glamorous type so popular with celebrities.

  ‘Tell me about them both.’

  ‘Aw, gee, if I must.’ He laughed the way a proud father laughs. ‘Jasper’s the oldest. Jasmine—Jazzy—is my baby. Speaking of which, what’s the time on your watch? I shouldn’t stay out too much longer. Jazzy worries when I break the routine and I was out late last night. She too easily thinks something terrible has happened.’

  ‘Of course, she would, yes. I guess I can understand. They lost their mother.’

  Will brushed crumbs from the table with the side of his hand, his voice dulling for the first time that evening. ‘Not that they remember her. They were too young. Babies, both of them. Mum’s done her best, but it’s not the same. Geez, listen to me drivel on. I’m sounding like my old man. I’d best let you get out of here.’

  Sara wanted to say she was in no hurry, but Will had his life and his routine. Sara was just visiting.

  ‘What will I do with the dishes?’ she asked while stacking the plates.

  ‘We’ll just chuck ’em in the sink. Give old Dom something to really complain about, especially now he’s not going to be able to complain I got his pay wrong. Thanks for that, by the way.’ His hand grabbed Sara’s as she lifted the plates. ‘I enjoyed tonight. Will I see you tomorrow sometime? Coffee?’

  Sara stiffened, surprised by the force behind his grip when her hand tensed. He wasn’t letting go and, while she didn’t want him to, she made herself pull away without making it a big deal. ‘I … I’m not sure what I’m doing tomorrow. I promised to go riding with Elliott.’

  ‘Elliott? You mean Idiot McCabe?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not a very nice nickname,’ Sara yelled from the kitchen. ‘He’s really very sweet and very helpful.’

  ‘Really! Can’t say I know him all that well. I didn’t give him the name, but I hear it’s well deserved. The bloke takes way too many risks according to most. Have you seen him on that bike of his?’

  ‘I have—yes.’ Sara laughed.

  She’d laughed a lot tonight and that was an achievement in itself. Why wasn’t that on a list somewhere? Laugh more.

  Tonight had been good. She’d broken the ice, but not the news.

  Not yet.

  6

  The sticky date pudding had done what Sara knew it would. Twice last night she’d woken up in a sweat and on the verge of a diabetic hypo, the previous evening’s overindulgence leaving her with a murky morning head. Lying on a sheet still damp with sweat, her irritability level off the scale, Sara wished she’d checked her blood sugar when she’d woken up at about 3 am; even better if she’d done it before falling into bed still clinging to the euphoria of her time with Will, an unwipeable smile plastered across her face.

  No smile this morning.

  Serves you right.

  A noise forced her eyes open, a kookaburra and its mate laughing so loud, so close, they might have been in her head. She
looked at the clock.

  Nine-thirty!

  Sara rarely overslept anymore, always too much to fit into each day: shower, breakfast, medications, a run, work, gym, home, a bike ride, more meds. ‘You don’t get well if you don’t get up’ was her support group’s mantra, and she had to make up for twelve months of inactivity. Getting back into the workforce part-time hadn’t helped as much as she’d hoped. She’d given away full-time work to undergo treatment, leaving Etc, Etc for good after Joel left her. Store franchisee Irene Dunst had arranged a farewell party, not that Sara wanted a fuss. She would have settled for a little recognition from Joel and his parents.

  Sara had contributed to the company’s growth from its beginning. They’d paid her out well—Sara called it go-quietly money—but leaving Etc, Etc had been like saying goodbye to family. She’d had to do that once already. More recently, the gourmet food shop in the Queen Victoria Building had provided a steady stream of casual work. Anything to get back into a routine. She liked routine, but this morning she struggled to make it to the shower.

  Outside was all sunshine and blue skies. She took her bowl of cereal and sat on the front porch. ‘No more temptations,’ she told herself. ‘That goes for pudding and Will, you crazy girl.’

  ‘Morning, crazy girl. Still talking to yourself?’

  She almost choked on a mouthful of breakfast. Elliott stood at the foot of the steps, bike in hand, bike helmet in place with bizarre spikes jutting skyward.

  ‘How do you always sneak up on me like that? And what’s sticking out of your helmet? You look ridiculous.’

  ‘Cable ties.’ He flattened the multicoloured plastic spikes and let them spring back up. ‘It’s my magpie defence system. The season’s running a bit later than usual and there’s a few slammers hanging around. Mad as hell they are too.’

  ‘Slammers?’

  ‘The super-aggressive buggers that can knock you off your bike if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Oh, I remember that when I was a kid. I used to wear an ice-cream bucket upside down on my head and draw eyes on the back. Magpies don’t like eyes, you know.’

  ‘I think the maggies got wise to the eyes thing. Now they don’t like cable ties. I’ve got some here for you.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m up for a ride.’

  ‘Best hangover cure I know.’

  ‘I don’t have a hangover.’

  ‘Whatever you say, wimp.’

  She couldn’t ignore the challenge.

  ‘Give me five minutes to change.’

  *

  After riding for about an hour, Elliott suggested they stop and rest.

  ‘Do you mind if we ride on a bit further?’ Sara didn’t tell him it was because the Calingarry Crossing Bridge was in full view. She wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. She was conquering one thing at a time. ‘I know a place. Follow me.’

  They rode for another thirty minutes to the top of Cedar Cutters Gorge with its 360-degree view of the surrounding district.

  ‘I haven’t been up here before. Didn’t even know about it,’ Elliott said as he parked their bikes against the trunk of a scribbly gum.

  Sara fluffed away any sign of helmet-head by finger-combing her hair. ‘Clearly you didn’t grow up around here; otherwise you’d know its other name—Heaven Hill.’

  ‘Are we talking from experience?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ Sara giggled, surprised at how comfortable she was feeling around Elliott, possibly even more than with Will last night.

  No angst.

  No history.

  No questions.

  She leaned back on her elbows and rolled her shoulders to work the muscle tension away. ‘Where are you from, Elliott?’

  ‘Everywhere and nowhere. Mum and I moved around a lot when my dad went to jail. Killed someone.’

  ‘Oh!’ What else could she say?

  ‘I find it best to get some things said right from the get-go. Took me a while to admit it to myself. Telling someone, wondering if they’re going to think differently of me once they know, used to worry me. Not anymore.

  ‘Wasn’t easy for my mum,’ he went on. ‘I learned to keep a low profile. We lived with my uncle in Saddleton for a year, so I did get to play against Calingarry Crossing footy team a few times. Rubbed a few noses in the dirt too.’ He winked, his smile dangerously beguiling, his gaze the teasing, testing kind, playing her like a curious kitten paws a ball of string. ‘So for several reasons, it’s probably best you don’t mention me by name around town, especially to Will Travelli.’

  Sara recalled Will’s comment last night. ‘You weren’t the one to break his nose, were you?’

  ‘Breaking a pretty boy’s nose on the field was never my style. He was a few years older than me and a big bloke, that Will, not to mention popular with the ladies—and you don’t mess up a ladies’ man.’ As Elliott threw his head back to laugh Sara noticed he had his share of scars, most likely remnants of a reckless childhood. ‘I’m not that competitive—or brave. Every scar I got I managed on my own. On the other hand,’ he said candidly, ‘a pretty girl’s affection might be worth a broken nose or two.’ He winked again, his grin sweet enough to bring on another diabetic episode.

  ‘You’re staring,’ she said, shifting her body and hugging her knees to her chest.

  ‘I was thinking … we can do this ride again tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Hey, look there.’ Sara pointed as a flock of black cockatoos flew over their heads, their massive wingspans allowing the noisy, squawking birds to soar and swoop in playful patterns. ‘Folklore says the black cockatoo warns rain is near.’

  Sara was heeding a warning right now, but the nearness of rain wasn’t what worried her. She hoped Elliott was just being friendly and nothing more.

  ‘You didn’t answer, Sara. Can we do this again? If I don’t exercise every day I feel like something’s missing.’

  ‘Me too.’ It was nice to meet someone as obsessed by fitness as she was. ‘I like to ride every day.’ Company would be good. Elliott was fun. ‘You’ll have to keep up.’ Sara picked herself up off the ground, brushed the dirt from her legs and peeled away the leaves stuck to her skin. ‘Let’s get going. I don’t like stopping for too long, otherwise I have to stretch. I’ll race you.’

  *

  The café was almost full when Sara rode through town. She’d left Elliott at the turn-off, her need for a good coffee—her one unhealthy vice—too strong to ignore.

  ‘What’s going on, Will? You look panicked.’

  ‘You think I look bad, Sara. You should see Dom. His kitchen hand hasn’t turned up and we’ve got two group bookings.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘Any pair of hands is a good pair of hands in this joint. Legs help too and … my, my, that is a very fine pair.’ He wolf-whistled as he passed by, two stainless-steel milkshake holders on his tray. He delivered them to a table behind her and wheeled back. ‘If you want to help, I’ve got plenty of spare aprons. You might be sorry, though.’

  ‘So might you.’

  She smiled and followed Will on his return to the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, Dom, I have a new worker for you.’

  ‘Ah, bella!’ Dom looked pleased. ‘I won’t complain about having this one in my kitchen.’

  ‘Let me wash my hands and you can give me an order.’

  ‘Eh, I like her already.’ Dom’s tight white apron exaggerated the jiggle of his belly when he laughed. He wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-speckled brow and returned to flipping eggs and bacon on the grill. ‘There are three things I need you to do right now, bella. Dishes, dishes and dishes.’

  Will shrugged. ‘I did warn you, Sara. I’ll leave you with Dom. The first group looks ready to order.’

  ‘Right then,’ Sara sighed at the mountain of dirty pots, bowls and plates.

  They didn’t stop coming. At one point, someone tied an apron around her waist. Every now
and then, Will glanced into the kitchen from his place behind the coffee machine, catching Sara’s eye. They’d smile briefly until another customer took his attention or Jennifer delivered another pile of dirty plates and a pompous smile. Two hours into the job, Sara had slipped into an easy routine of rinsing plates and stacking the dishwasher.

  *

  She’d consumed a barrel-full of iced water and gobbled down in no time flat a BLT with avocado Dom had made her for lunch. Not long afterwards, Will wheeled into the kitchen with the second party order.

  ‘Thank God their bus was late. What a day. Here’s the final order.’ He pushed the slip of paper along the docket holder. ‘After that, folks, the kitchen will be officially closed.’

  Sara felt almost sad. She wasn’t at all tired.

  ‘Sara, bella, wash those hands. I need …’ Dom peered closer to decipher Will’s scrawled order ‘… two burger buns, two salads—one no onion—three chip side orders.’

  Without hesitating, Sara wiped her hands on her apron, shifted to the breadbin, split two buns and threw them on the toaster press to warm. Then she started on two small salad piles from the prepared containers of diced, sliced and grated vegetables.

  ‘What’s this, then? From dishy to food-prep princess in one lunch sitting?’ Will grinned.

  ‘Eh! You’re the only princess around here, boss. This one’s a good worker. A real keeper, if you ask me.’ Dom winked. ‘Make sure they tip, eh!’

  ‘The only tip you’re getting today is to be good to your boss. Keep up the good work, slaves.’

  Will left them laughing—even Jennifer managed a restrained chuckle—to ring up several more bills before returning to the kitchen with three water bottles, tossing one to each of his kitchen crew. ‘Sara, leave the dishes. Jen can finish up. I think we’ve exploited you enough for one day.’

  ‘I don’t mind, honestly. In fact I love this super-sized sink and the snazzy shower tap for rinsing. I want one at home.’

  ‘If you’re that attached to it, you could always come in and work part-time. School holidays are coming up and we could do with another team member, one not allergic to dishwater.’ Not hard to guess by the look that passed between the two men that Jennifer was the allergy sufferer. ‘We are going to be a kitchen hand down for a while. Sam’s mum just phoned. Damaged his wrist pretty bad. Skateboard stack. He’ll be off for a month at least. What do you reckon?’ Will looked at Dom first, a little non-verbal confirmation passing between them. ‘Can we talk you into joining the crew and helping us out, Sara? It’ll be casual, a few hours a day, a few days a week, max. Unless you’ve got other plans while you’re in town.’