The Cafe by the Bridge

by Lily Malone

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So you promise me you’ll tell me if you feel that way again? Or you’ll go see your GP and talk to them?’

  ‘Sure, Doc. I promise.’

  ‘Good.’

  With his hand in hers, he walked her back to the bench. Then he dug into the backpack he’d carried up the mountain. One after the other, plastic tubs of various sizes moved from the pack to the seat.

  Strawberries.

  Grapes.

  ‘Is that custard tart?’ Taylor gasped.

  A silver flask appeared, fished from the backpack with the skill of a magician. Abe unscrewed the lid and handed it to her.

  Taylor sniffed. ‘You brought wine!’

  ‘Does that mean you love me now?’ His eyes danced with freedom, joy, bliss and everything else.

  She nearly said it then, yes, right there on the mountain top. Could you fall in love in a week? Could you fall in love in less than a week?

  But he was joking, surely? Just as she’d been joking when he’d turned all Sir Walter Raleigh and piggy-backed her over the mud.

  Taylor took a swig from the flask, burped delicately and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Delicately too.

  No. It was too soon for declarations of love and if her body ached now, her heart would be sore all over if he changed his mind about what it was they’d started here.

  So she kept it simple. ‘I’ll tell you after I try the custard tart.’

  CHAPTER

  21

  ‘I don’t think I can make it,’ Taylor said to Abe, staring up from the base of the limestone steps that led up, up, up to his family farmhouse. ‘In fact, shoot me now. Put me out of my misery.’

  Those steps really did look like Everest and after the walk today—make that hike—everything hurt. Her feet hurt. Her calves ached. Her thighs killed.

  The rest of her felt great.

  ‘Come on. We’ll get you a bunch of flowers from the garden for Ella and then I better let you go or you’ll never get to Perth while it’s still light.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ Taylor said. Yes, she was stalling, here at the bottom of a set of steps that looked like they went forever, but she really didn’t want to go back to Perth and real life, the real world. She put her hands on her hips and turned to take in the view across the Honeychurch farm, over the huge blue dam that was like a mirror of the sky, and the gazebo. Gazebo. ‘It’s so pretty here. I bet you never get tired of this view.’

  A black and white farm dog barked at them from the top of those limestone steps.

  ‘Come on, Doc. We can’t stand here all day.’

  ‘We can actually. Why can’t we?’ Her feet didn’t hurt if she stayed still.

  She swayed towards him and got kissed for her trouble.

  Kissed like a queen.

  * * *

  It took looking at the farm through Taylor’s eyes to remind Abe that it really was a pretty place. No wonder his brothers loved it, and his mum and dad never wanted to leave.

  It was pretty, but it wasn’t home to him. He’d felt more at home on the top of the Granite Skywalk eating strawberries with Taylor. He felt more at home on Ella’s couch.

  With Taylor.

  And now she was leaving and he had to let her go. ‘Come on, Doc. We can’t stand here all day.’

  ‘We can actually. Why can’t we?’

  She swayed towards him, raising her chin for a kiss that tasted of strawberries, Chardonnay and maybe a little piece of blue sky.

  So it took Abe a bit longer than planned—not that he was complaining about the kissing—but eventually he encouraged Taylor up the stairs and showed her into his mother’s garden, packed with bushes and shrubs that were older than he was and definitely prettier.

  He found his mum’s secateurs in the garden shed and her garden gloves, inspected the gloves for spiders and then gave them to Taylor.

  ‘Knock yourself out. You cut, I’ll hold. I’ve got bigger hands,’ he said.

  ‘You know size isn’t everything.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But it helps.’

  * * *

  Thank you for visiting Chalk Hill. Please drive safely.

  Strange how her chest felt like it had a rock rattling around in it as the Muirs Highway opened lean and grey before her. Perth could have been a world away, and it was.

  ‘We had a good time here, didn’t we, Bruno,’ she said, turning her head for the briefest moment to see Bruno’s wrinkled face peering at her. His eyes were tired already. It never ceased to amaze her how her dog could go from hyped to comatose in the space of two minutes in a warm car.

  Taylor returned her attention to driving, concentrating on the feel of the car and its contact with the road as it sped her away from Chalk Hill, and from Abe.

  A week ago she’d driven south from Perth filled with purpose. She’d had to find Abel Honeychurch and talk to him, convince him to help file charges against Amanda and help Will.

  Will.

  Taylor huffed air through her nose. Poor Will, she hadn’t thought about him in days.

  Guilt trickled through her, but she shoved the feeling away. It wasn’t that she’d given up on getting help for Will, she’d put it off for a while until she could talk Abe around. And she would talk Abe around. She just needed more time.

  In the meantime, she’d met a wonderful man and had a lovely holiday, and she really shouldn’t feel as if she’d left some vital part of herself behind as she drove away.

  * * *

  Jess’s bark woke Abe on Tuesday morning and it took him a few moments to clear the groggy fog from his brain and wake up enough to check the clock. It wasn’t much after six but all the birds were long up, singing in the garden outside his window.

  Jess barked again, sounding further away, and Abe pushed back the quilt and got his feet to the floor. He sat there for a moment, scratching at his whiskers and at a spot on his tummy.

  A vehicle door slammed as Abe yawned. Jake. His brother had rung to let him know he’d stay with Ella last night.

  Abe yawned again and reached for the shirt he’d discarded on the nearest chair, tugging it up his arms, and then found some pants.

  Tuesday.

  Would Taylor be up this early on a work day, or would she be tucked tight on her side, still sleeping, knees curled up to her chest?

  He let his mind think about that picture for a while. He’d spent quite a few hours these past few nights watching Taylor sleep.

  They’d talked late into the night last night because he’d wanted to be sure she got home okay, and if that didn’t show how bad he had it for the Doc, not much would. He’d spent nearly four hours walking up and down a mountain with her and they still had enough to say they could spend another hour on the phone.

  Husky, tired voices talking more to hear the other speak than because they had anything to say.

  Abe pushed to his feet and stretched experimentally against the wall of his bedroom, bracing his arms against the gyprock, pushing off. He had a niggling ache in his calves from yesterday’s walk, but nothing unpleasant.

  He felt good.

  The thought snuck in his mind, careful as a thief in the night. I feel good.

  This time last week he’d had that thick cement fog in place of his brain, and there’d been no room for feeling anything as simple as good. It was all he could do to force his brain to pilot his body through the day.

  I feel good.

  He did another rep of quick push-ups on the wall to prove it.

  Abe went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face and then made his way to the kitchen where he filled the kettle and set it to boil. Jake blew in while he was pulling mugs out of the dishwasher.

  ‘Hey,’ Abe greeted his brother.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Want a cuppa?’

  ‘Sure.’ Jake shoved his keys into a fruit bowl that held no fruit, but was a nest for keys, wallets and phones. He slung the day’s newspaper on the kitchen table.
/>   ‘So how was Perth? How was Charlotte?’ Abe asked, as the kettle bubbled, bubbled and bubbled some more. Amazing how kettles could boil forever, sending steam clouds roof-high. ‘Are you calling her Charlie yet?’

  ‘Not yet. Cassidy says Charlotte.’

  Eventually the kettle clicked off.

  ‘It’s pretty amazing. The whole thing’s a bit surreal,’ Jake said, pulling out a chair, ‘but Charlotte’s amazing. She’s beautiful.’

  ‘Takes after her mother then, hey?’ Abe teased.

  ‘She does. She’s a lot like Cassidy, got that dark hair. But she reminds me a bit of photos of Mum too, when Mum was younger. It’s the mouth. She’s got the same mouth as you and Mum. Let’s hope it’s not as bloody big or there’ll be trouble.’

  Abe stirred sugar into the two mugs of tea and brought them to the table.

  ‘How was she with you? Did you feel weird thinking here was this person who’d come from your body but you didn’t know her at all?’

  ‘Ta, mate,’ Jake took the cup as he considered the question. ‘It was a bit strange for both of us. She was pretty shy. Didn’t say much. Can’t blame her for that.’

  ‘So what did you talk about?’

  ‘I told her about the farm and about my family, her family. I took that big photo album Mum drags out every Christmas, but I think she got a bit bored looking through that. We went to see a couple of movies. We used the hotel pool a fair bit. I think she had fun. That was the main thing.’

  ‘What about Cassidy? How’s she looking?’

  ‘She’s in good shape. Looks ten years older but don’t we all.’ He took a sip of tea and put the cup down. ‘You were right about her having a new man in her life. She’s with a guy who works as a research officer for a government minister. Bloke travels a lot, out to the mining regions in Queensland, to the Daintree and the Gulf. Cassidy says she wants to be able to go with him sometimes, and her mum is getting older and can’t look after a teenager. Well, almost a teenager,’ Jake amended.

  Abe thought, I told you so, but didn’t say it. ‘I can’t quite imagine it, you know? How you must feel. If I ever find a long-lost daughter, maybe I’ll know.’

  ‘I don’t wish it on you, mate,’ Jake said. ‘I mean, finding out about Charlotte, that’s pretty cool. But the years I’ll never get back? I feel like I’ve been robbed. Makes it a bit awkward now, and what do I know about teenage girls?’

  ‘You know more than me,’ Abe said, draining his tea.

  ‘So how about you?’ Jake launched into a new topic the way he launched into most things, with a twinkle in his eye and an easy grin. ‘The way Ella says it, her place has been a love shack all weekend.’

  ‘How’s she figure that?’ They’d washed the sheets, cleaned up.

  ‘Sourdough loaf left in the pantry. Half an avocado. Cherry tomatoes in the fridge. It’s your signature bloody breakfast, mate. Bit of a dead giveaway.’

  ‘I might have been round there a few times.’

  ‘More than a few, I’d bet,’ Jake said, laughing into his tea cup.

  ‘Hey, Ella asked me to feed her bird.’

  ‘I’d reckon a lady with all those letters behind her name could work out how to feed a cockatiel. It’s not like it’s rocket science.’

  ‘How would you know how many letters Taylor has behind her name?’

  ‘Mate, have you seen her business card? Ella showed me. It’s impressive. She’s way too smart for you.’

  ‘Piss off,’ Abe said.

  ‘See, you’re all class, Abe. That must be what she sees in you.’

  Abe reached for the newspaper and flipped The West Australian so he could see the sport pages and then flipped his brother the middle finger of his right hand.

  ‘All class,’ Jake muttered.

  Abe found the form guide and studied it. Nothing caught his eye, not that he was betting anymore.

  ‘I was thinking I might buy Charlotte a pony for Christmas,’ Jake said into the kitchen silence.

  ‘Yeah? Does she ride?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Does she like horses?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Maybe you better ask her then, or ask her mum.’

  ‘We could keep a pony here. She could ride it when she visits,’ Jake said.

  ‘It’ll turn into a fat little turd that bucks every time she sits on it.’

  ‘Maybe Sam could ride it then, when Charlotte’s not here.’

  ‘Why don’t you buy Sam a pony too? Then the pony will have company.’

  ‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Then it’d be something Sam and Charlotte could do together,’ Jake said.

  ‘I was joking,’ Abe said mildly, closing the newspaper, thinking about what he had to do before the café opened. There were always deliveries coming in on Tuesday morning ready for the week. Local meat suppliers, vegetable boxes. He was a bit behind on preparation because he’d spent yesterday climbing the Skywalk with Taylor. He had cooking to do, the café to organise, accounts to pay.

  That thought snuck into his brain again. I’m still feeling good.

  ‘Do you think Charlotte would want to have Christmas here?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Jeez, I dunno. Shouldn’t you have this conversation with Ella?’

  ‘I did already.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said I needed to ask Cassidy first, and see what she said.’

  ‘Did you do that yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.’

  ‘To call Cassidy, or to have Charlotte for Christmas?’

  ‘To have Charlotte for Christmas.’

  ‘Since when did you let something not being a good idea stop you?’

  ‘Is it too soon, do you think?’ Jake asked. ‘Does it make me look pushy?’

  ‘You haven’t had a Christmas with Charlotte since she was born. That’s not being pushy and it’s not too soon. If you think she’d come, if you think Cassidy would let her, if you think Ella won’t mind, then go for it. I sure don’t mind. Mum and Dad won’t mind. They’ll be over the moon.’

  ‘You think Mum and Dad are gonna be home for Christmas?’

  ‘They said so, didn’t they? If Mum knows there’s a sudden long-lost granddaughter on the scene, she’ll bust a gut to be here.’

  The farmhouse phone bleated, startling both of them. The only people who ever rang the landline were their mum and dad. Abe got up to answer it, putting his cup in the sink. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Who’s that? Is that you, Jake?’

  ‘It’s Abe, Dad,’ he said patiently. I mean, you’d think his father would be able to tell his sons’ voices apart. ‘Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you. How’s things? How’s life in the van?’

  ‘Not so good, mate,’ his father said, in a tone that put a crawl over Abe’s skin.

  ‘What’s up? Is everything okay? Is Mum okay?’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jake got up from the table, moving quietly towards where Abe stood holding the phone.

  ‘Is Jake there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll just get him.’ Abe put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He wants you.’

  Jake took the phone. ‘Hey, Dad.’ Everything after that Abe heard via the one-way relay of his big brother, with gaps between questions while his father answered. Jake paced as he walked, back and forth along the length of the kitchen counter.

  ‘What sort of funny turn? Where are you? Well, what does that mean? Can I speak with her? What do the doctors say?’

  Jake held the phone. Abe held the bench.

  ‘A lesion?’

  Whatever his father answered, it put a shudder through Jake’s shoulders and a hitch in his steps. ‘How long till they know more? Bloody hell, Dad … Are you holding up okay?’

  And Abe thought, of course Dad would hold up, he was like a mountain that way.

  ‘Okay,’ Jake said again. ‘Call us back when you k
now more. Give her our love.’ He put the receiver in its cradle, fumbling once.

  He turned to Abe. ‘Mum is in Tamworth Hospital. Dad said she had a turn at the caravan park last night … a dizzy spell or a seizure. He’s not sure. He said they did a CT scan at the hospital and it shows some sort of lesion or swelling on her brain. She needs an MRI to find out more.’

  ‘Is she going to be okay?’

  ‘They don’t know. It’s the brain, you know?’

  ‘Can we do anything?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Dad said he’ll call back tonight.’

  Mum had a brain lesion. Lesion. What an ugly word.

  And what sort of son did it make him, what sort of person was he, that Abe couldn’t stop thinking, why couldn’t it happen to Dad?

  CHAPTER

  22

  Taylor drove across the city thinking about Greta Karminsky.

  Fourteen-year-old Greta was struggling with eating disorders that had dogged her most of her life, swinging her first one way on the dark side of the weight pendulum, before teasing her over to the other. Right now, she tipped the scales, wringing wet, at 34 kg on a 160 cm frame.

  Greta had been teased all through primary school about being obese, but in the summer holidays before she started high school she launched into a crash diet about the same time as she had a growth spurt, and the weight fell off.

  The double whammy of praise from friends and family drove her to eat less and exercise more, and all through that first high school semester, her weight dropped away. Greta cycled. Greta ran. Greta ate healthy.

  When the weight stopped falling—because her height/weight ratio was pretty much healthy and normal—the praise stopped too. Greta cut the calories, convinced that controlling her weight was the key to being perfect and being loved.

  Greta cycled harder, ran faster, ate less. Greta got thinner and thinner.

  Finally, after months working with Taylor, Greta was making progress, but not without a struggle.

  My brother on the other hand?

  Will had sounded reluctant to catch up on the phone, but after speaking with her mum this morning, Taylor insisted.

  ‘You should see him, love, he looks terrible. I’m sure he’s not eating because he pretty much ate me out of house and home on Sunday. His hair was all greasy and he was wearing a leather jacket.’