by Kris Pearson
“You’ve got too much information about me,” Jenny said, knowing she was probably blushing. She sent him a flirty sideways glance all the same. “But if you’re not busy this evening, I’ll cook you lasagne. I like lasagne, and it’s a fiddle to make for one.”
Jay grinned. “Next time’s my treat then,” he said. “And I’m willing to even up the information stakes if you want.”
Yes, I probably do want, Jenny thought, raising her glass in a cautious salute and silently thanking his sister for more than just her books.
***
THE TAJ MIRAGE
Thursday January 18th
“Sue!”
“David?”
Sue Menzies blinked, looked again, and laid down her sandwich. Yes, it was David. David from so long ago. David Turner from Acacia Street.
“Sue, by all that’s wonderful,” he said, checking a little too obviously that no jacket or briefcase lurked nearby to indicate she had company at Sydney’s Shorefront Cafe.
Sue watched him with amusement. As a boy David had always crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s. As a man he apparently still liked to be up with the play. “Will you join me?” she asked, amazed she had the courage to sound so casual. Her heartbeat had gone thumpy, and surely the sun had become brighter? “I’ve stolen a few minutes for lunch on the way home from work. I couldn’t resist sitting outside for a while in this gorgeous weather.”
It’s almost like one of our old dates, she thought once he was settled across the small table from her. The water shimmered; waves broke gently and rolled in over the golden sand.
She’d always loved being here after school with him, sipping her orange juice, nibbling at a chocolate Lamington or cinnamon bun, with never a gap in the conversation. At seventeen she’d felt so grown up. Nowadays, dates were a thing of the dim distant past, and feeling grown up was something she could do without.
She drew a deep breath. “I heard you became an architect just like you planned?”
He nodded at that and a hint of his once-shy smile tweaked at his lips. “How did you know?”
She managed a smile of her own. “Word gets around. Even though you and your mother moved away, some of the others who went on to uni or tech are still in the district.” She paused, and then ploughed on. “I presume you’re just passing through?”
David set his Italian coffee cup down on its thick brown saucer. “Yes, but passing through every week on my way from Hunters Hill. Mum’s moved back here to be close to her sister again.”
Sue looked away and took a small bite of her sandwich, wanting to make their unexpected time together last longer. “Hunters Hill’s so lovely,” she said, thinking of the gracious old Federation houses fronting Sydney’s harbour. Or would he have designed himself a fantastic new home tucked back into the leafy Jacaranda trees?
“Yes, Diana and I liked it.”
Past tense her brain alerted her but she couldn’t possibly ask him why.
“Passing through to where?” she asked, hoping she sounded friendly rather than nosey.
“Balmain,” David said. “I’ve a project on the foreshore there. Part of the wharf redevelopment—so I tie it in with a visit to Mum each week. And what about you?”
Sue shrugged, wondering what to say to make herself sound the least bit interesting. Widowed? Keen on quilting?
“Part-owner of the Daisy-a-Day garden centre. Almost a grandmother.”
“Never!” David exclaimed. “Granny Sue? It doesn’t seem possible.”
Oh, that smile, Sue thought. It hasn’t changed a bit.
“All too possible,” she chided. “My son Alan’s baby is only a few weeks away now. He’s always been such a reserved boy. I’m really looking forward to seeing him cuddling his son or daughter and making silly faces and blowing raspberries.” She popped the last of the sandwich in her mouth.
David smiled and sipped his coffee. They sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds while she chewed. “Boy or girl?” he asked.
“I’ve no idea! My daughter-in-law insists she wants a surprise, so I’ve knitted a few things with fine cream yarn and left the pink or blue ribbons until the very last minute.” She sighed with mock dismay, imagining the special little person who was soon to enter the world, and hoping secretly for a tiny girl to spoil. “I’m beginning to think my daughter Penny will never put down roots,” she added. “She’s a nurse, and currently working in California. All this travelling—it’s like a disease she’s caught.”
“Let the girl be,” David said, surprising her. “It’s wonderful she has the chance, and a job that can take her anywhere. Did you see much of the world before you settled down?”
“Not much,” Sue admitted, picking up her chocolate muffin and thinking back to her early married years of nappies flapping on the line and constant economising and cheap-and-cheerful camping holidays. “Fiji,” she murmured, remembering the one and only package holiday she and Richard had taken. “We wanted to start a family, and we had two lovely children. They had to be our main focus, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
She bit her lip, wondering if she should even voice the next thought. “I always yearned to see the Taj Mahal,” she finally added. “My grandfather had a government job in India a long time ago. I’ve never forgotten his stories—the colours and spices and heat and amazing animals.”
She saw David’s interest quicken. “Elephants and tigers,” she added. “All the monkeys. The cobras. You don’t get those in Australia.”
“That’s a treat for the future then?” he suggested, taking a bite of his Danish pastry. “My mother never makes these,” he said, licking the flakes off his lips. “It’s all scones and sponge-cakes with her.”
Sue flicked her eyes away from his mouth and dredged up memories of a tightly-permed, apron clad woman who’d always seemed disapproving when David brought his friends home to play music on the new stereo. She sighed and chewed her muffin.
“The Taj Mahal eh? Would you really?” he asked, pulling her back to the present.
She shrugged, knowing she probably looked embarrassed after her fanciful declaration, but the white marble monument had floated in her mind like a shimmering mirage for most of her life.
“I’ve seen so many beautiful photos. And the story behind it is amazing. It dates right back to the mid sixteen-hundreds, but you’d know that in your line of work.”
“Here’s something interesting,” he said with a grin. “The minarets out in the corners are built far enough away so if they keel over they won’t hit the main building.”
“No!” Sue exclaimed. “Are they likely to?”
“Very tall thin structures sometimes did, way back then. It’s a tomb, isn’t it, built for a special woman?”
“An adored wife who died giving birth to her fourteenth child—pretty special indeed.”
David raised an eyebrow at that. “We never managed even one. Sadly no little boys arrived to come and play cricket with me.”
His smile faded. Sue saw the hurt etched on his face.
“It broke us up really,” he continued. “Diana married again but I... didn’t. You’re very lucky.”
“Children grow up and leave,” Sue said, trying to soften his sorrow.
“But they do come back. Look at me—home every Thursday for half an hour.”
His expression was suddenly so comical she had to laugh. “You always were a good son,” she said, finding she could look directly at him now without feeling quite so flustered. She was pleased she’d touched up her lipstick and tidied her hair before leaving work. If only her pulse would stop hammering, though. “Every Thursday? It’s my half-day—which is why I’m here.”
“Husband lets you off early, does he?”
“Something like that,” Sue said, swallowing the last of her tea and checking her watch for no reason at all.
David was lovely. Still trim, with no hint of a beer-gut. Still with the same wavy brown hair, worn shorter now, but barel
y threaded with silver. And still with those mischievous dark eyes that had captivated her as a girl. It was dangerous to stay any longer.
Stacking her cup and saucer on her plate and scrunching up her paper napkin, she picked up her bag. “Time I was going,” she lied. “It was wonderful to see you again David. Really good to catch up.” She pushed back her chair and dashed away before he could object.
*
Thursday January 25th
Even though it was a week further into summer, an unseasonal wind from the south drove rain to pound on the cafe’s windows.
Sue unzipped her parka and shrugged out of it, knowing she was being silly. David would have no reason to call in here on a day like this—even if he was driving through to Balmain again.
But that didn’t stop her heart from doing unnerving flip-flops. Or prevent her from glancing out of the window far too often, just in case.
And a few minutes later there he was! Sprinting from his car, briefcase held over his head, bursting through the doorway in a flurry of raindrops—and stopping dead on the spot to gaze around the tables.
Sue’s heart did an especially huge lurch and she lifted her hand in a tentative wave. His swift grin raised her temperature by at least ten degrees.
He set his briefcase by her table and continued on to the food counter.
Sue unbuttoned her summer-weight cardigan to show a slice of the rather pretty blouse underneath. She took another bite of her club sandwich, glancing sideways to look at David while he wasn’t watching. He wore a mid-thigh waterproof jacket above long legs and chunky boots.
Boots? David? Then it occurred to her that architects might need boots on building sites on such awful days.
He returned and sat opposite her, pushing his jacket off onto the chair back.
“You didn’t tell me you were widowed,” he said with no preamble.
Sue felt her mouth drop open. He’d been checking up? Should she feel angry or flattered?
“You didn’t ask,” she retorted.
“I very carefully enquired last week if your husband had given you the afternoon off.” His dark eyes held hers without wavering.
“And why would you want to know that?” she asked.
“Because I was once a good friend.” He took a sip of his coffee and smouldered at her over the rim of the cup. “Anyway, I called in at your garden centre to see if you were there, and Moira put me straight.”
“Oh.” There seemed to be nothing else to say. Goodness knows what else her friend and business partner had mentioned. “How on earth did you find it?” she stammered.
“‘Daisy-a-Day’—good name. Easy to remember.”
“Mmmm,” she agreed and then gave in to his curiosity. “Yes, I’m widowed. Almost five years ago. Two children, one house, one mortgage, half a small business, a Honda Jazz, not much else.” Surely Moira hadn’t revealed more than that?
It seemed enough to placate him because the tension went out of his shoulders. He set his cup down and leaned back, looking at her with definite amusement now.
“Playing hard to get, were you?”
“David!” she exclaimed, genuinely shocked. “No I was not. It didn’t occur to me you were, um— ”
“Still interested?” he asked softly.
Sue closed her eyes and shook her head. She felt the garnet drop earrings she’d worn specially ‘just in case’ swinging gently in her ears.
“Moira said I should take you dancing.”
“What!” Her eyes shot wide open again.
“I was telling her about a movie I’d hired for my mother. She’ll watch it while I go on to Balmain and check out the project. I’ll collect it on the way back again. It’s a dance film with Richard Gere. Someone at work recommended it.”
“‘Chicago’?” she asked.
“No, a ballroom thing. ‘Let’s Dance’ or ‘Come Dancing’. Something simple like that. It’s in the car.”
“Haven’t seen it,” she said. “I would have loved to dance better. I think I was born with two left feet.”
“We used to dance.”
“Bobbing about—not proper dancing.” But how she’d loved being his partner, enjoying the enthusiasm in his lively eyes, being close to his athletic body as he stomped and swayed and sometimes brushed against her.
“We could attend a class,” he suggested, catching her totally unawares.
Sue paused with her cup of Earl Grey halfway to her parted lips. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
“I don’t know if that’s a wise suggestion,” she murmured. She sipped, and wondered...
“It seemed to be the current rage not long ago. And there’s this Ceroc dancing too, although maybe that’s not quite us. Latin dancing—you don’t need a partner. You dance with whoever’s available.”
Sue couldn’t picture herself pressed against some stranger’s body doing a cha-cha or tango. But a waltz or quickstep with David? That was a different story altogether. It was curiously easy to imagine herself in his arms, gliding across the dance floor, lost in a little world of their own. How long since she’d really danced? Alan’s wedding, six years ago? “I suppose it was all those TV shows that made it popular,” she said.
“Probably,” he agreed. “It looks like I’ve shocked you. I didn’t mean to.”
Sue watched as he bit into his slice of bacon and egg pie and chewed, eyes averted from hers.
“No, it would be lovely. It’s just...” She trailed off. What could she say to him? That he’d broken her heart once and she wasn’t keen on it happening a second time? No way was she sharing that with him. She took another sip of her tea.
“Only an idea,” he said, shrugging. His shoulders were broad under his pale blue shirt.
‘My hand would rest right there if we went dancing,’ she thought, feeling delicious temptation run right through her.
“Ah well, we’ll see.” And that seemed to be the end of the subject.
*
Thursday February 1st
This time David had beaten her to the cafe. He stood up from one of the outdoor tables, beaming broadly.
“I’ve ordered for you,” he said. “Earl Grey, club sandwiches, chocolate muffin—right?”
“Am I that predictable?” she asked, feeling absurdly pleased he’d remembered.
“That dependable maybe? Still a chocolate girl.”
“You’re making me sound like an old Labrador.”
“Same golden hair, same brown eyes....?”
“That’s not a compliment,” she protested. “Wuff!” she added, reaching for the teapot.
David grinned.
They ate for a few minutes in companionable silence.
“I’ve sorted out the dancing class,” he said. “Thursday nights, seven-thirty till nine. Okay by you?”
“Oh good grief,” she said faintly as shock and pleasure washed through her. “You really meant it? I’ll tread all over you.”
“Not for long,” he said with supreme confidence. “You’re no bigger than you were at seventeen. You won’t do much damage. I’m going to enjoy twirling you around the floor.”
Suddenly he surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand. “Come to India with me,” he demanded, eyes fixed on hers. “See the Taj. Live your dream for real. Just us again after all this time.”
A tide of hope and excitement threatened to swamp her. Her teacup rattled down, knocking the spoon from her saucer.
‘If only I dared,’ she thought. And then she astonished herself by saying, “Well, that’s not going to happen until well after Alan’s baby is born. I’ll want to get to know my first grandchild before anything like that.”
She watched as the brief youthful madness departed from his face and was replaced once again by humour and affection.
“You’d consider it then?”
Sue burst into the first giggles she’d had for ages. “No, of course not,” she said. And then felt the blush spreading up her neck and out over her
face. “Of course not,” she repeated, “but—you know—um, it’ll be nice to imagine.”
David smiled and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Think about it, seriously, Susie. The Taj Mahal’s waiting for us whenever the time is right. But I’d like you to see it before those minarets fall down.”
***
SAVED FROM THE PIKELETS
Mary Lyon huffed out a sigh as she stirred the melted butter into the batter. Yes, she knew she shouldn’t be mixing up half a batch of pikelets at three o’clock when she’d had a perfectly adequate lunch of lettuce, tomato and a mini-can of chilli tuna.
‘Just a one-egg batch,’ she told herself.
‘One egg and one cup of flour and those two dessertspoons of sugar’ her conscience argued back.
She glanced down at her slightly floury apron and the little pot tummy underneath it. She did love to bake. Widowed far too early, with no-one to share her cooking, she mostly ate the lot. Sometimes she got so disgusted with herself that she threw her goodies to the dog before she could finish them.
She gave the mixture a more vicious beating than it needed. Angry with it. More angry with herself. And was about to drop the first spoonful onto the hot griddle when her phone did its tuneful bing-bing-bong.
Mary wiped her fingers on her apron, and answered it.
“Lovely day!” her friend, Trudie, exclaimed. “Are we on for a walk? We could take Benji up to the reservoir.”
Mary glanced at the little white Westie on the window-seat. Eric’s dog, but with no Eric any more, Benji was hers. And putting on weight, just as she was. “Half an hour?” she suggested.
“See you at three-thirty,” Trudie agreed, disconnecting.
Mary spooned out the batter, flipped the first three pikelets over when the bubbles rose, buttered them, and ate them hot with honey. She left the second three for an after-dinner treat.
