by Lilly Mirren
Kate lowered her hand. An angry red welt appeared on the inside of one of Kate’s wrists, and along the palm of her hand.
“Okay, it’s not too bad. I don’t think we have to go to the hospital. I’ll get the first aid kit,” said Bindi. “For now, hold it under the cold tap.”
Kate complied, her lips pursed and face pale, while Bindi went in search of medical supplies. She kept the first aid kit in the office cupboard, since it was close to the kitchen and wouldn’t be in Kate’s way. Her sister had gotten militant about what could be stored in the kitchen since they’d extended the inn’s restaurant to include lunch and dinner menus. She said they didn’t have enough space to store what they needed, so anything else would have to find another home.
By the time she returned with the kit, Kate’s colour had returned. She was still running water over the burn and at the same time was calling out orders to the staff who bustled about the kitchen filling platters, bowls and tureens with succulent roast meats, a colourful array of roast vegetables and gravy, and ferrying them post haste towards the dining room.
Bindi reached for Kate’s hand, but her sister raised it in the air to wave at a waitress. She tried to grasp it again and Kate ducked away to taste the gravy, then shouted a few more orders.
“Kate,” hissed Bindi, with a tight smile. “Come here so I can take care of that burn.”
Kate’s nostrils flared. “I don’t have time.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
She sighed, returned to where Bindi stood, and stretched out her hand. “This is ridiculous. The kitchen is too small for what we’re trying to achieve here. We’re getting busier all the time, at least it feels that way. I’m working with what is essentially a large domestic kitchen, and I’m trying to make it work as a commercial space.”
Bindi dried Kate’s hand gently with a clean cloth, then set about applying paw-paw salve, before wrapping it with a bandage. “I didn’t realise things had gotten so bad.”
Kate huffed. “It’s been like this for a while, I haven’t wanted to say anything. I know it feels like we only just finished renovating the place, but if we’re serious about opening the restaurant to the public—”
“Which we are. Right?” interrupted Bindi, as she finished up and packed everything back into the first aid kit.
Kate nodded. “I am… If you and Reeda are on board.”
“I think it’s a great idea. You’re a wonderful chef, Kate, and it would be a shame not to share your talents. But only if it’s what you want to do. If you’d rather, we can go back to only serving breakfast.”
“I really think the restaurant is a big draw card for guests,” replied Kate. She ran a hand over the bandana that was tied around her head, holding her hair out of the way, and suddenly looked more tired than Bindi had seen her in a long time.
“The guests love the restaurant, and honestly there isn’t much available locally. If they didn’t eat here, there are a few places to go in Kingscliff and Tweed Heads, but nothing with food like we’re offering.” Bindi smiled, patted Kate’s arm. “I think it’s time to build your big kitchen.”
“Can we afford it?” asked Kate, one eyebrow quirked.
Bindi nodded. “We still had a little money left from Nan’s account, and I’ve been putting some aside every month since we opened. Still, I’d like to know if this is what you want, Kate. I know guests will love it, and I’m sure we’ll get plenty of interest from the public, but what about you? Is this what you want?”
Kate sighed, and a soft smile drifted across her full lips. “It’s always been my dream to have my own restaurant.”
“Then, we’ll do it,” replied Bindi with a nod of her head.
“Are you sure?”
“Certain. I’ll call Reeda to check what she has to say on the matter, but last time we talked about it she seemed open to it.”
Kate grinned. “So, we’re building a commercial kitchen and restaurant?”
“Yep, I suppose we are.”
The two sisters hugged. Tears welled in Bindi’s eyes. It warmed her heart to see the excitement on her sister’s face. From the beginning she’d worried that the Waratah Inn wouldn’t be enough of a challenge for Kate, that in the end she’d head back to the city to find a prestigious chef’s job, not satisfied by working in the inn’s small kitchen. But she could see now that Kate was as invested in the business as she was herself. This restaurant would be a good thing for the inn and for Kate.
Bindi returned to the office and put away the medical supplies, as Kate got back to serving the evening meal to their guests. Just as she was about to sit at her desk, she heard the bell at the reception counter ting. She sighed, rubbed her hands down the sides of her pants and hurried out to meet the visitor. She hadn’t been expecting any late check-ins, though one of the guests on the list hadn’t showed earlier. Maybe they’d been held up along the way. She didn’t understand the name, scrawled in the guest book, though she often couldn’t read Kate’s writing.
When she reached the foyer, she had to work hard not to let her mouth fall open. Instead, she pushed a smile onto her lips.
“Brendan, what a surprise…”
Brendan, stood at the inn’s reception counter, his hands pushed deep into his jeans’ pockets, a backpack on the floor beside him. His brown hair was mussed, and his dark eyes fixed on her, losing her in their depth.
He grinned and enveloped her in a warm embrace, his arms holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat through the thin shirt against her ear. He cradled her head in his hands the way he used to when they were dating. Something inside of her melted; it was all so familiar. She missed him. But he was engaged to someone else, hadn’t wanted to marry her. She squirmed out of his grasp.
“Hi Bindi,” he said, taking a step backwards.
“What…what are you doing here?” She didn’t want to sound rude but couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I told you I was coming.” His brow furrowed.
“I know, but I didn’t realise… Never mind, it’s good to see you.”
She bustled behind the reception counter, determined to be a good hostess even if her heart was thudding against her rib cage and nausea had welled in her gut.
“Let’s see, you’re in room eight,” she began, running her finger down the booking sheet. “I’ll help you get your things to your room. Normally, Jack would do that but he’s out with the horses now. You’ll love this room, Reeda decorated it…actually she decorated the entire inn when we renovated recently.”
She was rambling, she knew it and he did too — she could tell by the amused look on his face. Still, she wasn’t sure how to stop. If she stopped talking, he’d talk, and she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Why was he here? He’d said he wanted to talk to her, to get some closure on their relationship, but he could’ve done that over the telephone. The way he was looking at her now brought a warmth to her cheeks. She recognised that look. He was flirting with her.
He studied her with a bemused look. “Are you nervous, Bindi?”
She sighed. “I guess. It’s been a while since I saw you.”
She stepped out from behind the counter and reached for his backpack. He waved her off and picked it up himself, then followed her up the inn’s wide staircase to the third floor.
He didn’t say anything until they reached his room. She handed him the key with a brief smile, then set her hands on her hips. “Breakfast starts at seven,” she began.
He interrupted by reaching for her hand and tugging it away from her waist, to hold between his. He threaded his fingers through hers. Heat flooded her body.
“I had to see you, Bindi.” He ran a thumb around the palm of her hand, stepped closer. “I missed you.”
She was confused. Why was he here? Was it really because he missed her? “But you broke up with me,” she objected. “You got engaged to someone else after telling me you didn’t want to marry me because you weren’t the marrying type.”
Brief irritation flashed across his face, then his eyes softened. “I know, I was horrible to you. But now… I don’t know if I’ve made the right decision.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”
“I’m not sure. I do know one thing; I miss having you in my life. And Amy, that’s my fiancée’s name, she’s not like you. She’s different, and I thought that was a good thing. She’s a hairdresser, she isn’t so invested in her career, she wants a family…”
Bindi’s gut churned. “I wanted a family.”
He nodded, stepping closer again. She had to look up to see his face. He was tall and his lithe body loomed over her, his lips hovered above hers. “I know you did, and I didn’t appreciate that. I thought we were too similar, that it couldn’t work between us.”
He closed the gap between them, his breath hot on her mouth as he moved to kiss her.
That he’d had doubts about them was news to her. He’d never shared those kinds of doubts with her, always assuring her that he loved her, wanted to be with her.
“Where does your fiancée think you are right now, Brendan?” Her words halted his progress towards her lips.
“She knows I travel for work. She’s used to it, I’m hardly home.”
“Home? Do you live together?”
He nodded, his cheeks colouring.
Bindi took a step back, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this… I’ve got to go.”
She left him standing in front of the door with the brass number eight in its centre and fled down the staircase and back to the office. She hadn’t been seated behind her desk long when a wave of nausea hit her. She ran to the small bathroom attached to the kitchen and reached a stall just in time to throw up.
When she was done, she slumped against the wall and wiped her mouth with a paper towel. Exhaustion swamped her body. She stared at her reflection in the narrow bathroom mirror. Dark shadows clung beneath her eyes her skin was pallid. She’d always been thin, but now she looked unwell. She wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer — it was time to tell her sisters what was going on.
She didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Brendan right now. The fact that he was questioning his decision to leave her, to move in with another woman and ask that woman to marry him, didn’t give her the comfort she once might’ve felt. Right now, all she needed to do was to get through each day and beat this illness. There wasn’t room in her life for anything else.
6
October 1966
Cabarita Beach
The pile of dishes in the sink teetered. Where was Mima? And that girl, the one they’d hired to clear tables and wash dishes, she seemed to have disappeared along with everyone else.
Edie Summer sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. She adjusted the fit of the bandana that was wrapped around her head, pulling her blonde hair away from her face. Two pigtails bobbed against her shoulders.
She should leave the dirty dishes as they were. It was what she’d hired people to do, take over these kinds of chores. There’d been too much balanced on her shoulders for too long, at least that’s what Paul had said one night hunched over the books.
“We’ve got enough to cover hiring someone to help in the kitchen, and we should do it,” he’d mused, glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You work too hard.”
“So do you,” she’d pointed out.
He’d laughed at that. “Fair point. Perhaps we should get a handyman as well, while we’re at it.”
They hadn’t found a handyman, no one local who had the time or the capability. That was one of the pitfalls of opening an inn in the middle of nowhere. But a girl from a local farm had taken the kitchen hand job, and so far, she’d done well. If only Edie knew where she was at that moment.
“Breathe,” said a voice behind her, warm against her neck.
Two hands pressed to her waist and spun her around. “You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel,” said Paul.
He kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, before he moved to her lips and planted a warm, sweet kiss there as well.
She smiled, the tension shifting from her head to her neck. “These dishes won’t do themselves.”
“Lucy will be back shortly. She’ll do them. Why don’t you take a break?”
They’d opened the inn almost twenty years earlier, and over most of that time they hadn’t hired much in the way of help. It’d been mostly her and Paul doing everything around the place, and she’d become accustomed to things being that way. It’d meant that as the inn’s popularity grew, so did her workload. At first, running the Waratah had been fun, every now and then they’d receive a guest and she’d take care of them like they were the Sultan of Brunei. But then, word had spread of the rustic boutique inn nestled on the shores of an untouched cove, and they’d slowly found themselves buried in guests.
Since Keith left home to attend university in Sydney six years earlier, it seemed Edie had done little more than work, night and day. Partly because of the popularity of their inn, but secretly, she knew she was using the activity to mask the loneliness she felt at not having her son close by any longer.
Sydney was so far away. They hardly heard from him, and she was accustomed to having him around, to talk to, to embrace, to massage her shoulders or hear about her day. He’d grown into a responsible, thoughtful, kind — if somewhat neurotic — young man. She loved him more than she’d thought it possible, and now he was gone.
If only they’d been able to have more children, their home wouldn’t be empty now. Of course, they had their guests, and often the guests brought children with them, but it wasn’t the same. She’d get down on the floor with them, play dolls or trains, even had a box of toys that she’d pull out from the living room cupboards for that purpose. But what she really wanted was to see her granddaughter.
Edie set a kettle on the gas stove to boil, then crossed her arms to keep from washing the dirty dishes. She eyed them with a quick intake of breath, even as Lucy barrelled into the room, red-cheeked.
She offered Lucy a smile, and the girl grinned, then set about tying an apron around her waist and running hot water into the sink.
Paul caught her eye and cocked his head as if to show her he’d been right, and she couldn’t help chuckling beneath her breath. Even after all these years, he was still so cute at times. He sat at the dining table, the accounting book open in front of him, pen poised above the page. His clothes were dirty and sweat-stained, his hair lank against his head — he’d spent the morning fixing the northern fence line. He must’ve been exhausted but didn’t show it. Nothing seemed to faze her tall, strong husband. He rarely complained, instead focusing on whatever had to be done with a smile.
What had she done to deserve having someone so wonderful in her life? He’d helped her raise Keith, was a kind, patient, and generous father in her son’s life. They’d never spoken to Keith about the adoption, and she’d assumed he’d remember that Paul wasn’t his birth father, but he didn’t seem to. From what she could tell, Keith was convinced Paul was his father, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. It would’ve hurt Paul to hear her say the words, she was sure of that. He’d devoted every day of the past twenty years to being the kind of husband and father that she and Keith needed, and she couldn’t take that away from him.
Besides, Charlie had never returned from the war and his parents had died years ago. There was really no reason for Keith to know the truth, not when the truth could hurt the man sitting across from her, the man who’d dedicated his life to making their little family happy.
The truth, such as it was, would serve only to hurt the two men who made her heart whole. So, she kept it to herself, hidden down inside her, and would take out the memories every now and then to turn them over, examine them, sift through the fading pictures in her mind, then file them back away again, careful not to let any escape into the world.
The only person, other tha
n Paul, who knew the truth about Keith’s father, was Mima. And she’d agreed not to say anything.
Perhaps one day she would open that wound and bring Charlie’s story to light, but not yet. Not with Keith living in Sydney with his one-year old daughter and pretty young wife. Not when she rarely saw him as it was. She didn’t want to give him any excuse not to visit more often.
The kettle whistled on the stove top and she poured two cups of tea into large, china mugs. Then, added milk and handed one to Paul. As she carried her own to the table to sit with him, she tripped on the edge of a floor tile and a wave of tea spilled over the side of her cup, wetting the floor.
She cried out, set the almost empty cup on the table, and peered at the wet floor, anger boiling over.
“Perfect! Just what I need! Another mess to clean up.”
Paul leapt to his feet and hurried to wrap his arms around her. He tilted her head with a finger pressed to her chin, until her gaze met his. Tears spilled into her eyes, and frustration churned in her gut.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Lucy and I will clean it up.”
She stamped her foot, conscious that she was a forty-one-year-old woman acting like a child, but not caring. “I can’t believe I did that. I spend all day, every day, cleaning, wiping, scrubbing, and washing, and now I’ve got to mop the kitchen floor again.”
He shook his head, a smile tickling his lips. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll take care of it. Sweetheart, this business is getting too big for the two of us to handle on our own. You’re gonna have to get used to the idea of having people help, and you’re going to have to rest.”
“I rest,” she countered.
“I mean more than when you fall into bed at night. I think the two of us should take a break every afternoon. We should switch off, no matter what’s going on, and sit down, put our feet up, go for a swim…something to relax and recharge before the dinner rush. What do you say?”
