The Summer Sisters

by Lilly Mirren

  “Yeah, and school is a great place to make friends as well.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” replied Margaret.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Here we go again.”

  “You don’t?” asked Bindi.

  “Nope.”

  “She does too, she’s just saying that because they’re being mean to her.”

  “Friends aren’t mean to each other, that’s what Dad says. So, they mustn’t be my friends!” shouted Margaret.

  Bindi sat on a round, black rock and faced Margaret with a smile. “I’ll bet you and Sarah can say mean things to each other sometimes. I know my sisters and I had plenty of arguments over the years. Sometimes, I really didn’t like them.”

  Margaret’s eyes sought hers. “Is that true?”

  Bindi nodded. “Oh yeah. Sisters can fight a lot.”

  “We fight all the time,” sniffed Sarah, wading deeper into the pool.

  “But…” interjected Bindi, “that doesn’t mean you don’t care about each other. You love each other, because you’re sisters. Just the same way I love my sisters. And sometimes friends are a little bit like sisters. You care about each other, but you still fight. I remember primary school. It’s a difficult time to be a girl. Everyone’s trying to figure out how to be themselves, how to navigate friendships, how to manage peer pressure, there’s a lot going on. You’ll lose some friends and gain new ones. It’s all completely normal.”

  “Really?” Margaret slumped onto the rock beside her.

  “Yep. This is the time of life when you figure out how you’ll let people treat you, and the kind of person you want to be.”

  Margaret sighed. “That sounds hard.”

  “It’s really hard. But it’s important to remember, if you want to become a kind person, then you should stay kind even when your friends aren’t treating you with kindness. And if you want to be the kind of person who is treated well, then you don’t put up with being treated badly. This is an important time in your life. You can set the standards to live by for the rest of your life.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that.” Sarah shook her head. “This crab has a blue claw.”

  And just like that the subject changed. The girls forgot all about friendships and school and moved onto the colour of crabs and the transparency of small fish.

  Bindi watched them with a smile. Her heart warmed as the girls drew closer and held things up for her to see, their laughter filling the air around her.

  She glanced back to the cricket match, and saw Josh hit the ball into the air, with Jack chasing after it down the beach at a slow jog. Jack retrieved the ball, with a shout, then threw it back to Alex who was waiting with arms raised in the air. He tagged Josh who was mid-run, and Josh shouted in dismay, calling foul.

  Their laughter and shouts rang out through the small cove, over the sounds of the waves crashing to shore and the call of gulls circling overhead. The sun warmed the top of Bindi’s head and she smiled at the sight of her family, some deep in conversation, others chasing each other across the sand, and her heart filled with joy.

  34

  October 1982

  Grafton

  The truck hummed beneath him as the road slipped by. Charlie leaned one arm on the windowsill, the noise of the radio drowned out by the rush of wind through the cab.

  He’d taken the turn from the highway and was making his way through the outskirts of Grafton. It’d been a four-hour drive from Cabarita, and the small city of Grafton rose sleepy from a landscape of dry gum forests and brown grass-covered hills.

  Edie was doing so much better. She’d emerged from the darkness of her room at the inn to be the grandmother the girls needed and to manage the business she’d neglected. And her re-entry into life had given him the opportunity to do something he’d been wanting to since the first moment he’d set foot back in Australia — he was visiting Colin’s family.

  Colin and Henry had been his friends, his family, during their stint at Campo 78 and throughout the escape. When he recovered his memory, he hadn’t been able to shake the thought that their families might not know how they’d died or when. It was his responsibility to talk to them, tell them how much their sons had meant to him, how they’d helped him through the hardest time of his life. How they’d died heroes. He’d written a letter to Henry’s family but wanted to visit Colin’s in person.

  From the moment he arrived in Cabarita, however, Edie had needed him. Then, after the accident, the girls had as well. He couldn’t get away until now. It was time, he wouldn’t feel right until he’d done what he came to do.

  He found Colin’s parents living in a white clapboard structure set back from a narrow street, in the house that he presumed had been Colin’s childhood home. He’d looked them up in the White Pages and given them a call to confirm who they were before making the trip.

  A woman met him at the door, wearing a floral cotton dress. She looked about eighty years old and held onto the door as she opened it.

  “Hi, I’m Charlie,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake hers.

  She smiled. “I’m Rose Statham, come on in.”

  He followed her into a dark living room and took a seat on a worn couch. A man was resting in an armchair, his feet raised, and eyes closed. She tapped him gently on the shoulder.

  “Bill, Charlie Jackson is here to see us.”

  The man startled, then lowered the footrest to shake Charlie’s hand, his eyes blurry. “Charlie Jackson, eh? Good to see you, son.”

  “Can I get you a cup of tea?” asked Rose.

  Charlie nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  She tottered off to the kitchen and Charlie could see her from where he sat, filling a jug with water.

  “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad,” said Bill.

  Charlie smiled. “It wasn’t bad at all. I’ve never been here before, it’s a nice place. Got some great gum trees around here.”

  “It’s okay. I always tell Rose we should’ve settled in Coffs Harbour instead. Less than an hour away and they’ve got some wonderful beaches. Still, the job was here, so here we stayed.”

  Charlie nodded. “I understand that.”

  “Jobs weren’t always easy to come by, you know, back in my day. Then, once you have a family and build friendships, join a church…it’s hard to move.”

  “We loved it here, don’t listen to anything he says. I didn’t want to live at the beach, everyone I care about is in this town,” called Rose from the kitchen, over the sound of water bubbling in the kettle.

  Charlie smiled to himself. “I know what that’s like. After the war, I lived for years in Casoli, Italy. I built a life there, even though part of my heart was back here in Australia.”

  Bill dipped his head, lips pursed.

  Rose returned to the living room carrying two steaming cups of tea. She set one down on a small coffee table in front of Charlie, the other on a side table next to Bill’s chair.

  Then, Rose lowered herself into the loveseat opposite Charlie.

  “You said you knew Colin in the war?” she asked, hope flitting across her weathered face.

  Charlie sipped his tea, nodded. “That’s right, we were at Campo 78 together.”

  “Don’t you remember?” interrupted Bill. “He wrote about a Charlie fellow in his letters. From Bathurst, weren’t you?”

  Charlie smiled. “That’s right. I’m glad you were able to receive his letters, he worried about the two of you. Thought you might not get the letters and wouldn’t know where he was.”

  Rose’s eyes glistened with tears. “We got the letters.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I hope things weren’t too bad for him, or for you, in that camp,” added Bill.

  “We were there for each other. Colin became like a brother during that time. It wasn’t so bad, living in the camp. We had food, water, friendship…we even figured out ways to play games and have a bit of fun.” He wasn’t telling the entire truth, but they didn�
�t need to know their son starved in a frigid prison camp over the last months of his life.

  “That’s nice to hear,” replied Rose, with a quick nod of the head. “He said it in his letters, we weren’t sure how much to believe. He always did want to make things seem better than they were for our sakes.” She reached out a wrinkled hand and patted Bill’s where it rested on the armchair. He offered her a wobbly smile in return.

  “He was happy, as much as he could be,” continued Charlie. “We had great times together. We talked about our lives, laughed, we even gave the guards a bit of trouble now and then.”

  Bill grunted. “That’s my boy.”

  “And he died a hero,” added Charlie, his voice catching in his throat. “I was with him…we’d escaped Campo 78. We’d made it to a small village called Pacentro, and we were on our way into the mountains when the Wehrmacht found us. He was shot, died pretty quickly. I…comforted him as best I could.”

  Bill and Rose held each other’s hands, their eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m glad you were with him. I’d hate for my boy to have to die alone,” said Rose, her voice soft.

  “He wasn’t alone. I was there. He was brave and wasn’t afraid. He faced death as a hero.” Charlie couldn’t say more. He inhaled a slow breath around the lump in his throat.

  Bill nodded with his eyes trained on the carpet. Rose squeezed her eyes shut.

  “But I tell you what, he was a mischief when he chose to be,” added Charlie. “There was this one guard at the camp…”

  He told them about Colin’s antics with Cabbage Hat, the guard who’d given them the most trouble in Campo 78, and consequently the one the men chose as the target for all of their mischief.

  Bill and Rose’s demeanour changed as he spoke, until they were laughing along with him as he regaled them with the things Colin had done to make Cabbage Hat’s life miserable during his months at the prison camp.

  By the time he left the Statham house, his heart fairly ached with memories. Nostalgia almost choked him. He missed them, Colin and Henry. He didn’t miss the prison camp, or the war, but he missed his friends. Wished he’d been able to share a peacetime drink with each of them. He missed his parents, and his life in Bathurst. Missed Italy and the life he’d built in Casoli. There were so many people, so many things, so many lives he’d lived, built, and shared over the years that he couldn’t get back, couldn’t have again. People, places, and things he’d left behind and the loss of each had left a small hole in his heart.

  But now he had Edie, along with their grandchildren. Thinking of Edie and the girls helped soothe away the sadness. Ever since he’d returned to Cabarita Beach, he and Edie had rebuilt their relationship stone by stone. Time had changed them both in little ways, but they were still the same two people who’d fallen in love before war tore them apart. He’d be forever grateful for a second chance to build a life with Edie.

  He mourned the loss of his son, never getting the chance to really know him, never being able to tell him the truth of who he was. But he’d learned something during the war that had helped him move forwards — no amount of wishing could bring a person back. All anyone could do was love well the people left behind.

  35

  May 1997

  Cabarita Beach

  The line of diners streamed out the door, down the front steps of the inn and across the yard. Cars were pulling into the almost full lot, and Bindi’s pulse accelerated at the sight of headlights still turning into the inn’s drive.

  It was the official opening night for their new Waratah Restaurant. Construction had ended a week earlier, and they’d spent the past seven days rushing about getting everything ready for the opening. With a delay due to an issue with the wrong flooring being delivered, that’d pushed them back two weeks, they were in a rush to meet the opening deadline they’d been heavily promoting for the past month.

  Bindi inhaled a deep breath, smoothed her hair back with one hand and stepped inside the inn. Conversations buzzed, and laughter filled the air, along with the warm scent of food that drifted in from the newly expanded kitchen. Roasted meats, vegetable soups, freshly baked bread: the night was heady with delicious smells that made Bindi’s nerve-wracked stomach growl.

  “I’ll be right with you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience. If people with a reservation could step to the front of the line, I’d appreciate it. Everyone else, I’m afraid we’re booked out this evening, but you’re welcome to sit at the bar for a drink.”

  There were groans of disappointment, and a few people left. Others came forward, smiling wide.

  Bindi stood behind the small, reception desk, checking people in and then directing them towards a hostess who’d seat them at their reserved table in the restaurant. After she’d been doing it a while, she called one of the staff to take over. She wanted to take a look around the restaurant and see how things were progressing.

  She strode into the restaurant. The hostess seated a couple to her left, then headed back to where the line of diners waited for her. Waiters were taking orders, and guests were smiling and pointing out the chandeliers, the wishbone timber flooring, the large windows that gazed out over a darkening garden.

  Bindi stopped, hands clutching each other, to take it all in. It was beautiful. Everything they’d imagined had come together in the space. It was slowly filling up as the hostess returned with more diners.

  She pushed through the swinging doors and the noise and scents of the kitchen greeted her. Kate, wearing a chef’s hat, buzzed around, stirring this, tasting that. Mima was part of the action, seated on a chair slicing vegetables. Around her, staff fried, sautéed, and broiled, then filled plates with food. Everyone moved like they were part of an orchestrated routine.

  Kate glanced up, caught sight of her. “We’re somehow out of calamari,” she shouted.

  “What? Really?”

  “I don’t know what happened. I ordered plenty, but it’s not there…I guess I didn’t check the order.”

  “I’ll run out and get some.”

  She checked with Kate exactly what they needed and how much and sprinted to the truck. In Tweed Heads, she had to drive around to several different suppliers before she found one that was open and had to beg them to keep from closing the door in front of her. By the time she’d returned with the order, things were well underway in the restaurant.

  “Where have you been?” cried Reeda from the reception desk where a line of diners stood waiting to be seated.

  “Buying supplies for Kate.”

  “A kid tripped on the front step, and cracked his lip open, there’s still blood everywhere. I bandaged him up and sent him home but haven’t been able to find anyone who’s free to wipe up the mess.”

  “I’m on it!” shouted Bindi, handing the bags to Reeda and rushing for the broom closet.

  She found gloves, a mop and bucket and carried it all to the laundry to fill with water and soap, then out to the front verandah. The blood had dried and was harder to remove than she’d thought it’d be. Guests stepped over or around her, and when they stood directly on the wet floorboards, she was cleaning, her frustration almost boiled over.

  Finally, she was done and carried everything back to the laundry room. She left it there and returned to check on the restaurant. Diners were finishing up their meal, empty plates being carried back to the kitchen. She smiled when she saw most had been completely scraped clean. Then she frowned when she saw how many dirty plates remained on tables.

  Bindi marched into the kitchen and confronted the first waiter she met.

  “Please make sure to bus the tables quickly,” she said.

  He nodded and hurried out through the swinging doors.

  She repeated the instructions to several other waiters, but realised she’d have to talk to the team about it after the shift was over if she was to make sure they all heard and received the instruction. As she pushed through the swinging doors and stepped back into the restaurant there was
a shout from one of the tables.

  Bindi’s heart skipped a beat as a man near the front of the restaurant fell from his chair and onto the floor. The woman he was with screamed and ran to his side, kneeling on the floor beside him. Bindi sprinted through the restaurant, then squatted next to the woman.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” whimpered the woman. “He just turned red and collapsed.”

  The man’s face was contorted in pain. “My chest,” he grunted.

  Bindi ran to the front of the restaurant where a telephone hung on the wall. She dialled triple zero, asked for an ambulance, then hurried back to where the guest lay.

  “The ambulance is coming, just hang in there.”

  His face was pale now and had turned a shade of yellow. Bindi’s throat tightened. She tried to run through the steps outlined in the first aid training she’d done months earlier. He was still breathing. She checked his pulse, it was erratic.

  The woman sobbed beside her, clutching the man’s hand in her own.

  “It’s going to be okay,” soothed Bindi. “The ambulance is on its way, and you’re going to be fine.” She forced a smile onto her face.

  Guests began to crowd around them, asking questions, offering support. Bindi stood and ushered them back to their tables.

  When finally the ambulance arrived twenty minutes later, Bindi was bathed in sweat. Two paramedics rushed into the restaurant, carrying a stretcher between them. They attended to the man, even as a pair of police officers followed them in.

  Josh.

  Just the sight of him made her heart sigh with relief.

  He squeezed her hand. “I heard the call come in and thought I might see if you need some help. Sounds like you’re having an exciting night.”

  She shook her head. “This kind of excitement I could do without.”

  Josh and his partner helped the paramedics carry the man to the ambulance. His wife trotted in her stiletto heels along behind them.