‘I guess your mum’s just been getting more and more impatient ever since she was struck by this mood to take off,’ he said.
Billie nodded. ‘I get that. Mum didn’t even travel when she was young, did she?’
Her dad shook his head. ‘For almost as long as I’ve known her, she’s always been too busy with some project or other.’
Billie could remember this well. Instead of embracing the island’s sarongs-and-sandals spirit, her mum had always shown an entrepreneurial bent. Even when Billie had been in kindergarten, her mum had worked hard at sewing and crocheting and bottling preserves, all of which she’d sold in street stalls, or at the weekend markets.
Later, when Billie reached mid-primary, her mum had opened a fish and chip shop on the Picnic Bay Esplanade and then finally, six years ago, she’d realised her dream of renovating a perfectly positioned cottage and turning it into a cute bistro with a lovely deck overlooking her favourite bay. And she’d made it a success, because she’d worked so damn hard.
‘Mum’s certainly earned her lap of honour,’ she said quietly.
‘She has, love. No doubt about that.’
‘And so have you, Dad. You’ve worked just as hard. God knows how you put in so many years in the emergency ward.’
He merely grinned, then looped an arm around Billie’s shoulders and dropped a warm kiss on her forehead. ‘Well, anyway, give it some thought, won’t you?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
The weekend was hellish – there was no other word for it – and several days passed before Freya found the strength to ring her sister. She’d been hoping that Pearl might ring her first, full of horror at what had happened, offering sympathy and help, the kind of assistance that any sister would readily provide.
Of course, it was more than likely that Pearl hadn’t actually heard about the fire. Even if the story had made it to the newspapers or TV screens in North Queensland, not everyone was glued to the twenty-four hour news cycle, certainly not the busy owner of a thriving beach restaurant.
And anyway, the lag before sharing her news with Pearl was probably for the best. After her meeting with Brian, Freya had needed time to calm down. She’d been too shattered to think straight.
She’d staggered out of his office, distraught and sobbing and, no doubt, still screaming like a fishwife, and had driven to the nearest beachfront bar and ordered a succession of scotches without so much as a bag of potato chips to help line her stomach.
But honestly, what else could a woman do when she’d found herself left with nothing to her name? Not a frigging thing?
Not only had her lovely home, the one thing she had left after she’d lost her marriage and her career, been reduced to a block of land burdened by an ugly blackened ruin, but she’d also lost any chance to rebuild.
And now she’d lost her emotional framework as well. Her sense of security. Her trust in relationships, her sense of purpose, of being needed. She felt adrift in a cold and desolate sea with no sign of any bloody life raft.
Brian’s offer to have the burnt-out rubble removed was such a ludicrous attempt at compensation that Freya’s usual tipple of a glass of pinot gris, or even a gin and tonic, just couldn’t have cut it that night. So, yeah, trying to obliterate herself with scotch wasn’t her usual MO, but she’d been too blinded by despair to care.
It had been around midnight when Daisy had finally found her.
Poor Daisy. She’d been an absolute darling, yet again, gently but firmly steering Freya out into the chilly night air and into her car to bring her home. For the second time, Freya’s car had been abandoned to be picked up the next day, while Daisy had dosed her with water and aspirin and helped her into bed.
Of course, when Freya had finally emerged from her hangover haze, she’d been aghast and so very contrite that she’d landed her friend with all that worry and trouble. But she’d been too overwhelmed by her own wretched feelings of utter hopelessness to bother about contacting her family. Besides, she was pretty damn sure that if she had tried to ring her sister, she wouldn’t have been able to share her news without becoming an out-of-control sobbing mess.
Instead, Freya had tried to atone by cooking dinners for Daisy, vacuuming her floors and cleaning her windows till they sparkled. Daisy had protested, gently, until Freya assured her that the elbow grease was therapeutic.
Now, mid-week, feeling only marginally calmer, Freya dialled her sister Pearl’s home phone number. She’d only seen photos of the new house with plate-glass windows and stunning sea views, but she could quite easily imagine it. No doubt Pearl would be gazing through one of those big picture windows now and admiring a spectacular view of sea and sky as she answered the phone.
‘Hello, Billie speaking.’
Billie was home? This was unexpected. Freya hadn’t even realised that her niece was back from Greece. Just showed what a closely bonded family they were.
‘Billie, it’s Freya,’ she said, and she felt the kind of mellowing inside that she always felt when she was talking to Billie, a quiet kind of happiness, wreathed in memories of the special bond she’d once shared with her niece. Way back.
They’d seen each other infrequently over the years, but Freya knew Billie had grown into a warm-hearted and well-balanced young woman, despite her mother’s tiresome hovering. The term helicopter parent might have been invented for Pearl.
‘How are you?’ Freya asked her.
‘Not bad, thanks. Mum’s got me working my legs off, but I guess I can’t complain.’ There was a smile in Billie’s voice as she said this, so clearly she wasn’t too bothered. ‘How about you, Freya?’ Billie had dropped the ‘aunty’ tag for Freya somewhere in her mid-teens, around the same time she’d rejected Belinda as her given name.
‘Oh —’ Freya hesitated. She’d expected to share her bad news with her sister first, which was why she’d chosen to ring before the bistro opened. ‘I’m – ah – not great, to be honest. I was wondering if your mum’s at home?’
‘No, sorry. Mum and Dad are over in Townsville. They had an appointment.’
‘Oh? Right.’ If Pearl and Troy were in the middle of an appointment, Freya supposed she shouldn’t ring Pearl’s mobile either.
She felt even more flattened, if that were possible.
‘Sorry you’re not feeling so great,’ Billie said gently. ‘It’s not the flu, is it?’
‘No, no, my health’s fine. I’m guessing none of you have heard.’ Freya swallowed. ‘My house burned down.’
‘Oh, God!’ The distress in Billie’s voice was strangely gratifying. ‘Oh, Freya. Oh, shit, I don’t know what to say.’
‘That’s okay. There’s not much to say, really.’
‘But it’s terrible. You poor thing. I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks.’ An inadequate response.
‘What can we do?’ Billie asked next. ‘Is there any way we can help? Do you have somewhere to stay?’
‘I’m at a friend’s place at the moment. She’s been wonderful.’
Now was not the time to mention it, but Freya didn’t plan to impose on Daisy for too much longer. On quizzing her friend closely, she’d learned that a rather special visitor from America would be arriving soon, a fellow Daisy had met while she’d been holidaying in Italy.
Daisy’s coy smile when she’d spoken about him had been a dead giveaway, and the last role Freya wanted was to play gooseberry on the sidelines of an autumn-of-life romance. Consequently, she’d been considering her options. Jo’s place was overflowing with her own family, and while Freya had other friends, she was reluctant to ask those who hadn’t offered. A caravan park seemed the most likely prospect.
In her more upbeat moments, she told herself it would be fine – like going full circle – returning to her youth when she and Pearl had lived in van parks with Ruby, their single mum. It hadn’t been all bad.
Not that she would burden Billie with this possibility right now. ‘My friends have been fantastic,’ she said.
&n
bsp; ‘That’s something, I guess. I don’t suppose bloody Brian’s been much help. Sorry, Freya, but I’ve been calling him “bloody Brian” ever since the divorce.’
‘You and me both,’ Freya retorted, forcing a laugh. In her head, her language regarding her ex had become considerably riper in the past few days.
‘God, this is such a rotten thing to have happen,’ Billie said next. ‘As if you haven’t had enough. It’s just not fair. Mum’s going to be so upset for you.’ She hardly paused for breath. ‘There must be something we can do. Are you going to build a new house?’
Freya closed her eyes. It still hurt to share this next bit. ‘No,’ she said quietly. She wasn’t comfortable about burdening her niece with the true depth of her woes, but Billie would have to know sooner or later. ‘The insurance has lapsed.’
Several seconds passed before Billie spoke. ‘Fuck,’ she whispered.
‘Look, I’ll try to catch your mum later,’ Freya said. ‘When do you think she’ll be back?’
‘Oh, probably on the four o’clock ferry.’
‘Good. I’ll ring after that. And don’t worry about me, Billie. I’ll get through this.’
‘Yes, of course you will.’ There was no missing the forced brightness that Billie injected. ‘I’ll let Mum know that you called and she can ring you, if you like.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Love you, Freya.’
Freya’s heart glowed with unexpected warmth. ‘Love you, too, Billie.’
It was exhausting, trying to stay strong.
Freya had given herself plenty of lectures, reassuring herself, yet again, that she’d be fine. After all, her life to date hadn’t been a bed of roses and she was used to disappointments. In the early years of her marriage, she’d had to deal with the death of her motherhood dreams. Then, last year, her marriage had completely disintegrated and she’d lost the job that she’d given everything to.
Despite these losses, or perhaps because of them, she’d learned that it was still possible to find a level of contentment and she reckoned she’d managed pretty damn well, all things considered.
Now, Freya tried to tell herself that happiness was still out there somewhere, waiting to be found and harnessed. She just wished the search didn’t require so much effort. She was tired of strapping on armour to face each day.
When her phone rang, well before four o’clock, she was walking with Won Ton along Peregian Beach in the vain hope that fresh sea air, clear skies and the rolling thump of the surf might lift her jaded spirits.
She was expecting to hear Pearl’s voice, but it was Billie again, and to Freya’s surprise, her niece seemed to be bubbling with excitement.
‘I had to ring back,’ Billie said. ‘Mum and Dad weren’t home before I had to leave for work, but I know they’d agree with me.’
This was accompanied by a metallic clinking sound and Freya guessed Billie was multitasking, no doubt laying cutlery on tables with one hand, while she held her phone with the other.
‘I have the perfect solution for you,’ Billie said.
‘Oh?’ It was hard to sound equally enthusiastic.
‘Sure. You should come and stay here with me and help me to run Island Thyme.’
Freya came to an abrupt halt, her bare feet sinking into soft damp sand as, for a golden moment, she found herself swept up in the fantasy Billie presented. A roof over her head, a job and someone who welcomed her company. All her wants catered for in one sweet solution.
Then reality dawned. ‘Billie, honey, have you discussed this with your mother?’
‘Well, no,’ came the disappointing reply. ‘As I said, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mum yet, but it doesn’t really matter. I know she’ll think it’s a brilliant idea.’
Freya sighed. She was pretty certain Pearl would think it was the worst idea ever.
‘She’d love it.’ Billie jumped in before Freya could frame an appropriate response. ‘Mum and Dad are taking off, you see, doing a grey nomad thing around Australia, and they’re leaving me in charge of the business. Can you believe it?’
Freya was too surprised to respond straight away. No, she couldn’t quite believe this. Pearl was such a micromanager – in her business and in her relationships – and now that she had her daughter safely home again, Freya would have expected her to keep Billie well within her sights, too.
Instead, she was taking off?
Really?
‘I’ve got to tell you, I’m freaking out,’ Billie said next. ‘I can wait on tables, no sweat, but I know zilch about managing a business and, well – you’re an expert, Freya. This is right up your alley.’
Again Freya couldn’t produce a ready answer. She was too surprised, too swamped by a giddy tsunami of emotions. A flurry of hope and an equally strong dose of doubt. She looked down at Won Ton who was watching her with the same anxious expression that had haunted her little face ever since the fire.
‘Just imagine,’ Billie rushed on. ‘We could have so much fun running this place together. And if that’s not enough to tempt you, the bonus is, it’s winter right now. You know how special Maggie Island is in winter.’
Yes, Freya did know this. She’d lived on Magnetic Island throughout her teens after their mum, Ruby, having taken their van as far north as Townsville, had discovered the island lying just offshore and decided it was Paradise and they would go no further.
In next to no time, Ruby had landed a job as a barmaid at the Arcadia pub and she’d rented a tiny, ramshackle fisherman’s hut right on the beach at Geoffrey Bay. And life had indeed been pretty damn glorious.
No one in their new community had cared or even seemed to notice that Freya and Pearl owned only one pair of shoes each and wore op shop clothes, including secondhand school uniforms. Remembering this now, Freya was aware of the irony that she would once again be reduced to op-shopping.
Back in their youth, she and Pearl certainly hadn’t cared. They’d swum every day with the other island kids, they’d learned to snorkel and had discovered a magical coral wonderland right on their doorstep. Even now, Freya could remember the utter joy of diving into that secret world of brilliantly hued fish. Bright-blue damsels and prettily striped angelfish, gorgeous yellow butterfly fish and orange and white clowns.
And for the first time ever, she and Pearl had gone to the same school for several years in succession, instead of moving on every few months. When they’d progressed to high school on the mainland, the daily ferry trips had been huge fun. Some days the ferry driver would actually stop the boat so they could watch the minke whales frolicking.
Even on the ordinary days, the island kids enjoyed a unique camaraderie, and each afternoon, they got to leave the city behind them and head back to their own private island haven. Word was, Townsville never looked better than from the back of an island ferry.
So, yeah, Billie was right. While Freya had loved living here on the Sunshine Coast with its magical surfing beaches and brilliant restaurants, she wasn’t rapt about the unending miles of suburbia that stretched from Noosa to Brisbane and the Gold Coast. Maggie Island, on the other hand, was special. If Freya closed her eyes, she could see the island now, with its green tree-studded hills and quiet villages nestled like jewels in a necklace along a scalloped fringe of luminous blue bays.
Of course, developers had swung their muscle, restructuring Nelly Bay Harbour and filling it with modern apartment blocks, but for the most part, the island remained unchanged. A sleepy haven of perfect beaches and white coral sand lined with coconut palms, with headlands covered in smooth round boulders, and simple timber and fibro cottages fronted by deep verandahs and gardens lush with banana and mango trees, clumps of bright bougainvillea and gaudy crotons.
And it was true. After decades of managing Brian’s electrical business, she’d soon learn the ropes for the managerial side of running a bistro. Already her imagination was leaping ahead, doing cartwheels as she pictured the possibilities. A chance to regroup, a roof over her
head, and a stunning roof at that. Plus a job she’d enjoy.
As for the chance to reconnect with Billie, to get to know her niece properly after all these long years of separation – the possibility made Freya’s heart tremble with both joy and fear.
Pearl would be a stumbling block, though. She would never agree to leaving Freya alone with her precious daughter for six long months.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Billie was later than usual getting back from the bistro. A party of diners had wanted to linger on the deck, enjoying the balmy evening, watching the moonlight on the calm tropical water as they dawdled over wine with their dessert and then liqueurs with their coffee. Gavin, the chef, had become fed up with waiting and declared his shift over, so he’d taken off, leaving Billie to hang around until the party finally decided to call it a night.
Once they’d sauntered – or rather stumbled – off, on foot at least and not by car, Billie had finished tidying, stowing dirty linen into the laundry bags, wiping down tables and benches, stacking the final pieces into the dishwashers, closing windows and locking up.
By the time she arrived home, she was dead tired and looking forward to a mug of hot chocolate before she hit the hay. Her dad was on night shift, so she was surprised to find lights on and her mother waiting up for her, sitting stiffly on one of the new white sofas at the far end of the spacious open-plan living area. Billie wondered if her mother had heard about Freya’s fire. That might explain her grim face.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she called from the kitchen as she set a saucepan on the stove and added milk. ‘I’m just making a hot chocolate. You want one?’
‘No, thanks.’ Her mother rose from the sofa and crossed the expanse of polished timber flooring. ‘I had a call from your aunt.’
So, she knew. At least that spared Billie from having to share the horrible news. Billie nodded. ‘Isn’t it terrible?’
‘It is. I was shocked, of course. Poor Freya.’ Her mother folded her arms across her chest and fixed Billie with a stern look that usually preceded some kind of telling off. ‘But I got an extra shock when Freya told me you’d offered her a job.’
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