by Dean Mayes
Margaret turned and regarded Hayden. “Doc Luschcombe, perhaps you should come on board as a committee member!” she suggested. “Anyone who can whip this lot into line has the makings of a natural negotiator.”
Hayden grimaced. “No, no, Margaret. You don’t need me coming in and getting in the way of everything.”
“Perhaps you’d like to suggest something for the festival, Hayden. We’ve got space on the programme and we’re still trying to fill it,” Ivan offered, leaning over Max’s shoulder.
Max held out a sheet of paper towards Hayden and he took it, scanning through the document carefully. He frowned as he turned the page over. “I see Isabelle Sampi’s name isn’t mentioned anywhere on this list. She’s established a fine bakery down at the old Elliot’s building and her reputation is spreading. Has she not been approached?”
Hayden’s suggestion elicited a knowing smile from Max.
“Actually, Isabelle was approached,” Ivan responded. “She turned us down. Wouldn’t say why, although Bill might have been a little heavy on—”
“I didn’t give her a hard time!” Bill cut in. “In fact I never even got as far as asking her. She shut me down on the spot.”
Hayden’s brow furrowed.
“Bill’s been handling community engagement,” Max said. “But I had a go myself and Isabelle was pretty adamant. She wanted nothing to do with the Ljusfest.”
Hayden considered this. The Ljusfest would give Isabelle the perfect opportunity to gain valuable exposure beyond the town. Given all she had invested in getting things up and running, why wouldn’t she jump at the chance?
As the babble of conversation took flight, Hayden leaned back in his chair, the question gnawing at him, probably more than it should.
HAYDEN WALKED DOWN TO THE bakery the following afternoon and was stopped numerous times on the way by various townsfolk who’d heard about his contribution to the meeting. He politely accepted their gratitude, even as he failed to hide his bewilderment in the face of all the attention.
When he did make it to the bakery, Hayden found it quiet. The front door was locked and a quick inspection of the driveway revealed it to be empty.
As he turned to leave, the shrill toot of a horn sounded from behind him and he turned to see the van rounding the bend.
Isabelle slowed as Genevieve lowered the passenger side window and waved.
“Hello,” Isabelle greeted, looking happy to see him. She parked in the driveway and got out as Hayden stopped by the porch. She rounded to the rear of the van, opened the doors, and began sliding out empty bread racks from inside. Hayden stepped up and took them from her.
“Van sounds good,” he remarked. Isabelle indicated to the bake house and he followed her.
“I just got back from Moe. I had a mechanic check the fuel system. Seems he couldn’t improve on our work.”
“Well, that is good news,” Hayden said.
She set her armload of racks inside the bake house, then did the same with the ones Hayden held and closed the door.
He followed her back to the van, where she retrieved some shopping bags. “It’s saved me a few dollars—dollars I don’t have.” Isabelle passed shopping bags to him and gave one to Genevieve. “You’re a bit of a lifesaver, you know.”
Genevieve beamed at him.
As they crossed the patio, Isabelle sensed Hayden was working himself up to say something. “Is there something on your mind?” she ventured, fishing her house keys from her pocket, then guiding them into the lock.
“There is, actually,” he said. “Max convinced me to go along to his committee meeting last night.”
“Oh yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That.”
“You’re not keen on being part of the Ljusfest?” He stepped aside to allow Genevieve to troop past him into the house.
“‘Not keen’ is putting it mildly,” Isabelle said, setting her shopping bags down on the kitchen counter.
“Oh.”
“It’s a circus,” she said, handing groceries to Genevieve, who stowed them in the pantry. “The Ljusfest will be a tacky attempt at a village fair that’ll have all the charisma of a sideshow alley. Junky carnival rides and silly ghost stories. I don’t want any part of it.”
“I didn’t get that sense at all,” Hayden said. “It sounds like they want to make it a real showcase for the township and the businesses. They seem eager to focus on food and beverages and produce.”
Isabelle hesitated, and then continued unpacking. “Bill Osterbrund approached me about opening the bakery for it. But I won’t be ready in time, nor would I be able to bake the amount of loaves they would need. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, until I threatened him with a broom handle.”
“Broom handle?” Hayden exclaimed, flashing a sideways glance at Genevieve.
Genevieve stepped in between them. “Mum reckons Bill’s a stubborn old bastard,” she signed emphatically.
“Genevieve!” Isabelle gasped, following up with a terse, signed disapproval.
Hayden had to stifle a laugh and Isabelle’s glare switched from her daughter to him. She slapped a hand to her mouth to conceal her own laughter, while Genevieve grinned wickedly, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.
“Your mother’s right,” Hayden signed. “You shouldn’t say things like that, even if they are accurate.” He turned to Isabelle. “In any case, Bill’s had a change of heart. He and the rest of the committee agreed to task the Rillby couple with further community engagement.” Hayden leaned against the counter. “They’re young and enthusiastic, and it sounds like they’ve got some skills in marketing, as well as connections as far away as Melbourne. They would certainly be an asset.”
Isabelle seemed to consider this and he took advantage of the moment to press on. “Isabelle, this would be a perfect opportunity for you and the bakery. You could even find yourself courting a whole new clientele, especially if the festival was marketed right.”
Isabelle liked the way it sounded when Hayden said her name. She wrestled visibly with a smile that wanted to take over, and Hayden felt a thrill pass through him, along with an accompanying pull to move closer to her—an impulse he checked immediately. Isabelle turned towards the sink. When her gaze settled on Genevieve, her expression sobered.
“What is it?” he ventured.
She looked through the kitchen window. “I can’t participate in the Ljusfest,” she said, a thread of tension weaving through her words. “The shopfront is far from being finished and I can’t afford the tradespeople I’d need to get it ready. I need to concentrate on what I have already and build from that. The festival would just get in the way.”
A curious smile crossed Hayden’s lips. “What if I were to say there might be a way for you to obtain some funding?”
When Isabelle turned, her expression was defiant. “I’m not taking any handouts.”
“Oh, this is no handout,” Hayden responded. “You would have to apply to the committee for a grant. They would assess your case and decide if it had merit.” He held out his hands and turned a circle in the middle of the room. “Given what you’ve already achieved, I think you would have a very good chance.”
Hayden let the idea hang in the air and Isabelle considered it. She liked Walhalla the way it was—quiet, remote, safe. Those were the reasons she’d brought Genevieve here in the first place. But it looked as though the outside world would be descending on the town regardless, and she could really use the grant money and the business. Again, Isabelle looked to her daughter, and again, Hayden detected something behind her expression. It was as if she was holding something back.
Genevieve reached out, squeezing her mother’s hand, nodding a silent encouragement that elicited a pained smile from Isabelle. She glanced through the doorway to the half-finished shop.
“Of course,” Hayden ventured. “I’m pretty handy with a paintbrush and you’ve seen me bull-wrestle a solar panel. I’d be happy to help out.”
While Isabelle remained wedded to the spot, his offer caused an unexpected surge of happiness that all but snuck up and slapped her.
What the hell?
Maintaining her poker face, Isabelle extracted the last of the grocery items. “I wouldn’t want to take up any of your time. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do.”
Genevieve stamped her feet and signed an angry flurry of sentences at her mother, concealing them poorly from Hayden. “Mum, are you crazy?”
Hayden chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve got plenty of time.”
“All right,” she said, exasperated. “I’ll do it.” She wagged a finger at Hayden but tempered the gesture with a laconic smile. “But you better hold up your end of the bargain, Dr. Luschcombe. I’ve seen how you are on a ladder.”
~ Chapter 17 ~
THE SINGLE GLOBE HANGING FROM A COBWEBBED CORD SNAPPED TO LIFE, REVEALING THE INCOMPLETE BAKERY shopfront. Hayden stepped into the centre of the room and turned a circle, the scent of plaster mingling with the dust of old timber.
He examined the unfinished walls, the exposed areas where the century-old weatherboard had yet to be covered by insulation. Lengths of electrical wiring with power points attached to them hung adrift, waiting to be finished. He lifted the edge of a great canvas drop sheet and peered at the scuffed timber floorboards. An electric floor sander standing silently by the front door hinted at Isabelle’s intentions. He dropped the canvas and went over to the serving counter, casting a cursory examination over the pair of darkened display cabinets. An antique cash register sat on the countertop.
“Okay,” he said. “Where would you like me to start?”
Isabelle pointed to the wall beside him. “I need to finish that plastering first, then gap-fill and sand the walls for painting.”
Hayden signalled to Genevieve, who stepped out from behind her mother. “Come on,” he signed. “You can give me a hand.”
Genevieve glanced up at her mother.
Isabelle nodded. “Go on. Hop to it, kiddo.”
They spent the morning wrangling the thick sheets of insulation into the gaps, and fitting the delicate plasterboard panels one by one. While Isabelle began cutting-in the areas that were ready for painting, Hayden and Genevieve filled the gaps in the plasterboard.
Crouching down, Hayden and Genevieve made up batches of the delightfully goopy mixture. Setting a tray down in front of Genevieve, he handed her a trowel. Worry creased her forehead, so Hayden helped her scoop up a fat dollop, then he guided her hand to the wall, sliding the trowel against the gap. Gradually, he encouraged Genevieve to complete a pass on her own. He signed his encouragement by touching his thumbs together and whipping his left hand forward, splaying his fingers wide. Genevieve raised the trowel and smiled.
“That’s it!” Hayden signed. “Well done.”
Isabelle stopped in the middle of painting. As Hayden guided her daughter, Isabelle could see Genevieve’s confidence grow.
No one, aside from Max and Annette, had engaged with Genevieve like this. Hayden was patient, explaining the task effortlessly, and making occasional adjustments of her hands in order to move the trowel more smoothly. Only when Genevieve couldn’t reach above her head did he take over, but as they progressed, he positioned another ladder before the wall and held it steady while Genevieve continued her work.
Isabelle was finding it hard to look away from him. His quiet way, his confidence in Genevieve, their unbroken line of communication. For the first time in a long time, Isabelle felt her defences slipping. The pact she had made with herself—that no one would breach the fortress she had erected for herself and her daughter—was now on shaky ground.
It was frightening and exhilarating.
A little after midday, they stopped and assembled in the middle of the room to marvel at their achievements. Genevieve puffed out her chest. “This looks pretty,” she signed. “I want to start sanding now!”
Isabelle tilted her head at Hayden, who met her eyes and caused a tingling to ripple through her. “Why don’t we break for lunch first?”
“Sounds good to me,” Hayden said. “I could eat a horse.”
ISABELLE SET A TRAY PILED high with sandwiches on the outdoor table. Hayden leaned in, mouth watering, to savour the aroma of olive and rosemary in the sourdough bread.
“These look good.”
Isabelle nodded. She had prepared the generous sandwiches with ham, mustard, and rocket leaves, along with some shaved Parmesan cheese.
A large plunger of coffee sat beside the plate, its steam rising in the cool midday air. A bottle of orange soft drink stood next to them, which Genevieve plucked from the tray as Isabelle plated a pair of sandwiches for her. Hayden helped himself to a plate.
Isabelle poured the coffee before sitting back and stretching out her legs. “That was a great morning’s work.” She spoke and signed concurrently. “I didn’t think we would get so much done.”
“I’m an excellent plasterer,” Genevieve declared with a theatrical flourish of her hands.
“You are.” Isabelle reached over to ruffle her daughter’s hair.
Hayden lifted his sandwich to his mouth, moaning in appreciation at the explosion of flavours.
Isabelle watched him. “You like?”
Hayden held out the sandwich. “I don’t think I have ever tasted bread like this before. It’s magnificent.”
“Magnificent,” Isabelle echoed, sipping her coffee. “That’s a new one.”
“So how does a tear-away child become such an accomplished baker?”
Isabelle scrunched up her nose to prevent herself from blushing, though it didn’t entirely work. “A lot of sleepless nights and hard, thankless work.”
“You don’t like what you do?” Hayden asked.
“Oh no, I love it,” Isabelle clarified. “You have to love it to make a go of it. I learned that when I started out. Serving behind a counter in a suburban bakery a few hours a day was peanuts compared to what I let myself in for.” Isabelle’s expression became thoughtful. “I dragged myself through the mud. It wasn’t easy, especially when this little one came along.”
Genevieve chewed happily, wiping crumbs from her chin.
“You did it alone?”
Isabelle blinked and swallowed hard.
“Not at first,” she answered. “I managed to complete most of my apprenticeship before Genevieve was born. I put things on hold during her first year. It was…afterwards when she and I became a team.”
Genevieve raised her hands, tapping the first two fingers of her right hand down over the first two fingers of her left. “My dad—”
Before she could complete her sentence, Isabelle’s hand shot out to still her daughter’s hands, causing Genevieve to jump in her seat and abandon the remainder of her sentence.
Hayden’s eyes flickered between mother and daughter.
In the stillness that followed, Genevieve retreated into her chair and pouted at her mother. Realising the abruptness of her action, Isabelle gave her arm a gentle squeeze and offered a silent apology.
Not wanting to embarrass either of them, Hayden diverted his gaze to the back of the property, to a vegetable garden framed by a small grove of rosemary bushes. An assortment of vegetables—broad beans, spinach, asparagus, and rocket, along with a selection of herbs—seemed to thrive there.
“You, ah, grow some of your own ingredients as well, I take it,” he said, hoping to diffuse the awkwardness of the moment. “Surprising, given how cold it gets up here.”
Isabelle rubbed her forehead and looked up. “Y-yeah,” she said. “Although most of the credit for it goes to my grandmother. She was pretty handy with her vegetables.”
“So you inherited this bakery from your grandparents?”
Isabelle straightened. “I bought it from them,” she corrected, more sharply than she had intended. “I scraped together as much as I could and put down a deposit. I’ve got a good old-fashioned mortgage just like everyone else.”
“I’m sorry,�
�� Hayden offered. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Realising she had adopted a defensive stance, Isabelle relaxed her posture. Balancing her cup on her knee, she gestured with a nod towards the house. “I wanted to be able to say I worked for it and paid for it myself. Even if it came from family. My granny was good to me. She was good to us both.” She glanced affectionately at Genevieve, who had huddled herself up in the chair and was nibbling on her sandwich. “I felt I owed her to pay my own way.”
“It seems both our families were good at encouraging our independence,” Hayden said softly. “Although, I’ve still a lot to learn.”
Isabelle sensed a deeper meaning behind those words.
“Annette told me…what happened,” Isabelle ventured. “You know—with your marriage.”
To her surprise, Hayden smiled. “Of course she did.”
Isabelle and Genevieve exchanged awkward glances with one another. “I’m—I am sorry,” Isabelle said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Hayden shrugged. “It was a marriage like any other. It began with promise but it wasn’t to be. Now we’re just another statistic.”
Though he brushed it aside, Hayden couldn’t hide his own discomfort now. Searching for a distraction, he pointed at Genevieve’s dolls. “You know, I used to have a bear just like Lily,” he signed.
Genevieve blanched as Isabelle turned her head towards her.
Hayden picked up the old and much-loved bear, lifting one of its legs to reveal a Harrods logo on the sole of its foot. “Although, I don’t remember dressing her like this.”
Genevieve snorted as he inspected the bear’s ruddy floral dress and matching bow.
“I thought you said you’d found Lily in a bin,” Isabelle admonished as Hayden handed Lily over to Genevieve. She hugged the bear close, nuzzling her chin into the back of its head.
“I did!” Genevieve signed. “The bin was in the tearoom. It was filled with dust and ribbons!” She twirled her hands over one another and drew them wide.
