Four
The front doorbell roused Bea from her musings. She was glad of the diversion; it was just in time to halt the uncomfortable cold creep of loneliness that threatened at the end of the day. It was always the same in that twilight gap between shutting up the doors of the Kitchen, waving goodbye to Kim and Tait and falling into bed. She pressed the off button on the laptop – she’s wasn’t sure how to shut things down properly and was still nervous of inadvertently deleting everything on the machine. It seemed easier to just make the screen go blank and close the lid before popping it in the kitchen.
She pulled her soft grey wrap from the 1930s chrome hallstand that she had picked up from Rozelle antiques market and threw it around her shoulders as she trod the narrow stairs to her private front door. Squinting, she gazed through the toughened glass, delighted and surprised by the face that smiled back.
‘Flora! Oh my goodness!’ she gushed as she loosened the bolt and turned the deadlock to allow her granddaughter entry.
‘Hi, Gran,’ Flora said nonchalantly, lifting her shoulder to reposition her backpack, which was clearly quite heavy.
‘Flora, darling! What a lovely surprise. Is everything okay? Where’s Daddy?’
Flora flung her thick hair over her shoulder and stared at Bea as though surprised that her sudden appearance might be cause for alarm. ‘He’s just parking the car and then he’s coming up, worse luck.’ She scowled. ‘I said I could get the ferry and come over on my own, but they wouldn’t even let me do that, even though I knew the way and everything! They treat me like a baby!’
Bea noted her clenched fists.
‘They shouted at me for two hours without a break and then Dad carried on in the car, when there was no escape. I feel like I’m going mad! I just want some peace. They don’t listen to me, they never listen, they just give me instructions or tell me what I’m doing wrong. Mum asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said earplugs so I won’t have to listen to them nagging me all day!’
‘Oh.’ Bea didn’t know quite what to say next, but she felt a jolt of excitement as she always did at the thought of seeing her son. Surprise visits of this nature were extremely rare; she usually saw her family by appointment. She stood there trying to figure out what was going on. There was obviously some sort of discord with Flora, but what exactly she had yet to discover.
Bea held the door ajar and stared at her granddaughter. She looked beautiful in her denim cut-offs that showed off her long legs, and loose pink vest revealing her sports bra underneath. She was, at thirteen, on the cusp of womanhood, still with the rounded, cherubic beauty of childhood but with the clothes, trappings and stance of the older teenager she was impatient to become.
‘Well, can I come in?’ Flora pointed up the hallway.
‘Yes, yes of course. Sorry, darling, I’m just a bit surprised to see you.’
‘That’s what Mum said and not to be surprised if you had plans.’ Flora hovered on the spot. ‘Do you have plans?’
‘No, not at all. No plans and it is a lovely, lovely surprise!’ She laughed, tutting at the idea of Sarah trying to dissuade her granddaughter from visiting.
‘I haven’t been here for ages!’ Flora called from the top of the stairs.
‘A whole year!’ Bea confirmed.
‘Hey, Mum.’ Wyatt loped up the hill towards the front door. Bea as ever studied his face and physique, looking for signs of happiness, illness, fatigue, just as she had been doing since the day she first held him in her arms.
‘Wyatt! How lovely to see you! Sarah not with you?’ She looked behind him along the path.
‘No.’ He exhaled, trying to catch his breath, much less used to the steep incline than she was.
‘Oh, well, come on up!’ Bea buried the spike of happiness she felt at hearing that Sarah was not there; by default that meant she was temporarily one place higher up in the pecking order.
Wyatt walked past her and up the stairs towards the apartment. Bea watched as her son worked his long legs, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed him and straight away filled the kettle in her neat, minimalist kitchen.
‘I was just saying to Flora that it’s been a year since she was last here.’
‘It hasn’t been that long, has it?’ Wyatt stood in the square hallway and stared at his mother, looking genuinely perplexed, confident she had made a mistake.
Bea knew that for Wyatt and Sarah – both of them still young, in her eyes, at thirty-four – life was full and busy and it was easy to lose track of time; for her, on the other hand, each day was mentally ticked off, getting closer and closer to what, she didn’t know. She nodded her head. ‘It really has. I’ve been out to see you twice in Manly, but you definitely haven’t been here since November twentieth. I remember it rather well: it was a bright, blue-skied, sun-filled Wednesday and I can picture every minute of it. It was the day we buried Pappy.’
Wyatt looked down and Bea saw the blush of embarrassment that he hadn’t remembered bloom on his cheeks.
‘But, hey, you are here now and it’s a lovely surprise,’ she countered, trying not to taint the visit with guilt or accusation.
‘I actually need to use the bathroom,’ he said as he made his way along the hallway.
‘Help yourself. You know where it is.’
Bea wandered into the lounge, where Flora stood at the window watching the comings and goings of Reservoir Street below. Her bag had been dumped in the middle of the rug.
‘It’s noisy, isn’t it?’ Flora turned to her gran.
‘I suppose it is a bit. But I’m used to it and I rather like it. I like knowing there are people around and I like listening to the conversations that float up to me – you wouldn’t believe what I get to eavesdrop on!’ Bea winked.
‘Like what?’ Flora tilted her head and stared at her gran, twisting her foot in her sneaker.
Bea tried to recall a conversation that wasn’t salacious, outrageous or shocking, but all the mundane and therefore repeatable tales escaped her.
‘Phew, that’s better.’ Wyatt strode into the room. Bea noted how Flora scowled in his direction. ‘Sorry to descend on you like this, Mum. I didn’t really know what else to do.’ He ran his fingers through his thinning fringe, pushing the hair back off his face. Two determined strands flopped forward nonetheless, making a little heart shape on his tanned forehead.
‘Don’t be daft! You can come here any time. You know that.’ Bea’s mind raced, she had quite forgotten how it felt to be the ‘go-to gal’ in Wyatt’s life, and it felt great! The questions raced through her mind. Had he and Sarah fallen out? Was one of them ill? Money problems?
‘I told him that.’ Flora stepped forwards and wrapped her gran in a hug.
‘Oh, bless you.’ Bea hugged her gently, quite taken aback, unused to such demonstrativeness. Holding the girl in her arms caused her tears to pool. She coughed and turned her attention to her son. ‘I’m making tea.’
‘Great.’ Wyatt yawned.
‘Have you eaten? I’ve got quinoa salad and some fat avocados that are lovely with lemon and black pepper. Are you hungry?’ Her compulsion to feed her son hadn’t waned since the time he was a newborn.
Wyatt raised his hand as though the mention of her food had caused him offence. ‘Not for me. I’ll give you a hand with that tea though.’ He jerked his head towards the kitchen.
Bea gave an almost imperceptible nod and peeled Flora’s arms from her waist. ‘Daddy and I will go make the tea. Would you like to have a go on my computer?’
Flora shook her head and smiled as she ferreted in her backpack for her iPad.
In the kitchen, Wyatt leant on the sink with his arms across his chest. ‘Sorry to barge in, Mum.’
‘You’re not barging in. As I said, you are all welcome here anytime. Of course.’
‘Sarah’s at her wits’ end and I didn’t really know what else to do, so...’
Bea placed her hand on the work surface as though she might need support. Her puls
e raced at all the possibilities. ‘What’s going on?’
Wyatt hesitated, clearly thinking how best to phrase things. ‘Flora has been suspended from school,’ he whispered, shaking his head as if the facts were still too hard to comprehend. ‘And they are considering excluding her permanently.’
‘Why on earth would they suspend her?’ Bea looked towards the sitting room, where the sweet child who had thrown her arms around her gran stood with her toffee-coloured hair falling down her back and an innocent smile playing on her lips.
Wyatt raised his arms and let them fall back to his sides. He obviously didn’t know where to start. ‘She’s had warnings...’
‘Warnings about what?’
‘Disruptive behaviour, cheekiness. That kind of thing.’ Wyatt kept his eyes on the floor.
‘Surely not! I don’t believe it. Not Flora! That doesn’t sound like her at all.’
‘That’s what we thought, at first.’ Wyatt looked up. ‘But it’s been going on for a while. And today, believe it or not, it came to a head when she attacked a boy.’
‘Attacked a boy?’ Bea echoed, a little louder than she had intended, as her hand flew to her chest.
‘Yes. She drew blood,’ he whispered, sounding ashamed and shocked. ‘She’s lucky they’re not involving the police.’
‘What? No! I don’t believe it!’
Wyatt ran a hand over his stubbly chin. ‘That was my reaction too, but then I read the letter they sent home. Sarah had to collect her at lunchtime today and things got a bit heated in the head’s office. I came home and exploded. I’m so angry – not at her necessarily but at the whole bloody mess.’ He placed his hands on his hips. ‘Flora said she wanted to come and stay with you, and Sarah shouted at her, saying it was a good idea. I don’t know what to do for the best, Mum, but I do think a cooling-off period is probably a good idea. Feels like I’m dumping her on you, but there’s no obligation. I can take her home if you’d rather not...’
‘No! I shall love having her and maybe I can get to the bottom of what’s going on here. It doesn’t sound like her, Wyatt. I’m sure every parent whose child is in the same position says the same thing, but we know Flora; she’s sweet, kind.’
Wyatt grimaced. ‘A couple of the parents have told Sarah they don’t want Flora hanging out with their kids. To hear that...’ He clenched his jaw, visibly choked. ‘You always kept me on the straight and narrow, Mum.’ This was a rare admission from him, a compliment of sorts.
‘Well, you were easy to keep on the straight and narrow, never did anything wrong really, unless we are going to mention Mrs Dennis’ hamster, poor thing.’ She smiled at her son.
‘As I said at the time, they can’t prove a thing!’ He gave a rare laugh, which faded as quickly as it had formed. ‘Sarah and I are beside ourselves.’
‘I can imagine. Go home and sleep on it, love. Everything feels better after a good night’s sleep. I shall keep her here, put her to work and we can go from there.’
Flora appeared at the kitchen door. ‘So, can I stay here?’
Bea was unsure how much she’d heard. ‘Yes, love, for a night or so, but then your mum and dad will be wanting you back.’
‘What if I don’t want to go back, not ever?’ Flora asked defiantly, holding her father’s stare.
‘Well, Flora, then it’s a case of what we in the trade call tough bloody luck. Because you are thirteen and don’t get to say what does and doesn’t happen.’ Bea looked fixedly at her son.
‘I’m fourteen in a few weeks!’
‘The rules would be the same if you were the grand old age of fifteen,’ Bea stated.
‘Don’t let her take her phone and iPad to bed with her,’ Wyatt interjected, ‘or she’ll be on them half the night.’
‘God, people have more freedom in prison than I do living with you,’ Flora whined.
‘Well, that must be good for you to know because the way you’re going you’ll be able to compare the two.’ Wyatt was sharp and sarcastic.
Bea nodded, looking at Flora as the tears welled in her granddaughter’s eyes. ‘It’ll all turn out fine, darling. Don’t cry!’
‘I’m not crying!’ Flora mumbled as the tears spilled down her cheeks. Wyatt stepped forward to hug her as she turned, made her way to the bathroom and locked the door.
Bea waved her son from the building and watched him slope off down Reservoir Street with his hands in his pockets. She returned to knock on the bathroom door.
‘Would you like some hot chocolate, Flora?’
‘Okay.’ Flora sniffed.
Eventually she reappeared, loitering in the hallway, looking a little lost, her breathing still not yet calm. It twisted Bea’s heart to see her only grandchild so upset.
‘We’ll have a nice mug of cocoa and sit on the sofa and have a good old chat, how does that sound?’
Flora nodded.
‘Do you want to text Mum or Dad and say you’re feeling a bit better? Dad will worry as you were quite upset when he left.’ Bea, as ever, had Wyatt’s well-being at the front of her mind, didn’t want him to have a restless night.
‘I’ll text them in the morning. They treat me like I’m a baby, but I’m not six any more. It’s my birthday at the end of December. I’m nearly fourteen.’
‘Yes, I know, darling. But funnily enough, whether your kids are six, fourteen or thirty, you worry about them just the same; trust me.’
‘All they do is worry about me or shout at me.’ Flora’s tone was softer now, less indignant, more aggrieved. Bea suspected she played the stroppy teen for Wyatt’s benefit, because she thought that was required.
‘They just love you.’ Bea smiled as she reached into the fridge for slices of cherry shortbread to have with their cocoa.
‘Did they tell you to say that?’ Flora wrapped her arms around her slender trunk. Her thick hair fell in a blunt line, resting on her bare shoulders.
‘No, but even if they had, I would have said it anyway, because it’s the truth.’
‘Were you this tough on my dad? I can’t imagine it, you’re too cool.’
‘That’s what Kim said! But it’s the funniest thing, I think I’m the least cool person around. I’m a real technophobe and quite old-fashioned.’
‘You’re still cool, Gran. Plus you lived in London, that’s very cool!’
‘Gosh, that was a lifetime ago, and I was in Surrey, not London exactly; a whole other world.’ Bea recalled the quiet pace of life on the Epsom Downs and the village atmosphere, where her parents knew everyone and every misdemeanour was reported back to them, leaving little room for mischief. She smiled, thinking of Diane, her big sister, who she had loved. They had been great friends as well as siblings. ‘Taking the odd trip into the city to sit in a greasy, smoke-filled café didn’t feel much like living it up, I can assure you! Sharing a round of toast with my sister in the freezing cold, wondering what to do with my life.’
‘Did you ever see any famous bands?’ Flora’s eyes widened. She herself was a 5 Seconds of Summer fan, with a particular love of Ashton.
Bea placed the mugs and plates onto the tray and thought about it. ‘No, they were never in our favourite café.’ She winked. ‘But I knew a tailor who fitted Mick Jagger for a suit on Savile Row – does that count?’
‘Was Mick Jagger in the Beatles?’ Flora asked.
‘You are a funny little thing. No, he wasn’t, but he was friends with them, I think.’
‘A bit like 5SOS and 1D?’
‘Maybe.’ Bea plopped a generous pinch of mini marshmallows on to the top of each drink, having not the foggiest idea what Flora was talking about.
Flora laughed. Her giggle, however, quickly turned to tears that she muffled and swiped at with the back of her hand.
‘Oh, darling! Whatever’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry.’ Flora sniffed.
‘Don’t be sorry! Come on. Come and sit down.’ Bea took her granddaughter’s hand, steering her towards the sitting room.<
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It was a balmy evening with a warm wind blowing up from the harbour. The double doors in the corner of the room were open and the sounds of Surry Hills wafted up into the high rafters of the top-floor apartment. Bea smiled as she caught the lilting rhythms of a Spanish guitar and the buzz of girls laughing and men chatting as they strolled between the many artisan eateries that had sprung up in the neighbourhood. Everything from authentic Mexican and Vietnamese to organic handmade burgers was available within a short stroll of her front door – an incredible cornucopia. There was nowhere in Sydney she would rather live.
She had made few changes to the apartment since Peter had passed away, liking the fact that his eyes and hands had lingered on the objects within. It was a contemporary loft space that echoed the industrial feel of the business with its clean lines and decor. Kim had paid her the biggest compliment, saying that you couldn’t guess the age of the person who lived there, they could be twenty or eighty. Bea had pointed out she was a good couple of decades off eighty, even though her joints needed reminding of this on a regular basis.
The living room floor was waxed oak, covered in dents and holes where in another era machinery and heavy office furniture had left their mark. A vast black leather sofa sat against a white wall on which hung an enormous oriental canvas; it reminded Bea of a bent willow but was in fact a random collection of lines and brushstrokes in sage green that gave the impression of a tree but close up was anything but. A scarlet leather Eames lounge chair and stool sat in front of the balcony window, topped with a furry white polar-bear-like throw; alongside was a natty-looking chrome telescope, perfect for star spotting. Despite the modern look and feel, the place was far from cold; the grey and mustard-coloured wool blankets on the arms of the sofa added texture, and the silver candle-lamps in the corners glowed softly. The glass-topped low table, whose legs were fashioned from chunks of girder, was piled with several large black-and-white books on subjects ranging from design to deep-sea fishing.
Three framed black-and-white photos sat on the brick wall in the nook between the log burner and the sofa. One of Wyatt and Sarah on their wedding day, with Sarah grinning like she had won a prize; one of Peter picnicking in the Botanical Gardens with a glass of wine, looking tanned and lovely; and one of Flora on her dad’s boat a couple of years ago, when she was still gangly and less polished, still comfortable in her childish skin, wearing her dad’s fishing hat, beaming proudly and showing off her braces, without the self-consciousness and doubt that now spilled from her. Bea liked the fact that every time she glanced up she saw a picture of the people she loved, placing them firmly in her thoughts. This despite the fact that Wyatt and Sarah seemed to be able to go for weeks, maybe even months, without giving her the slightest consideration, if their appalling record of contact was anything to go by. Except when she was needed, like now.
The Christmas Café Page 4
