Gabriel's Bay

by Robertson, Catherine

  ‘Saw Tubs Hanrahan do that,’ said Devon. ‘Chucked up into a beer glass then drank it again.’

  ‘Did he mean to?’ said Sidney.

  ‘Kinda had to. Club initiation.’

  ‘Which club? League of Morons?’

  ‘Kinda.’ Devon made a quick face. ‘Rugby club.’

  ‘Of course. Silly me.’

  Sidney knew why Devon had no fondness for the club. He’d been an athletic boy at school, still was, and a good rugby player, fast and strong in the backline. But as he grew from a typical skinny, mop-haired kid into his current looks, the rugby gang couldn’t handle it, found it threatening. They might dress up in drag at the Christmas parties, but actual androgyny was a step too far. A bloke who could be mistaken for a girl? One more beautiful than their own girlfriends? That fried their tiny brains, that did, Sidney decided, made them uncertain, anxious. So they did what fearful, threatened men always do — got nasty.

  The men of Devon’s family had always been club members. His great-great-granddad captained the first Gabriel’s Bay team. His great-uncle had played at county level and was once selected for an All Blacks team. He spent the match on the bench, but that was enough for lasting glory and a framed photo on the clubroom walls. Devon’s dad, uncles, brothers and cousins had all played, and most would still come down on a Saturday night for a drink. Sidney had heard that when the abuse started, subtle at first, soon not subtle at all, Devon knew his family would quit in protest — or more likely bash someone and get in trouble — so he quit first. Told his family he had a job on Saturday nights and then asked Jacko to employ him. Which Jacko did, even though back then the business could barely afford to pay Jacko. As it turned out, Devon brought in customers. People drove over the hill to eat at the Boat Shed, coming the first time to look at the boy who could have been a supermodel, and returning because Jacko’s food was so good. Many also enjoyed the frisson of terror they experienced whenever Jacko spoke to them, or simply stuck his head around the kitchen door. People, Sidney had long since concluded, were weird.

  ‘I met his wife today.’ Kerry nodded towards the kitchen.

  ‘And survived, I see,’ said Sidney, with a smile.

  ‘I’m still checking whether parts of me are missing.’ Kerry leaned closer, so as not to be overheard. ‘What is Mac short for? Mack the Knife?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘Ah, ha ha.’ Kerry sat up again. ‘I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Did you talk to Mac about Jonty?’

  ‘She’s even less of a fan than you are.’

  ‘That’s because Mac has the best bullshit detector in the land,’ said Sidney.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Devon.

  The front door opened, and Devon went to greet a young couple who’d come in with a baby. The Boat Shed had steady custom tonight, both dine-in and takeaway, which was good to see. Sidney knew the café wasn’t a real indication of the town’s fortunes, or her own, but when it was busy, life didn’t feel quite such a grind. It helped, too, that Gene was absent. Sidney enjoyed Gene’s quick wit and trenchant humour, but knew that if he were here, he’d be ribbing her mercilessly about sitting up at the bar with Kerry, which would dilute how much she was enjoying his company. This was quite a surprise. Gabriel’s Bay people with the vocabulary and intellectual horsepower for proper to-and-fro banter she could count on one hand, Gene being the middle finger. Kerry was witty in a less confrontational style, plus he gave off a straight-up vibe that Sidney responded to. Fergal had possessed a way with words and an easy charm, but that was a shiny veneer disguising rottenness beneath. Sidney remembered his apology when he finally rang to say he’d left her. ‘I’m so, so sorry, but I’m just that kind of guy. We need our freedom. You’re better off, believe me.’ She’d been too shocked at the outrageous clichés to yell at him, though she’d done a lot of yelling in her mind since. Committed occasional violence, too.

  But enough of that. She was here, having a rare evening out, with people who were fun to talk to. She lifted her wine and found she’d finished it. Devon was taking water to the couple with the baby. They seemed very happy with each other, with their little family. She hoped that would continue.

  ‘It’s sensible to pace ourselves,’ said Kerry, who also had an empty glass. ‘One every hour is what they say.’

  ‘It’s one every month for me,’ said Sidney. ‘Maybe two. I can’t afford to go out more often. Certainly can’t afford to drink wine at home. I could set up a still, I suppose, use my potato peelings. I do enjoy having an intact stomach lining, so perhaps not.’

  ‘Speaking of home,’ Kerry said, ‘where are the boys?’

  ‘I gave them matches for a fire and told them not to answer the door,’ said Sidney. ‘No, they’re at a birthday party sleepover.’

  ‘Madison’s?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Her parents not the sleepover type?’

  ‘Her parents aren’t even the parents type,’ said Sidney. ‘Her dad’s in Auckland most of the time — in financial strife, so the rumour mill has it. And her mum—’

  Sidney hesitated. On the one hand, she could have empathy for Olivia. She knew what it was like to be forced into the role of solo mother, with little support and bugger-all financial certainty. But on the other, Olivia was a grown woman, with a brain and all limbs intact. If she didn’t like how her life was, she could take responsibility and change it — move away, get a job, give lovely Madison a stable home. Instead, Olivia was acting up like a spoiled teenager, all sulky and rebellious, giving her gorgeous daughter the bare minimum care.

  ‘Madison’s mum is struggling a bit, to put it mildly,’ she told Kerry. ‘But Madison never, ever complains, so I have to accept that she’s happy enough.’

  ‘Only children can often be very loyal to their parents.’

  ‘You speak from experience?’

  ‘I do,’ said Kerry. ‘Mind you, my parents adore each other, and have always been quite nice to me, too, which helps.’

  Devon was back behind the bar. He offered another beer to Kerry, who refused — ‘Driving’ — then pointed an enquiry at Sidney’s wine glass.

  ‘Why not?’ She held it out for a refill. ‘I’m walking home.’

  ‘Er,’ Kerry began, ‘please don’t think me presumptuous—’

  ‘No, you can’t come home with me.’

  His startled face caused her to be the one to blush. Stupid, making a crack like that. Now he’d think she thought there might be a possibility he’d fancy her. Sidney knew she wasn’t the type of woman men fancied. Fergal did, but that was years ago, when she was as pretty as she’d ever get — before children and worry and lack of money widened her hips and dulled her bloom.

  Fortunately, Devon had popped into the kitchen to give Jacko the new orders, so Sidney only had to be embarrassed in front of one person. She should make light of it, but no brilliantly self-deprecating words came to mind. She took a big swig of wine instead.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kerry. ‘I started off cack-footed there. What I meant to say was — would you consider letting me coach your boys in football? And any other children you know might be keen? If what you said earlier about the town’s preference for the oval ball is true, then who knows how many young fans of the beautiful game have been driven underground?’

  He looked and sounded sincere. Seemed convinced that he, not she, had made the blunder. Seemed genuine in his offer.

  Sidney wanted to believe him, because Aidan and Rory would love having a football coach. On the other hand, the keener the expectation, the greater the disappointment. She would not put her boys at risk.

  ‘Why do you want to do that?’ she said. ‘Have you got the time to commit to it? How do you see it working — where would they play, how would they get there, what—?’

  ‘Jeez, Sid.’ Devon set two plates in front of them. ‘Take your foot off the poor bloke’s neck.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Kerr
y, quickly. ‘They’re all fair questions. If they were my children, I wouldn’t shove them into the care of any old person with shorts and a whistle, either.’

  He squinted down at his plate. ‘What colour is pāua in the wild?’

  ‘Mollusc colour,’ said Sidney. ‘In this case, perfectly caramelised on the outside by excellent cooking. The green specks are coriander, I’d say.’ She took a bite. ‘A hint of garlic, too. Delicious,’ she told Devon.

  ‘My kuia, my grannies, would call it too bloody fancy,’ he said, with a grin. ‘They’d say all you need’s flour, milk and egg, pinch of baking soda. Mince the pewa, too. That’s the soft part,’ he explained to Kerry. ‘And mind you take the teeth out.’

  ‘Teeth?’ Kerry’s fork halted mid-way. ‘What kind of mutant mollusc has teeth?’

  ‘All of them,’ said Devon. ‘Except the bivalves.’

  ‘Devon’s studying for a Bachelor’s in Biological Science,’ said Kerry. ‘Distance learning.’

  ‘Yeah, only another million years to go,’ said Devon.

  ‘I am full of admiration,’ said Kerry. ‘I did the easiest degree I could, in the shortest possible time, and I regret it.’

  ‘Order up!’ came from the kitchen, and Devon hopped to it.

  ‘What did you study?’ Sidney said.

  ‘IT. Worked for ten years as a database administrator. Company that made software for the healthcare industry.’

  ‘Sounds—’

  ‘Dull,’ said Kerry. ‘Deathly, stupefyingly dull. And so it was. But it was secure, and it paid OK, and we had a weekly fish supper and cocktails night.’

  ‘Don’t feel bad,’ said Sidney. ‘I did an Art History degree. I have out-of-date supermarket coupons that are more valuable.’

  ‘How did you come to Gabriel’s Bay? Were you brought up here?’

  ‘No. Brought up in a well-off, middle-class, urban home. Very tidy and tasteful. Everything matched, including my parents.’

  ‘I’m picturing an abundance of ecru,’ said Kerry. ‘And tiny guest soaps that are never used but regularly dusted.’

  ‘Uncanny,’ said Sidney. ‘I ended up here because I followed a man with a vision.’

  ‘Jesus?’

  ‘Well, he did have a beard.’ She jabbed her fork into a fritter. ‘And a dream of a simpler, community-based lifestyle. He wanted to grow vegetables, and keep chickens and bees, and barter with neighbours, and carve wood, and have loads of children who would all run naked around the garden.’

  ‘Sounds idyllic.’

  ‘Then he discovered that even a simple life requires you to haul arse and actually work.’

  Sidney bit into her fritter.

  ‘We used my savings as a deposit on a falling-down house,’ she said. ‘Had two babies less than a year apart. And when Rory was two months old, he left.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Kerry. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was nine years ago,’ said Sidney. ‘I’m still here, still standing.’

  She swigged the last of her wine.

  ‘Still furious, too,’ she said. ‘How about you? Why are you here?’

  ‘Oh. Well …’

  Jacko loomed over them. Held out to Sidney a jar of preserved plums. She twisted off the lid. Jacko went back to the kitchen.

  ‘Wait,’ said Kerry. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Plums,’ said Sidney. ‘Black Doris variety. Meredith’s, I’m pretty sure.’

  ‘No, that routine with the jar!’

  Sidney shrugged. ‘I’m good at getting lids off.’

  ‘Better than a man with hands that could crush cars?’

  ‘Seems so.’

  Devon came to clear their plates.

  ‘Pudding?’ he said. ‘It’s homemade vanilla ice cream and warmed plums with chocolate sauce. Also homemade, and with a kick.’

  ‘Shouldn’t,’ said Sidney.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Kerry. ‘Without you, there’d be no pudding.’

  ‘And you’re walking home,’ said Devon.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But if I can’t button my jeans tomorrow, I’ll punch you both in the head.’

  ‘A threat I take seriously,’ said Kerry. ‘Now that I’ve seen what you can do with lids.’

  ‘Were you serious?’ said Sidney. ‘About the coaching?’

  ‘Entirely. It’ll be mainly skill work, so I’ve already asked, and the primary school’s given me permission to use their grounds. And if we ever have enough children for a match, I’ll beard the rugby club in their lair and beg a go on their field.’

  ‘What about kit?’

  ‘The school has some balls they’ll let us use,’ said Kerry. ‘Flat as hedgehogs on the M1 but I’ve bought a pump, and a whistle. And a first-aid kit that I hope will be redundant.’

  Sidney was impressed. He really had given it some thought. Hadn’t proved his ability to stick at it, of course, but it was a good start.

  ‘Do you want me to put a notice up at school? How many kids can you handle?’

  ‘Fourteen’s probably the limit. If we did end up finding another team to play, we’d have eleven plus substitutes.’

  ‘Girls, too?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Ages?’

  ‘Preferably no younger than nine and no older than twelve.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘How about Wednesdays after school? I have some flexibility with my hours.’

  Sidney nodded, mulling it over.

  ‘We could make that work,’ she said.

  ‘We?’ said Kerry.

  ‘You’ll need help wrangling,’ said Sidney. ‘And I’m an expert wrangler.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And thank you for taking this on.’

  Devon placed two bowls down on the bar. The aroma of real vanilla, boozy chocolate and sweet-tart fruit, creaminess marbled with ruby juice and glossy dark swirls. Sidney might still regret her decision tomorrow, but right now, she would only enjoy.

  ‘However, if you let my boys down,’ she added. ‘I’ll wreak such almighty vengeance upon you that you’ll wish you’d never been born.’

  She smiled at him.

  ‘Just so we’re clear.’

  Chapter 10

  Madison

  Madison leapt out of Sidney’s car and ran into the kitchen to tell her mum the exciting news. She was in a soccer team! No —football. She had to remember to call it football, because when anyone called it soccer, Kerry clutched his heart and pretended to be mortally wounded. He said if anyone called it soccer during training, they’d forfeit their chocolate fish at the end.

  ‘Mum! Mum!’

  She banged the door open, even though she knew her mum hated rushing and noise. Didn’t mean to, she was just so excited.

  ‘Mum—?’

  No one was in the kitchen, or in the room off it that she wasn’t allowed to call the sunroom because that was tacky. Madison’s house was only one level, but there were lots of rooms all linked by hallways that went off in different directions. She headed off towards what her mum called her reading room, though she didn’t read many books, mainly the shiny magazines that got sent through the mail.

  She could hear voices. Two people. Her mum. And her dad!

  Madison sped up. Her dad had said he wouldn’t be here until next weekend. He’d said he was going to come down last weekend and take her to the bookshops in Hampton, but some work stuff came up. He must have dealt with it quicker than he’d expected.

  The door to the reading room was partly closed, and the tone of the voices coming through the gap made Madison wonder whether she shouldn’t go in. She was used to her mum sounding a bit cross when she talked to her dad — ‘snippy’ is what Sidney called it — or really cross, which usually meant she was about to slam a door. Her dad never raised his voice, but sort of laughed and protested at what her mum said, like he was trying to convince her she had it all wrong. Sometimes his voice went like Aidan and Rory’s did when Sidney accused them of
what she called ‘wheedling’, sort of sing-songy and high.

  But her mum and dad weren’t snippy right now, or wheedling. Their words were all breathy, coming out hard and quick, piling on top of each other. They sounded scared.

  ‘Rick, are you hearing yourself?’ said her mum. ‘You’re like the Black Knight in Monty bloody Python, still thinking you can fight with all your limbs hacked off.’

  ‘I can,’ said Madison’s dad. ‘We’ll find a buyer for the vineyard, no problem. Then that’ll clear the IRD debt and give me some leverage to tell the bank to shove it, the lying arseholes. No way I signed finance deals that weren’t interest-only.’

  ‘So everything hinges on selling this place? Even though it hasn’t made a profit since you bought it? Or ever?’

  ‘We’ll find a buyer, Liv,’ said her dad. ‘Land’s still worth a shitload.’

  Madison’s mum gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘What’s this “we” business, white man? You owe me, Rick, you seriously do. You made me come to this hick hellhole. You’re the one who’s created this financial cesspit. All I did was be naïve enough to trust you.’

  ‘You can trust me,’ said her dad. ‘It’s a temporary hitch. It happens all the time to the best of us — parameters shift and you have to adjust. We — I’m adjusting. And I’ll get us back on track, I promise.’

  They stopped talking, and Madison wondered if her dad was giving her mum a hug.

  But then her mum said, ‘I can’t even divorce you, can I? Unless I want an IOU written on a Post-It as settlement, right?’

  Her dad said nothing, and Madison heard her mum give that short laugh again, softer this time, and murmur something that sounded like ‘Sumvabish’.

  Then her mum spoke up again. ‘OK, but I’m not living on bloody dry bread and country air. I want a decent bloody allowance — and I don’t really give a shit how you manage it. Understood? It’s the least you can do.’

  ‘Liv, there’s only so much—’

  ‘You owe me,’ said Madison’s mum, quite fiercely.

  Her dad was quiet for a moment.

  When he spoke, his voice was flat. ‘Sure. OK. I’ll sort it out.’