A Good Result

by Marg McAlister

  Ron stood up to, so he was looking straight at her, his face unsmiling. “Of course not. And I wouldn’t be spreading rumors like that around either, if I were you. Think carefully about my offer, Linda, because it’s not going to be open for long. I’ll call you tonight.”

  With that, he turned and walked off.

  19

  Coffee Class

  At two fifty-five on Sunday afternoon, Maureen Beggs picked up her handbag and car keys and headed for the door. She didn’t say a single word to Jim, who was clashing pots and pans in the kitchen.

  Her husband was barely speaking to her. Once, that would have made her feel sick and anxious. Now, she had to choke down an insane desire to laugh.

  She didn’t care that Jim Beggs was playing no-talkies. Nor did she care that he’d disappeared for an hour right before the lunch-time rush, when their current backpacker, Anton, breezed in to relieve him.

  Anton was young, handsome, liked to talk to the customers and could make great coffee. Win-win, as far as she was concerned.

  After Jim stalked out of the door, Maureen had caught a glimpse of him climbing into a sleek silver Audi that purred off immediately. She knew who owned that car: Ron Foley, one of Jim’s oldest mates, who rarely bothered to give her the time of day. Jim was off to play golf again, but this time it seemed he was leaving early.

  To punish her, no doubt.

  She’d already asked Anton to work from three o’clock anyway, so she could join the barista class across the road, but as it turned out, there was no need. Jim came back at two thirty, told Anton to go, and turned his back on Maureen.

  No golf? She was stunned.

  Was Jim there just to see what she was doing? Had Anton told him about being asked to work at three o’clock?

  Fine. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to hide what she did anymore.

  She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she left, and was quite sure that he would have watched her all the way across the road and into Coffee, Cakes & Crepes, which always closed early on Sundays so Lissa could run her barista class.

  Lissa looked up and sent her a genuinely welcoming smile. “Maureen! You made it. Excellent. By the time we’ve finished with you, you’ll be good enough to enter competitions.” She gestured to the half-dozen women sitting in a group, chatting. Irene and Janet were sitting on the sofa with a woman Maureen didn’t know, and there were two others who were probably people from the caravan park.

  The other one was Linda Malloy from the shop next door, which surprised her. She and Linda didn’t have much in common, although Jim and Linda’s ex-husband were as thick as thieves. Linda wasn’t exactly snobbish, but she made Maureen feel plain and uninteresting.

  Which, if she were to be honest, she was.

  With that depressing thought in mind, Maureen hesitantly went over to join them.

  “Maureen Beggs! Over here again?” Irene said bluntly. “Having more time off?”

  Before she had time to answer, someone took her elbow from behind, and a laughing American voice said, “We twisted her arm, Irene. Maureen’s doing so well, Lissa persuaded her to come so she could show her some extra touches.”

  Unaccountably touched by the support from Georgie, Maureen put her chin in the air and looked Irene in the eye. “Jim likes to give his regulars percolated coffee, but he has to learn the world’s moved on. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Still and all, I never thought I’d see the day. And doesn’t Jim play golf on Sundays?” Irene looked as though she was going to push it further, but Lissa’s voice cut in.

  “I think we’re all here, so if you’d all like to come out to the kitchen? I’ll demonstrate, show you some of the new syrups, and it seems you all want to know how to make pretty pictures on the top…”

  There was a ripple of laughter and a chorus of yeses, and everyone got up to troop out to the kitchen.

  Lissa had four coffee machines set up, all different brands, so they could experiment on all of them. They rotated, two people per machine, with a different partner each time so they could get to know each other.

  They practiced grinding the beans, tamping the coffee, stretching the milk, testing the temperature and—the most popular part—creating nifty designs on the crema when they poured in the milk.

  At that point, Maureen found herself teamed with Irene Wilson.

  Usually, she avoided Irene. If she were honest, she was more than a little scared of that sharp tongue. Today, though, she felt braver. Just enough to be able to smile and say, “This is the bit I really want to know how to do. Our latest backpacker is fantastic at it.”

  “Yes, he made a cup of coffee for me yesterday.” Irene efficiently tamped the coffee, clicked in the portafilter and pressed a button. When the coffee had finished streaming into the cup, she poured milk into the stainless steel jug and swiveled the milk wand towards herself. “So, Jim has admitted defeat on the coffee issue?”

  “He had to,” Maureen said. “If the customers can’t get it, they go somewhere else.”

  “Wise of him.” Irene steamed the milk, watching carefully until it stretched to fill the jug. “You still have the best fish and chips in town, but why not get the coffee crowd as well?”

  Maureen blinked. “You really think so? About the fish and chips?”

  “Wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t true.” Irene put her tongue between her teeth. “Okay, here we go. Please let it work this time!” She poured the milk into the cup, then jiggled it as Lissa had shown them, only to end up with a shapeless squiggle on the top. “Oh, darn it! This isn’t as easy as it looks!” She looked up in disgust.

  Amused, Maureen grinned. “I don’t think I’ll do any better, but here goes.”

  It was Irene’s turn to watch, and she used the time to keep probing. “What does Jim think about you coming over here?”

  “Not happy,” Maureen admitted, growing in concentration. “Sssh, Irene, if I talk I get it wrong.” She inserted the milk wand into the jug and touched the button.

  Within seconds, she was staring in disappointment at the results.

  Bubbles. Bubbles.

  “Oh, man.” She put the jug down and ran a hand through her hair. “No wonder everyone keeps leaving to walk over here for coffee. What with Jim’s percolated stuff that’s strong enough to start a car, and my bubbles…I’ll never get it.”

  “Oh yes you will,” came Lissa’s voice in her ear. “I’ve seen you do it. It’s just practice. Watch.” She smiled at Irene. “I’ll make another one from scratch, and you”—with a finger pointing at Maureen—“will learn to stretch the milk, while you”—Irene’s turn—“will be able to create a perfect design. And neither of you two ladies is leaving until you’ve come up with the goods.”

  Maureen and Irene looked at each other and everyone listening had a good laugh, and then they exchanged a grin themselves, and unaccountably Maureen felt a surge of something inside her that was so foreign that she scarcely recognized it.

  Happiness.

  A simple thing like going to a barista class made her happy.

  Twenty minutes later, when she finally produced a decent cappuccino with a respectable design on the top, she felt even happier.

  Enough to say to Irene, “Come in tomorrow and I’ll practice on you.” Belatedly, she remembered that Irene was usually joined at the hip with Janet. “And Janet, too, of course.”

  “It’ll have to be after lunch,” Irene said. “I’ve got my quilting group in the morning.”

  “I know,” Maureen said. “I’ll be there too. So afternoon is fine.”

  “You’ll be there? I didn’t know you could quilt.” Irene stared at her, and when she glanced around, Maureen found that Linda Malloy was looking surprised as well.

  No wonder. For years—or was it centuries? —all she had done was work in the cafe and cook fish and chips and make sandwiches.

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m coming to learn.”

  Irene being Irene, she coul
dn’t resist asking. “And what does your Jim think of that?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Maureen said. She straightened her spine and cast Irene a quelling look. “He won’t like it, because let’s face it, Jim doesn’t like anything, but I don’t care. I need something more than fish and chips in my life.” She picked up her cup and saucer to take them to the sink, and couldn’t resist adding, “Even if they are the best in Yamba.”

  “Well.” Irene put her hands on her hips in an exaggerated expression of astonishment. “The worm has turned. Good on you, Maureen Beggs.”

  On the way to the sink, Maureen caught Linda Malloy’s eye. She had a slight smile on her lips, and she nodded at Maureen, and then gave her a thumbs up.

  Astonished, Maureen added her cup to the stack waiting to be rinsed and put in the dishwasher.

  Linda Malloy giving her a seal of approval?

  What was that about?

  20

  Jim Fumes

  When Maureen walked out of the cafe just before three, Jim at first thought that she was doing it just to get back at him for leaving her with the lunchtime crowd.

  The woman had gone mad. Ever since her mother had died, she had changed. So much for him sending money to the old bag to help her out. Did Maureen show the proper level of appreciation for that?

  No. A big, fat no.

  Admittedly, he’d get all his money back and then some, once probate went through, but that was beside the point. He didn’t have to pay the medical bills and send money to make her life a bit more comfortable; he’d done it out of the goodness of his heart.

  And look at what he got in return.

  Push, push, push all the time, telling him they had to move with the times, serve all this rubbish that she said the tourists wanted.

  He knew what they wanted. Good old-fashioned, well-cooked fish and chips. How many times had people told him that his fish and chips were the best for miles around?

  But no, Maureen had to spend money on a coffee machine, without even asking him before she dipped into their joint account. She’d started ordering cakes from the bakery, and not even decent stuff like custard slices and cream buns, but silly little things called friands and oversized muffins filled with fruit or banana and white chocolate.

  And cupcakes.

  He directed a furious glance across the road, where Maureen had gone.

  To Coffee, Cakes & Crepes, a fussy name to go with a frippery little business.

  To those girls.

  He knew they closed the cafe early on Sundays to run those coffee-making classes, and he’d seen Irene Wilson and Janet Cox going in, along with a couple of touristy-looking types and Linda Malloy.

  Linda Malloy.

  Grumpily, Jim automatically filled a couple of orders while he mulled over what Linda Malloy and his Maureen were doing over there.

  He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit.

  He didn’t think Ron was quite as careful about keeping secrets as he was, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Linda knew about some of their investments in common.

  What if Maureen found out?

  That morning, Ron had filled him in on the latest: his generous offer aimed at getting Linda out of the building, and her annoying refusal to commit when he’d phoned her last night.

  Ron was reasonably sure that she’d take it— who would say ‘no’ to an extra two hundred grand?—but he was going to keep the pressure on to make sure.

  Women, they agreed, were more trouble than they were worth. Ron had spent some time pointing out the advantages of not being tied down to one of them.

  Jim slapped the customers’ orders down in front of them, took their money, and found his eyes going again to the window of Coffee, Cakes & Crepes, where he could see women milling around inside before they all sat at tables and talked their heads off.

  Just wait until Maureen came back. He wasn’t going to put up with this. She could either pull her weight or she could move out.

  He allowed himself to toy with that idea. As Ron had pointed out, he could get a housekeeper, play golf whenever he wanted, get backpackers in to do Maureen’s job. Or maybe not backpackers, maybe someone from the town on a permanent basis. He’d have to pay them, but he wouldn’t have to put up with Maureen’s disapproval.

  He’d have a yarn to Ron about that. After all, Ron had managed to hide a lot from Linda, just as he had from Maureen.

  Which meant they both had a lot to lose.

  At four-thirty, Maureen came back, carrying shiny foil bags of coffee beans and juggling a large cardboard box with a picture of a coffee machine on it. Jim, with three customers waiting and the usual Sunday afternoon takeaway crowd due in, had been on the verge of charging across the road to drag her back, rather than giving Anton a call.

  Maureen heaved the box on the counter, cheerfully greeting the customers. Her eyes met Jim’s, and there wasn’t a hint of apology there.

  Instead, he saw defiance.

  Maureen lifted the flap on the counter, let herself through, and took the box out into the kitchen before tying on her apron. Silently, she got to work.

  Jim couldn’t hold it back any longer. “And what’s that you’ve got now?”

  Maureen didn’t look at him. “A coffee machine.”

  “We’ve got a coffee machine. You insisted on spending money on the blasted thing. What do we need another one for?”

  “The first one was for the cafe. This one’s for home, so I can practice. And because I enjoy a cup of decent coffee.”

  “Instant’s good enough for most people,” he ground out.

  “Well, actually it’s not, Jim. Not these days. Anyway, I used my own money, so it’s not your call.” With that, she went out and started taking orders.

  Jim slapped fish into batter viciously. Divorce was starting to sound like a very tempting option.

  Right after her mother’s money came through. Then he would take back what was rightfully his, before booting her out.

  And that wasn’t all he was going to do.

  Jim fumed, and prepared fish and chips, and plotted.

  While she automatically exchanged banter with customers, and smiled at them while she wrote down their orders, Maureen’s mind was racing. She thought of the fun she’d had that afternoon, and how she’d held her own with Irene Wilson, and how she’d defied Jim to do what she wanted – and buy what she wanted – and how good it felt.

  Why was she even thinking of waiting two months to retire? And why was she hesitating to take control of her own life? She could set things in motion now, and spend her birthday celebrating her freedom.

  Tomorrow, after she went to the quilting group, she was going to go and see Linda Malloy.

  Linda was going through a divorce. She’d be able to pass on some advice, about what Jim could and couldn’t lay claim to.

  Maybe she could have either the investment duplex or the house. All for herself.

  She didn’t care about the old cafe, because she had her mother’s money.

  Life was strange, no doubt about that. Who would have thought that she and Linda, so poles apart in personality and life choices, would both be divorcing two conniving old school mates?

  21

  A-Quilting We Will Go

  Eleven people turned up to Adele’s quilting group, held in the converted garage at the back of her house. The morning was filled with banter and gossip, and Georgie found that everyone had an opinion on what she should use as a design for the Yamba square on her “Around Australia” quilt.

  It was fun, but by the time everyone was packing up, she still had no clue why the quilting group should be important. She had covertly studied all the women present, but even after a few hours, had no idea why she was there. Nobody seemed to be making anything with flowers on it, either.

  Could she have been completely wrong? Maybe it wasn’t this group. Maybe it wasn’t any group, and the women with the quilted square had meant something else entirely.

  Then it w
as time for them all to pack up and go to lunch at a waterside restaurant—and it was there that Georgie finally understood.

  Watching rain spattering against the restaurant windows, Georgie thought nervously of Louise’s predictions after reading the cards. She had foreseen trouble with water – which, she said, could be related to bad weather.

  Across the river, heavy dark storm clouds were moving in. She wasn’t sure whether Scott had remembered to check the roof of the house and the cafe in case of leaks; she must remember to mention that to him when she got back.

  At lunch, she made sure she sat next to Maureen. They knew each other well enough now for Georgie to be able to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go.

  “Maureen, you said something at the barista class yesterday about retiring soon?” She smiled at her. “Does that mean you have a birthday coming up, or are you just sick of work?” Or sick of Jim, she added silently.

  “Two months to go,” Maureen said, looking both excited and nervous. She glanced at Irene, two seats away, who was trying to pretend she wasn’t listening in. “That’s when my birthday is. I had just kind of settled on retiring at 65, but…” she lowered her voice. “Just yesterday I was thinking, why wait? What difference does it make?”

  Georgie was pretty certain it would make a difference to her husband, but she refrained from saying so. “You’re sixty-five in a couple of months? I hope you’ve let them know at Coffee, Cakes and Crepes. You get a free coffee and a cupcake on your birthday from now on, did you know?”

  Irene turned in their direction. “Lissa made us all write down our birthdays yesterday. I’ll be getting my freebies before you, Maureen. Mine’s in…” she counted on her fingers. “Ten days.”