‘So, tell me everything,’ Elliott said.
‘About …?’
‘You said you’re not rushing to get to a cemetery any time soon. What’s the plan? Tell me.’
‘I don’t make plans, Elliott.’
Sara wanted to ignore the question. She didn’t talk about her cancer—not even at the post-surgery support group meetings had she spoken out loud about her feelings. She’d shared her fears with Joel and all that did was send him into the arms of another woman.
So why did the words flow so freely sitting here with Elliott? He said he wanted details. He wanted to understand: the surgery, the post-operative treatment, how she’d felt then, what she thought now. He certainly had a way with him, his demeanour definitely that of a young man, his attentiveness suggesting a touch of old soul.
*
‘And that’s Sara’s hard luck story.’ She dropped the small stone she’d been rolling in nervous circles in her palm, brushed the stain of dirt from her hands. ‘Thanks for listening. I feel surprisingly good. You’re almost therapeutic, you know that?’
‘What I do know is Gypsy was right in that letter.’
‘In what way?’
‘You are a butterfly, and butterflies do hide their beauty when they hold their wings tight. You need to open up those wings and let people get close enough to see the real beauty in you.’
‘Elliott, I’ve lived with this condition, as people like to call it, for long enough. Those who know about it—and there aren’t many—have either tiptoed around me or, like Joel, tiptoed away. It’s confronting, and not everyone deals with confrontation as well as you. Besides that, I watched my parents die from drawn-out, debilitating illnesses. For a while, I think I hated them. I know I blamed them for burdening me. I won’t do that to someone else.’
‘But you treasured every moment with them, didn’t you?’
‘Of course, but—’
‘The only “but” in this conversation is in butterfly, and let me tell you something about butterflies. They have the shortest lifespan—that’s true. Some live barely a week, but their lives start a long time before they get their wings. For a while butterflies are cocooned, then something changes, they change, they take flight. Your life started a long time ago, Sara, and those formative years made you who you are today. I think Gypsy’s telling you to make the most of the time ahead, no matter how much or how little.’
‘But how would Gypsy …?’ Sara was over-analysing again. Elliott’s face told her so. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Don’t be afraid to show the real you.’
Suddenly conscious of his arms against her breast, Sara catapulted forward, knocking him off balance in the process.
‘The real me is not so beautiful underneath all this, or so real for that matter. You’re forgetting about Betsy.’
‘Your body’s changed, Sara, not you, and I’ve heard it said that if nothing changed there’d be no butterflies. It’s all part of your metamorphosis.’
‘Yeah, well, knowing this little butterfly’s luck, a big bloody kookaburra is up in one of those trees preparing to swoop down and partake of a Sara butterfly for brunch.’ She gasped, checked the time on her wristwatch. ‘Oh no! The café. I’m going to be late—again.’
*
In her rush, Sara hadn’t had time to worry about Will’s reception after last night’s disastrous date. That was probably a good thing. But she need not have worried. Everything about Will looked to be back to normal when she flustered through the café, diving into the staff cupboard for an apron.
That worried Sara. What was normal? Was the chirpy bloke, always cracking jokes and making fun of his situation, the real Will? How would she know? Sara was no great judge of character. For over twelve months her husband had sat with her each time she threw up post-chemo. He’d brushed her hair as it was falling out, and he’d whispered reassurances while cuddling her in bed at night. He’d made her feel invincible. Once on the other side of her treatment, Joel confessed he’d been seeing someone else the whole time he’d been holding Sara’s hand. Not for one second had Sara imagined her husband was anything but genuine, so how on earth was she supposed to know the real Will?
Will smiled at Sara almost apologetically, or was it perhaps in appreciation that she’d shown up at all? The anger was gone from his eyes. He was the loving father again, mucking about with his daughter, playing the loveable larrikin, everyone’s favourite barista.
‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Jazzy skipped the length of the café, past her brother slouched in a chair by the door, Game Boy back in full swing. ‘She’s here. Sara’s here.’
Jazzy launched herself at Sara.
‘Whoa there!’ Sara giggled. ‘That’s the nicest hello I’ve had since … well, since the last one.’
‘Daddy said you’d be here. He said you’d show me how to hip-hop.’
On cue, Gloria Gaynor rang out over the café speakers. Sara looked across at Will and saw the remote control in his hand, a smart alec smile on his face.
‘For a start, Daddy needs to learn the difference between disco and hip-hop music.’ Sara took Jazzy by the hands, swinging her around and around, singing along to ‘I Will Survive’.
‘Woo hoo!’ Jazzy mimicked and they danced to the end of the song, whereupon the Calingarry Crossing coffee crowd showed their appreciation of the impromptu entertainment by clapping. ‘Again, again,’ Jazzy pleaded when the music stopped.
‘Not again, Jaz,’ Will said. ‘Come on. Grandma will be here to pick you up soon. You know she doesn’t like loud music.’
‘Mum-Mum doesn’t like loud Jazzy.’
‘Jazzy, pumpkin, I’ve told you not to call her that. Call her Grandma.’
‘She likes Mum-Mum. She doesn’t like Jazzy calling her Grandma. She doesn’t like loud Jazzy.’
‘Well I do, in small doses, though.’ Will pulled his daughter onto his lap, tickling her ribs, her squeal sharp enough to break glass.
‘Horsey ride! Horsey ride!’ she squealed.
‘Okay, but one lap only. Hold on.’ He hooked both hands under her arms and bumped her up and down on one knee.
Sara looked twice, trying not to stare, as Will’s knee jiggled ever so slightly.
‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said. ‘Now pick a flavour and I’ll make you a milkshake.’
‘Sara’s Rainbow! Sara’s Rainbow!’
‘Jasper? Chocolate?’
Jasper shook his head without looking up.
‘One Sara Rainbow Shake coming up.’
15
Caroline Travelli’s unexpected arrival at the Dandelion House later that afternoon had Sara hovering somewhere between bewilderment and terror. Surviving the visit would have to account for a week’s worth of LIST Item 1’s: Do something brave every day.
She’d barely had time to shower after riding her bike back from the café when she saw the shiny Land Cruiser driving away from the punt and towards the house. She recognised it instantly from the night at Will’s house, when he’d told Sara about buying the four wheel drive because Caroline ferried Jasmine and Jasper around so much. Ordinarily, as a bicycle rider, Sara hated big four wheel drives, but she understood how car safety would be a concern for them all these days. The sight of the car approaching gave Sara enough time for a frenzied tidy of the kitchen, with almost everything—including the dirty dishes—stacked out of sight in the refrigerator. Two minutes later she was on the veranda, smoothing her hair and running hands over the creases in her cotton shorts before a final adjustment of her embroidered peasant top.
‘Caroline, hello. Won’t you come in?’ Sara’s lips twitched into a sort-of-smile as she held open the screen door to let the woman pass.
‘Sorry to arrive unannounced. I wanted to see you and, well, to be honest, Sara, I didn’t, don’t, want Will to know I was here.’
‘Oh? Is something wrong?’ Sara led her visitor through to the kitchen, now the tidiest room in the house.
‘I’m sorry to hea
r about your … situation.’
‘My—?’
‘Yes, dear, Will mentioned it. My son tells me everything, of course.’
He does? Sara wondered if her sharp intake of air was obvious. Why would he tell her about that?
Her shoulders sagged, her defences draining away.
The monster was in the house.
‘Won’t you sit down, Caroline?’
I sure need to.
Sara dragged a chair out from the kitchen table. ‘Perhaps I can get you something? Water? Tea?’
Scotch for me, please.
‘Nothing. Thank you, Sara.’
Sara had to sit, even though Caroline ignored her offer. She chose the chair at the furthest end of the table, praying the woman didn’t suddenly decide to open the refrigerator as she stalked the kitchen like a beast looking for prey.
‘Sara, there’s no easy way to say this, so I won’t beat around the bush. Will is fine as he is.’
Dizzy from watching Caroline eye every aspect of her and her kitchen, Sara fixed her gaze on the vase of flowers at the centre of the table. They were looking a little wilted. She must remember to top up their water.
Monster eradication first.
‘Caroline, I’m not sure what you mean by “Will is fine as he is.”’
‘It’s taken him years to put Ebony’s death behind him and move on. Jasper and Jasmine are settled into a routine and Will’s café is giving him real purpose again. He’s happy, Sara.’
‘I’m still not sure what you’re telling me.’
‘You’re not good for him. You’re not what he needs.’
The words were like a punch to Sara’s gut. She grabbed at her stomach, her ability to speak hampered by a sudden rush of anger.
‘I don’t know what you came to Calingarry Crossing looking for, my dear, but it’s not going to be Will—or his money. The compensation payout does little to cover his and the children’s needs.’
Sara’s stomach flipped, anger and nausea now battling for top honours. She clenched her jaw, her lips pressed together tightly, and gulped back every insult and every swearword trying to pound its way out into the open. Not daring to look the woman in the face, Sara focused on the vase again. Her response was going to be far from submissive and she didn’t want Caroline Travelli to see the flaring of her nostrils as she concentrated on slowing her breathing by counting to five.
‘I can assure you, Caroline, I have no interest in Will’s money. I’m here because of this house.’
‘And what else?’
‘I’m sorry, Caroline, that’s my business.’
‘And my son and my grandchildren are mine. So I trust you’ll respect what we, as a family, have been through and not add to the heartbreak Will and his children have already suffered.’
‘I’m not going to hurt Will or his children.’
‘You have no idea what you did to my son when you had those men carry him up the stairs at the cinema. Will told me.’
There was a sting in the monster’s tail and it hurt. Will’s betrayal hurt more. Sara steeled herself, and her voice, and squared up to Caroline.
‘Well, Will is a big boy and he’s just going to have to learn to cut me a bit of slack until I get used to the way it works.’
‘Cut. You. Slack? How dare you!’ The Chanel-wearing, life-sucking, fire-breathing monster slammed the palms of both hands on the table in front of Sara. ‘You have no idea, do you?’ Her voice shook. ‘Will did nothing but talk about you once. I was so glad he got an opportunity to do something in the city and get away. The timing was perfect. You and those girls swanned around this town, trying to be the centre of attention. You were no good for him. None of you.’
‘Girls? What girls?’
‘Amber Bailey, for one. Do you know there are still people in this town who think Will was responsible for getting that slut pregnant?’
Had the situation not been so serious, Sara might have laughed at the stuck-up Caroline Travelli spitting the word ‘slut’ at her. But this was serious, very serious.
Will’s mother fumed. ‘It was Doug and I who had to endure the stares and whispers. Oh, but didn’t we show everyone! Our famous son had magazines bidding for photos of his wedding. Ebony was a beautiful, educated woman from a good family and Will loved her very much.’
Sara no longer cared to cover the indignation seeping into her voice. ‘As do I come from a good family.’
‘That remains a matter of opinion.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Sara pushed back and stood up so abruptly she sent the chair crashing to the floor.
The monster recoiled.
Match met.
‘Never mind, Sara dear, I shouldn’t have said that. I had a lot of respect for your parents, and for Amber’s poor mother, so I’ll say no more on the subject.’ She picked up her leather handbag and sunglasses from the table.
On what subject?
Sara was tempted to stop her, make her explain, but now wasn’t the time. The woman was clearly demented.
And if she calls me ‘Sara dear’ one more time …
‘Sara dear, please understand, it’s been six terrible years and he’s finally got stability in his life. You can’t replace his wife. No one can do that. He as much as told me so himself.’
Sara wanted to scream herself now. She wanted to make the woman stop, rewind, explain why Will would say Sara couldn’t replace his wife, but the spit-spraying monster wouldn’t shut up.
‘When she died, a bit of my son died. But Ebony was good for him. If she was here now she’d push him to do more with his life than run a café. She’d support him. She was strong.’
Sara stormed in silence to the front door, thrusting the screen open and knocking a potted succulent off the table.
‘Caroline, I think you need to go now.’
The monster stopped on her way down the steps and looked back at Sara. ‘I’m just saying … Will needs someone who understands him, who knows how to help. You’re not that person. You are not strong enough, Sara. You’ve never been strong.’
‘Caroline,’ Sara said through a clenched jaw, ‘I’m stronger than you know.’
16
‘Didn’t know they were predicting storms today, Sara.’ She’d seen Elliott in the back paddock not long before Caroline arrived. Now he was out the front adjusting the chain on his bike.
‘I’m not strong enough.’ Sara whimpered the words, totally spent, the initial, agonising sting of Caroline’s visit now a festering wound.
‘What’s been going on? I heard yelling and then that car took off. Are you all right?’
‘Bloody woman. Who the hell does she think she is?’
‘Who? Come sit. Tell me.’ He wiped his hands on his jeans and guided Sara to a chair on the veranda, but she couldn’t sit.
‘This is a mistake.’
‘Sitting with me is a mistake?’
‘Yes. No. Yes and no.’
‘Am I supposed to understand that?’
Sara was too busy pacing back and forth, making herself dizzy, to hear Elliott.
‘This was not supposed to happen. I did not come back here to fall in love with Will, and I don’t have what it takes to deal with his mother. I’m not interested.’
Her head hurt, seriously hurt, as in jackhammer hurt. She pressed her fingers against her temple and squeezed her eyes closed.
‘You’re not going to pass out on me again are you? When did you last eat?’
‘Umm …’
‘That’s it. Come with me.’
Elliott led her by the arm into the kitchen and sat her down at the table while he raided the refrigerator, giving a curious smirk and a grunt as he ferretted around among the dirty dishes. He whipped eggs, tossed in diced bacon and added some cherry tomatoes growing wild in the vegetable garden, then served her scrambled eggs on a slice of wholemeal toast.
‘You’re the best, Elliott.’
It was only eggs, but he’d cooked it. He’d cooked it
for her.
No bunging anything in a microwave.
No heating last night’s leftovers.
No prized and perfect ex-wife.
No monster of a mother.
No pressure.
‘Feeling better?’ Elliott asked, watching Sara scrape the last morsel of egg from her plate with the crust.
‘I always feel better around you. You’ve got this … I don’t know what. Gypsy would say you have an aura. It almost feels …’
‘Feels …?’
‘Good grief, listen to me. Maybe I should do the dishes before I make a total idiot of myself.’
Hmm, maybe that should go on THE LIST: Stop being an idiot. She did still need an Item 10.
Picking up their empty plates, Sara put them in the sink, letting them land a little too heavily.
‘Maybe I am an idiot, Elliott.’
‘Why?’ he said, nudging her to one side to rinse the wine glasses under running water. ‘Because you’ve let yourself fall in love with Will?’ Elliott stepped back and perched on the edge of the kitchen table. ‘Makes no sense not telling him.’
Sara’s gaze fell away. ‘I can’t. I’m not brave enough. Not right now.’
‘You are, Sara. You stood up to Will’s mother today. You told her you were strong. That was brave.’
‘Or stupid.’
‘You were brave enough to look after your parents and make tough choices. You showed everyone your courage and you sacrificed your own happiness to keep your family together for as long as you could. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.’
‘You’re going to make me cry.’
‘Uh-ah, no tears. Remember Item 5 on THE LIST.’
‘Did I tell you that about my list? I don’t remember—’
‘Listen to me, Sara, I want you to add something to that list of yours. Item number whatever: Find Sara’s rainbow and bloody hang on to it.’
‘Sara’s rainbow!’ she echoed.
‘Yes. Now … I have something I need to do,’ he said, jumping forward and planting his lips on the tip of her nose. ‘I’m going to miss that nose of yours.’
‘You sound like you’re going somewhere.’
House for All Seasons Page 13
