Roxy returned to the table and handed over her phone for Kyan to play a game, and Krystal did the same for the three younger boys to share. The laneway wasn’t big enough for kids to be running about and shrieking. They would have plenty of time to run themselves ragged at the museum after lunch.
‘How’s your fella going without you?’ Krystal asked.
‘He’s gone through two temporary carers already,’ Roxy griped.
‘In two weeks?’
‘He’s a bloody grumpy old bugger,’ Roxy said, a small smile emerging. ‘He yells at me every time I turn up, too, but I just seem to have a way with him and he’s eating out of my hand by the time I leave.’
‘You’re the whisperer,’ Krystal said, picturing Roxy as some sort of lion tamer. ‘I’ll bet the agency will be happy to have you back on board next week.’
Roxy widened her eyes. ‘I dare say they will.’
‘Might be a good time to ask for a pay rise.’
Roxy shook her head. ‘I wish. No one goes into this line of work for the money.’
‘Such a shame. It must be an awful thing to be so vulnerable and have strangers coming into your home every day. We’ll probably all end up that way eventually.’
They were quiet a moment at that sobering thought. A man with an enormous grey wolfhound on a thin leash walked past the pink and white picket fence and entered the cafe through the wooden archway. Krystal watched the dog for a moment as the man sauntered down the lane to order at the caravan.
A sound of excitement from the boys hailed the arrival of a young woman with lolly pink hair, a nose ring and a smart chocolate-coloured apron to deliver their food and drinks. The boys set upon their meals and Krystal and Roxy spent some time urging them to slow down, hold their wraps with two hands and watch out for falling sauce, and handing them serviettes when it inevitably went wrong. When the first frenzy had passed, Roxy and Krystal turned to their own food.
‘Any news?’ Roxy asked, then took a bite of her pulled pork roll with apple and cabbage slaw. ‘Is there any way you can find out for sure if Gabriella has Evan’s heart?’
Krystal swallowed her mouthful before she spoke. ‘No. All that information is locked away.’ She cast an eye towards Jasper, who was getting to an age where she had to be careful what she said in front of him; he’d started listening in and asking questions. She had so many unanswered questions herself about Evan’s death … and so much guilt. She wasn’t sure she was ready to explain a heart transplant to her son.
‘How did you and Evan get together?’ Roxy asked, changing the subject. She and Krystal had met at the boys’ school when they’d dropped Austin and Jasper off for their first day, and had comforted each other in the carpark as they both shed tears. They’d been friends ever since, but Roxy had never asked many questions about Evan. Krystal assumed she simply sensed how difficult it all still was, and she appreciated that Roxy was the kind of friend she could go out with for coffee and they could read newspapers and magazines together without having to talk the whole time.
Now seemed as good a moment as any to share a little about her life with Evan.
‘We met at Cinque restaurant, where we both worked. I was a waitress and he was the sommelier.’
‘Tell me the story,’ Roxy encouraged, so Krystal put down her sandwich and let her mind drift back to that time.
She first laid eyes on Evan the day she’d gone to the restaurant for an interview. Cinque’s owner was meeting with several prospective new employees that day and Krystal had been the last one, at three o’clock. Evan had been behind the marble-topped bar, checking through the day’s arrival of wine crates, when he happened to look up just as she was watching him. She was sitting next to the expansive glass windows, the view of the city far below, and the sunlight fell across her shoulders, warming her. The look on Evan’s face when their eyes met was one of surprised delight.
He’d paused, bottle in hand, simply to admire her. She’d smiled back at him – friendly, not flirty – then turned away, knowing instantly that a man like that was out of her league. He had an upper-class aura about him. He was handsome and clean cut, his clothes were expensively made, and he held himself so confidently.
The restaurant’s owner, on the other hand, was a charismatic guy who was clearly not above letting everyone know he was always up for a bit of fun. Krystal’s long hair was tied up on the crown of her head, exposing her pale neck, with soft wisps tucked behind her ear, and his eyes drifted to her cleavage a few times. She sighed quietly, weary of men like this, but absolutely not afraid. She’d grown up having to fend off men’s attention, and she was capable of taking care of herself. From the way they were bantering, she knew she had the job.
She glanced over at Evan again, and he returned her gaze. To her embarrassment, the owner noticed.
‘Evan’s our sommelier,’ he said. ‘I’ll introduce you in a minute.’
‘Lovely, thanks.’ She snapped her eyes back front and centre, feeling her cheeks burn.
Over the next few weeks she saw Evan almost every time she was working, though she made no effort to connect with him beyond polite greetings or necessary work discussions. This was the best job she’d had since moving to Melbourne from a small town in the Dandenong Ranges. She was twenty-two years old and for the past two years she’d been working as a cleaner or cashier or kitchenhand, anything to earn a bit of money. This was her first big step up. While serving diners, she was polite and efficient and had a knack for anticipating needs. Older women loved her, as did the older men, and younger men, but with the latter she maintained a careful distance. She and Evan exchanged small talk now and then, but she wasn’t prepared to jeopardise her role at the restaurant in any way, especially not by flirting with him.
Then, as she was setting tables late one afternoon, the sky turning a dusky pink above the city towers, the warm glow of the pendulous lights and the chandeliers making the silverware sparkle, she spoke to him as he walked past carrying a blackboard listing the day’s specials.
‘Evan?’
He stopped, seemingly surprised. ‘Yes?’
‘How does someone become a sommelier?’ She shrugged. ‘You know, just out of interest.’ She didn’t want him to think she was after his job, or to make anyone think she wasn’t grateful to be waitressing, but she was curious as to where she could progress from here.
He rested the board against the chair nearest to him. ‘There are a few different paths but there are some clear stages. The first stage is really all about self-education.’
‘Drinking a lot of wine?’ she said, laughing.
‘Absolutely.’ He grinned at her. ‘Doing some wine appreciation courses, going to wine tastings, subscribing to wine journals, visiting vineyards, and learning about the great wine regions of the world, including those here in Australia, is really important. Then there’s formal study – paying for an industry-recognised course – which is helpful. You don’t have to do one, but I think it does give you an edge.’
She felt her face fall and she returned her attention to the napkin she’d just folded, pulling it open and refolding it. ‘That all sounds like a rich man’s game.’ Wine – particularly good wine – was expensive.
He seemed at a loss as to how to respond to that and she regretted giving away her weakness – she didn’t come from privileged stock and didn’t have money to invest in her education. He stepped closer to her and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. ‘There are other ways to get a start in the industry. What you’re doing here, right now,’ he said, indicating the table, ‘is already helping you. Part of being a sommelier is knowing exactly how to set tables, how to present wine, open wine, pour wine, and the right order of serving. Don’t dismiss the fact that just by working here, you’re giving yourself a good grounding. You can work your way towards being a sommelier entirely through hands-on experience.’
That cheered her. ‘Thanks.’ She gazed up into his face. He was about a head taller than her. Hi
s thick hair was tamed into shape by some sort of wax. He was clean-shaven and smelled faintly of an aftershave that could have been made from the ocean itself.
‘You’re welcome.’ He added, rather hopefully, ‘Of course, I’m happy to help you too, if you’d like.’
She held his gaze for a moment, trying to decide if he was genuine or not, trying to decide whether or not to trust him, then gave him a nod. ‘Sure, maybe one day.’
From then on, whenever they were working together, Evan took it upon himself to show Krystal something new either before the diners arrived or later on, when the last ones were lingering and the staff were focused on cleaning up. Half-drunk bottles were the perfect opportunity for him to introduce her to a variety of wines. She could recognise all the main types of grape easily enough, but when they started to look at the more unusual ones she got cranky and impatient.
‘I’ll never get this,’ she’d moan, resting her forehead in her hand. ‘Half of them are in a different language.’
When he’d tried to show her the differences that came about when wine was aged in oak barrels, or toasted oak barrels, or pine barrels, or cherry wood, or cedar, she threw her hands in the air. ‘Forget it. I give up.’
He watched her a moment, then said, ‘It does help to have a particularly good sense of smell. I’m just lucky, I guess.’
‘Big nose,’ she said, then clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean you have a big nose!’ But he did have a big nose, and he knew it. Her skin seared.
To her relief he simply roared with laughter. ‘Well, I have to have some sort of flaw to make me interesting. If I were perfect, you wouldn’t like me.’
She laughed, both because she was still so horribly embarrassed and because he’d suggested that there was some attraction here.
‘You tell the truth,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘I like that. For most of my life, that’s been a rare thing.’
He definitely had her attention now.
‘Come out with me on Wednesday,’ he said. He knew they both had the day off.
‘What?’
‘Spend the day with me.’ He kept his eyes on her. She looked down at the floor, furrowed her brow in confusion, looked back at him and opened her mouth to refuse – an automatic response – then paused. He grinned, sensing her hesitation. ‘Come on. We’ll have some fun. Nothing serious. Just two night-workers from the hospitality trade soaking up some sunshine and fresh air for a change.’
‘You make us sound like vampires.’
‘Sometimes it feels a bit like that, doesn’t it? Getting home after midnight when the streets are cold and quiet?’
He’d hit a nerve – she was lonely. She shrugged, as casually as she could manage. ‘Okay. I’ve got nothing better to do.’
‘Where would you like to go?’
‘Surprise me.’
A loud crack brought Krystal out of her reminiscences. Olly had knocked a glass off the table and it had hit the ground, breaking into several pieces. She jumped off her stool to pick them up, relieved that the fake grass had cushioned the fall a little and stopped the glass from spraying in every direction.
Olly stared at the ground, frozen.
‘It’s okay,’ Krystal said. ‘It was just an accident.’
A bearded man arrived with a dustpan and brush, wearing a similar apron to the one the woman with the pink hair had worn. ‘You all right, buddy?’ he asked Olly.
Olly nodded silently.
‘Thanks,’ Krystal said, placing the glass into the dustpan. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No big deal. Happens all the time,’ he said cheerily.
She straightened and gave Olly a squeeze. ‘Have you finished with your lunch?’ She picked up a piece of meatball and held it in front of his face but he shook his head and went back to watching Jasper and Austin play a train game on the phone. She sat down again next to Roxy.
‘I liked that story,’ Roxy said, pulling her denim jacket tightly across her chest against a stiff wind that had just shot down the laneway. ‘I’d like to know more about Evan.’
Krystal huffed, her mood swiftly swinging from the fond past to the bitter present. ‘Yeah, so would I.’
Roxy frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The thing is …’ Krystal took a deep breath. ‘Evan wasn’t here when he died.’
‘Here, in Melbourne?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where was he?’
‘In Sydney.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s the problem. I have no idea why, and no one could explain it. He told me he was going to work at the restaurant here in the city, kissed me goodbye, and the next time I saw him he was on life support in intensive care at Sydney Royal North Shore Hospital. I never got to speak to him again.’
Roxy crossed one leg over the other, tapping her Dr Martens boot in midair as she digested this new information. ‘And you haven’t been able to find out anything?’
‘I’ve come up with a dozen explanations, none of them good. I mean, what possible reason could he have had to lie to me if he wasn’t covering up something he didn’t want me to know?’ For a man who’d said he valued the truth, he sure was hiding a lot of secrets.
Roxy cast her eyes upwards, obviously trying to think of something credible that would ease Krystal’s mind. But she came up blank. ‘Is this why you’re so …’ Here she paused, searching for the right word. ‘… interested in Gabriella?’
‘Yes,’ Krystal said carefully. ‘It’s like I have all these missing pieces surrounding Evan’s death but knowing where his heart ended up …’ She dropped her voice, glanced at the boys, then leaned closer to Roxy. ‘It would just be one less question.’
‘I get that.’
But it was more than that. It was also about her own guilt in the matter. If she could just speak to Gabriella, then maybe – just maybe – she could have some idea of whether Evan could forgive her for what she’d done.
‘Come on,’ Roxy said, getting to her feet. ‘Let’s get these wild ones to the museum. Then we can work out a way for you to meet Gabriella.’
5
Sharp pains shoot up my legs with every heavy footfall on the bitumen.
Cold air rasps down my throat.
‘Stop!’ The call cuts through the night air.
Bright, white light sears my eyes. It is blinding.
Gabby woke with a start, gulping for air, confused. Streetlights speared through the white plantation blinds beside her bed. Bright lights, so luminous they hurt. She stumbled out of bed and slammed her palms against the blinds to shut them, her heart racing. What the hell had just happened?
From the other side of the bedroom door came a frantic scratching sound.
She opened the door and Sally pushed her way inside, leaning in to Gabby and nosing at her hands, whimpering slightly.
‘It’s okay,’ Gabby said, and sank to the floor, her back against the bed. The golden retriever climbed over Gabby’s legs, planting her front feet on one side and her back feet on the other, offering support.
‘Thanks,’ Gabby whispered, hugging the dog to her chest and resting her head against Sally’s shoulders.
Technically, Sally was Celia’s dog. They had crowdfunded an assistance dog for her when Gabby had first got sick and Celia was just seven years old. It was a terrible time for them all, but Celia had struggled the most – outwardly, at least. Gabby and Cam still expected repercussions from the emotional toll it had taken on their other two children to surface later. But Celia’s panic attacks and generalised anxiety led her to withdraw so much into herself that they had been frightened their daughter might stop talking altogether and they’d lose her to a dark place. She’d struggled at school, and eventually refused to go. Medications were trialled, but then Gabby’s donor coordinator at the hospital had suggested an assistance dog. They’d needed more than ten thousand dollars for a fully trained and accredited dog, but they’d successfully raised the funds, a
nd Sally had changed all their lives for the better.
Lately, Sally seemed to have transferred her attention to Monty – whose bedroom was right across the hall from Gabby’s – shadowing him and pushing her head up into his hands. Now she was here.
‘You’re a clever girl,’ Gabby whispered. She stroked Sally’s long fur, soft as feathers, and her breathing and heart rate slowed. As much as she might have wanted to believe that the vision that had happened at the cafe was a one-off, the dream that had just woken her was proof that it wasn’t.
Her alarm went off at seven o’clock and the memory of the disturbing dream rushed at her. She felt edgy, not knowing if that would be it or if more of the intense flashes would follow. Sally was still snoozing, stretched out on the floor beside the bed. Luciano was rostered to open the cafe this morning, so Gabby could sleep in a little. She sent a text message to Cam asking him how Summer was feeling today, then headed to the kitchen.
The McPhee house was a perfect rectangle, a standard 1920s brick home. It had been renovated over the years, her parents adding a second floor in the 1980s, ten years after they bought it, to accommodate more bedrooms and a second bathroom. Then as now, Gabby’s bedroom was at the front of the house, closest to the road, with the open-plan kitchen, dining room and family room at the other end of the house.
The kitchen was lovely and modern, all white surfaces and stainless-steel appliances, with honey-coloured polished floorboards that added warmth to a space that might otherwise have been stark. The fridge door was covered in school notices and timetables, photos, and bills to be paid. The surface of the island bench was always littered with library books, school projects, handbags, scarves and car keys, no matter how much she tried to create systems for those things to be kept elsewhere. Potted colour in the form of violets or orchids sat on benches or small sideboards in the living room, enjoying filtered light from the morning sun. The words Love, Laugh, Life hung in spark ling pink letters above the window overlooking the backyard.
The Gift of Life Page 4
