The Cottage at Rosella Cove

by Sandie Docker

  As the event wound up, Nicky and a small cohort headed out for dinner to celebrate. It was the newest restaurant in Sydney, a fusion of east and west cuisine that was served in miniature portions on oversized black plates. Mark was very pleased with himself that he’d been able to pull a few strings and get them a table. Her agent, Di, was there, of course, and Mark. A couple of Mark’s colleagues. The librarian from the event. Despite the cheery group surrounding her, Nicky felt empty, and a little alone.

  Di clinked her glass and everyone turned to her. ‘I think tonight is a wonderful chance to share some news that I received today. Nicky, you’ve won the Jackman Literary Award! I’m so proud of you.’

  Mark led a chorus of cheers and Nicky’s heart swelled. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d get such recognition for Tide. A waiter brought glasses of Champagne for everyone and Mark hugged her tightly.

  It was the greatest moment of her career so far, and all she wanted was to tell Jane. She skulled her glass and ordered another drink from a passing waiter.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s enough?’ Mark whispered in her ear.

  ‘Not really.’ She drank it quickly.

  ‘Well, I was thinking we’d celebrate some more when we got home.’ He ran his finger down her spine.

  She shrugged him off and pulled her phone out to send a text to her best friend, to share her latest news. But how would she react? Would she see it as Nicky showing off? The first contact Nicky makes in two months and it’s to tell her about a prize she’d won?

  She put her phone away.

  Later that night, back at the apartment, Nicky and Mark got ready for bed, changing into their pyjamas, folding down the doona.

  ‘So?’ Mark asked. ‘What are you going to do with all that money?’

  ‘It’s not that much.’ Nicky shrugged.

  ‘But add it to your advance and it isn’t too bad.’

  No, it wasn’t too bad at all. Nicky rearranged her pillows so she could sit up a bit. ‘I suppose I should pay you back for keeping me these last few months.’

  ‘Oh, Nicky.’ He laughed and climbed into bed beside her. ‘There’s no paying back for that. We’re together. We share things. Everything. Me taking care of things the last few months wasn’t a loan you have to pay back.’ He took her hand and rubbed it gently, kissing her palm and twirling her engagement ring around her finger.

  Nicky leaned over and kissed him. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too. Now what do you think? Are you going to splurge on something you’ve always wanted? Like a piano?’

  Nicky laughed. She’d never wanted a piano.

  ‘Or a whole new wardrobe? Or put it away so you can buy a weekend house on the water one day?’

  Nicky laughed again. ‘I think you’re adding more zeros to the amount than are actually there.’

  ‘True.’ He nodded. ‘Though it wouldn’t be impossible.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘What I bring in is enough for us to live off, and then some. If we were smart … I don’t know, it could be doable.’

  Nicky thought about it. If they were smart, maybe they could have it all. ‘I suppose we could keep living off your income. Put mine away and any extra you get. How long do you think until we could afford something like that?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t know. A couple of years and we’d have a decent deposit. We’d have to keep it separate, though. It’s too easy to spend money without realising it.’

  ‘Why don’t we set up a joint account then? Just for the savings.’

  ‘I suppose we could. Gregory’s got an excellent financial adviser. He always seems to be getting good interest rates. I could look into if you like.’

  Nicky smiled and nestled into his shoulder. It wasn’t long before Mark’s rhythmic snoring told her he was asleep. She rolled and over and picked up her phone.

  ‘Hi Jane,’ she tapped out the beginnings of a message, but every opening she could think of sounded so lame.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been touch.’

  Delete.

  ‘I know I’ve been slack.’

  Delete.

  ‘Guess what?’

  Delete.

  Nicky put the phone away. She would read Jane’s manuscript first and then she’d be able to contact her friend with a guilt-free heart.

  Nicole could hear the commotion from up the street – an announcement was being made over the loudspeaker, followed by a piercing screech at the end as the mic was turned off. She heard the buzzing of distant chatter and car horns beeping. The smell of a sausage sizzle met her nostrils as she approached the playing field and she closed her eyes and paused to drink it all in. It was a comforting aroma that could transport her instantly to her childhood.

  Rugby league wasn’t exactly Nicole’s favourite sport, but she just couldn’t face washing and scrubbing any more walls, where old memories were too easily conjured. Besides, she figured being invisible was easy enough in a large crowd distracted by the spectacle in front of them. She’d be gone once the lease ran out, so really there wasn’t any harm in surface level friendships to pass the time.

  ‘Hey, Nicole!’ shouted Trevor from the sideline as he put his team through a last minute warm-up.

  Danny, dressed in a cove jersey with the number one on his back, nodded in her direction.

  She waved back to them, suddenly conscious of how conspicuous she was, wearing her floral shirt and jeans; she was the only person there not clad in Rosella Cove’s black and white or Woodville’s blue and yellow.

  Around the oval locals and visitors, distinct in their opposing colours, sat on picnic blankets and stood in small groups. When the starting horn sounded, an almighty cheer rose up from the many spectators.

  She made her way over to the hill, where Mandy greeted her with a hug and poured her a coffee from the thermos at her feet. This early-round match against their arch rivals was going to be tough, apparently, and an extra supporter was very welcome.

  Nicole looked around the crowd, watching the faces turn from anguish to delight to disbelief as try-saving tackles were made, field goals scored and penalties given, and she realised she was smiling. The noise from the crowd, in particular the screaming from Cheryl and Jim, the plumber Mandy had arranged to fix Nicole’s shower, made it almost impossible to have a conversation, and for that she was thankful.

  Once upon a time, people-watching was her favourite activity. She hadn’t done it for so long now and as she watched the crowd around her, she could feel a familiar pull.

  Her heart warmed at the sheer joy on the face of the little boy from Woodville in a replica Wolves’ jersey watching his dad cross the line, and she laughed at the old grandma wrapped from head to toe in the Rosella Cove Rangers’ black and white stripes cursing the ref who was bloody blind and might move a damn sight quicker if he borrowed her Zimmer frame.

  Nicole’s mind was taking in everything and she could feel the fuzzy outlines of potential scenes and book characters starting to form. These old habits that had led to her becoming a writer were resurfacing after so long dormant, that it thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. Could she write again? Did she want to?

  At the half-time horn, the Rangers were down a try. Nicole followed Mandy and Jack to the sausage sizzle line and got herself a banger with onions in a slice of home-brand white bread. Jack went and found the team to lend his dad some moral support as he tried to rally the troops, and Mandy steered Nicole towards the market stalls.

  There were padded, lace-covered coathangers and knitted bears, granny-square afghans and toilet-roll dollies, apple teacakes and chocolate rough slices. There was a stall selling children’s wooden toys, and one with jewellery made from beads of garish colour and stones so big Nicole wondered whose hand or neck would be strong enough to hold them.

  Another stall was selling garden ornaments made from recycled materials that Nicole lingered briefly at, wondering if perhaps the copper and tyre brolga would look go
od in her front yard when it was eventually finished. If it was ever finished. Not that she could afford such extras. And Jacqui, the pregnant woman from the post office, was selling artwork – mostly pretty, albeit generic-looking, landscapes. But she also had a few abstract pieces that caught Nicole’s eye.

  ‘Nicole! Good to see you again,’ said Jacqui. ‘You like these ones, do you?’ she gestured to the abstract pieces Nicole was admiring. ‘I’d be more than happy to show you a few more like it sometime. I keep them back at my garage studio – they tend to be a little too out-there for the market crowd.’

  ‘That would be great, thanks, Jacqui.’ Nicole tried a warm smile, wondering if Jacqui could read her mind, which was calculating exactly how much money she didn’t have to spend on art.

  Sitting back on the picnic blankets on the hill in their viewing area as the game continued, Nicole realised she was finding the excitement running through the crowd somewhat infectious, though she was loath to admit it to herself. The cheers gained volume and frenzy as the clock ticked into the final few minutes. The teams were tied – eighteen points each. In the last few seconds a field goal from Danny put the Rangers in front and the cheer from the home crowd as the horn sounded the end of the match was so loud Nicole had to cover her ears.

  A group of boys aged between six and sixteen, all dressed in Rangers uniforms, encircled Danny.

  ‘He coaches a few of the junior sides,’ Mandy said to Nicole. ‘He’s brilliant with them.’

  The boys clambered to pat their hero on his back. Danny picked up the smallest of the boys, Jason Junior – Jacqui’s eldest – and sat him on his shoulder for the extended victory lap, which the crowd lapped up. Trevor gathered them all in for a big group hug before jogging over to his wife for a big kiss.

  Mandy leaned over to Nicole. ‘They’ll be celebrating with a schooner or three down at The Royal,’ she said.

  Rowdy footy players and beer was not an enticing combination for Nicole. It was time to slip back into obscurity and attack those waiting walls, but Trevor grabbed her by the hand.

  ‘Not so fast, you.’ He flung his arm around her shoulder. ‘Our lucky charm is coming, too.’

  Nicole frowned. ‘Your what?’

  ‘This is the first time in years we’ve beaten those buggers. And the only thing that’s different is you.’ He slapped her on the back.

  Mandy leaned in wrapping her in a protective embrace. ‘I’ll make sure she gets there.’ She pushed her husband back towards his team.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve done it now, Nicole.’ She frowned, though Nicole caught the twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘They’re very superstitious, this lot. When they lost the grand final four years ago they blamed the fact that Danny Temple didn’t wear his lucky socks. Got blown off the line in a storm. Though the boys will tell you Woodville stole them. Without the socks, they just couldn’t win. Been on a losing streak ever since. Danny almost got kicked off the team. Would have lost the captaincy too if it weren’t for the fact that it was the anniversary of his grand-dad dying and everyone felt sorry for him. If they reckon this win is down to your presence, then …’

  She shrugged.

  ‘… well, I’m afraid you’re the new lucky socks. Better clear your Saturdays for the rest of the season.’

  Nicole stared at Mandy with wide eyes. No, no, no. This was not part of the plan.

  Mandy gently directed her down the street. ‘It’ll be all right, Nicole.’

  The Royal stood proudly on the corner of High Street and Sydney Road, the main intersection, and the pub was the physical and spiritual centre of the town. It was a place where birthdays and anniversaries were celebrated. Families came by for quiet Sunday brunches, and nearly every fundraising event for the local school or footy team or bowls trip was held there. It was also one of the oldest buildings in town. Its red bricks stood strong against the weather of time, according to Mandy, who was giving Nicole a full run-down of the hotel’s history as she walked her to a quiet booth up the back.

  George Russo had taken over the pub around forty years earlier and every few years or so thereafter he would reinvent the restaurant. There was the Italian theme at first, which was not surprising, given George had come straight from Naples to the cove. Then there was the Chinese era, self-taught from cookbooks, and after that was the short-lived Tapas phase that the locals didn’t take too kindly to. Nicole tuned out for a while and when she refocused, Mandy was up to the current flavour of the month, Thai.

  ‘Of course, he always keeps his famous penne carbonara on the menu. He’s no fool.’ Mandy shook her head.

  ‘Of course.’

  Nicole leaned back into the green leather bench seat, no doubt a remnant from the Irish refurbishment Mandy had mentioned at some point in her spiel. On the walls were photos of the Rangers over the years, and old black and white pictures of George’s home city, with narrow streets and tall stone buildings.

  The double front doors burst open with such force that Nicole was surprised the glass panels didn’t shatter, and a shouty, tuneless version of ‘We are the Champions’ erupted into the relative quiet. The boys had arrived.

  Much to everyone’s apparent shock, the first round was on George. He even poured himself a schooner and everyone raised their glasses in cheers, toasting the team’s surprising success.

  Danny and his winning goal were celebrated first, and he skulled a beer as the men sang the team song. Trevor was next, downing a schooner in one fluid movement.

  Nicole saw Trevor making eye contact with her from across the room and pointing her out. Mandy shook her head in warning, but the boys took no notice. Danny and another player swooped over and lifted a stunned Nicole onto their shoulders. They carried her to the bar, plonking her on top.

  ‘To our lucky mascot!’ Trevor shouted as he handed her a schooner.

  Terror gripped Nicole as the boys started singing the team song again. She’d never skulled a beer in her life, rarely drank the stuff. As the song got louder and she looked at the expectant and joyous faces beaming up at her, she knew she had no choice but follow tradition.

  The song reached its climax and she took a deep breath, downing the amber fluid dutifully, screwing up her face in disgusted triumph after the last gulp.

  Trevor helped her off the bar. With hearty pats on the back, she retreated to the safety of the booth, where Mandy was waiting with a kind expression on her face.

  ‘Are they always this rowdy when they win?’ Nicole asked, a little breathless.

  ‘It’s been so long I can hardly remember,’ Mandy laughed.

  Nicole waited until Mandy excused herself to go to the bathroom and then made a sneaky exit out the back entrance.

  She sucked in great gulps of evening air as she walked down the quiet street and up towards the path leading to her cottage. It wasn’t the beer itself that had upset her, though that would probably come back to haunt her later. It was the feeling of having no choice in the matter.

  The long, slender trunks of the gums that lined the road shone with a pale silver glow. The ocean beside her reflected the lunar light in blinking slivers. Three wisps of cloud cloaked the edge of the moon creating an eerie glow to the sleeping sky.

  As she passed the boatshed she noticed a light on in one of the portal windows. Nicole stopped in her path and gazed at it.

  She found herself wondering about the hermit life Charlie seemed to lead. What did he do with all that time alone? Did he read? Did he have a television in there? Did he piece together puzzles? Did he sit and stare at the wall for hours at a time, like she sometimes did?

  Was she going to remain alone like Charlie had been for the last fifty years? Maybe it was better that way. Maybe Charlie was perfectly happy. She could find a hobby. Take up knitting once the renovations were done, or crochet. She could get herself some cats. She didn’t particularly like cats, but that’s what lonely old women had, right?

  ‘Oi!’ A shout i
nterrupted her tumbling thoughts. ‘What do you think you’re looking at?’

  ‘Just admiring the view.’

  Charlie limped up the path from the cove towards her.

  ‘This time of night? Ain’t safe.’

  ‘No. I might run into an angry old hermit,’ she replied, feigning fear. ‘I want to clear my head. The beach seemed like a good spot for that.’

  Charlie grunted.

  ‘Seems you thought so too.’ Nicole raised her eyebrow.

  He grumbled as he opened the old wooden door to the boatshed.

  Nicole tried to peek inside, but Charlie only opened the door just enough to squeeze through and shut it very quickly.

  ‘’Night,’ she called as she continued down to the beach.

  Inside, Charlie had a good view from his northern window as Nicole paced up and down the sand quickly. What was she doing down there? Clearing her head, yeah right. He knew why people went down to beaches at night. But he didn’t want to relive old memories.

  Charlie was relieved when she finally passed his boatshed an hour later as she headed back up the path towards the cottage. He wondered what someone so young could have weighing so heavily on their shoulders. Though, as he thought about it, he probably wasn’t much older than her when his life fell to pieces.

  He only hoped she’d get the job done he’d brought her here to do.

  Nicole walked into the unlit cottage and slipped her shoes off. She switched on the lamp in the living room, settled into the couch and pulled out Ivy’s next letter.

  14th April, 1941

  My Dearest Tom,

  I have failed you.

  Please forgive me. I was not strong enough to hold on to our precious little boy. Yes, my love, he was a boy. But I lost him. Dr Johnson tried to save him, but could not. There was so much blood.