The Cottage at Rosella Cove

by Sandie Docker

  ‘True.’

  ‘Put this on,’ Mandy said, and handed her an apron.

  ‘Nigella doesn’t wear one.’

  ‘Well, when you become a domestic goddess, you can wear whatever you like. Cook in a bikini for all I care. Until then, trust me.’

  She thrust the apron into Nicole’s hands. She also handed her a small box neatly wrapped and tied with a white ribbon. ‘I thought you could use these.’

  Nicole opened the gift. Inside was a set of measuring cups. She let out a laugh. ‘Thanks.’

  Turned out Mandy was right about the apron. Nicole was covered in flour and coconut by the time the trays made it into the oven. Together they cleaned up the mess she’d made on the bench and washed up the dishes.

  ‘How’d you get to be such a good cook?’ Nicole asked as they put the kettle on, anticipating the warm biscuits that would come out shortly.

  ‘Mum taught me. She was tops.’

  ‘My mum tried to teach me, but I wasn’t interested. I always had my head in a book.’

  ‘It’s never too late to learn.’

  ‘From her it is.’

  Mandy stopped pouring the hot water into the teacups.

  ‘My mum died three and a half years ago,’ Nicole explained.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Mandy laid a gentle hand on Nicole’s arm.

  ‘Thanks. Dad was already gone, a year before that. It took a long while to adjust to the fact they weren’t there anymore. Especially Mum. I’m still not sure I have.’ She shrugged.

  Mandy nodded. ‘My dad died when I was twenty. I still miss him every day. It’s kind of like, I don’t know …’

  ‘Like the whole world shifted slightly left, but you stayed put.’

  Mandy squeezed her hand. In silence they drank their tea and waited.

  The timer dinged.

  ‘Are we ready?’ Nicole asked, pleased the shrill chime had interrupted them. She pulled out the baking tray. ‘They look okay,’ she said.

  ‘They look great.’

  ‘Today the humble cookie, tomorrow soufflés and crème brûlée.’ Nicole flicked her tea towel in a flourish and both women burst out laughing.

  ‘So, Nicole,’ Mandy said, when they both calmed down. ‘I was wondering if you might like to come to trivia next Thursday night.’

  Nicole winced at the thought, but tried to cover it up with a nonchalant expression. Going to the football was one thing, but trivia was much more intimate. She’d have to have conversations with strangers. She wasn’t ready for that.

  ‘Look, no pressure. But we are a fun team. It’s me and Cheryl – you remember her from the hardware store, Jacqui from the post office and Danny.’

  It was a very small group, but at least they weren’t total strangers. Maybe she could handle this.

  ‘We used to have one more, but the Telford girl’s gone off to uni, so you’d be making up numbers and really helping us out. Only if you want to, of course. Like I said, we do have a lot of fun.’ She stopped, a pleading, hopeful look in her eyes. Nicole felt her resolve waning.

  ‘What do you say?’

  After Mandy left, Nicole sanded the hallway and then cleaned up the dust. So much dust! If she ever renovated another house, this would be one job she’d want to pay someone to do. She didn’t have the money for that now though. The stipend was thin and she had to do as much as she could herself.

  She took a long hot shower, washing dust out of her hair and curled up on the sofa for her nightly dose of Ivy.

  12th December, 1941

  My Dearest Tom,

  Today I spent the afternoon with Lucy. She made tea, even though I insisted there was no need, and she fussed about terribly.

  I took some lamington cakes with me. Though, as I suspected, she did not touch them. Why is it we think food and tea will make everything all right again? What could possibly make this situation all right again?

  Lucy wore that vacantly brave expression we all wear when we have to keep on going even though we feel dead inside. I know that expression very well.

  You have been missing now for so long, my love, it is hard to maintain hope. There was a story in the papers a few weeks ago of a soldier being found in a tiny village in France, two years after he was separated from his platoon. He had no memory of who he was and it was only chance that another division was passing by and stopped to take water that they found him.

  Whether it is a tale of truth, I do not know. But chance and hope are all that I have to hang on to.

  Just before I took my leave of Lucy and our uneasy silence, I reached out and took her hand in mine. She must have seen something familiar in me, a mirror of her own feelings perhaps, because her bottom lip began to tremble. I cradled her cheek in my other hand and her tears burst forth.

  We held each other tightly and sobbed into each other’s shoulders. I do not know for how long. I do know that when we both regained our composure our silence was no longer awkward, but comforting. It is strange how close you can feel to someone without exchanging words. I believe now, in each other’s company, neither of us need put on the brave face we do with others to protect those around us from our grief.

  She walked me to her porch and squeezed my hands as I left. Despite the heavy emotion of the afternoon, I felt somehow lighter as I walked down her path and out her gate. Even encountering Joan Wetherby did little to dim the only ray of brightness I have had recently. Naturally she was incapable of anything more than forced civility. I have never understood why that woman has always been so ill-tempered towards me. Towards everyone. The only kindness she has ever shown me is the time she left me flowers just after you went missing.

  I must say goodnight, my sweet; ensure I have enough sleep to enable me to face another dark day without you. Wherever you are, I hope you can feel my unyielding love.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  Ten

  The following Thursday Nicole found herself stepping through The Royal’s doors, wondering how she had let Mandy talk her into it.

  Her pulse quickened and her chest tightened. Nope. She couldn’t do it. She stopped and turned back round, hoping to get out of there before anyone saw her. The doors opened, as if by magic, offering her her freedom.

  In walked Danny Temple.

  ‘Thank God I’m not the only one who’s late.’ He smiled at Nicole, who stood frozen in terror.

  ‘Ready?’ Danny gently put his arm around her shoulder just long enough to steer her to the tables.

  Everyone else in the group had already arrived and paired up into teams.

  ‘I’m going to the bar,’ Danny said to Nicole. ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘A lemon squash, please.’

  He winked and turned away.

  ‘So glad you could make it.’ Mandy grinned broadly. ‘You know everyone.’

  Cheryl and Jacqui smiled at her.

  ‘How are you travelling, Jacqui?’ Nicole said. The poor woman looked so tired.

  ‘Ready to offload this,’ she replied, rubbing her bulging tummy. ‘But,’ a smile spread across her face, ‘not long now. And with any luck, the boys will have paved the way, so to speak, and she’ll slip right out.’

  ‘So to speak.’ Nicole grimaced.

  Mandy smiled. ‘Keep your legs crossed there, Jacqui.’

  George brought over a bowl of wedges with sour cream and chilli sauce – a trivia night staple apparently. ‘Jason will be starting the questions in one minute,’ he said.

  Jacqui grabbed Nicole’s arm. ‘We might just be starting something else. Now.’

  Everyone looked at Jacqui, not quite comprehending what she’d said.

  ‘She’s coming.’ She tapped her tummy.

  Everyone stood up, chattering at once, trying to figure out what to do.

  Jason, Jacqui’s husband, who was about to jump on the microphone with his first question, saw what was happening and raced over.

  ‘Here we go!’ he called out as everyone cheered, grinning
broadly as he escorted his wife out of the pub.

  ‘Phone us,’ called Mandy after them. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘A round on the house,’ announced George. ‘And all bets are closed.’

  A cheer went up from the patrons and the trivia crew took their seats.

  ‘Welcome to trivia night,’ Cheryl said. ‘Where anything can happen.’

  No Trivia Master meant no trivia, but no one in the pub seemed concerned. They all hung about waiting on news from the hospital and George kept the drinks flowing. Less than half an hour later, Mandy’s mobile rang. Danny helped her stand on the table so all the pub could hear her.

  ‘A girl …’

  ‘We knew that,’ came a voice somewhere from behind.

  ‘Three point two kilos. Both well …’

  ‘And?’ shouted several people from around the room.

  ‘Drum roll, please,’ she requested, and Danny, Trevor and Cheryl tapped the table.

  ‘Amy Jewel! The prize goes to … me.’ She took a deep bow as the winner of the wager.

  There were cheers and groans and lots of clapping, and George produced the prize bottle of bubbles.

  ‘Add a couple more bottles,’ said Mandy, handing George some money. ‘A glass for everyone.’

  Only cheers were heard that time.

  ‘That’s the name she used to call her dolls when we were little,’ Mandy whispered in Nicole’s ear as she sat back down. Nicole laughed.

  At the end of the night Nicole strolled back to the cottage alone. It was a beautiful evening, though cooler outside than she was expecting. The sky was oily black and the stars blinked brightly, sending secret coded messages to each other across the universe. Nicole breathed in the fresh, crisp air as a gentle breeze tugged at the loose tendrils of hair around her face. It still surprised her how different the air tasted here, so clean and light.

  A rustle in the shadows of the streetlights made her jump.

  ‘Sorry.’ It was Danny. He was sitting in the gutter. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  Nicole relaxed. ‘Too much to drink?’

  ‘Not enough,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Isn’t tonight supposed to be about celebrating?’

  ‘For some.’ Danny stood up.

  He didn’t wobble or stumble, so Nicole figured that he wasn’t drunk.

  ‘You’re right.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re right. Celebrate!’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Just being a miserable sod. Sorry.’

  He strode off into the dark and Nicole continued on her way home, the happy glow of the night now a little dulled.

  She’d never seen Danny look so miserable. And there was nothing about the night that she could tell that could have upset anyone. But then, as she knew well, no one really knew what went on behind people’s perfect facades.

  August, Last Year

  Large bunches of colourful blossoms adorned the kitchen bench and the dining table. It was Mark’s birthday, yet he was buying Nicky flowers. They were guilt flowers, she knew, for all the late nights he’d been putting in at the office. Still, they were beautiful.

  Thankfully their weekend away was tomorrow. Just in time. They needed a chance to reconnect.

  She bent over the instructions that supposedly told her how to put together her new desk. Another guilt present. She’d been wanting a new desk for ages, asking Mark for the money, but he’d always resisted. Now here it was. If only she could make head or tail of the confusing pictures that made up the instructions.

  After two hours wrangling wood pieces and allen keys and plastic plugs, Nicky won the battle of the desk and stood back to admire her handiwork. For someone who’d never put anything together in her life, she was pretty impressed with herself. The left leg was a little wonky, and she had screws and an oddly shaped piece of wood left over, but she was more than willing to ignore that fact.

  Mark’s key turned in the door. He’d come home early so they could get up to the mountains before dark.

  ‘Hey.’ He hugged her, and handed her a small pink box wrapped in a silver ribbon.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Just a little something for my love.’

  Inside the box was a delicate diamond bracelet. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Nicky smiled as Mark secured it to her wrist. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is this it?’ Mark indicated the desk.

  ‘Yep. Proud of me?’

  Mark nodded. ‘Is that the same desk you showed me you were going to get?’

  Nicky had thought if she saved a little on the desk, then she could afford some special lingerie for the weekend.

  Mark frowned. ‘I think I like the other one better, but it’s your desk, I suppose.’

  ‘I can take it back,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘As I said, it’s your desk. Let’s get on the road before it gets too late.’

  They drove in silence and by the time they got to the winding mountain road an hour later the sun had begun to set.

  ‘Can’t be far now,’ Nicole said, trying to break the quiet.

  Mark reached over and took her hand. ‘Twenty minutes.’

  They turned off the road and drove down a long tree-lined driveway. In the clearing ahead was a stone and wood lodge nestled among tall mountain blue gums.

  The hotel was even better than the pictures and as soon as they entered their room Nicky could feel the tension release from her body. Standing in front of the large windows, she looked out across the valley covered in eucalypts. The last rays of sunlight bathed the valley in a soft pink glow, and the only noise was the birds in the trees starting their evening song.

  From behind her Mark wrapped his arms around her waist, propping his chin on her shoulder. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you for organising this.’ He kissed her neck. ‘Let’s get changed and head to dinner.’

  Nicky slipped into her new black dress, especially bought for the occasion, and smoothed the fabric over her waist.

  She twirled around in front of Mark.

  ‘Stunning.’ He smiled and extended his hand, and together they headed down to the restaurant.

  The small dining room was lit by candles and fairy lights, and the tables were covered in white tablecloths with thick gold linen napkins folded into lotus flowers. The menu highlighted local ingredients, and everything sounded delicious.

  Mark was telling Nicky about his latest case, as much as he was able to given the binds of confidentiality, and Nicky gave him an update on her manuscript. It was going painfully slowly, but she was starting to feel the story taking shape.

  ‘That’s good. When do you think it might be finished?’

  Nicky shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe the first draft by the wedding.’

  ‘It will be great for you to get another book published. It’ll do your self-esteem some good. Can’t be easy coming up blank like you have been. You wouldn’t want to be a one-book wonder.’

  Nicky tilted her head. She wanted to get angry at him. Except he was right. It really hadn’t been easy. She’d been struggling to get a handle on her next book for months now.

  ‘You know I believe in you, princess. But if you don’t believe in yourself, my faith won’t mean anything.’

  The waiter brought dessert – a decadent concoction of meringue and mousse and chocolate and raspberries that looked like a piece of art too good to eat. But Nicky did eat it and it was delicious. She ate half of Mark’s, too.

  They headed back to their room and Nicky ducked into the bathroom to change into the black lace lingerie set she’d bought. She felt a dull ache to the left of her stomach. Perhaps she shouldn’t have stolen half of Mark’s dessert.

  She checked herself in the mirror, making sure she’d squeezed into the tiny pieces of lingerie completely.

  Oh, God. A sharp pain made her double over, clutching her belly. She tried to stand, but wasn’t able. The pain got worse.

  ‘Mark!’ she screeched.

  He came rush
ing into the bathroom. She reached out her hand and everything went dark.

  Eleven

  25th January, 1942

  My Dearest Tom,

  What a joyful day it is, my love. Father has taken the post at the University of Sydney and I’m relieved that Mother has gone with him. It took quite the effort and some considerable acting skills I must say, to convince her I was ‘well enough’, as she put it, to be left alone. Well enough? As though I am suffering some kind of medical affliction!

  You should have seen the performance I gave. I believe Ms Garbo herself would have been impressed. Naturally, I eased into the role of normality. Too big a turnaround too quickly would only have resulted in suspicion. I joined Mother on a few home visits first, accompanied her into town, and helped her in the garden. One step at a time.

  It was my return to church at Christmas that ultimately swayed her. The depth to which I had to push my sorrow was almost too great as I sat in our pew without you. Father Anthony seemed genuinely happy to have me return to his flock at last, and I could not tell him that I doubted my return would be permanent. I am yet to resolve my anger with a God that deemed his need for our little one was greater than ours and he refuses yet to answer my prayers for your safe return. Nor can I bear to hear ‘Amazing Grace’ without conjuring thoughts of you holding my hand the way you always did when we sang it together. I am far from found, my darling.

  However, I must endure this cruel pain. I overheard Mother asking, no, ordering, Father Anthony to keep her informed of my health. I wonder for how long I shall have to maintain my religious pretence.

  I even attended the CWA’s annual Christmas Fair. It was a more subdued version of the usual scene of wild children running from pony to slide and back again, and overly sweet jams in gingham-topped jars. But the battle of the sponges was centre stage again and caused this year’s scandal. Joan Wetherby was mortified to lose her title to young Mrs Li – you can imagine the outrage that burned across her pale, pointed face. I do fear for Father Anthony’s safety now, as he was the judge in question. Always was a man of impeccable taste, I say. The wood chop was a rather sobering affair with so few young men competing. Another reminder of the war.