The Kookaburra Creek Café

by Sandie Docker

  ‘Sublime. I have some great ideas for this year’s dramatic society performance.’

  ‘I bet you do.’ Alice said. She studied her friend. The usual sparkle in Hattie’s eyes when she spoke of the theatre wasn’t there. She’d been in the city longer than usual this time too.

  ‘Did something happen this trip?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Hattie waved her hand in dismissal, but Alice didn’t believe her. She knew her friend well and something was definitely bothering Hattie. But she’d learned long ago not to push Harriett Brookes.

  ‘And how were things while I was gone?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘Um, great.’

  ‘Except?’

  ‘Except nothing.’

  Hattie gave her a look and Alice knew she wasn’t buying it.

  ‘I got broken into.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad. A young girl. She just took some food.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ Hattie asked.

  Alice shrugged.

  ‘You let her go?’

  ‘Sort of. I found her again. Well, came across her. I offered her dinner, but she took off.’

  ‘My dear girl. Have you learned nothing from me?’

  The café doorbell rang. First customer of the day.

  ‘Saved by the proverbial.’ Hattie waved her finger as Alice got up.

  ‘Morning, Betty, Claudine.’ Alice greeted the two ladies as they made their way to their usual table.

  Betty pulled out her chair with a loud scrape and sat her slight frame on the yellow wooden seat. Her grey hair had been freshly trimmed close to her scalp, as usual. Her half-moon glasses hung round her neck on a red chain that she adjusted as she waited for the third in their party to join them.

  ‘Morning, Clive.’ Alice nodded to the old man, always a few steps behind, as he took his seat with them.

  ‘Menus, please, Alice.’ Betty’s crisp voice cut across the chatter that always came with this group.

  ‘Is that really necessary, Betty?’ Hattie stepped up to the table with three menus in her hand. ‘Clive will have the bacon and eggs, Claudine will have the muesli, and you, of course, will have the raisin toast, butter on the side.’

  ‘Whether or not we order the same items is irrelevant, Hattie. There are certain protocols of civility one must maintain.’

  ‘How silly of me to forget.’ Hattie handed them their menus with exaggerated flair.

  ‘Welcome back, ma chère.’ Claudine took Hattie’s hand. ‘Never the same without you.’

  ‘How was the big smoke?’ Clive mumbled, running his fingers through his big white beard. He removed his tweed flat cap and revealed a mess of tangled white hair that fell chaotically around his round face.

  ‘It was fine.’

  ‘Are you all right, Harriett?’ Betty narrowed her eyes.

  ‘Of course.’ Hattie waved a bejewelled hand in dismissal.

  ‘Wretched place, that city.’ Clive grumbled.

  ‘I agree,’ said Betty. ‘Paris. Now that’s a city.’

  ‘Well, some of us don’t have the funds to go gallivanting around the world whenever the whim strikes us.’ Hattie shot her old friend a look. Though perhaps friend was a loose use of the term. Alice never could quite figure the two of them out.

  ‘I did suggest you come with me last year.’

  ‘Oh, that would have been a treat,’ Hattie snapped. She turned on her heel and strode into the kitchen.

  Hattie never snapped at Betty. Clive, yes. All the time. But never Betty.

  ‘Poor poppet is probably tired, oui, Alice?’ Claudine tucked her perfectly turned-under auburn bob behind her ears, her green eyes warm and smiling.

  ‘I think so.’ Alice looked at Claudine.

  The briefest hint of a frown crossed Betty’s face before her usual rigid expression returned. ‘I think we’re ready for our order, Alice.’

  The kookaburras laughed as the afternoon sun lowered in the sky. All the customers had left and Alice and Hattie began cleaning up. Alice had watched Hattie closely all day and, while there were no further signs of anything worrying her old friend, Alice wasn’t convinced she was just tired.

  The café bell rang and Alice turned around. Becca stood in the entrance, holding Alice’s white pasta bowl in her hands.

  ‘Thought you might want this back.’ She held out the bowl.

  ‘Thank you.’ Alice’s heart was racing, but she knew she’d have to stay calm. A wrong word and the girl would run.

  ‘Would you like to stay for supper?’ Alice asked.

  Becca shrugged and glanced at Hattie.

  ‘Oh. This is Hattie. My business partner. I’m Alice by the way.’

  ‘I should go,’ Becca said quickly.

  ‘No. No, please.’

  Becca stepped back, then forward. Then back again.

  ‘Do you have anywhere to go?’ Hattie’s voice was soft and sweet.

  Becca shrugged.

  ‘Well . . .’ Alice looked to Hattie. The old woman nodded. It was all the encouragement Alice needed. ‘Well, we’ve had a busy day and we could use a spare pair of hands cleaning up. Hattie’s not as young as she used to be.’ Alice grinned. Becca stared, blank-faced.

  Alice thought quickly. ‘There’s dinner in it for you, as payment.’

  Becca scratched her forearm and shrugged.

  Without a word, Alice handed her a mop and Becca started swooshing it across the floor.

  The three women sat on the deck of the café and ate the stir-fry Alice had whipped up. Alice had no idea what to say and Hattie was surprisingly quiet.

  ‘I need to go.’ Becca stood up before she’d even swallowed her last mouthful.

  ‘You can stay here,’ Alice blurted out, faster than she’d intended. Becca stepped back.

  ‘If you wish,’ Hattie added.

  ‘No. Thanks. I got somewhere.’

  ‘Well, maybe you can come back tomorrow. Lend me a hand. I can pay you. Might help with a bus fare or something.’

  ‘I can’t cook.’

  ‘There’s more to a café than cooking.’ Hattie smiled encouragingly and Becca’s expression softened.

  ‘Think about it,’ said Alice, trying not to sound desperate.

  Becca nodded, then stepped off the deck and into the night.

  Hattie put her arm round Alice’s shoulders.

  ‘Do you think she’ll come back?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Don’t know. She’s scared. I do know that.’ Hattie sighed. Hattie never sighed.

  ‘Are you okay? Really?’

  Hattie wrapped the black scarf around her neck with a flourish. ‘Of course. An old war horse like me is always okay.’

  Alice looked closely at her and noticed, for the first time, the downward creases in the old woman’s forehead. Sensing Alice’s scrutiny, Hattie drew on her acting prowess and her face became a picture of serenity. ‘Well, I must get an early night. I’ve got that wretched drama workshop at the high school tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll sabotage this year’s community theatre so they’ll stop asking me to try to teach those ungrateful teenagers. No appreciation for the artistry and beauty of the theatre, that lot.’

  Alice laughed. Hattie would never sabotage the Kookaburra Creek Amateur Dramatic Society’s productions – they were her pride and joy.

  ‘Goodnight, petal.’

  Alice watched her steady herself at the top of the steps. As Hattie descended the three wooden treads at the end of the deck that surrounded the café, her shoulders dropped. Was the one person in the world Alice knew she could count on keeping something from her?

  Secrets were poison. Alice knew that better than most. What could be happening in Hattie’s life that she couldn’t share with her?

  Kookaburra Creek, 2018

  attie sank into her dressing-table chair. The small lights surrounding the mirror no longer turned on, but she still imagined their luminous glow lighting up her face. She unclipped the black hairpiece and brushed her grey stran
ds. Fifty strokes each side, fifty at the back. From the rack of tiny hairpieces she chose tomorrow’s colour, red, and lay it across the dresser.

  She took the letter out of the envelope and looked at it again. The vile words remained the same, no matter how many times she read them. The lawyers at Smythe and Smythe, acting on behalf of the estate of Buckley Hargraves, regretfully informing her that the title deed to number one Mini Creek Lane was still, in fact, in the Hargraves’ name and, as no legal change in ownership was ever recorded, the property belonged to the Hargraves’ estate.

  It was real. The letter actually did say that the Hargraves family were claiming ownership of the café.

  How could he do this to her? After all this time, even in death, Buckley Hargraves had a hold over her.

  November, 1966

  The lights in the theatre went dark. The silence was broken by deafening applause, shouts of bravo, and even the odd wolf-whistle.

  Harriett was shaking as the cast lined up behind the curtain to take their bow. Buckley Hargraves took her hand and she had to remind herself that this was real. She really was standing there next to England’s leading man of theatre and he really had requested her to play opposite him. The curtain raised and the cheers went up again. The entire audience were on their feet, everyone smiling and clapping.

  Everyone except the lone figure standing stage left in the shadows, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  Harriett focused on the adoration surging towards her from the people that mattered, and she and Buckley stepped forward for one last bow before the curtain fell.

  ‘I told you,’ he said, embracing her and twirling her around. ‘There’s nothing as invigorating as a live audience.’

  Harriett giggled. ‘It really was fun.’

  ‘You’ll never return to film after this.’ Buckley touched her nose with his finger and she felt her cheeks warm.

  ‘Well done. Bravo. Brava.’ The director swanned across the stage. ‘We’re the talk of the town. A coup, Buckley. You have orchestrated a theatrical coup.’ He slapped Buckley across the back and then manoeuvred his star offstage.

  The shadowy figure waiting in the wings stepped out from behind the curtain and hugged Buckley, holding on long enough to be sure Harriett had seen them.

  ‘You were brilliant, darling. Brilliant.’ Delilah planted a kiss on his cheek and shot Harriett a look.

  Harriett could see the tension in Buckley’s shoulders as he pushed Delilah back gently.

  The look in Delilah’s eyes was unmistakable as she glared at Harriett, but Harriett simply smiled in return. Who had Buckley insisted be his leading lady? Who had brought the audience to tears in act two? Who had received the most beautiful bunch of roses with a card signed ‘your biggest fan, B’? Who had stolen a kiss under the moonlight on the last night of rehearsals? Not bloomin’ diva Delilah, that was for sure.

  Harriett didn’t blame her, though. For wanting Buckley. Everyone wanted Buckley. And a starlet like Delilah, just starting out, was going to want him even more.

  ‘Oh, Hattie.’ Genevieve ran into her arms. ‘You were fabulous. Just fabulous. You should hear what they’re saying out there. And it’s not just the crowd. The critics, too!’

  ‘Let’s celebrate.’ Harriett linked her arm with Genevieve’s.

  Delilah appeared, cornering them in the hall. ‘Before you go, Harriett,’ she hissed, pulling Harriett away from Genevieve. ‘Run along, pipsqueak. We have grown-up things to discuss.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Harriett said to Genevieve. Whatever Delilah had to say probably wasn’t suitable for her baby sister. ‘I’ll catch up with you shortly.’

  Genevieve walked down the corridor looking back over her shoulder until she turned the corner.

  Delilah lowered her voice so no one could overhear. ‘You may have bamboozled Buckley with your whorish ways, but I’ve news for you. You’re not all that special.’ She poked Harriett in the shoulder. ‘You should go back to celluloid where you belong. If Buckley hadn’t insisted —’

  ‘But he did. And now you’re stuck with me.’ In her twenty-four years Harriett had never backed down from a bully and she wasn’t about to start now.

  ‘If you know what’s good for you,’ Delilah leaned in and Harriett could feel her cold breath on her neck, ‘you’ll step aside. The role should be mine. It will be mine.’

  ‘Or what, Delilah? You need to learn you don’t always get what you want.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Harriett. Very wrong.’ She grabbed Harriett’s arm and squeezed it tightly. ‘I always get what I want.’

  Harriett reefed her arm free. ‘Not this time.’ She spun on her heel and strode down the hall to find Genevieve.

  After the party Buckley walked Harriett and Genevieve the short stroll to their apartment. Under the lamppost outside her building, Harriett looked up into Buckley’s blue eyes. She knew Genevieve was watching from the window, but it didn’t stop her wanting to kiss the man in front of her.

  ‘Don’t worry about Delilah.’ Buckley’s fingers played with the back of Harriett’s neck, sending shivers down her spine. ‘She’s just a little wannabe who thinks she’s better than she is.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m worried about Diva Delilah?’

  ‘I saw you in the hall. I saw the look on her face,’ said Buckley grinning.

  ‘Well, she seems to think you two are destined to walk down the aisle together.’

  ‘I make my own destiny.’ He reached his arm behind Harriett’s back and pulled her in tight.

  The warmth of Buckley’s body was so close to her, all she could think of, all she could feel, was him.

  She knew it was wrong, bringing him inside the apartment with Genevieve in the next room, but her heart disobeyed her head with such determination that she had no choice.

  She’d been alone for so long that for someone else to love her was a drug she couldn’t resist. And she knew he loved her. Without a doubt.

  February, 1967

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Harriett looked down at her finger. The gold engagement ring, set with a large emerald-cut diamond, was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She had no idea love could be so encompassing. Any second without Buckley was torture.

  ‘So it’s a yes?’ He kissed her hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she squealed.

  Genevieve burst into the room and threw herself at the two of them, tears streaming down her face. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘I thought you’d gone to bed, squirt,’ said Buckley, roughing up her fringe.

  ‘And miss this? Not a chance.’

  Harriett and Buckley laughed.

  ‘I have another surprise.’ Buckley got up from bended knee.

  ‘I’m not sure I can take it.’

  ‘Can you take this?’ He handed her a set of keys.

  She turned them over in her hands.

  ‘They belong to this.’ He gave her a photo of a cute little two-storey house surrounded by gum trees, a creek running alongside it.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘A pre-wedding gift. I thought we could make it a summer house. Go there on holidays.’

  ‘A summer house? For us?’

  ‘For you. I bought it for you.’

  They hugged and Buckley spun Harriett around.

  ‘This is just the beginning. I’m going to give you the world.’

  Genevieve clapped her hands. ‘We’re going to be a family. A real, proper family.’ She twirled around the room.

  Harriett filled with happiness. She turned her gaze to Buckley. A thin beaded line of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

  Later that night they lounged on the couch, Harriett’s legs draped across Buckley’s. Genevieve was finally asleep and Buckley lit up a spliff.

  ‘She isn’t really going to live with us when we’re married, is she Harry?’

  ‘She hasn’t got anywhere else to go.’ Harriett frowned. ‘But it won’t be for long. A couple of years and then
she can find her own place.’

  Buckley frowned.

  She took a drag of his joint and straddled his lap. ‘It won’t cramp our style,’ she said, and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers through the thick brown hairs on his chest.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ She lowered herself and kissed his belly button.

  2018

  Hattie pushed her old memories aside. From the secret compartment at the back of her jewellery box, she pulled out the old ring. She hadn’t taken it out in decades, though she never stopped thinking about it. She put it on and felt the weight of its history heavy on her hand. She turned and reached out for the trunk at the end of her bed, but stopped herself. She couldn’t bear to look inside. Every mention of his name, every pixelated photo for the last fifty years, cut out of newspapers and magazines, was stashed within the shoebox inside. Hattie looked back into the mirror.

  Staring back at her in shadowed reflection was a twenty-something starlet, bright-eyed, the world at her feet. Where had she gone? Tears streamed down her face, make-up pooling in the deep crevasses of her wrinkles. She tore the ring off. Damn Buckley Hargraves. How did she end up here, like this? So old, so desperate, about to ruin another life with her secrets and lies.

  She would have to find the right time to tell Alice. Oh, poor Alice. There was no right time to destroy someone’s life. There was no perfect moment to tell her she didn’t actually own the Kookaburra Creek Café and the legal owners wanted it back.

  Kookaburra Creek, 2018

  un streamed through the café windows as Alice pulled down her painted chairs and the brass bell clanged.

  ‘Becca. I’m glad you came.’

  Becca shrugged. ‘I need bus money.’

  Alice handed her a blue apron. She pulled out the smallest knife in the drawer, and showed Becca how to chop the carrots and cucumbers for the salad. Then she showed her how to grate the capsicum and zucchini ready to be mixed into the chicken mince for the patties that would be turned into burgers. Alice changed her burgers every day: beef, chicken, fish, vegetarian. And she always changed the flavours and spices, too. Today’s flavour would be Moroccan.