Becca turned her head quickly, stood up and moved to the kitchen, but Alice caught a glimpse of the smile spreading across her face.
‘Did your mum teach you how to cook?’ Alice called out.
Becca didn’t answer. Soon the loud bubble and steam of the ancient kettle prevented further discussion.
Alice pulled the blanket over her legs and let Becca make the tea. The nights still carried the leftover chill of winter, and she loved nothing better than to relax at the end of the day with a hot cuppa.
‘I still don’t get that you don’t have a TV.’ Becca returned, handing Alice a camomile brew, and sat on the rug in the middle of Alice’s living room with her mug of Milo.
‘I’ve never had one.’ Alice shrugged.
‘Never ever?’ Becca pulled the woollen bed socks Alice had given her over her ankles.
‘Nope.’ Alice shook her head.
‘Did you grow up on a hippy commune or something?’
Alice laughed. She was getting used to Becca’s direct questioning. ‘No. We just didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up and I’ve never really felt I was missing much, so I just haven’t bothered.’
‘What about the news?’
‘That’s what newspapers are for. Or Betty and her grapevine.’
‘You’ve never seen Home and Away?’ Becca continued. She looked at Alice in disbelief as she shook her head. She cast her eyes down and played with a loose thread on the rug beneath her. ‘I miss TV.’ She sighed. ‘Silly, huh? Of all the things to miss.’
A wave of nostalgia hit Alice. ‘I find we miss the strangest, smallest things when we’re away from home. I miss my garden gnomes.’
Becca snorted milk out her nose. ‘Gnomes?’
‘Yes, gnomes.’ Alice frowned.
‘Sorry,’ Becca said quickly. ‘It’s just . . . gnomes?’
‘It’s fine. As I said, smallest, strangest things.’
The two drank from their cups in silence.
Becca grabbed the Uno cards sitting on the coffee table and began to shuffle. ‘I reckon I’ve got the strategy now,’ she said as she dealt.
‘Ah, but I play mean.’ Alice’s mouth turned up slightly. It seemed Becca wasn’t just a quick learner with cooking.
‘Yeah, sweet old lady mean. I’m street mean.’
‘Who are you calling old?’
Alice played her first card, a pick-up four.
The next morning, Becca helped Alice load the two containers of cupcakes they’d carried into town into the back of Joey’s van. ‘Tell me why we’re doing this again?’
‘Because it’s nice to do things for others.’
Becca grunted.
‘Ready to go, girls?’ Joey pushed his tray of rolls and pastries into the van. Becca groaned as she slumped into the back seat next to Shadow. The dog licked Becca’s hand until she relented and patted him. Alice took her usual place next to Joey up front and kept her eyes forward.
Kookaburra Cottage was situated halfway along the winding road to Glensdale, an old sandstone house that housed the area’s aged and frail. Alice had first gone there when Hattie took her to meet Genevieve. She wasn’t quite sure what you were supposed to bring the first time you met the terminally infirm sister of the woman who’d changed your life, so she’d brought a box of cupcakes with her as a present.
Genevieve had been unable to eat them, but the other residents had snapped them up and told her, in no uncertain terms, she must return with more.
Then, when Joey had invited her to go with him on his monthly goodwill visit, she knew she had to go back to Kookaburra Cottage. Every month for the last fourteen years the two of them had sat with the residents. Every month except that one summer eight years ago.
The little yellow cottage was ten minutes out of town. It was bordered by hydrangea bushes, and baskets dripping with peonies and violets hung from the verandah roof. A five-metre-deep surround of perfectly cut grass led to gumtrees and bush that somehow seemed out of place around the cottage, despite it being the natural landscape for hundreds of kilometres in every direction.
Joey pulled up in the gravel car park and started to unload the van. Shadow ran round to the courtyard on the other side of the cottage, where there was always a resident or two waiting for him with treats.
‘Do I have to come in?’ Becca began to fidget. She’d got used to the customers in the café, but still wasn’t good around new people.
‘We could do with a hand. At least while we set up,’ Alice said.
‘Okay.’ Becca reluctantly picked up a container of vanilla cupcakes and followed them inside.
Once they had unloaded, Alice went to sit with old Mrs Blackwood by the window overlooking the back garden. She’d sneaked in Mrs Blackwood’s favourite, chocolate cupcake laced with Frangelico, and Mrs Blackwood thanked her with stories from her childhood. The carers didn’t condone ‘alcoholic’ cupcakes, but Mrs Blackwood certainly did. In the far corner Alice could see Hattie sitting with her sister, which wouldn’t have been strange if it were any other day. But it was Sunday. And Hattie never visited on Sundays.
Genevieve stared straight ahead, no recognition, no light in her eyes. To be absent in your own life . . . Alice could think of few things worse. Hattie’s lips, close to Genevieve’s ears, were moving quickly and she was concentrating so intensely on whatever it was she was telling her she hadn’t even noticed Alice and Joey arrive. The scarf wrapped loosely around Genevieve’s head slipped as Hattie talked. Alice sighed. The passing years had done little to fade the scars that disfigured the sweet old lady’s face. Hattie quickly rearranged the green chiffon so only the right side, the unmarked side, of Genevieve’s face could be seen.
Many times Alice had listened to the stories of the inseparable sisters who’d arrived in Kookaburra Creek suddenly one day and turned a rundown house into a café. She’d never got to know Genevieve, not properly, not before the dementia had taken hold. But she’d seen glimpses of the girl that might have been, back in her first days here. In those rare lucid moments Genevieve always talked about Hattie.
Joey looked over from his chess game with Mr Curran and winked at Alice, who had kept the secret cupcake hidden in her bag so none of the carers saw. She smiled back and looked around for Becca. The girl was sitting on the other side of the room, wide-eyed, having been cornered by old Miss Hayes who was happily regaling her with tales of nursing in World War Two, no doubt. Once ninety-four-year-old Miss Hayes had an audience, she didn’t let them go. Becca would be stuck there till they left.
The late afternoon sun cast dappled light through the leaves of the tall gum trees outside Kookaburra Cottage as Alice and Joey packed the empty containers into Joey’s van.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Alice asked Becca.
Becca shrugged and jumped into the back seat. Alice fought back her frustration. It was going to take longer than she thought to break down her defences. She’d hoped the visit to Kookaburra Cottage, a change in scenery, might do the girl some good. Apparently not.
‘Ready to go?’ Joey approached her.
‘Who won this time?’
‘Curran, of course.’
Alice grinned. Joey always let the old man win. She turned to get in the van and saw Hattie at the other end of the car park slink into her late-fifties Jag. ‘Just a second, Joey.’ She strode towards her old friend.
‘Hattie. Is everything okay? Wind down the window.’ She tapped on the glass.
‘Good God, child. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’
Alice could see the stain of tears on Hattie’s cheeks. ‘Is Genevieve all right?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?’ Hattie flicked her orange scarf over her left shoulder.
‘You don’t normally come on a Sunday.’
‘So now I’m not allowed to visit my own sister whenever I like?’
‘No. It’s just that, well, the conversation you were having, it looked serious.’
‘
And you’re an expert in conversations you didn’t even hear?’
‘No. I just . . .’
‘Don’t go looking for drama that isn’t there, Alice.’ Hattie drove off, leaving Alice standing in the gravel unsure of what just happened.
Becca remained silent as Joey drove them back to the café and Alice wasn’t in the mood to prise a conversation out of her. Her own encounter with Hattie had unsettled her and she was happy to let the girl be. As evening fell, it was Becca who broke the silence.
‘I’m off to bed,’ she said as Alice put the dishes away.
‘Becca?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there anything . . . is everything okay?’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged.
‘You can tell me, you know, tell me the truth.’ Alice put down her tea towel.
‘I know. Good night.’
Alice sighed as Becca left the room.
Whatever she’d been thinking when she invited Becca to stay, she hadn’t thought it would be this hard. All she wanted was to make friends with the girl. All she wanted was to give her a second chance at a life that she couldn’t give . . .
The thought stuck in her mind and Alice couldn’t finish it. Wouldn’t finish it. All she wanted. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.
All she wanted, she couldn’t have.
All those old people in one place.
I hope Alice doesn’t ask me to go again next time. The whole time I was there all I could think of was Granny D. And how she died. And how when she died that was when it all went wrong. I can’t stand being around sick old people. Alice seemed to love it though. But then, she’s not exactly normal.
For one thing, she’s trying to help me. And that’s not normal.
I mean, I broke into her stupid little café and ate her stupid bread and then she gave me a job. Who does that? Crazy people. That’s who.
Maybe one of her secret burger ingredients is ground-up teenager and I’ll be on next week’s menu. The Becca Burger. She’s just waiting for me to drop my guard.
I’ll be ready for her, though, if she tries anything. She doesn’t notice, but I watch her out of the corner of my eye. You get real good, real sneaky, at keeping your eye on people when you don’t know where the next hit is coming from. And I’m fast. Faster than her, for sure.
She’s got to be thirty at least. More. She’s got wrinkles, around her brown eyes, but I reckon she was probably pretty cute when she was younger. Younger and thinner, probably. Not that she’s fat. Comfortable. I’ve heard blokes use that word before to describe women. It’s a horrible word. But I guess it kind of fits. She does run around this place all day, though, and then wants to chat all night. But that’s not the same as being quick because you have to be. To survive. I’m fast.
And the singing. What’s the go with that? Who sings to their food? Plants, maybe. But food? Crazy people. That’s who.
Thing is, she doesn’t seem crazy. Not proper crazy. I mean she has conversations with a photo on the wall. She doesn’t think I know about that. Tries to hide it. But I see her. Every morning she talks to that old picture. And she likes garden gnomes. I guess that doesn’t make her crazy, though. Weird, yes; but not crazy.
But the thing is, I’ve been wrong about people before.
‘I’ll change.’ I believed him.
‘It won’t happen again.’ I believed him.
Everyone lies. People just can’t help it.
I won’t stay in this shithole long. Just long enough to save up some money. And then I’ll take off. Head north. It’s not as if anyone here will be sorry to see me go. They give me funny looks, the women who come into the café. And I know what the men are thinking. Dirty old buggers are all the same. I hate serving them. Joey’s always watching me. Alice thinks he’s okay. More than okay, if she’s being honest. Which she isn’t. See, lies.
Not that any of it matters. Once I’ve got enough cash, I’ll shoot through.
I’ve stuffed up a couple of times in the café, but Alice didn’t get mad. She didn’t hit me. She didn’t even yell at me. And the fact that I haven’t been turned into a burger, yet, is a good sign. I suppose. As long as I don’t make her angry. Olds get angry really easily. I don’t say much. I know when to shut up.
I dreamed about him last night. He just stood there. In the doorway. Hands on his hips, like that first night after Granny D died. Smiling. The way he always did, dripping with intent.
I woke up and pushed the chair Alice bought me up against the desk, up against the door. And I slept on the desk. Any little bump and I’d have been ready.
I’m saving money pretty quickly. That’s the only reason I said yes to going today. It meant more cash. There’s nothing else to do round here but work. No shops. No cinema. I suppose that means he won’t think to look for me here. I mean, who even knows this place exists?
But he will be looking. You don’t do what I did to him and get away with it. He’ll be coming. It’s only a matter of time. He’ll want revenge and he’ll keep searching for me till he finds me.
I will watch. I will work. I will stash away supplies.
And then, I’ll run.
Kookaburra Creek, 2018
t was times like this that Hattie missed her sister most. Genevieve would have been able to talk her to a solution perhaps. At the very least she would have soothed Hattie’s worries. And she needed that, as her anxiety was raging inside her. Genevieve was always good at talking Hattie down. Out of all the people in the world Hattie knew, Genevieve was the one person she could talk to about the café, who would understand just how she felt about the prospect of losing it. But she couldn’t understand anymore. Not a word. And it was all Hattie’s fault. This whole sorry mess was her fault. If only she hadn’t caused the accident. If only she hadn’t caused Genevieve so much pain. If only she’d taken better care of her, stopped her working so hard, maybe her mind wouldn’t have gone downhill so badly, so early. If only she’d listened to the doctor.
Hattie remembered the conversation that day at the doctor’s office. ‘Miss Brookes, this latest assessment of Genevieve’s condition would indicate her brain function is deteriorating more rapidly than we predicted. Not that we can accurately predict such things, especially in cases like this. It’s all a bit unknown. But maybe it’s time for you to give up your receptionist job and take over the café. Take some of the burden off her.’
‘I’ve managed this long perfectly well,’ Genevieve had insisted. ‘I don’t need you babysitting me.’
‘That’s not what the doctors are suggesting, Gen.’
‘Of course it is, Hattie. Listen, I know exactly what’s happening here. The absence seizures are getting worse and I know what that means. But if you take away my independence now, you might as well start digging my grave. Whatever time I have left, I’d rather spend it doing something I enjoy.’
‘Stop being so stubborn.’
‘Well, I did learn from the best.’ She’d wrapped Hattie in a tight hug.
If only Hattie hadn’t let her have her way, Genevieve might still be with her in mind as well as body.
Walking the green hills that surrounded Kookaburra Creek, Hattie could see laid out before her a patchwork of every blunder and fault of her life, the dawning light illuminating them so clearly: loving Buckley, trusting him, the accident, Genevieve’s suffering, not forgiving Buckley when she had the chance, not realising the café was never really hers, that he’d never actually given it to her. Everything had started with Buckley Hargraves and now it seemed everything was going to end with him as well.
March, 1967
Closing night had seen the biggest ovation yet and a record number of seven encores. Harriett knew she couldn’t go back to film after this. The stage was where she belonged; it was her place in the world. Until Buckley had brought her into the theatre, it was like she’d been sleepwalking through life. Now she was truly alive.
The air backstage was thick with smoke from the many bongs ar
ound the room. Jim Morrison’s voice blasted throughout. Bottles of Dom Pérignon were being emptied as if they contained water. Stagehands were stealing kisses from extras and, in the darker shadows of the theatre, members of the main cast were celebrating the end of the show in more intimate ways.
But Harriett couldn’t find Buckley anywhere. She headed to his dressing room and found his door slightly ajar. A quiet giggle floated on the air to Harriett’s ears. She fought back the sense of dread rising inside her and stepped into the room. Buckley was perched on top of the chaise longue in the corner of the room. He turned his stretched-out body awkwardly and looked at Harriett.
‘Hey, babe,’ he said, grinning, his eyes glazed over, a tiny dribble of drool trickling from his chin. He was high. Again. Beneath his naked lower half, two legs that were definitely not his lay spread beneath a blanket. Two empty bottles of champagne lay discarded to the side.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Harriett crossed the room in three long strides and pulled the blanket out from under him, sending him toppling to the floor. And there lay Delilah, a stupid grin splattered across her drunken face.
‘Relax, Harry. This is just a bit of fun. You know, before I have to settle down.’ His eyes were bloodshot and he couldn’t focus on Harriett. ‘Join us.’ He drew another breath from the bong hanging from his right hand.
‘I can’t believe you’d do this.’ She stepped back towards the door, picked up the vase sitting on the small table just inside the room and threw it at him.
Too stoned and drunk for his reflexes to engage, the crystal cylinder smashed into the side of his head.
‘Uncalled for, Harry.’ He touched his temple. His hand came away covered in blood. ‘Uncalled for.’ He fell to the ground and Delilah screamed.
Harriett turned and ran. She pushed through the throngs of cast and crew crowding the passageways backstage, searching for Genevieve. She eventually found her alone by the water cooler. Harriett grabbed her and dragged her out of the theatre.
The Kookaburra Creek Café Page 6
