‘What did you mean then?’
Alice could hear the catch in his voice.
‘I mean the college.’ She knew she was scrambling.
‘This isn’t making any sense, Pond.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to live . . .’
‘What about Louise? Live with her. Or live here with me.’
If only it were that simple, she thought.
‘I can try again next year.’
‘This is bullshit. If you’re going to lie to me at least make it plausible.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘Of course you are. I know you. Something’s up.’
‘Please, Dean. This is hard enough as it is.’
‘Hard enough for you, is it? At least have the decency to tell me the truth. I didn’t think you of all people would have trouble seeing me like this, have trouble dealing with this.’
‘What? No. That’s not it.’ Her tears were falling heavily and she couldn’t stop the breaking of her voice. She was doing this all wrong.
‘I can cope with the looks of pity and disgust from others. The stares that turn quickly away when they realise you see them, the downcast glances from people who don’t know how to look me in the eye. But not from you.’
No. He was taking this all wrong. ‘You know me better than that, Dean. I would never . . .’
‘I thought that night together was special. I thought we were special.’
‘It was. We are.’
‘Yeah right,’ he growled. ‘Pity sex with a cripple. The boys in rehab warned me about that.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.’ He went on. ‘You can’t handle me like this.’ He spat the words from his mouth.
‘What? No.’
Dean’s voice became so low Alice had to strain to hear. ‘Clearly I’m not the complete man you want.’
‘Dean, stop. Please, if you’d just listen . . . you don’t understand . . .’
‘Fine. Explain it to me then.’
Alice searched for the right words. Her mind raced, her heart pounded.
‘Now’s your chance, Pond.’
‘It’s complicated, Dean,’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, right. Just like the boys in rehab said. They warned me, you know. They told me how quickly their girlfriends had run when they realised what they were in for. I was such a fool to think you were different. That you’d accept me like this.’
‘Dean, no. That’s not . . . this isn’t easy to explain . . .’
‘Well, let me make it real easy for you, Pond.’
The dial tone rang loudly in Alice’s ears.
‘Dean?’
She rang him back straightaway. No answer.
She waited five minutes then rang again.
There was still no answer.
In the morning light Alice could see the estate agent’s car out front. She wasn’t surprised, though she’d been hoping it wouldn’t happen.
She was out of time.
She tiptoed out the back door and through the broken slats in the fence and bolted towards Faraway Forest.
But her once safe place offered little comfort, not least because of the painful, beautiful memories it evoked. Sleep had eluded her most nights, and now exhaustion weighed down every muscle.
Alice waited in her tree till the cover of darkness made it safe to sneak back home.
Pushed under the door was an envelope, the estate agent logo emblazoned across the top in warning red. She had a week to pay the rent. With no formal lease in place for years, there was no notice period. A week to pay, or she was out.
Alice gathered her things as quickly as she could. Not that she would take much. Not that she had much to take. Some clothes shoved in with her pillow, the small amount of money she’d put away over the last few weeks, some cans and packets of food.
Out the front she made sure Gus the gnome was in position. No one would know.
She opened the garage door as quietly as she could, hoping the neighbours wouldn’t hear and poke their heads through twitching curtains. Once a month Alice took the beat-up Datsun for a short run. She would check it was still going, make sure it had half a tank just in case she needed it in an emergency. This situation, Alice determined, was most definitely an emergency. The car wasn’t registered or insured, but she’d never taken it outside Lawson’s Ridge before so she’d always figured it didn’t matter. What she would say if she got pulled over outside the town limits, she had no idea. But there wasn’t time to worry about that.
She had to leave. Right away.
Kookaburra Creek, 2018
itting in front of the bank manager on Thursday afternoon in her nicest blouse, Alice imagined what being called to the principal’s office must feel like. She didn’t know where to look or how to sit, and she couldn’t stop fidgeting with her top button.
‘Well, Alice, it looks like everything is in order here. We’d be happy to lend you $350 000 – our valuation of the property and the business. How does that sound?’
‘That sounds wonderful. Thank you,’ she said, ignoring the wobble in her voice. She forgot where she was for a moment and ran around the desk and hugged him. ‘Thank you.’ It was more than she’d hoped they’d give her. Take that, Hargraves.
‘Anytime. Just let us know when you need it and we’ll get it organised.’
Skipping through town, Alice hadn’t felt so good in days. She was going to save her café. But she wouldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. She didn’t want to jinx things. She’d wait until those rotten Hargraves lowlifes came back with their asking price and then she’d smile and say, ‘Thank you very much, here’s your money.’
And this whole horrible nightmare would finally be over.
Alice knew that spending a Sunday at the markets in Glensdale may not have been Becca’s idea of fun, but she wasn’t about to let that ruin her favourite day of the month. Not after everything else that had been happening. Not after her good news. There was always something special about walking around the markets, past the fresh fruit and vegetables, the clever crafts and handmade jewellery on a bright, clear Sunday – joy, excitement, anticipation, an intoxicating combination. And she wasn’t going to miss out.
She’d tried to bribe some enthusiasm out of Becca with the promise of getting her something while they were there, but Becca’s lack of interest in, well, everything really, left her no leverage. The mention of the local band that played on the mound at the north end of the oval did nothing to sway her, either.
‘It’s not really my kind of music,’ Alice said, breaking the silence on the journey over to Glensdale. ‘But the teenagers really seem to enjoy it.’
Becca shrugged.
‘I sounded really old just then, didn’t I?’
‘Just a bit.’ Becca allowed herself a small laugh.
‘Oh well.’ Alice shrugged. ‘Can’t help that. If we run into Freddy, maybe you won’t have to hang around an old crone like me all day.’
Becca sat up straighter. ‘Freddy will be there?’
Alice nodded. ‘He usually is. Nobody misses the markets.’ Not Joey, not even Fiona would be absent. Unfortunately.
‘You know,’ Becca turned her body slightly, ‘you’re not that old.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ Alice felt very much older than her thirty-something years right there and then.
As they pulled up to the showground car park, Alice searched for a free spot. There was one left, beside Carson. She turned the wheel and parked.
Becca started fidgeting and shifted her body closer to Alice, further away from Carson’s green ute.
‘Morning, ladies.’ The sergeant smiled as he spilled out of his civilian vehicle, and Alice saw Becca’s tense shoulders drop.
‘Morning, Carson. Lovely day for it.’
Carson tipped his imaginary hat and joined the throng of people heading into the market.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alice
asked, winding up the window.
‘Nothing,’ said Becca, colour slowly coming back to her cheeks.
‘Becca, if you ever want to talk, I’m here. Anything at all.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Come on, then. This will be fun. I promise.’ Alice coaxed her out of the car and headed straight for Claudine McCreedy’s cheese stall.
When Claudine had approached four of the region’s farmers about producing a local specialty many years back, they were sceptical at first. No one in the greater Glensdale area had even heard of Beaufort, let alone knew how to produce it. How on earth would they be able to sell it? But they underestimated Claudine, and the fact her father had been a cheesemaker back in France. She even travelled back to her ancestral home to learn the art properly and when she returned it wasn’t long before the locals embraced the smooth, creamy cheese as their own.
It probably helped that Claudine’s Beaufort made the most perfect fondue and, at the beginning of each winter, just after the first market in June, the Kookaburra Creek Café played host to boisterous evening fondue gatherings. Alice still hadn’t figured out how to use the creamy deliciousness in a cupcake, but she was working on it.
‘Sample?’ Claudine asked Becca as they stopped at her stall. But Becca didn’t hear her, her eyes searching the crowd.
‘There’s Hattie,’ Becca said, and she wandered off in the old lady’s direction. Hattie happened to be speaking with one Freddy Harris and Alice saw straight through the girl’s ploy.
She put a round of cheese in her carry bag and checked out the vegetables at the next stall. The asparagus had a nice snap to it. Could she use that in a salad somehow? In her mind she went through possible flavour combinations and, as she lifted her head to see if there was any inspiration randomly floating through the air, she saw Joey’s stall a little further down.
It wasn’t that he needed to have a stall at the markets. Everyone in a 100-kilometre radius knew his bread was the best around. But he’d started his stall all those years ago when he was trying to build up his reputation and he just never stopped coming. Alice knew he loved catching up with all his customers outside of the shop like this. Selling loaves was really just an excuse. He hadn’t missed a market in twenty years. Well, he had; but just one. And it didn’t really count. Nothing really counted that summer.
As always, his customers were lined up deep. Then she noticed Fiona. Standing at the front of the line, batting her ridiculously long eyelashes, her stupidly long red curls falling over her freakishly slender shoulders just so, her impossibly adorable freckled nose sparkling in the sunlight.
‘Anything we need to worry about, ma chère?’ Claudine said as she sidled up to Alice.
‘What?’
‘Mrs Harris is beside herself thinking her smart beauty might throw her life away on the local baker. Her words.’
‘And why, Claudine, would that worry us?’
‘Doesn’t worry me. But I thought it might worry you.’
‘Oh, please. I have bigger things to worry about than Fiona Harris’s love life.’ She stepped away before Claudine could say another word. Truth was, she did have bigger things to worry about. Much bigger things. But that didn’t stop her sneaking a peek back over her shoulder as she walked to the back of the market stalls.
‘Alice, petal? Can we talk?’
Alice spun around to the soft voice behind her. ‘Oh, Hattie. I have news.’
‘So do I. Shall we sit?’ Hattie indicated the vacant white wicker chairs under the slender gums.
Alice had wanted to keep it a surprise, but just seeing Hattie made her desperate to spill every detail.
‘You first,’ she insisted. Her news would trump Hattie’s – Alice felt a swell of happiness at the thought of saving the best news till last.
Friends walked past laden with trinkets, laughing, smiling. Children pulled their mother’s hands, desperate to get to the popcorn tent, while their mothers tried to walk in the opposite direction towards the potted succulents or vintage clothes. Dads milled about not far from the barbecue, deep in animated conversation about the Glensdale Goannas’ latest loss and slow descent down the rugby league ladder, no doubt.
‘How did you go at the bank?’ Hattie found her voice.
‘Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘I figured.’
Alice’s smile spread across her face. She couldn’t wait a moment longer. ‘They’re going to give me a loan.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Then why aren’t you smiling? This is good news. Great news. Hattie?’
‘How much?’
‘Sorry?’
‘How much did they say they’d give you?’
Alice looked Hattie directly in the eyes. That was not the response she was expecting. ‘Harriett Brookes, what aren’t you telling me?’
‘I’ve heard from the lawyers. The Hargraves have named their price.’
‘Good. Let’s buy them off and be done with it then.’
‘They want five fifty.’
‘Ha!’ How Hattie could find humour in this was charming. ‘Good one. You had me going there for a minute.’
Hattie held her gaze.
‘You’re joking, right?’
Hattie shook her head.
Suddenly Alice felt very cold. Very cold and very weak. ‘That’s nearly twice as much.’
‘Typical Hargraves,’ Hattie spat. ‘Greedy and spiteful. They know on the open market they’ll get nowhere near what they’re asking. It’s just a ploy to get at me.’
‘How can they do that? Isn’t that illegal or something?’
‘They can ask anything they like.’
‘Why? Why do they have it in for you so bad they’re happy to ruin your life and mine? What happened?’
‘So many things. So long ago. And who knows what spin their mother put on it all.’
‘Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? I’m going to lose everything in this. Aren’t I entitled to at least know why?’
‘Oh my sweet girl.’ Hattie took Alice’s hands. ‘It was such a lot of silly foolishness, really. Plus a few cruel tricks from life.’
‘I know about life’s cruel tricks, Hattie.’ Alice’s voice cracked.
‘I know you do.’ She patted Alice’s hands. ‘Just as you know when you’re young you don’t always know what you’re doing.’
Hattie was right. Alice knew all about youthful blunders. And Hattie had loved her and accepted her through hers. The why of Hattie’s past really didn’t matter in the end. Besides, it wouldn’t change anything now.
‘Oh, Hattie.’ She reached out and embraced her old friend.
Tears streamed down the crevasses in Hattie’s cheeks. ‘We’ll figure it out, Alice. Somehow we’ll find a way to fix this. We’re smart women and we’ve been in tougher scrapes than this. You know what they say: “The show isn’t over till the fat lady sings.” And I don’t see any portly women around here about to burst into song.’
There might not have been any fat ladies singing but Alice could hear them warming up backstage. She never thought life could be so cruel as to make her start over from scratch yet again. But apparently she was wrong. Alice didn’t know if she had the strength to go through that pain once more. But she knew she had to try.
Time for plan B. Whatever that was.
Somewhere on the Newell Highway, 2004
ith every white line that blurred past her windscreen, Alice could feel her eyes getting heavier. The clock on the dashboard hadn’t worked in years, but she knew she’d been driving for hours and that dawn couldn’t be far away. She took the next turn off the empty highway and found a clearing to stop at. If she could just get an hour’s sleep she’d be able to keep driving. She climbed into the back seat and pulled her coat tightly around her body. Staring up at the stars through the window, she searched for the Southern Cross, just like her father had taught her when she was ten. They’d been camping for her birt
hday and Bruce and Sonia had lain with her in the grass, naming constellations. When Alice got older she realised that ‘The Tea Cup’ and ‘The Gnome’ weren’t real constellations, but it didn’t matter. That night under the stars was Alice’s last happy memory of her family and she’d held onto it tight.
The Southern Cross was out tonight. And The Tea Cup. Now, where was The Gnome?
The heat of the early sun streamed onto her face. Alice sat up slowly and looked outside, her arms and neck aching. The clearing looked like it may have been a park once. Alice could see where the old swing set used to be, the dips where countless pairs of feet had worn down the earth. What was once probably a sandpit now overflowed with litter. A wooden seesaw, its every splintered inch covered in graffiti, was all that was left.
Where had the children gone? Alice walked around her car stretching her legs.
An old amenities block stood forlorn behind the car park and Alice hoped it still had running water. She just needed a quick wash before she kept going. Cold water on her face, the dirt beneath her fingernails flushed away.
Just keep driving. No direction. No plan. Just drive until she ran out of petrol and wherever she ended up, she’d get a job and figure out the next move. Whatever that might be. She put a hand on her tummy.
With three deep breaths she started the engine. As she drove, she counted. One, two, three, anything to stop herself from thinking about all that had happened. Three hundred, 301, anything to avoid thinking about what would happen next. Six hundred and twenty-six, 627, anything to stop thinking.
The further she travelled, the darker the sky became. Storm clouds built until they could no longer hold their own weight and they burst open with relief.
Sleeting rain made it impossible for Alice to see where she was going. She had no idea how long she’d been driving blind for. Twenty minutes? Two hours? How long had it been since she’d been able to see more than a few metres in front of the car? Was she even still on a road?
She cursed the window above her right shoulder that wouldn’t quite wind up all the way, allowing rain to blow in and soak her shirt. She had to find somewhere to stop, somewhere to shelter, even just for a little while.
The Kookaburra Creek Café Page 15
