‘Really?’ Alice couldn’t believe it. In all her time in Kookaburra Creek, Hattie had only ever directed the amateur productions, her days on stage ‘in the past where they belong’. Every year someone tried to get her to take on a role. Every year she said no.
‘How else do you think I got Sinclair to agree to cover the event? Even he could see the value in the headline “Australian Acting Royalty Harriett Brookes On Stage Again”.’
‘Please can we go?’ Freddy whispered in Becca’s ear.
‘Are you kidding?’ Becca’s smile could not possibly have been any bigger. ‘This is just getting good. Don’t s’pose you’ve got any popcorn?’
Alice didn’t know about popcorn, but she could have done with a shovel and some very soft ground right about then. What was Hattie thinking? And to spring it on her like this.
‘Miss Hattie, I think . . .’ Joey tried again to find his voice, but Hattie wasn’t about to be paused.
‘Sweeping changes.’ Hattie twirled towards the door, parting Freddy and Becca with a determined smile. She waved her silk scarf in the air. ‘All for a good cause.’
‘What was that?’ Becca snorted, unable to hold her laughter in.
‘That was Hurricane Hattie,’ Freddy snorted. ‘Been dormant a while, but boy when she blows in she does it in style.’
Joey lowered himself into a chair and stared at Alice. ‘So you’ve got some stuff to tell me, it seems.’
But Alice stood frozen. How could Hattie not have run this by her first? Not only would everyone in town now know their dirty business; not only would everyone now know how much trouble they were in; but now Becca knew too. And Hattie’s idea to put Alice and Joey front and centre of this ridiculous plan was just plain . . . well, ridiculous.
Kookaburra Creek, 2004
lice hid her bedding in the back of the pantry and started cooking before seven. If she was going to make the day anything other than an utter disaster, she had to get some more practice in. She knew if she just kept the menu simple, a burger, a sandwich, the cupcakes, she might just be able to pull it off. Maybe.
At 11.30 the old brass bell rang announcing Alice’s first customer. She peered over the shutters that divided the kitchen and dining room. An old man, his beard grey and un-brushed, held out a chair for an old woman. The woman was incredibly short, but she held herself with such confidence you’d be forgiven for thinking she was six foot tall. She took her seat slowly, casting her eyes around the room. A third person, considerably younger than the first two, sat with them.
‘There’s not much on offer.’ The short woman’s sharp voice carried through the near-empty room right to Alice’s ears.
‘Non, non, Betty.’ The young woman’s French accent was strong. ‘Be nice.’
The old man grumbled. ‘It’d want to be a damn sight better than that muck of a joint you took us to last week, Claudine.’
‘Hattie has assured me it will be up to standard and I’ll have no qualms telling her if it isn’t.’ Betty turned to Claudine. ‘But I will give the girl a chance at least.’
Alice’s knees started to buckle and she held on to the wall in order to stay upright. She looked to the back door, but her legs wouldn’t move.
‘If anyone takes our order,’ said Betty, raising her voice.
‘Well, what have we got to lose, hey?’ she whispered, looking up to Sylvia staring down at her from the wall. ‘Either way we’re screwed, right?’
She stepped into the dining room.
‘Ah, there you are.’ Betty smiled, but Alice could tell it was forced.
‘Good morning. I’m Alice. What can I get you today?’ Alice could feel the three sets of eyes boring into her.
‘Claudine will have the salad and Clive and I will try the burger. Not much else we can have really, is there?’
‘I’ll also have a coffee. Merci.’ Claudine’s smile was genuine.
Alice nodded. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘I should hope not,’ Betty stated, loudly enough for Alice to hear.
Alice hurried back into the kitchen. The salad was easy enough and actually looked quite pretty in the bowl. Alice had burned the first two beef patties, though, and had to throw them in the bin. The next two she managed to cook properly, but one of them fell apart and she ‘glued’ it back together with a little melted cheese and hid it under the tomato and lettuce that topped off the burger. She served that plate to Clive.
She waited for the echo of chairs being pushed back and angry footsteps heading to the door, but no such sound came. There was the clink of glasses and the clang of cutlery. The echo of the near-empty room ensured Alice could hear every detail of the meal she was too frightened to watch.
‘Hattie’s very brave to take a chance on a stranger like this. With her sister’s legacy.’ Alice could hear Claudine’s accent clearly.
‘Hattie’s a sentimental old fool.’ Betty, apparently, didn’t like to hide her feelings. ‘But this food isn’t half bad.’
‘What?’ shouted Clive. ‘Speak up, woman. You’re not in church.’
Alice smiled and looked up to Sylvia, who winked, and she knew what to do next.
After clearing the table, relieved they’d eaten everything on their plates, she brought out cupcakes and placed one in front of each of them.
‘We didn’t order these.’ Betty frowned.
‘On the house.’ Alice smiled. ‘A thank you for being my first customers. You can take them to go, if you like.’
‘Not necessary.’ Betty picked up her cupcake and took a bite.
‘Oh, mon dieu. What’s in these?’ Claudine asked. ‘They’re heaven on a plate.’
Alice smiled and left them the bill, retreating back to the kitchen.
‘What did she say?’ Clive shouted.
‘Do turn your hearing aid up, old man,’ said Betty with a sigh.
Alone in the café, Alice sat on the floor, and she stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, hoping with all her heart the brass bell wouldn’t clang again.
‘So.’ Hattie’s sharp trill made Alice turn around. The old woman was standing in front of the pantry. She must have come in the back door. Her short, grey bob was freshly blown under, a pink stripe running down the right side. Her pink and peach scarf sat open around her neck. Her face wore an expression Alice found hard to read.
‘When, my dear girl, were you going to tell me that you’re not just my manager, but also my tenant?’
Alice stood slowly, cursing that she hadn’t hidden her stuff well enough. Her eyes darted round the room, looking for the quickest way out, if she could only get past the pantry door.
‘Well?’ Hattie pushed Alice’s bedding forward with her foot.
Alice sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’ll pack up and I’ll go.’
‘Not so fast, young lady. It seems we have a situation here.’
‘Please don’t call the cops.’ That’s what people did in situations like this, right? Call the cops.
‘Codswallop,’ Hattie waved her hand. ‘I take it you have nowhere else to go?’
‘No.’
‘I ran into Betty this afternoon. She enjoyed your cupcakes very much. Said she might bring a group by next week.’
Alice stood still, her heart beating fast. Afraid to speak. Afraid to move.
‘You don’t bring trouble with you, do you?’
‘No,’ Alice shook her head quickly.
‘And you’re definitely eighteen?’
‘Yes.’
Hattie raised an eyebrow.
‘Last month.’
‘Then it would appear we find ourselves in the position of needing one another, Miss Pond. I require someone to get this place back up and running, and Betty can be a cantankerous old cow at times, but when she gives a compliment she means it. So, you’re doing something right here. And you need . . . well, probably a whole lot more than I can give you, but let’s start with this job.’
‘Really?’ Alice’s voice was
thick with tears.
‘As long as you promise trouble isn’t on your heels.’
‘It’s not.’ Growing inside her belly, perhaps, but not chasing at her heels. And she still had time to figure out what she was going to do about that.
‘And you simply can’t keep sleeping on the pantry floor. Good God, child. What are you thinking? You’ll stay with me. On a trial basis. A month or two and then we can reassess things.’
Unable to stop them, Alice let her tears fall. ‘Thank you.’
‘None of that nonsense. This is a business deal, pure and simple. And you’ve got work to do.’
Alice thought perhaps she saw the hint of a smile cross Hattie’s finely lined face before she left the kitchen, but she couldn’t be sure.
She wasn’t sure where to start, but she knew she had to face the onerous task of teaching herself how to make a decent lasagne.
‘Smells good.’
Alice turned round in the fading light to see a figure of a man standing in the evening shadows. She reached for the knife lying on the bench beside her.
‘Sorry.’ The man stepped forward and turned on the light. ‘Miss Hattie said you might need some help. I’m Joey. Joey Moretti.’ He reached out his hand.
Alice looked at his hand, held there in the air waiting for her. Joey. Joseph? Hattie had mentioned a Joseph. She took his hand and shook it. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Alice.’
‘Yeah. I know who you are. The whole town knows who you are.’
Alice felt her cheeks redden.
‘It’s a very small town. And Betty has a very big mouth.’
‘Oh God.’ Alice frowned.
‘No. It’s a good thing. Well, at least this time it is. She’s been pretty complimentary about your cupcakes. And let me tell you, if you’ve made her happy then you’re doing something right.’
‘I hope so. I don’t want to let Hattie down.’
‘Then you’d better let me have a look at that.’ A crooked smile stretched across his face and he nodded to the slightly burnt lasagne Alice had put on the bench to cool.
‘Oh. Okay. But I’ve never done anything like it before.’
Joey raised a forkful to his mouth, taking in the aroma before tasting. ‘Not bad. Apart from taking it out five minutes too late. I’d try adding a pinch of cinnamon, though.’
‘Cinnamon?’
Joey nodded. ‘My Nonna’s secret ingredient.’
Alice smiled. ‘Okay. But if it turns out horrible, I’ll be blaming you.’
‘Blame away.’ He bowed, lowering his head.
‘Thank you, Joseph.’
‘Joey, Alice. Call me Joey. Give the cinnamon a try and, if it isn’t a huge success, I’ll bring round one of my finest loaves to make up for it.’
‘Sorry?’ Alice took a step back.
‘Bread. I’m the baker. Moretti’s Bread House.’
Yes. That was it. Hattie had said something about Joseph who made bread. She was surprised, though, that this was him. So much younger than she expected. He wasn’t as young as her, but young enough. Mid-twenties, she supposed, as she took in his open face, crinkles at the edges of his dark eyes, his solid frame.
‘Oh. Yes.’ She nodded.
‘Come on, Alice. Let’s clean this up and I’ll walk you back to Miss Hattie’s.’
‘You’ll what?’
‘She told me, and I quote, “Check how Miss Pond is going and then bring the child home.”’ He flicked an imaginary scarf over his shoulders.
Alice laughed as Joey started cleaning up the bowls.
Kookaburra Creek, 2018
arriett Brookes, I think you’ve gone and descended into complete madness at last.’ Betty shook her head.
‘It’s a wild idea, oui, but maybe . . .’ Claudine shrugged.
‘Well, we have to try something.’ Hattie pulled herself up to her full height. ‘And in the absence of any other suggestions, then we have no choice.’
Alice had called this little meeting, assembling the key people she knew could help. They sat around the table in the centre of the café.
‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘The thought of taking centre stage fills me with more dread than you can imagine. But if it means we keep the café, then I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘Me too.’ Joey nodded, despite the fear in his eyes.
‘You’ll never raise enough money,’ Clive grumbled into his beard. He wasn’t exactly invited to the meeting, but he and Betty and Claudine came as a job lot.
‘That’s why we’re here.’ Alice would not be perturbed. ‘We don’t need to raise the whole amount. Just the shortfall after the loan.’
‘We should be able to charge more per ticket, seeing as it’s Hattie’s retour triomphant,’ Claudine offered.
‘Well, I’d certainly pay a premium to see her make a fool of herself,’ Betty said, laughing.
‘We see you do it every day and don’t have to pay a cent.’ Hattie smiled.
‘Now ladies.’ Alice knew they hadn’t tipped over into dangerous territory, yet, but she wasn’t about to take a chance.
‘The church could put on a barbecue or something,’ Freddy piped up. He and Becca had been on the bench spying on proceedings.
Joey nodded. ‘Claudine and I could talk to all the foodie joints in town. Get things donated.’
‘Now we’re talking. Hattie, do you still have memorabilia from the olden . . . from your time in film or on stage? I know you had a photograph signed by Chips Rafferty,’ suggested Alice, as the ideas bounced around inside her head.
‘Of course. I have quite a few trinkets that could be of interest to collectors.’
‘I like where you’re going with this, girl. I’ve always fancied I’d be a hit with an auctioneer’s gavel,’ said Carson, slamming his fist on the table.
‘I suppose,’ Betty drew out her words slowly, ‘I could persuade the council to waive their fee for hiring the hall. They do owe me a favour.’
‘This might actually work,’ Alice said hopefully.
‘Claudine. Write this down.’ Betty started dictating lists and schedules and instructions and Claudine took notes dutifully.
Alice glanced at Joey and his smile, though not completely convincing – she suspected he was having even more trouble than her with the thought of acting in front of an audience – reassured her enough to allow hope to creep into her heart.
The very first rehearsal of the new-look Kookaburra Creek Amateur Dramatic Society’s production of Anything Goes was not at all going to plan. Whether Hattie hadn’t factored in how much turmoil changing everyone’s usual role would cause, or she simply hadn’t cared, Alice wasn’t sure. She was sure, though, that the poor lady was probably regretting her decision right about now.
Clive kept shouting over the clang and bang of props being made, or possibly destroyed, backstage, wondering where he needed to stand and why he had to be on stage anyway, because usually he was behind the scenes, and why was Hattie insisting he could do this acting malarkey when even a blind man could see he couldn’t?
‘That staircase will need to be repainted. And that prop looks terrible. We cannot let Hattie and Alice down.’ Reverend Harris barked orders at the backstage crew, the power of being named stage manager apparently going to his usually mild-mannered head. Or perhaps it was simply because he actually was in charge of something for the first time in a long time. He may well have been the reverend, but everyone knew it was really Mrs Harris that ran his church.
And she was busy right now, loudly lamenting that she was no longer allowed to be the star and what had she done to deserve such harsh treatment.
Betty sat in the corner of the hall on one of the old school chairs, crocheting a blanket in hues of purple and teal, chuckling discreetly to herself and looking up every now and then to shake her head.
Out of habit Alice looked at Joey, whose shoulders were being squeezed by Fiona’s elegant hand. He was not coping at all with his new role in the company, and everyone co
uld see it. But he wasn’t about to let anyone down.
Between crashes and clashes she could hear Becca and Freddy chatting just offstage.
‘There’s no way they’re going to pull this off,’ Becca whispered.
Alice angled herself slightly so she could hear them better.
‘You don’t know Hattie,’ Freddy said grinning.
‘Are you watching what I’m watching? I’d bet anything the whole show’s a disaster.’
‘What are the stakes?’
‘What?’ Becca asked.
‘The stakes. Of the bet.’
‘Name it. There’s no way you’ll win,’ said Becca with a broad smile.
‘Okay. If the show’s a success, I get to take you out on a date.’
Becca’s cheeks went red. Alice fought the immediate temptation to step in. She wanted to see where this went.
‘Whatever.’ Becca shrugged. ‘It’s never going to happen.’
‘And if you win? Not that you will.’
‘When I win you do my shifts in the café for a week.’
‘That’s it? I’d do that without a bet.’
Becca rubbed her ear. ‘And, you have to teach me how to ride your Harley.’
Freddy seemed unmoved.
‘And I get to have it for a week.’
Alice watched the colour drain from Freddy’s face. He reached out and gingerly shook Becca’s hand.
Tap, tap, tap.
The fractured sounds of the disgruntled company did not subside.
Thud, thud, thud.
Hattie pounded her walking stick into the wooden floor with such force that everyone stopped and looked in her direction.
The walking stick was a prop, not needed for mobility. Hattie was surprisingly spritely for her age. But every now and then she pulled out her father’s antique for dramatic effect. Council meetings were definitely a favourite occasion, and any meeting with anyone from Glensdale.
The gold-tipped mahogany stick looked quite striking teamed with Hattie’s deep red scarf, which had slipped from her shoulder and down her arm so it flourished whenever she moved. Alice was convinced it was no accident that Hattie let her scarf, normally so secure around her shoulders, drape like that.
The Kookaburra Creek Café Page 17
