by Lilly Mirren
She slung her handbag over one shoulder and stopped to stare at the inn. Peeling pink paint with white trim. The verandahs that encircled the first and second floors were lit up with the soft glow of lamplight. Inside, a couple of the rooms were lit as well, but the rest of the regal old building had fallen into darkness.
With a grunt, Jack slung her suitcase up onto one shoulder and marched toward the inn. Her brow furrowed. The man was a machine. There was no slowing him down. He carried her suitcase as though it weighed nothing, boasting the physique of a much younger man.
She hurried after him, with one worried glance back at the CR-V. Its headlights illuminated the driveway, the boot door hung wide open and the bell dinged in a perfect rhythm to let her know the keys were in the ignition. Still, she couldn’t think straight. The inn was drawing her to itself, like a bee to honey. She had to touch its weathered timber, feel the hard, cool boards beneath her feet, see the rooms that held so many memories and so much of her heart.
As she climbed the first few steps, her pulse quickened. Nan wasn’t there to greet her at the door. She remembered a similar feeling when Pop died. She’d been eleven years old at the time and came to Cabarita with her family for the funeral. She’d ascended this same set of steps to find only Nan inside waiting for them in the large, high-ceilinged sitting room. The room had felt empty and Nan looked shrivelled, seated in the large, leather wing-backed armchair. She’d realised her grandmother was getting old. That was seventeen years ago.
She paused at the top of the staircase and inhaled a deep breath. The screen door slapped shut behind Jack and he disappeared into the inn, taking her suitcase with him.
How could she stay here without Nan? The Waratah Inn was Nan, it shouldn’t exist with her gone.
The door flew open, and two lined hands stretched toward her.
“Kate! Sweetheart! You made it. Come on inside and I’ll make you a cup of tea. You must be freezing!”
Kate accepted the embrace Mima offered, almost getting smothered in the process by the woman’s ample bosoms and purple knit cardigan. Only in Cabarita would someone define a balmy twenty degrees Celsius as freezing. Her eyes filled with tears, and she smiled as Mima patted her back and kissed her cheek.
“I’m fine, thanks Mima. It’s good to see you too. Tea would be lovely.”
Mima bustled her into the kitchen, pulled up a stool for her to sit on, and set about boiling the kettle, all the while regaling her with a moment by moment account of her day. The woman’s wide hips swayed with each step. Her salt and pepper curls were pulled into a bun on top of her head but couldn’t be tamed, instead tumbling down on each side of her face. Her blue eyes sparkled as she spoke.
“We’ve still got two guests. Can you believe it? They know what’s going on, and yet they stay. The other couple that were here checked out right away, after giving their sympathies, but this couple. Wowsers!”
Mima set two mugs on the bench. “So, I guess we’ll shut the place down for a while as soon as they leave. But that’s something we can discuss later.”
She pulled a teapot from the overhead cupboard and measured a tablespoon of tea leaves into the pot. Then, filled it with boiling hot water. “And do you know, I was in the breakfast nook this morning, reading my Home and Garden magazine… I get one every month dear, I know it’s pointless since I live at the inn these days and don’t really have my own home or garden, but I like the decorating tips and I always thought that maybe one day my cooking might earn me a featured article.”
She set the lid on the pot, turned it to the right, then to the left, resting her hand on top of the pot while she continued. “But that’s neither here nor there, you don’t want to hear about the silly dreams of an old woman. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the lizard…”
“Lizard?” Kate gave her a confused look. Mima’s tales were famously long and winding.
“Yes, the lizard! It came creeping into the breakfast nook. I don’t know where exactly it came from. It was one of those blue-tongued ones, you know? And it scared me half to death because when you see the head, it looks like a black snake. It’s not until the tiny little legs come into view that you can breathe again.
“So, I thought we had a black snake, and a pretty big one at that, in the breakfast nook. And of course, I don’t eat my breakfast until after everyone else has finished and gone about their day. So, I was all by myself. I didn’t scream, mind, I gasped. Because, after all, it’s not my first run-in with a snake. They’re common enough around here. But I tell you, I was relieved to see those little legs when it pushed past the chair it was hiding behind.
“I like to sit in the breakfast nook to eat my breakfast, and usually Edie… uh… your Nan, would come join me after she’d finished her morning walk. We’d sit there together every day and have a cup of coffee and talk about everything going on in our lives. She’d do the crossword, and I’d do my knitting. So, I knew something was up this morning when that lizard came in, and once my heart had recovered, I looked down at my watch… and Edie wasn’t there. That’s when I went looking for her and found her on the path that leads down to the cove. Oh dear, I’ve made you cry. I’m sorry, love. And now I’m crying too. I can’t help it you know, I’m a sympathetic crier. If I see tears, I join in. It’s the way I am.”
Kate let the tears fall. She hadn’t cried more than a few tears since she’d heard the news about Nan’s passing, and the pain in Mima’s voice was more than she could withstand.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. I hope she didn’t suffer…” She sniffled into her jacket sleeve.
Mima set down the teapot and waddled to where Kate sat, and embraced her all over again. Tears streaked the old woman’s face and her bottom lip wobbled before she crushed Kate’s head to her chest. “No sweetheart, I don’t believe she did. She looked as peaceful as can be.”
Finally, Mima released her hold on Kate.
The inn felt like a part of her. She didn’t visit often enough these days, and with Mima and Jack sitting in this sturdy old kitchen, she was at home, loved. She scanned the room, her eyes misty, taking it all in as an ache filled her heart. Peeling white paint, an ancient steel stovetop, and racks of drying herbs hung with string beside silver pots and pans with blackened bottoms.
This kitchen stirred up memories of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows, bacon and eggs with toast, and soft hugs that smelled like woodsmoke and chocolate chip biscuits.
“It’s good to be home,” she said.
Mima poured tea into two mismatched, floral print china cups with a smile. “You’re home, sweetheart, and even though there’s grief in my heart, I’ve a bubble of joy working its way up in there for seeing you.”
Kate sat at the vintage dressing table and spun slowly on the chair. The room Mima had led her to after their cup of tea was the same one she and her sisters had shared as young girls. Only now, it was decorated as a guest room.
A single queen-sized bed with an outdated, floral bedspread squatted in the middle of the room. Dark, antique side tables sat on either side of the bed, one with a blue lamp, one without.
The rug beneath the bed was worn but looked to have once been a shade of pale blue. On another table by the window, a small bowl held an assortment of seashells and sun-bleached coral. Beside it, a cream coloured vase was filled with fresh cut flowers, no doubt from Nan’s beloved garden.
As a girl, whenever she couldn’t find Nan, she knew to run to the long, rectangular garden out the back. She’d find Nan there, dressed in a pair of denim overalls, with an old straw hat perched on top of her head, wispy, every-which-way hair flying out beneath the brim. She’d wear yellow gloves and carry a pair of secateurs or a small shovel in one hand. Her boots would be caked with dirt, and she’d always say, “Damn this sandy soil, it’s so hard to grow anything.” Then she’d smile and wave Kate in through the rickety gate that guarded the rows of vegetables, flowers, and seedling plants from the rabbits and possums.
“Come on in lo
ve, you can help me figure out how to make these waratahs grow.” Then Kate would pull on a second pair of gloves, much too large for her small hands, and together they’d spread fertiliser, or lovingly trim Nan’s waratah shrubs.
Kate sighed and walked to the window. She fingered a piece of coral in the bowl and stared out through the second-story window and into the darkness. She could make out the familiar outline of the garden shed, and beside it the chook pen. The garden was there too, though she couldn’t make out much other than a shadowy fence and the tops of a few bushy plants.
A scratching sound overhead caught her ear and she frowned at the ceiling. Did they have rats in the inn? Then, the scratching turned to a gnawing and her stomach clenched. Something was eating the building from the inside out. Waves sighed, crashed onto the sandy shores of the nearby beach, drowning out the soft shuffling overhead bringing a sense of peace to her soul.
She was fifteen and living at the inn when the rhythm of waves first soothed her nerves. The funeral had passed in a blur, and life had returned to some semblance of normality, though Nan still kept to her bedroom. She, Bindi, and Reeda were crammed into this room with one set of bunk beds and a single for Reeda by the window. Kate had been grateful at the time that the inn was so busy they all had to live together in one room. They clung to each other in those days as though letting go might mean never seeing each other again.
Kate rested a hand on the windowsill and strained her eyes in the direction of the cove. The path that led down to the sand was there, a little overgrown, but she could make it out in the moonlight. Then, it was obscured by undergrowth and bushes. She knew beyond lay the dunes. Rising mounds of sand where she and her sisters had spent countless hours, pretending to be princesses from far off lands and rescuing each other from unnamed monsters, or imagining they were jillaroos, rounding up a herd of wild brumbies and bringing them home to break and train until they ate from the girls’ hands, nuzzling their open palms softly with whiskered snouts.
Kate shook her head and turned away from the window. Those days were such distant memories now, like whispers of a time past that would never come again. Whispers that couldn’t be caught, and if she grasped too hard at the memories, they’d disappear like a vapour.
When was the last time she’d seen Nyreeda? Her older sister hadn’t come up from Sydney for Christmas. She’d been busy. At least that was what she’d told Nan and Nan hadn’t seemed inclined to be pushed on the subject.
“Your sister has enough to deal with,” was all she’d say, and when Kate asked what she meant by that, she’d simply smile. “We all have our own stuff, my love. That’s why it’s important to show people compassion even when you don’t understand why they do what they do.”
The memory caught Kate off guard. What had Nan been referring to? From all she knew, Reeda was a highly successful interior designer with her own business in Sydney. Her services were in demand with the upwardly mobile elite of the northern beaches. And she was married to a handsome surgeon who, from what Kate had seen, seemed to adore her.
What “stuff” had Nan been referring to? And why wouldn’t Reeda talk to Kate about it herself? She knew the answer to that one at least. Reeda didn’t talk to her about anything, not anymore. They’d all but lost touch over the past five years, and if not for Nan, may not have seen each other at all.
And there was Bindi, who seemed lost in a world of her own. She’d been there with them at Christmas, at least physically, but she’d been quieter than usual, and spent a lot of time on her own at the beach.
Why did the passing years have to mean that relationships changed? They’d been so close as girls, and yet from the first day after Reeda left for University, those bonds had stretched, then frayed, and finally snapped one Christmas about five years earlier when the three of them had a blow up over something trivial. She couldn’t remember what it was that’d started the argument, only that they’d all yelled things at each other, and she’d said things she wished she could take back.
When it was her turn to graduate from Kingscliff Public High School, she’d been so focused on getting away from Cabarita Beach and starting a new life, she hadn’t taken the time to think about the fact that nothing would ever be the same again. She could never return to that life — a life of peaceful warmth, with Nan cooking scrambled eggs over the ancient stove top when she padded down the stairs in her pyjamas. Or sitting in her rocking chair, knitting, and glancing at Kate over the top of half-circle black rimmed glasses, as Kate read out her homework, nodding every now and then to something she’d said.
Kate’s throat tightened, and a lump filled it so that it was hard to breathe. Why couldn’t she have appreciated everything then? Now it was too late.
4
August 1995
Cabarita Beach
Kate plodded down the wide staircase, her slippers slick on the hardwood boards. She’d slept late. She hadn’t been able to get to sleep until well after three a.m. Anxiety over all the tasks that lay ahead had kept her awake, thinking through lists of to-dos and questions, like what are we going to do with the inn now? And if we sell it, what will happen to Mima and Jack? Not to mention the horses, the chooks, and the cat that showed up from time to time and drank milk from one of Mima’s saucers without Nan knowing about it, since she’d be darned if she’d take on a cat as well as everything else she was managing.
Though of course, Kate had seen Nan feeding the cat herself often enough and checking over her shoulder to make sure Mima didn’t catch her.
She chuckled at the memory, then pushed the birds nest her hair had become with all her tossing and turning, out of her eyes. In the kitchen, she made a beeline for the espresso machine. A luxury they didn’t need and couldn’t afford, according to Mima, but something Nan had insisted on buying. The two of them had argued over the purchase innumerable times, until finally Nan had said it was for the guests, and that was that.
Kate and Nan had enjoyed many a cup of hot, steaming coffee together whenever she visited. Nan always said, coffee was for the mornings when you couldn’t rub the sheet marks off your face. And that was how Kate felt. Her eyes were half-lidded, her body felt heavy, and her head thudded with sinus pressure. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with anything. That was the last thing she needed. Right now, a clear head, logical thinking, was the best thing.
Someone had to organise a funeral. She assumed the task would probably fall to her, unless her sisters materialised sometime soon. Then, perhaps they could do it together, if they didn’t kill each other in the process.
She poured coffee into a large mug, then cozied up to the bench, feet resting on the bottom rung of the stool, to sip it gingerly.
The kitchen phone rested in its cradle just above her head. She eyed it with a stab of guilt. She hadn’t given a single thought to her fiancé since she arrived at the inn. She should at least try to call him and tell him she’d made it there safely. He was probably worried about her. Though she couldn’t be sure, since she’d never seen that particular emotion in him. It didn’t really match his dark, tailored suits, perfectly coiffed hair, and chiselled features. When she pictured Davis in her mind, it surprised her all over again that he’d chosen her. Men like Davis, the Chief Technology Officer for a large, lifestyle company in downtown Brisbane, usually chose women who wore designer gowns with décolletage fighting to burst free from the neckline, and diamonds glimmering on various parts of their body.
That just wasn’t her. She usually wore her chef’s jacket, black and white chequered pants, Doc Marten boots, and her hair pulled back into a messy bun on top of her head with a hairnet holding the whole thing in place. Her look didn’t exactly prompt the word “glamour” to come to mind. And yet, he’d asked her out after they met outside one of the corporate functions she’d been asked to cook for, and he’d attended as a guest. He’d been smoking on the balcony, and she’d been looking for a breath of fresh air at the end of a long night. She’d quipped about the health bene
fits of fresh air, he’d laughed, and the chemistry between them had ignited.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering sometimes if perhaps he deserved someone else. Someone who fit him in all the ways she didn’t. They were supposed to be getting married, but she’d postponed the wedding date three times. She said it was because they were both so busy, but when he hadn’t seemed to mind, she wondered if perhaps her fears that they weren’t suited to one another had some kind of merit.
She tugged the phone from its cradle and punched in his office number. Pressing the receiver to her ear, she waited, drumming her fingers against the bench top. The phone rang out, and she hit redial to try again.
This time, he answered. “Yyyello.”
She smiled. “Hey, it’s me.”
His voice softened. “Kate, I was wondering when you were going to call. How’d you go?”
“I got here late last night. The traffic was horrendous. But everything’s fine. Reeda and Bindi aren’t here yet, so it’s me, Mima, Jack and two guests who haven’t found the good sense to check out yet for some reason.” She scrubbed a hand over her face.
He chuckled. “You should kick them out.”
“I don’t think Nan would want us to, but I might if they don’t leave soon.” She groaned. “And now I have to think about funerals, and plans for the inn, and all kinds of things I don’t want to think about.”
“Won’t you sell the place?” he asked.
She grimaced. “I’m sure we will. I don’t see how we can keep it running. That is, if she’s left it to us girls. We haven’t seen the solicitor yet about her will, so there’s really no point thinking about things like that. Knowing Nan, she probably left the place to Mima and Jack. And honestly, that would be fine with me. If I don’t have to take responsibility for figuring out what to do with it, then I can simply organise the funeral, say goodbye and go back to my life in Brisbane. And back to you, back to normal.”
