by Lilly Mirren
17
September 1995
Cabarita Beach
Two weeks were spent in negotiations with their new contractor, following up on financing with the solicitor, and endless discussions about paint chips, crown moulding, flooring, and curtains.
When Kate wasn’t arguing with Reeda over armchairs or trying to understand Bindi’s explanation of various accounting terms, she was holed up at the stables every afternoon with Alex.
By the end of the fortnight, the new stables were complete and every muscle, ligament, and tendon in her body ached, or screamed, depending on whether she was laying down or walking.
Kate had a clear idea of how she wanted the inn updated, but so did Reeda, and often their ideas clashed. On one thing they agreed, the bedrooms in the inn needed private bathrooms or modern-day holiday makers wouldn’t be interested in spending their hard-earned money to stay there.
There were eleven bedrooms on three levels in the Waratah, and they had decided to reduce that number to seven, three on each level with the master suite on the ground floor. The extra rooms would be converted into walk-in closets and spacious en-suites for the remaining bedrooms.
Reeda had suggested they opt for a lighter colour palette, with subtle variations for each of the rooms, rather than the eclectic, garage sale vibe Nan had created throughout the inn. She’d used whatever colour paint she’d felt inspired to use for each wall, with no apparent theme. Kate liked the idea and added that they should remove any unnecessary walls and change out the old, square windows for more modern, rectangular ones to let in more natural light.
Even though they couldn’t agree on carpet or hardwood, fabric couches or leather, they both loved the idea of modernising the inn without sacrificing too much of its historical feel.
When Bruno came back to do the walk through with them, pen poised above his clipboard, he jotted quick notes as they spoke. He’d suggested they refinish the timber floors, since with a lighter stain, they’d be both modern and fresh, while keeping the inn’s heritage intact. That had ended the question of flooring, since both Kate and Reeda loved the suggestion.
The contractor offered several more pieces of advice in his gentle voice as they paced through the inn. Each time, he encouraged the sisters to retain as much of the inn’s character as they could, since that was what guests would be looking for when they booked the Waratah over the more lavish resorts farther north on the Gold Coast.
Bruno was right. Kate could tell he loved the idea of working on the Waratah by the way he ran his hand up the balustrade, or gazed down the length of the hallway, stepping out a measurement here, or cocking his head to one side to calculate options there. He was the right man for the job, and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders when he stepped into his truck and waved goodbye as the sun dipped below the horizon. She and Reeda exchanged a relieved smile and walked arm-in-arm back into the inn.
Kate made dinner that night, since Mima had gone to bed early with a headache. She’d carried a bowl of pumpkin soup into Mima’s room, with a plate of fresh baked bread, and set it on the bedside table to check on her. She was sleeping peacefully, and Kate hated to wake her. She studied her a moment, then pulled the door shut. How long would Mima be able to keep up the pace of work required of a cook at what they hoped would be a busy boutique bed and breakfast?
After they’d cleaned up the kitchen, Reeda and Bindi disappeared to their rooms, and Kate tugged the office phone out of the wall and carried it up to hers. She’d noticed a phone jack in the wall when she was last up there and wondered what had happened to the telephone that was likely plugged in for guests to use at one time or another.
That was another thing they’d have to rectify as part of the update.
She plugged the phone into the wall, lay on her bed and dialled Davis’s home number. The phone rang out. She slid the earpiece back into place and squeezed her eyes shut, her heart falling. Where was he?
Just then, the phone rang in her hands. She jolted in place, then juggled the earpiece back and forth between both hands like it was a hot potato before answering.
“Hello? I mean, good evening this is the Waratah Inn, how can I help you?”
“Katie?”
She breathed out a rush of air. “Davis, there you are.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, I know I’ve been difficult to catch lately. It’s been busy around here.”
“I really needed to talk to you.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I’m here now. What’s going on?”
“We picked a contractor, and he’s going to start renovations on Monday.”
“So, you’re keeping it?” asked Davis, surprise lifting his voice to a higher pitch.
“Nan wrote us all letters about how she hoped we would renovate it. We don’t have to keep it after we’re done if we don’t want to… but the three of us talked about it and agreed to honour Nan’s wishes to make it look the best it can before we decide.”
“Okay, well that’s good news I suppose,” encouraged Davis, stifling a yawn.
“Am I keeping you up?” asked Kate.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m tired, that’s all. I’ve been working long hours. We’ve got this project that won’t seem to end. But you don’t want to hear about that… tell me about your contractor.”
She sighed. “He’s great, but the problem is, I think I need to be here to supervise. Reeda’s capable, I know that, but I don’t want to leave everything to her and Bindi. Besides, at some point she’s going to have to head back to Sydney, and Bindi can’t do this on her own.”
The silence extended between them. Davis cleared his throat. “So, how long do you think you’ll be there?”
“I don’t know… but it’ll probably be a while yet.”
“What about your job?” he asked.
She shook her head, burying her face in her hands. She hadn’t told Davis yet. She hadn’t wanted to hear the words from his mouth — she should’ve fought for her position. Shouldn’t have let it go so easily. He wouldn’t have. She knew that. “Marco already replaced me.”
He sucked in a breath and she waited for his response, her heart in her throat.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a selfish jerk, and always will be.”
She exhaled. “He is. But I’m looking at it as my chance to change direction, do something different. I think renovating the inn is something I have to do. Nan left me a letter, and she asked me to restore the inn, to make it my priority. I don’t think I can ignore that.”
He sighed. “I get it. Look, I’ve got to go, honey. I’ve still got a ton of work to do, and I’m exhausted. So, maybe we can talk tomorrow, eh?”
They said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone, her heart heavy. Telephone conversations weren’t the same as seeing each other face-to-face. She’d have to take some time to visit Davis soon, she only wondered why he hadn’t made the trip yet himself. Cabarita was beautiful, and they could take long walks on the beach together, go horse riding, have a small holiday at the inn. She’d suggested it to him more than once, but he’d always found an excuse not to come.
As she pulled the curtains shut, she noticed a light on in the newly constructed stables. An electrician had come by that afternoon to set everything up, and she’d been delighted to see the glow from the overhead bulbs switch on and off again. She felt a pride she’d never experienced before in the strength and beauty of the structure she’d helped Alex construct. But one of them must’ve left a light on after the electrician packed up.
She skipped down the staircase and padded outside. The chill of the night air bit through her thin pyjamas, and she wished she’d thought to grab a coat. Her feet flopped about inside the enormous gumboots she’d found by the back door. Perhaps they were Jack’s, she wasn’t sure, but her small feet swam in them.
It was the storeroom light. She marched into the stables, reached around the storeroom wall, her fingers feeling their way, then flicked off the light switc
h, throwing the building into darkness.
The horses hadn’t moved back into their stalls yet. She and Alex planned on filling the stalls with hay and setting up water troughs the next day. After that, the animals could take up residence. She hoped they’d enjoy their new, spacious stalls.
“Hey!” called a masculine voice from within the storeroom.
She startled, clutching at her heart. “What on earth?” She flicked the switch, flooding the room with light.
Alex stepped forward, his eyes wide. “What are you trying to do, kill me?” He held a saw in one hand.
She blinked. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
He turned back to the piece of timber he’d been sawing and set the saw back in place. “I thought I’d hang around, get a bit more work done. There’s nothing worth watching on the telly.”
She shook her head and sat down on a bale of hay to watch him. “You just about gave me a heart attack.”
“Ditto.” He grinned up at her.
She sucked in a slow breath. “So, what are you working on?”
“Putting some shelving in here.”
“Don’t you have to teach tomorrow?” she asked, squirming in place to find a more comfortable position on the hay bale.
He shrugged, setting the newly cut shelving on the ground. “Yep. But I love being here with the horses, working with my hands. It’s one of the few things in life I really enjoy, that and my garden.”
She chuckled. “You don’t look like the kind of man who has a garden, or a greenhouse.”
He snorted. “What kind of man do I look like?”
Kate’s cheeks flushed with heat. “I don’t know… definitely not a maths teacher either.”
“Well, I guess you’ve got me all wrong then,” he replied, with a wink.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He reached for another piece of timber and began sawing it in two.
“So, you’re engaged?” he asked, his eyes still fixed firmly on the timber and saw.
She stared down at her ring finger. The diamond sparkled, reflecting prisms of light against the storeroom’s walls.
“Ah… yes. I’m engaged.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
Her stomach tightened. “His name is Davis, and he’s an Operations Manager with a big firm in Brisbane.”
“Sounds fancy,” replied Alex with the flash of a dimpled smile her way.
“Yes, he is, I guess.”
“And where is this Davis?”
“Huh?” she asked, not sure where he was going with this.
“I mean, your Nan died, and you’re here trying to figure out what to do with this inn you’ve inherited — where’s Davis?”
She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a criticism. Only he’d said it with a warm smile painted on his lips, and dimples flexing in his cheeks.
“He’s busy with work. He wanted to be here, but he couldn’t make it.”
“Shame,” replied Alex.
As she walked into the inn and shucked off the gumboots by the back door, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Something inside her felt empty, weak, rattled. Where was Davis? She’d thought herself unfair for her disappointment in him not being there, but perhaps she wasn’t. If Alex thought the same, maybe it wasn’t her own insecurity talking. Maybe it was normal to expect your fiancé to be there when you needed him, like she needed Davis now. She padded back up the stairs to her warm bedroom, an ache in her chest. And as she fell to sleep, she dreamed of possums climbing through bedroom windows and horses running free on the beach as she chased them with a bridle yelling after them to stop.
18
May 1942
Bathurst
Edie climbed onto her bicycle and fixed her skirt so she could peddle, by shimmying it up her legs as far as she dared. If only Father would let her wear pants like many of the other women working in the small arms factory alongside her.
She tugged the hairnet from her head with a sigh, and shoved it into her pocket, replaced it with her tattered straw hat, then pushed down on the pedals.
As she rode past the row of new cottages, built for the women working in the factory, she waved at some of the familiar faces who offered her tired smiles in reply.
She’d never seen so many women gathered in one place before, let alone working together, side-by-side, in a factory. Almost two thousand workers gathered in this factory every day, most of them had come from outside of Bathurst — surrounding towns and far off cities. She was one of the few who returned home each day, something she was grateful for and dreaded all at the same time. There were hours of chores awaiting her when she reached the farm, now that Bobby had joined the Royal Australian Navy.
Bobby had shipped out not long after she received the first letter from Charlie. He’d written home before he left, assuring them all that he’d take care. Her mother had gone to bed for the entire day and her father hadn’t said a word about it. They’d tried to talk Bobby out of going.
“Leave it to the men who don’t have a property to run. You have responsibilities here, it’s up to us to feed and clothe the soldiers, son,” her father had said.
He was right. Bobby had an exemption, if he wanted it. They ran a herd of sheep and the wool was already being sold to the army to make uniforms for the boys over on the front line. And they grew peaches in the orchard too, food for people in the cities, and for the cans and jars of fruit and preserves that’d make their way to feed the men on the front line.
Father had used every argument he could think of, then he’d spoken about the men he’d known, his father included, lost, or forever changed by the Great War. But it hadn’t mattered. So many of Bobby’s friends were gone, either in Sydney training for battle, or already stationed in North Africa, Papua New Guinea, or Malaysia. Stone the crows, he’d shouted, he wouldn’t stay behind, like a wowser, and let them do all the fighting. So, he’d left. The house was quiet now. And the quiet bit at her sanity like drips from a leaking tap.
She’d heard from Charlie as well. He’d sent the letter before his ship pulled out of port, but for some reason it’d taken a roundabout passage to reach her, and she’d worried she wouldn’t hear from him, wouldn’t know where he was headed.
He was in good spirits, it seemed. Soon to leave Sydney, bound on a ship to join the North African campaign. He’d let her know when he arrived. They’d made him a pilot in the Royal Australian Air Force, and he’d trained in Bankstown for several months before departing for Egypt. He said they’d be joining the Pommies there to send Hitler’s goons home for good, and she could expect him back in a few months. His letter had been full of promises, declarations of love, and apologies for leaving her.
She pressed a hand to her chest, where she’d stored the letter inside her brassiere. It crackled against her skin, one corner of the folded page digging into her flesh. Since Bobby left for war, her parents didn’t want to hear Charlie’s name on her lips. They blamed him for Bobby enlisting, as though Charlie had somehow been the cause. She knew it wasn’t true, they had to know it as well, but they wanted someone to blame and he supplied a ready target for relieving their pain.
Edie only wished she’d been able to speak to him before he left. How could she tell him that a baby grew inside her? When would she get the chance to let him know she and the baby were waiting for him to return home, to join them, to become a family together?
She’d suspected she was pregnant when she threw up her morning porridge in the yard by the stables a few weeks after Charlie left for Sydney. It wasn’t long before her fears were confirmed, and the nausea remained as a constant reminder that everything in her life was about to change.
What would she do when her stomach grew too large to hide beneath skirts, dresses, and aprons? Her parents would find out then, and they’d be furious. Maybe they’d throw her out. She didn’t want to go to the nuns. She’d heard stories about what happened to the girls who were sent to those cold
, hard convents. Her heart hammered at the thought of it. No, if it came to that, she’d run away first. She and the baby might starve to death, but at least they’d do it on her terms.
Finally, Edie huffed up the long driveway to the house. It perched high on the sloping hill, peeling white paint, rust-covered tin roof, looking older and more worn every day, as though the pain of losing Bobby was more than the house itself could bear. She felt the same way, she missed him already. The house echoed as though hollow without him, her life was dull without both of them — Bobby and Charlie. Not to mention the fact that Mima had moved to Sydney.
Mima was training to be a nurse, she’d stated, right before she climbed onto the bus that was headed for the big city. They’d need all the nurses they could get, so she wasn’t going to miss out on the fun. Besides, she’d said, all the good-looking boys had left Bathurst, why would she stick around to be bored, doing needlepoint and such, when she could entertain the troops. She’d already packed her piano accordion under the bus with the rest of her luggage.
Edie had waved goodbye, a sad lump in her throat. Everyone was leaving, and she couldn’t do a thing but stay behind. The quiver of butterfly wings fluttering in her stomach reminded her that a life was forming there, and she’d need her parents’ help in the coming months whether she wanted it or not. She hated that she’d have to rely on them, unsure of how they’d react to the news once she broke it to them. But what else could she do? With Charlie gone, and Mima in Sydney, she had nowhere else to turn. She’d have to count on them.
She stowed her bicycle in the rickety old shed beside a few bales of hay and her riding tack, hung on nails against the wall. Her saddle sat astride a timber stand her father had crafted for her years ago when she’d first begun to ride. It was worn, weathered, and faded now, but she loved it just the same. She ran a hand over the saddle’s smooth leather, kept supple by the regular oiling she gave it. It was a bit small for her now, but she could hardly ask for a new one given the way things were. She’d have to make do and hope that the war would be over soon.
