by Lilly Mirren
She stepped forward, strode along the beach, her head down and hands pushed deep into her shorts’ pockets.
Anger burned in her gut, and tears continued to wet her cheeks. Nan was wrong about love, all wrong. Love only hurt. It meant letting someone get so close to you, they could tear your heart out and stomp on it.
Although, if she were being entirely honest with herself, she wasn’t as hurt by the breakup as she was by the way he’d done it. He’d met someone else, no doubt someone thinner, more fashionable, younger. She was twenty-eight years old, probably over the hill as far as he was concerned. He’d proposed when she was still in her mid-twenties, maybe he wanted a younger model.
She laughed through the tears. Good riddance. She didn’t need that kind of pressure. What she wanted was someone like the boy Nan had loved all those years ago, someone who could accept her the way she was, love her for all her quirks, without makeup caking her face or an expensive dress that showed off her curves just so. Even when she hadn’t thought to run a brush through her hair or had streaks of paint on her knees.
In fact, she didn’t need a man at all. Perhaps her career was in the toilet, and her relationship was over, but she still had her sisters, Mima, Jack, and a broken-down bed and breakfast. Another laugh turned into a wail, and she buried her face in her hands. What was she doing with her life?
“Kate? Are you okay?”
She raised her head to find herself face to face with a half-naked, dripping wet Alex. He had a surfboard tucked under one arm, his tanned torso flexed as he shifted the weight of it, and concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers through several wet strands of hair that dripped saltwater down his nose and cheeks as she watched.
Her heart skidded to a stop.
“Ah… yep. I’m…” Who was she kidding? There wasn’t a person on earth she could fool into thinking she was fine in the state she was in. Her usual bluffs wouldn’t work this time.
“I thought you didn’t surf anymore?”
“It was time I got back into it… time for a few changes, I think. Are you sure you’re…?”
She stared at him, her eyes still filling with tears at the thought of what Davis had said. Was she so replaceable? So undesirable?
She walked up to Alex, curled a hand around behind his neck, pulled his head down toward her and pressed her lips to his. He tasted like salt and smelled like the ocean.
His eyes widened in surprise, then hers drifted shut as he dropped his surfboard in the sand and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Her lips parted as he explored her mouth. The wetness from his bare chest leached through her shirt, making her shiver. She pushed up onto her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, and moaned against him, making him grip her harder still.
Then, she pulled back, ran a finger over her lips and smiled.
“Kate… what happened?”
She turned on her heel and marched back up the beach.
“Kate? Kate!”
She spun about, walking backwards, to grin at him. “I’ll see you back at the Waratah later.”
He shook his head as he watched her go, his hands hanging loose at his side, above an abandoned surfboard. Then, she turned and ran to her car.
20
May 1942
Bathurst
When Edie came to, she was encased by two strong arms, and carried through the yard. Her face was pressed to her father’s chest. It smelled of tobacco and sweat, a familiar scent that brought tears to her eyes.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
She never called him that, not anymore. Not since she was a young girl.
He glanced down at her, his eyes wide. “Edie love, what happened? What hurts?”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight. “I fell from the ladder.”
“It’s going to be all right.” A muscle clenched in his jaw as he pushed backwards through the front door of the house and carried her over the threshold.
She clutched a handful of his shirt and held on tight. Gently he lay her down on the sofa in the living room. Her mother hovered close by, until he stepped out of the way, then reached for her hand.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
Edie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
Mother glanced over her shoulder to where Father paced back and forth, his boots dropping clods of dirt on the living room rug.
“Frank, your boots,” admonished Mother.
He stared at them like he’d never seen muddy boots before, then startled and hurried outside.
“Are you pregnant?” Mother asked in a whisper, the moment he was out of sight. Her lips pulled taut.
Edie sobbed. “Yes, Mother.”
Mother’s face fell, but only for a moment. She pulled herself together and tugged a lap rug up over Edie’s dress, tucking it around Edie like she was an infant again, and Mother was putting her to bed.
“Well, you may have lost the baby today,” said Mother, not meeting Edie’s eyes. “We’ll know more in time. I’ll send Father to get May Hobbes from next door, she’s been a midwife enough times.”
Edie sobbed into her hands, the pain in her abdomen intensifying with each moment. She doubled over, groaning with the cramp that tightened in her gut.
Mother took Edie’s hand in hers again, holding tight while the cramp subsided.
“There’s nothing more we can do now, but rest and wait. You’ll get through this, my dear,” she said.
Edie couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, there was only pain and the need to breathe, great big gulps of air.
When the cramp passed, she fell back on the sofa, sweat trickling down her brow.
“I don’t want to lose the baby, Mother,” she said, meeting her mother’s gaze with a steady look. “I want it to live.”
Mother’s eyes softened. “Of course you do. And now is not the time for reprimands. But you should know, if you keep the baby, the father isn’t here. He won’t be marrying you anytime soon and won’t be around to care for either of you. So, you’ll have to do things my way.”
Edie swallowed and tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. She grunted and squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“Your way?” she asked.
“If this baby lives, I’ll raise it as my own. That way, you can live without the shame you’d otherwise face, and do all the things you’ve hoped to do with your life.”
“But Mother…”
Mother squeezed her hand and leaned over to kiss Edie’s forehead. “Shhhh… I never had the chance to do things my way, to live the life I wanted. I had dreams too, you know. Dreams that never could come to anything, because I got married and had Bobby and you.” Mother offered her a warm smile, as she brushed Edie’s hair out of her face. “And I don’t regret that, I love you both, but I don’t want you to have to give up everything you’ve wanted for a baby, especially not your reputation. I don’t want that for you.” Mother’s eyes took on a hard look and she stared beyond Edie, into some distant memory Edie couldn’t see.
“It’s for the best,” she said. “Don't you see? It will be for the best, for you and the baby.”
Something inside of Edie wanted to scream, to cry, to wail that the baby was hers, that she would raise it herself and didn’t care sixpence what anyone in town thought of her or Charlie. They didn’t need anyone else, they only needed each other.
Except Charlie wasn’t there, she was all alone. And she couldn’t raise a baby by herself. She had a job now but would lose it the moment her supervisor saw the bulge beneath her dress.
She needed her parents. And if Mother said it was for the best, she couldn’t see how Mother could be wrong.
“Yes, Mother,” she said.
“And you’ll leave that job at the small arms factory and stay here at the farm until the baby comes. We can’t have people talking about you.” Mother pushed out her chin. “You’re a Watson, after all.”
May Hobbes visited and confirmed there was nothing they could do but wait while Edie rested.
Soon after May left, the bleeding stopped, and the pain subsided enough for Father to help Edie upstairs to her own bedroom. She changed slowly, with Mother’s help. Mother bathed her with a gentle, warm cloth, and helped her beneath the covers then kissed Edie on the forehead and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Edie reached beneath her mattress to find the box Charlie had whittled for her. She fingered the carvings on the lid and sides, marvelling at the intricacy of his design and the hours he must have spent carving it with her in mind. She slipped the silver ring onto her finger, then back off again, setting it in the bottom of the box.
Downstairs, the sound of her parents arguing filtered beneath her bedroom door. Father yelled something she couldn’t understand and was answered by Mother’s steely, calm voice. They were talking about her.
She knew, with a calm certainty, that nothing between them would ever be the same again. Father wouldn’t see her the same way, and from that moment on, her life would be contained within the walls of the small, white farmhouse. For months, or maybe longer, if Charlie didn’t hurry back soon to rescue them. She clutched the box to her chest and fell asleep with tears leaving streaks in the dust on her cheeks.
21
October 1995
Cabarita Beach
The sitting room was a disaster. Already the walls between it and the living room, dining room and breakfast nook had been torn down. Plaster lay scattered across the drop sheets that covered the hardwood floors. Only a few support beams remained in place. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the window coverings, giving the entire area a light, spacious feel.
Kate stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage. It was hard to imagine how anything beautiful could come from all this mess and destruction, but Bruno had assured her it would.
She couldn’t seem to focus on the task at hand. When she went to bed the previous night, running over and over her conversation with Davis and the kiss she’d shared with Alex, her stomach twisted in knots and adrenaline continued to pump through her veins, regardless of the fact that she was lying on her side, in bed, with her eyes pressed shut. In the end, she’d groaned, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling, the faint scratching of the possum in the roof cavity her only companion. Then, she remembered Nan’s journals, and she’d sat up, cross-legged in bed, reading until her eyelids finally drooped and she was ready to sleep.
One thought kept nipping at the edge of her mind — Pop wasn’t Dad’s father. Not his biological father anyway, if she was reading Nan’s journal right. The timing fit. She’d done the calculations using a precise finger counting method. If Nan lost the baby, perhaps Dad came soon after. But how could that happen? Especially now that Charlie had left for the war? She shook her head and pushed thoughts of Nan, Charlie, and Dad out of her mind. She wouldn’t find the answers in the demolished sitting room and wasn’t ready to talk to her sisters about what she’d discovered yet. Not until she knew the truth.
Reeda stood in one corner, a measuring tape in both hands. She pulled one end of the tape out, pressed it to the wall, then stretched the tape as far as she could reach in the other direction. She muttered something beneath her breath and made a note in the notepad she carried everywhere she went now that the renovation was well underway. Her hair was caught up in a messy ponytail, paint smudged one cheek and her eyes sparkled. She was in her element.
“I’m going shopping for furniture. I have to put in orders now so that they’ll be ready in time for the opening,” said Reeda, tucking the tape measure into the tool belt that hung from her hips.
Kate nodded. “Do you think you could pick up some lunch while you’re out?”
Reeda shrugged. “Okay, that’s fine. Sandwiches?”
“Sounds good to me.”
When Reeda left, Kate looked for Bindi. She found her in the office, going over the accounts. There was a crease between her eyes and her chin rested on one hand, almost as though in defeat.
“Hey, sis. What’s going on?” asked Kate, sitting on the edge of the desk.
Bindi shook her head. “I’m trying to understand Nan’s accounts. I don’t get it. What is this account? Personal. That’s all it says, ‘personal’. And there are tens of thousands of dollars listed under the account. Meanwhile, the accounts for electricity bills, food purchases, furnishings… are almost entirely empty.” She groaned and sat back in the chair, her eyes shut.
“Sounds like Nan was skipping corners when it came to reporting what her expenses were for.”
“But personal? She’s probably been missing out on tax deductions for years, by the look of this.”
Kate sighed. “That’s Nan for you.”
“I’m not sure where to start,” began Bindi, leaning forward again and squinting at the screen.
“Maybe start from now. We can’t go back and change the past, but we can do our best for the future.”
Bindi grinned. “Wow, that sounds like a Chinese fortune cookie quote.”
Kate laughed. “Well, I’m all about gleaning wisdom from food.”
A knock on the inn’s front door startled them both. Kate brushed her hair back from her face and hurried to meet whoever had made it past the closed sign and through the stacks of tiles, timber, and men in hard hats.
“Hello?” she called, sensing Bindi right behind her.
A man stood in the open doorway. He wore a navy business suit, white shirt, and multi-coloured tie. He scraped the soles of his black, patent leather shoes on the dusty welcome mat, and glanced up at Kate with a ready smile.
“Hello there, I’m Howard Keneally,” he said, extending his right hand toward her.
She took it and shook. “I’m Kate Summer. Is there something I can help you with? As you can see, we’re closed at the moment…”
He scanned the bedlam with a chuckle. “Yes, I know. Actually, I’m here to help you.”
Great, just what they needed, someone wanting to sell them the latest two-thousand-dollar vacuum cleaner or a stake in a religious cult she had no interest in joining.
“I’m a developer, and I’m planning a resort down the road from this property. I spoke with the former owner here…” He glanced down at a folder in his arms. “An Edith Summer… about buying the place. I want to include this property in my development proposal. It’d give me the opportunity to really make my vision a reality. And I’d pay you well for it.”
Kate exchanged a look with Bindi. “Oh? You’re building a resort nearby?”
“I’m planning on it,” he replied with a smug grin.
“I don’t think we’re looking to sell…” began Bindi.
He interrupted her, lifting a hand to quiet her. Bindi’s cheeks reddened. “I promise, you won’t get a better offer than the one I’m willing to make. This place is falling apart, and before you sink another cent into something that, let’s face it, can’t bring in the kind of serious cash I’m talking about, let’s make a deal that could change your life forever.” His white teeth gleamed.
Kate wondered whether his blond tips were an homage to a boy band or if he liked to look as though he’d stepped off the beach, with his fake tan and glaringly bright teeth.
“Would you tear it down?” she asked.
“What? This building?”
She nodded. “Yes, the inn. Would you have to tear it down to make way for your resort?”
He laughed. “Of course, we couldn’t keep it. It wouldn’t… fit with the look we’re going for. All modern, all white, suave and sophisticated.”
Bindi’s face was red, and her nostrils flared. She pushed out her chin and opened her mouth, but Kate stepped in front of her and stuck out a hand toward Howard.
“Thanks Howard.”
He shook her offered hand.
She patted his shoulder and ushered him away from Bindi, down the stairs and through the cluttered yard. “Thank you for coming over. We’re not looking to sell, but we appreciate your offer.”
“I’ll fax over th
e details,” he continued. “I promise, you won’t be able to say no, once you’ve seen it.”
She smiled. “Well, we’re in the middle of refurbishing what is, for us, a very beloved and sentimental building. But if we change our mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
He climbed into his BMW and drove away, one arm waving out the open window as he passed through the inn’s gates.
Bindi came up behind her. “I don’t like him,” she said.
Kate chuckled. “I can see that.”
“He wants to destroy the place.”
“Don’t hold that against him, I’ve wanted to do the same more than once since Bruno and his men arrived,” muttered Kate.
Bindi huffed. “Be serious.”
Kate faced her, resting her hands on Bindi’s shoulders. “Okay, okay. I seriously didn’t like him either. There, does that make you feel any better?”
Bindi nodded. “Yes, thank you. You’re not going to change your mind and try to sell the Waratah again, are you?”
“Not this week.”
“And I don’t think we should tell Reeda about slimy Howard. She’d see it as the perfect opportunity to get rid of the inn.”
“Well…” It was the kind of chance that didn’t come along often. They could sell the place, take their share of the proceeds and each return to their old lives. But what kind of life would she go back to? Brisbane wasn’t home any longer. She had no job, no fiancé, and her friends had given up on calling to see how she was going. She’d had enough of that life.
“Please. Let’s keep it to ourselves, for now, at least. We can tell Reeda, just not yet. I want to give us a chance to see what we can do with the Waratah, and if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll call Mr. Sleazey.”
