Bungalow on Pelican Way

by Lilly Mirren

  Kate’s throat was too tight to speak. She’d asked Reeda a few times over their months together at the Waratah how things were going, but apart from some marital conflict, which Reeda assured her was completely under control, and some issues at work, she’d been close-lipped about what might be bothering her. Perhaps that was all it was. Sometimes a girl only needed to get away and swim in the ocean with her sisters.

  “Will you visit?” asked Kate.

  Reeda nodded as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Of course I will. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

  “Good. Wait here a moment.”

  There was something in her room she’d been meaning to give to Reeda but had forgotten in the frantic grand re-opening celebrations and the weeks that followed. The inn had been chock full since opening and was already taking bookings for the Christmas holidays.

  She pulled the timber box out from beneath her bed, wrapped her arms around it and carried it out to where Reeda stood waiting. Reeda’s face lifted like a sail in a breeze.

  “I wanted to give you Nan’s journals,” said Kate, handing her sister the box.

  “I can’t take them. You and Bindi should keep them here at the inn,” objected Reeda, handing the box back to Kate.

  Kate shrugged. “I asked Bindi about it, and she said you could have them. She’ll take them next. We can pass them around and each have a turn with them. It’s kind of like having Nan visit each of us.”

  Reeda met Bindi’s gaze and Bindi nodded, her eyes wet with tears. “It’s fine. You have them, and when you’re done, I’ll read them. Honestly, I don’t mind.”

  Reeda nodded and tucked the box under her arm. “Well, if you think so… I really would love to take a look at them.”

  “Great, it’s settled then. And besides, I need a break from reading about Nan’s heartache. It’s hard to discover all the things she went through, things she never spoke about,” said Kate with a sigh. “Poor Nan.”

  “Yes, poor Nan. I wish she’d talked to us, or at least to someone,” said Bindi.

  “She shared her heart; don’t you worry about that.” Mima’s voice turned all their heads as the cook emerged from the kitchen drying her hands on the green leafy apron tied around her ample waist.

  She smiled. “I was there through thick and thin. She had a shoulder to cry on, and she made it through. She was a tough old bird, your Nan.”

  Reeda ducked her head and Kate embraced Mima with a chuckle. “Yes, she was, just like you, Mima. You lived through enough heartbreak of your own as well.”

  “And she was there for me when I needed her, too. It was a tough time for a lot of people, the war. When it was over, so many of us weren’t sure what to do with ourselves. Where to go, how to act, how we should live… our families had been torn apart, a lot of us had to give up our jobs for the men returning from battle. We had nowhere to go, nothing to do, it was as though the rug had been pulled out from under our feet. But we made it through, like people have done since the beginning of time. Somehow you find a way.”

  “Was Nan happy, do you think?” asked Bindi, wiping her eyes with her fingertips.

  Mima laughed, a big booming laugh. “She was as happy as anyone can be. Paul was a good husband to her — the best, really. And a true friend to me as well. When she and Paul built this place, it was a dream come true for both of them. They’d wanted to fill it with children, but that wasn’t to be. Still, they had Keith and then you girls, and it was enough. For all of us.”

  “I’m glad she found happiness,” added Reeda. “I don’t think I could bear to know Nan was unhappy. It wasn’t something I ever thought much about when she was alive. She was always there, she was Nan. I never considered whether or not she was fulfilled, because she always had a smile on her face and took care of everyone around her as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

  Kate nodded. Why had they waited until she was gone to get to know their grandmother? Why hadn’t Kate come home to the inn more often, asked Nan if she was happy, done something to bring joy to her life? Tears choked in her throat and she pressed her lips together to hold them at bay.

  “You girls are too hard on yourselves,” said Mima softly, watching Kate’s face. “Nan loved you all, and she was proud of you. You brought her a lot of joy, and she wouldn’t have changed a thing… except of course losing Keith and Mary — that broke her heart into pieces, that did.” Mima’s mouth puckered and she swallowed hard.

  “Us too,” whispered Bindi.

  Mima cleared her throat. “Yes, it was a hard time for all of us. But you’ve each made a life in spite of the tragedy, and Edie would’ve been so happy to see you come together and restore the inn the way you have — it’s truly beautiful. She wanted so badly for the three of you to be a family again, to love each other the way she loved you, and look at you — you’re a family.”

  Mima beamed and wiped the corners of her eyes with the edge of her apron.

  Kate reached for Mima and drew her into a hug. “Thank you, Mima.”

  When they waved goodbye to Reeda, Kate’s chest hurt and her eyes smarted. She’d miss her sister, though she couldn’t help feeling excited about her plans for the Waratah Inn. She’d already spoken to Reeda and Bindi about opening the Waratah Restaurant at the inn and received their approval to add on an extension if the restaurant did well enough to pay for it.

  Things were finally turning around.

  35

  April 1996

  Cabarita Beach

  Bindi poked her head through the office doorway. Kate saw her out of the corner of her eye, but she was too busy to stop what she was doing. She opened the oven door to check on the lamb shanks and a delicious smell crept out to fill the kitchen. She braised each shank with a few spoonfuls of the gravy that bubbled around them, then grinned. She’d been serving the lamb shanks once per week as part of their new evening menu, and every single time, she got rave reviews on the little feedback cards they left on the reception desk for guests to complete.

  When she shut the door, she pressed her hands to the small of her back with a grunt. Too much leaning forward and bending over had given her a backache. She’d have to go and see someone; a chef couldn’t afford back problems. Maybe there was a chiropractor in Kingscliff.

  “Hey Bindi, do you know if there’s a chiropractor or physiotherapist in Kingscliff?” she asked, without turning around.

  “I’m sure there would be.”

  Bindi was hovering. Kate faced her with a smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I don’t want to bother you, but wondered if you knew how to fix a paper jam in the fax machine?” Bindi offered a wry smile.

  Kate sighed. “Maybe, I guess I can take a look at it, but don’t let me forget about the potatoes. They’re roasting and I don’t want them overdone.”

  By the time she wrested the paper from the bowels of the fax machine, the potatoes were ready. She slid them from the oven, her oven mitts warming on contact with the pan, then set the pan on two heat pads on the counter. Just as she was about to put the next batch of potato pieces into the oven to roast, she saw Cocoa at the kitchen window. She was perched on top of a chair, her eyes peering in through the glass directly at Kate.

  Kate laughed and tapped a fingernail on the pane. “I can’t hold you right now, sweetheart, I’ve got to get tea cooked for all our hungry guests, but I promise you, I’ll be out as soon as I’m finished, and I’ll bring an apple.”

  As if she understood, Cocoa jumped down from the chair. Kate heard the thud of Cocoa landing on the verandah floor boards, then the scamper of her toenails scratching out a rhythm as she pattered off to occupy herself elsewhere until Kate was done.

  Kate laughed, basted the potatoes with one last coating of oil, then slipped them into the oven. She’d given Mima the night off to play Bingo in Tweed Heads with a group of friends. It was good to see Mima relaxing and enjoying life. She’d worked hard for so long, and it was t
ime she had a break to enjoy herself. Life was too short for anything less.

  The ring on her pinky finger caught her eye. It wasn’t as dull or tarnished as it’d been when she found it in Nan’s wooden box. Still, it had small dents and scratches and wasn’t exactly high fashion. Kate never took it off. Every time she caught sight of it, memories of Nan flashed through her head and made her smile. She spun it around her finger, her lips curling upward.

  The back door swung open and Jack stepped into the kitchen. He slipped off his mud-covered boots and set his Akubra hat on a peg set into the wall.

  “That smells about as close to divine as we’ll get in this lifetime,” he said with a grin, sitting at the end of the kitchen table.

  “I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” replied Kate with a wink, as she snipped the ends from a handful of beans.

  “If it’s anything like last week’s, it will.”

  Kate’s lips pursed. “We have new guests here every week, so it’s been fine to offer the same meal once per week, but maybe I should give you, Bindi, and Mima a bit more variety,” she said. “When we open the restaurant to the public, I promise, you’ll have more of a selection to choose from.”

  Jack laughed and slapped his knee, his eyes sparkling. “Honey, I’ve never eaten so well in all my life as I have been lately thanks to you.”

  Kate’s heart warmed. “Thank you, Jack. I’m glad I could bring your tastebuds some joy.”

  “And my waistline,” he quipped, pointing to his slender waist.

  She laughed. “Your waistline hasn’t changed a bit in all the time I’ve known you.”

  “I guess that’s been a few years now,” he replied.

  She did the calculation in her head. He’d moved to the inn the year before Mum and Dad’s accident, which meant…

  “Fourteen years,” she said.

  He scratched his head, his grey hair flopping onto his forehead. “Is that so? Well, those years have flown by.”

  After dinner, Kate let the staff clean up and she slumped into a chair on the verandah to listen to the cicadas and the sighing of the ocean. The cool autumn breeze dried the sweat on her face and as she sipped a cold glass of water, she remembered all the times she’d sat in the same spot with Nan or Pop by her side. The chairs were new, the view was the same.

  Alex’s truck crunched down the drive and stopped when he spied Kate through the front windscreen. He climbed out and offered her a wide smile.

  “Hey honey, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She laughed. “You too. I would get up… only I can’t. This whole chef thing is harder than I remembered. Every muscle in my body aches all the time. And I’m so bone tired…”

  He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her lips, his were soft and warm and drew her in, until her breath was shaky, and her head swam.

  He lowered himself into the chair beside her and took her hand in his. “Well, there are worse ways to end a long day.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “How about this view?”

  He stared at her, eyes sparkling and nodded. “It’s breathtaking.” Then he faced the sunset. “And the landscape isn’t bad either.”

  She laughed. “Did you make up that line?”

  He shrugged. “It works on all the ladies…”

  “Oh, does it?” she punched his arm and he feigned injury.

  “Ow!” he said, rubbing his arm. “I wanted to go for a surf, but we’ve started up with soccer training again.”

  She studied him, the curve of his cheeks, his deep hazel eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead. Having him beside her filled her with warmth and made her heart light.

  “Maybe we can go together in the morning. It’s Saturday and I have the morning off, since I showed Bindi how to make breakfast and she insisted I take a break,” said Kate.

  He grinned. “Perfect, I can’t wait.”

  He leaned forward until their lips touched, then lifted her neatly into his lap. She squealed against his lips, then relaxed against his chest as he deepened the kiss.

  In the distance a curlew sounded out its mournful cry and the last of the kookaburras called their goodnights. The soughing of the waves as they crashed onto the shore and drew back into the ocean beat a steady rhythm, and a cool breeze rustled gum leaves overhead as stars twinkled in the sky above the Waratah Inn and everyone who was settled and warm within its sturdy walls.

  Epilogue

  April 1996

  Sydney

  Reeda leaned against the white timber door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. A cardigan draped around her torso and hung low, reaching toward the floor. Her bare feet were almost buried in the plush, beige carpet.

  She stared into the yellow-tinted room, lost in thought.

  It was strange to be back in Sydney. She’d been almost manic by the time she’d left home all those months ago to travel north for Nan’s funeral. She was running from everything: from her life, her husband, her pain, for far too long. Still, running away had given her a chance to think, to gain some clarity on everything she’d been through.

  Was she sane? She felt sane, and yet sometimes…

  How long could someone undergo fertility treatments before she lost her mind entirely?

  She’d certainly come close.

  Her lips tightened.

  Duncan didn’t understand. He’d never understood what it meant for her to have a child. Even now, he was in surgery, taking care of other people’s problems and completely oblivious to the emptiness of her life, to what she was feeling. He’d always been that way — if something was complicated it was too hard for him to face. He’d rather bury himself in work than address the fact that they may never have children, that it might be the two of them for the rest of their lives, and that she couldn’t cope.

  She’d run to Cabarita, and he’d hidden himself away in his operating theatre, hadn’t even attempted to make it to Nan’s funeral. That had been the death knell for their relationship as far as she was concerned. Nan had been important to her, one of her few remaining family members, and he hadn’t been able to drag himself away from his precious surgeries for a day to support her at the funeral. She’d been alone again, like she had for so much of their decade-long marriage.

  Since her time in Cabarita, her friends had continued with their lives, and she hadn’t made much of an effort to reintegrate into her old social circles. She didn’t feel like meeting for coffee or eating at fancy restaurants. Even getting dressed up seemed too hard.

  She padded across the carpet and lay her hand on the cream sheet that covered the cot she’d bought five years earlier but never used.

  A mobile jutted up beneath the sheet, almost grotesque under its cotton tent. Something else that’d never been used. Maybe never would be.

  Duncan’s answer to all her pain was, “Why don’t we adopt? There are plenty of children in the world who need parents. We could have one of those.”

  But she didn’t want to adopt. She wanted to carry a child in her womb and raise it with all the love in her heart. Why couldn’t he understand that?

  Still, she couldn’t blame him, she supposed. She hadn’t exactly been rational with all those fertility hormones rushing through her body turning everything topsy-turvy for months on end. Perhaps adoption was the answer. Though she hadn’t gotten to that stage yet. Agreeing to it seemed like giving up, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. At least she hadn’t been.

  Since Nan died, she’d taken the opportunity to spend time up north with her sisters, to get away from the fertility treatments, the quiet, empty house, and the load of expectation she’d carried on her shoulders for so long.

  The rug beneath her feet felt coarse. The natural fibres tickled her flesh. She’d picked it out especially for that reason. No bleach, no artificial dyes, nothing dangerous or toxic, like every other item in the nursery. She’d chosen each with such care. And now it all sat idle beneath old sheets to protect her hopes and dreams from the gath
ering dust and the reach of the sun’s damaging rays through the window. Not that she ever drew the blinds open anymore. It was too depressing to see dappled rays of sunlight dancing across the floor in an empty room.

  She sank to the ground, knees bent to her chest, chin resting on her knees. No doubt her jeans would be covered with those natural fibres when she got up. One of the hazards of a rug like that, but at this point she didn’t care. What did it matter if her jeans were covered with the stuff when no one would see it but her?

  With a sigh she pushed to her feet, took one last glance around the room, and shut the door behind her. She padded to her office and slumped into her desk chair.

  The white timber desk had a clear surface, just the way she liked it. She always put away her work when she was finished, leaving only a neat stack of papers pushed up against one edge of the desk.

  Before she’d gone to Cabarita, the latest project had been a downtown loft for a multi-millionaire businessman. The catalogues she’d been perusing for the perfect leather armchair still sat in that neat pile. She’d handed the job over to her best designer, Karen Nguyen, when she’d decided she’d stay awhile in Cabarita, instead of returning a few days after the funeral like she’d originally planned. The designer had run things while she was gone, run them so well Reeda wasn’t sure she was needed at her own company any longer.

  Still, she loved it — loved pulling together a design, seeing the warmth it could bring to someone’s home or office. It brought her so much pleasure — at least it had. Now she wasn’t so sure. Nothing seemed to bring her joy anymore. She missed the Waratah, missed her sisters and the beach, Jack, Mima, and that ridiculous possum Kate had adopted and that’d stolen a peach right from under her nose when she wasn’t looking one day out on the verandah. She’d tipped her head back and shut her eyes for a few moments’ rest, and when she opened them the peach was gone and all she could see was the scampering rear end of that darned possum.