The Cafe by the Bridge Page 2

Keeley beelined for Grace and the puppy, now in an ecstasy of wriggles, licks and little-girl cuddles.

  ‘What’s her name?’ Keeley asked, joining the first girl on her knees in the sand.

  Taylor recognised a very slight lisp on the what’s that made it more whath and made a mental note: Keeley was confident enough to approach and talk to strangers, even though it was the puppy and the other little girl that helped with that and, of course, her mother wasn’t far away.

  ‘He’s a boy dog,’ Taylor said, checking again that Amanda’s attention remained on her phone. ‘He doesn’t have a name yet. Maybe you two girls can help me pick one? What do you think is a good name for a puppy?’

  ‘Sparkles,’ said the first little girl. ‘Sascha has a dog called Sparkles.’

  ‘Sparkles ithn’t a boy dog’s name,’ said Keeley.

  What Taylor was about to do wasn’t in any text book, but she was working a theory: Taylor Woods’ theory of finding out if her brother was being scammed.

  She started the line she’d rehearsed. ‘When I was a little girl, we had a dog we named after our Uncle. He was called Bruno. Do you girls have Uncles?’

  ‘I have Uncle Ian,’ Grace said.

  ‘Ian is a bit of a funny name for a dog,’ Taylor said, exaggerating her facial expressions, making both girls laugh. She stooped to their eye level, then to her knees, mirroring both little girls on their knees in the sand.

  ‘What about you? Did you have any Uncles? Would they make good dog names?’ Taylor directed her question to Keeley, making her voice as casual as she could, hoping it hid the knot in her throat.

  Keeley flicked back a brown pigtail that had wandered over her shoulder. Her gaze met Taylor’s, brown eyes above a nose spattered with freckles.

  ‘Well, I have Uncle Will,’ she said, eyes sliding towards her mother.

  Taylor’s pulse thrummed. It was proof Will had a special status with the little girl. But what about those other male visitors to the house? Where did they sit? Were there more Uncles? What about the guy with the gerberas and gelled hair?

  ‘Will is a good name, but I’m not sure it’s good for a puppy.’

  ‘I have Uncle Ross,’ Grace ventured.

  ‘Thath’s not a puppy name either,’ Keeley said, voice high-pitched with excitement, giggle running through it.

  Assertive. And a little bossy.

  ‘We need more Uncles’ names …’ Taylor said, touching the side of her mouth, making a show of thinking. ‘Uncle Ian, Uncle Ross, Uncle Will …’

  ‘I have Uncle Abe,’ Keeley supplied.

  Oh no.

  Was Abe the name of the man in the blue Passat? That’s what Taylor really wanted to know. Was Abe around enough to be granted Uncle status, like Will? But what did that prove anyway? Abe could be the little girl’s real uncle for all Taylor knew.

  ‘Is Uncle Abe your mummy’s brother or your daddy’s brother?’ Taylor asked with half an eye on Amanda over at the park bench. She really was pushing the boundary now, not that Amanda would have noticed. Her eyes were on her phone.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Keeley frowned and dug a scoop of the gritty playground sand in one hand, throwing the sand to the ground. Nothing alarming about that either. At six, many children hadn’t connected the dots about aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. ‘Uncle’ was just a name.

  Suddenly, in the middle of the playground on a day that was bright blue and sunny and not sinister at all, Taylor was convinced she was being ridiculous. Her plan to pump Keeley for information about the men visiting 3/36 West Street Parade was ridiculous. Worst plan ever.

  ‘Gracie? Two-minute warning if you want to go for one more slide before we go …’ Grace’s mum said, smiling at Taylor, standing up and slotting food containers into compartments of the pram.

  Grace stroked the puppy’s back and didn’t make a move for the slide.

  ‘I hads an Uncle Peter too, but he went to Heaven,’ Keeley said, keeping her voice low. ‘Is Peter a good name for a puppy?’

  ‘It’s not a bad name,’ Taylor said.

  There were a lot of uncles in Keeley’s life. Did Keeley really mean Peter had died? Or was that a relationship that had gone sour for Amanda and she’d had to move Uncle Peter on?

  ‘We had a cat who went to Heaven,’ Grace added, as her mother came across to pick her daughter up from the sand and brush off her skirt. ‘We burieded him under a tree in our garden and his soul wented to Heaven.’

  ‘It’s sad when anything we love has to go to Heaven,’ Taylor said.

  ‘Mummy said not to be sad about Uncle Peter,’ Keeley offered.

  ‘Why was that, sweetie?’ Taylor asked.

  ‘Because Uncle Peter was a tight-arsed prick.’

  Taylor’s stomach flipped. Only years of professional practice helped her keep her face neutral.

  Grace’s mother had no such qualms about staying neutral. Grace’s mother almost pulled her little girl’s arm off as she yanked her away.

  CHAPTER

  2

  10 months later

  Either Ella had run from Begg & Robertson Real Estate all the way to the Chalk ’n’ Cheese Café, or Jake had been kissing Ella senseless and that put the pink in her cheeks.

  Ella Davenport blew in the café door for the pool committee meeting that Wednesday afternoon like a sea breeze on the hottest summer day.

  Abe Honeychurch wished he could bottle what Ella had. He’d stick it in the coffee. He’d drink a litre of it a day and see if it made him feel less like a grey cloud. He’d sell a mountain of the stuff.

  He waved at Ella as she met his gaze and smiled hello.

  An extraordinary meeting of the Chalk Hill & Districts Pool Committee this one, Irene Loveday told him, with eyebrows on full alert, when she’d waltzed in the front door eight and a half minutes ago, making the chime sing.

  Irene waltzed most places these days, showing off her new non-dodgy knee.

  Irene had been first to get there. Irene was always first to pool committee meetings—extraordinary or otherwise—a record she went to great lengths to keep intact.

  ‘Hi, ladies,’ Ella greeted the three women already seated at Table 1 in the front corner, the one with the best view of Cutters Creek and Chalk Hill Bridge.

  That had used to be Nanna Irma’s sitting room before he and Jake finished the renovations to turn the house into a café over the winter and spring. Abe was glad now they’d never sold Nanna Irma’s house, even though he’d been all for it at the time.

  It would have been selling Honeychurch history, and their heritage, Jake had that right. Renovations kept Nanna’s house in the family, and the café kept Abe in business. Even if it was a smaller business these days than the tapas bars he’d been used to.

  Some of Abe’s earliest memories were of watching horse racing with Pop in that sitting room on Saturdays, lying on his stomach on the floorboards making pretend bets and adding to his pile of coins when Pop said his bet came good.

  Funny how he never lost a cent when he was eight.

  ‘Latte, Ella?’ Abe called across to the woman his big brother loved. She would be his sister-in-law any day now. The entire town was waiting for the BIG ANNOUNCEMENT.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Ella shrugged off her coat and laid it on the back of the chair. Was she flushed from the running, the kissing or because he had the wood fire stoked too high? It was sunny outside but not warm. Spring in Chalk Hill was a fickle houseguest. She took forever to unpack her bags and settle in.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Ella apologised to the others as she sat. ‘I had to show a house to some people who were heading back to Perth today and couldn’t wait.’

  Abe’s money was still on kissing. Jake and Ella ate lunch in the War Memorial Garden Park most days, especially sunny spring days like this one, and, almost always, kissing ensued when they thought no one was watching.

  There was a time he would have thought all the hiding such a waste. Just kiss the girl already. These days, he was g
lad to see Jake happy. Abe liked Ella. She was one of the good ones.

  He finished frothing the milk for Ella’s latte, poured it into the freshly brewed coffee and carried the complimentary drink to her table. First coffee for the pool committee was always free at Chalk ’n’ Cheese.

  Ella thanked him, but her concentration remained on Irene, who had The Agenda.

  Irene always had The Agenda.

  Honestly, the pool committee meetings cracked him up. These ladies were all so earnest about the new town pool. They pored over budgets, electricity bills, chlorine levels, session revenue, lesson times and attendance numbers with every bit as much fervour as he’d once checked the Saturday Racing Form Guide.

  ‘What’s on The Agenda today, Irene?’ Abe asked, as he opened the lid on a glass jar of choc-chip cookies.

  Had to try to be hospitable.

  Had to make a good show.

  ‘We’re looking at applications for the swimming instructor position.’ Irene put her hand in the mouth of the cookie jar before she snatched it away. ‘No, I must be strong. I’ve lost six kilos since I got this knee done and I’m not putting them all back on.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Abe said, passing the jar to Sally Huxtable. The scent of cookie and coffee warmed the air every bit as much as the glow from the fire.

  Sally had no such qualms about taking a cookie.

  Loraine McCormack took two.

  ‘I didn’t know the pool position was vacant. I thought you taught the swimming lessons, Ella,’ Abe said, pausing to consider the cookie jar, deciding bugger it, just one. The day a bloke couldn’t have one of his own cookies in his own café would be an even greyer day than all the others.

  ‘The way real estate has taken off since the news about the water ski park and the extension to Chalk Hill Bridge Road, I’m flat out. I don’t have any time for anything at the moment.’

  ‘You’ve done more than enough, Ella,’ Irene said. ‘You’re not like us old ducks who have nothing better to do than stick our oar in. You’ve got the town started with the swimming lessons like you said you would. Now we take it the next step.’

  ‘Got any good candidates?’ Abe asked, offering Ella the cookie jar.

  She waved it away. ‘Unfortunately, I have to report to the meeting that I have the sum total of zero applications received by the closing date.’

  ‘So we’re back to the drawing board,’ Sally sighed.

  ‘Fraid so.’

  The other ladies nodded, crunched and sipped, except for Irene who stared at the cookie jar like a puppy denied a treat.

  ‘How many days is the job?’ Abe asked, and his gaze settled momentarily on the soft-looking redhead sitting outside on the verandah nursing a soy latte after her toasted chicken focaccia. A compact dog with a shiny black coat lay at her feet. Best behaved dog Abe had ever seen.

  The woman had been here yesterday afternoon too. Walked up the street with her dog on a leash. She must be visiting a relative somewhere in town rather than passing through. Not much to keep people in Chalk Hill otherwise.

  Maybe she planned on staying long enough to look for work?

  Pity she didn’t look much like a swimmer.

  ‘Wednesdays and Saturday mornings to start, but that could grow, depending on the level of interest,’ Irene told him. ‘The school wants to start lessons next year in second term. That’ll grow the role.’

  ‘Do they have to be Olympic-level swimmers?’ Abe said, with a wink at Ella. ‘Will they be tested on their butterfly?’

  ‘I never made the Olympics,’ she said, and they all indulged her with smiles. It was Ella’s standard answer every time anyone made the Olympics comment. ‘And butterfly isn’t actually that hard, if you get taught to do it properly. I’ll teach you any day you’re willing, Abel.’

  ‘Knowing my luck, I’d drown,’ Abe said. ‘Who’d make your coffee then?’

  Ella smiled as she sipped her latte, and Irene tapped her finger against the pages of The Agenda.

  ‘Leave you to it. Sing out if you want anything,’ Abe said.

  He welcomed a new couple into the restaurant for lunch and settled them on the opposite side of the café on Table 3. They had a view of the street to Chalk Hill Bridge and they’d feel private from the pool committee ladies, and from another couple with a young baby, eating lunch at Table 7 nearer the service counter. The baby, a bundle in blue, had fallen asleep in his pram and the parents were making the most of what must be a blissful silence.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ Abe asked them, wondering if his smile looked as forced as it felt.

  ‘A piece of that chocolate orange cheesecake, please,’ the lady said. The bloke opted for a slice of Abe’s chocolate tart.

  He cut slices for the customers, decorated the plates with a snow-drift of icing sugar and a fan-cut ripe strawberry, plus a dollop of cream to dress up the tart. He carried those out to the customers and then marked the desserts on their bill while he waited for a sign that the newer patrons were ready to order, and took that moment of relative calm to think about his day.

  Abe, who’d always been too busy rushing through life, made himself take moments of reflection these days, and the quiet resilience of the café gave him the strength he needed to slow life down, take a breath and breathe it out.

  Resilience. That was the word. Nanna Irma’s old home had been transformed into something new and vibrant when he and Jake had built Chalk ’n’ Cheese Café. It had invigorated him too for a while; given him something to get out of bed for when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and pull the quilt higher, higher.

  In the old wood, the high ceilings, the rich depth of oiled floors, dado walls and so many years of life and love—it was all still there: history and life ran through this place. By simply taking a moment every day, Abe could listen to the old house and its message.

  At least until the message got interrupted because he had to be nice to customers.

  When he’d owned the tapas restaurants in the city, he hadn’t had to bother with front of house and there’d never been time for listening to the floorboards and walls. His restaurants had been all about drinks up!, order chef! ringing the bell so the wait staff could carry filled plates to the hordes. Those days had been about getting people in, getting them fed, taking their money, getting them out and then doing it all again with the next sitting.

  Day after day. Night after night.

  And it worked. The restaurants had made him a lot of money. Real money this time, not the piles of coins he’d won from betting on horses with Pop on Nanna’s living room floor.

  Not that he had much to show for those years.

  Abe shook off the angry blood that always wanted to boil when he thought about that woman, and did his best to lance the poison before it could fester.

  Poison didn’t help him when he had to be pleasant.

  Pulling his smile on, he strode across to see if they were ready to order at Table 3.

  * * *

  An hour later, the café was empty save for Ella and the redhead sitting outside with her dog. She must be getting cold. She’d pulled her coat around her shoulders. Lovely European-looking deep-green woollen coat. Designer.

  Abe had been out to check if he could get her anything else. Another coffee, she’d said, voice sweet and smooth as his white chocolate tart.

  Soy latte, double shot.

  Abe wiped down Table 7, laid new cutlery and straightened the chrome chairs.

  Ella, having waved goodbye to the other three pool committee members, came up to the service counter for a chat. She leaned her bottom on one of the jarrah bar stools lining the corner wall. People often sat there when they were snatching a baguette or sandwich for lunch on the run. Abe kept the day’s newspapers there and some tourist magazines, sometimes the odd picture book about the Great Southern region of Western Australia.

  Dual purpose: give a customer something to read, they didn’t hound him with small talk.

  ‘
So how’s business?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘We’re on budget, so that’s all we can ask. Especially just starting up.’

  ‘You must be stoked.’

  Must he? ‘Yeah. I could still do with more bums on seats but you get that. Once the weather warms up …’

  ‘Be wildflower season soon. I wasn’t here in time for the wildflower season last year. I missed it. Jake tells me it’s spectacular. He wants to take me and Sam walking in the Porongurups. We still haven’t been up that Granite Skywalk.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ Abe admitted. ‘I was outta Chalk Hill before they built that thing.’

  ‘Well, maybe you can come with us when we do it, then.’

  ‘Not sure how I’ll get away from this place, but if I can, you’re on.’

  ‘You need to get some help when it gets busier,’ Ella said.

  ‘I’m managing, aren’t I?’

  A frown crossed Ella’s face, but it was gone just as fast. Her attention switched to the glass windows facing Chalk Hill Bridge Road, and the redhead sitting with her dog.

  ‘She’s been here a while. She was here when I got here,’ Ella said, head slightly to the side as she studied his customer.

  ‘Came in yesterday too.’

  ‘City girl,’ Ella commented.

  ‘Yep.’ Funny how easy it was to tell. The smallest thing could give a person away, like paying too much attention to kangaroos, or cows. In the redhead’s case, it was the way she flinched when the kookaburras laughed by the bridge. Not to mention her chic tan boots and that coat. They had city written all over them. Hell, the coat said Milan.

  The dog lifted his head from his paws and stared into the restaurant. The woman mimicked the animal, looking in through the glass, but after a few seconds she returned her gaze to Chalk Hill Bridge.

  ‘She’s nice to look at,’ Ella said.

  Abe had thought the same, as well as that she had nice boobs, a sweet voice and a lovely coat; didn’t look country, or like a swimming teacher, and she had a very well-behaved dog.

  ‘Don’t you think she’s pretty?’ Ella prompted when Abe said nothing.

  He shrugged. ‘Sure. I like her coat.’