Hold On to Me (2 page)

Courtney looked at Stella over the rims of her reflective sunglasses. ‘There'd be no one sadder about that than me—you know that. Well, except for you, obviously. Gawd, here I am trying to cheer you up and I'm putting my foot in it.'

‘I appreciate you trying,' Stella said.

‘But there's nothing you can do now. It might be best to think about it this way: what's done is already done. Please, Stella. Go home. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. I promise.' Courtney's phone trilled and, after a quick goodbye hug, she answered the call, rounded the police car and walked back to the scene.

Summer reached for her friend's elbow. ‘C'mon, I'll go with you.'

‘Really, I'll be okay, Summer. I just need to walk.' She needed time to think, to calm the raging in her head and the burning in her chest. She needed the beach. She needed Horseshoe Bay. She needed the ocean and the waves and the wind in her hair and solitude.

‘Are you sure? I don't have anything—or anyone—else to fill my Sunday morning.'

‘I'll call you.'

Summer looked right into Stella's eyes. ‘You will get through this. You know that.'

‘Of course I will.'

‘Oh no you don't. That was a little half-arsed. You. Will. Get. Through. This.' Summer lifted her chin and closed her eyes to the sky. ‘The angels are telling me.'

The angels. Please. The only magic in the world was hard work. Blood, sweat and tears. And even then, everything could still turn to shit at any moment.

‘You know, I don't believe in that stuff.'

Summer's mouth dropped open in shock. ‘What? All this time you've—'

‘I've been pretending. Yes. But if it makes you feel better, thank the angels for me.'

Stella crossed back over the train line and walked up the hill to the top of the cliff—Freeman's Lookout. To her left, picturesque Horseshoe Bay curved and calmed the waves that swept onto the sand. She took the historic Centenary Steps in front of her down to the pathway along the cliff top, and picked up her pace. It was windier there, exposed to the pulsing Southern Ocean, and she didn't bother any more trying to tame her flapping kimono. If only it would turn into a kite and swoop her up into the sky so she could look down on the mess below.

She found her favourite bench seat and flopped back onto it. Caught her breath. Her feet dangled above the rocky path underneath and she closed her eyes and leant back, taking in the salty tang of the ocean, sucking in great lungfuls of it.

She looked down at her empty hands and realised that in the half-awake confusion of the morning she'd left her phone at home. Maybe it would be better to be distant from the bad news for a little while longer. Anything Courtney had to tell her could wait.

Stella closed her eyes against the bright summer sun. Would she really have to start over with nothing? Although she'd been scrupulously vigilant and had every kind of insurance available, she couldn't shake the dreadful, foreboding feeling that this was history repeating itself. She'd come back to the south coast five years before and started from scratch. She knew what it was like to have nothing and could build it all again if she had to.

Her eyes flew open and there was blue as far as she could see. The ocean whitecaps and the choppy horizon were willing her on: she could feel it. Lifting her up, buoying her along. It had happened the same way five years before—the ocean had held her up when she'd felt like she was drowning.

Stella didn't know why or how or where the hell her drive had come from. But she'd had it then and she had it now. It had saved her.

She had to rely on herself; she'd always known that. Had to be her own confidante, her own secret keeper, her own counsel. She'd made friends here, good friends, but this was something she had to do on her own.

Her childhood hadn't broken her. Neither had Sydney.

She was determined that a fire wouldn't either.

When Stella returned home an hour later, she showered and changed into black Capri pants and a flowing bone-coloured silk shirt. She washed her hair, styled it into her signature French bob and slicked on some mascara. To Stella, it was her business to look fabulous. Since she'd grown into adulthood, she had never slunk around in track pants and T-shirts. She proudly wore the uniform expected of the owner of Style by Stella. And she knew that if she was going to start again, she had to look at least on the way to her best while she was doing it.

She'd hung her kimono outside on a padded hanger to air out and then flicked on the coffee machine. She'd found her phone—on the bedside table where she left it every night—and noticed there were a dozen missed calls, but she waited before checking her voicemail. She needed to gather her strength and pull herself together a little more first, so she made herself sourdough toast and lathered lemon marmalade on the top, poured her coffee and sat down at her Scandinavian-style dinner table. She pulled out one of the six reproduction Eames chairs gathered neatly around it and sat.

Her shop and all that was in it might well be gone, but Stella felt an enormous comfort in knowing that her home remained. She'd transformed the historic sandstone cottage into something worthy of a lifestyle magazine in the years she'd had it. She leant her elbows on the table, dropped her chin in her hand and stared at her living room wall. It was painted Antique White USA and a large Scandinavian framed fabric swatch half-filled it. A wave of relief swelled her heart. It could have been her home that had burnt down. She should be incredibly thankful that it hadn't. This little place, which was all hers—well, hers and the bank's. She'd worked like a demon for four years to save the deposit and had transformed it internally without having to knock down a wall or replace the kitchen. There was only her and Mouse, her haughty cat, and they didn't need much room. What space she had was stylish and chic. Her haven. Her place of solace.

It would also have to become the headquarters of Operation Survive if she was going to get back to business as soon as she could.

Mouse performed an acrobatic leap onto the table and looked at Stella expectantly, a purr rattling her ribcage.

Stella stroked the silky white fur and Mouse arched her back in appreciation. ‘You want to be in on the action, too, huh?' She tugged a crust from one of her pieces of toast and offered it to the cat, who sniffed then refused it. Her life might have been crashing and—literally—burning all around her—but some things would never change. She'd managed to adopt the fussiest cat in the country.

Stella sipped her coffee and made one very important call.

It went straight through to Ian's message bank. She listened to his message and took a deep breath. ‘Ian and Lee. I don't know what else to say but how awful everything is. I'm just glad you're both okay. Courtney told me you've been talking to the police about what happened. Whatever you need, I'm here. Please call me when you get this.'

In the five years since she'd moved back to South Australia, Stella had slowly made some good friends. She was cautious and kept to herself for a long while, still recovering from what had happened in Sydney and finding solace in her own company. Some people remembered her from growing up over at Middle Point, like Julia Jones, but she was careful with those friendships. She wasn't the person she had been when she left at eighteen. Gradually, she'd found people she liked. Ian and Lee. Summer. Julia's friend, Lizzie. Stella didn't have many friends but they were good ones. And knowing that Ian and Lee were okay made their loss easier to bear.

She rang in to listen to her messages.

‘Stella.' It was Duncan McNamee. He had a business in Port Elliot too and lived next door. ‘You must know what's happened by now. I looked for you down on The Strand and couldn't find you. And then I knocked on your front door and you weren't there, either. I hope you're okay. Call me. Anything you need, let me know. Anything, babe, you know that.'

Delete. With force.

‘Hi Stella, it's Julia.' A breathless voice. ‘I can't believe it. I've just heard what's happened. It's—Mary, put down the saucepan—that's it, sweetheart. It's so awful. I'm good in a crisis. It's what I do, remember? Ring me back.'

Then the next call, just as breathless as the last one.

‘It's Lizzie. Julia just called me. Shit a brick. I hope everything's okay. If you need anything, call. Come and have lunch with us at the pub. How terrible. The fire, I mean, not the pub. Thinking of you. Bye.'

The fourth. Not breathless at all. Quite matter of fact, actually. ‘It's Ry Blackburn, Stella. If there's anything I can do—if there's anything the company can do—you know we'll do it. Julia'll kill me if I don't do what I can to help fix her favourite shop. Seriously, I mean it, and you know Dan and I can do the work.'

The fifth. To the point. ‘Stella. Dan McSwaine. Ry told me what's happened. That's bad news. Whatever you need. I can get a crew over there today to clean up if you need it. Cheers.'

Stella sipped her coffee for a moment or two. Let the caffeine do its work. The concern she heard in all the calls so far buoyed her a little. A lot, actually. And it was one thing for her friends to ring, but for the men to call too, and with such concrete offers of help—she was definitely starting to feel better. Blackburn McSwaine Developments was a great company, and she knew Dan and Ry could get the best tradies on the coast to work for her. It was worth a thought.

The sixth phone call was the paparazzi.

‘Hey, Stella, it's Joe Blake. Yeah, I know I'm from the media and no, don't delete this message without listening to it. Really sorry to hear about what happened. We're covering it for the
Southern Gazette
and I'm wondering if you want to say anything about the fire. A certain regular customer of yours—and you know I mean Dr Anna Morelli, my significant other and the mother of my child—called from the road and she's desperate to know when you'll be open for business again. So will half my readers, I'm sure. Give me a call.'

And then as the seventh message began, the hysterical factor was upped considerably.

‘Stella? It's Anna Morelli here. Oh my god, I can't believe what's happened. Now listen to me. If you have smoke inhalation, you need to go straight to the hospital. Don't mess around with that. And if you have asthma—do you?—make sure you have your puffer with you at all times, bella. I'm on my way back to Adelaide to work this week but we've got it all sorted. My brother is a builder. I've called him and given him your number and told him he has to call you. I can't believe it! I love your shop. We all do. Especially the shoes. Oh, what you must be going through. And all those shoes that were lost. It breaks my heart. You know we'll do whatever we can. Bye.'

Stella felt like crying again, though her eyes stayed resolutely dry. It healed her heart to know these people wouldn't let her go through this alone. Julia Jones and Lizzie Blake were right there with words of comfort. Ry Blackburn and Dan McSwaine had offered up their construction company to help her. Those guys were transforming some rehabilitated industrial land at Middle Point into a major new sustainable housing development, but were obviously willing to delay whatever they were doing to send assistance. And Anna, whose partner was Lizzie's brother Joe, had even given her a builder if she wanted one. Anna was a passionate Italian with an enthusiasm for stilettos and was one of Style by Stella's best customers. Stella hadn't known before now that Anna had a brother and wasn't sure exactly what to do with all these incredible offers of support.

All those people were more than a tight bunch of friends and siblings. They were a family, and Stella had watched from a distance over the past few years as their lives had moved on in happy and loving directions. Julia and Ry had been reunited a couple of years earlier when Julia returned to Middle Point from Melbourne after her mother died, and they now had little Mary. Lizzie and Dan, who was Ry's best mate, had found each other after Dan's terrible accident and they were married now too. Lizzie's brother Joe had felt the pull of his hometown, and had come home from Sydney to find the love of his life, Anna.

If that part of the world had some mystical romantic power, Stella had never fallen prey to it. And she didn't regret it one bit. She was safer that way. It wasn't even as if her links to the area went back forever. She hadn't grown up on the south coast; she had moved down when she was ten years old and had met Julia years later when they were teenagers. They'd worked together in the Middle Point general store, sharing part-time work for two years over the busy summer and holiday seasons. Stella had been shy back then but had recognised from the outset that they were kindred spirits: two young women with a plan to get out of their sleepy beachside town as fast as they could. They'd both worked hard for that dream and achieved it, slowly losing touch as they'd moved to the two big cities on the east coast. In the days before Facebook, it was a little easier for friendships to slip away.

Stella had been gone for twelve years. She'd studied a Bachelor of Design in Fashion and Textiles in Sydney, working in boutiques to support herself, and to learn the trade on the shop floor. Her vintage style caught people's eye and it wasn't long before she had a stall at the Paddington Markets, before being poached by a boutique owner in Newtown. When the stunningly eccentric Miranda North decided to retire to the northern beaches, Stella went to the bank and borrowed more money than she had ever dreamed possible and bought the business. She didn't tinker with anything about it. It was working and she had found her place. Ten years in Sydney and she was set. Had reinvented herself. She was a success. She'd told no one about her past and there was no way they would ever find out. Sydney was the kind of place to which people from all over the world came to reinvent themselves. When she first arrived, she was Stella from Adelaide, that was all. And after a few years, she was simply Stella. And for a decade, life in Sydney had been good, verging on great.