The Christmas Café (12 page)

As Flora slept, exhausted from all the drama, Bea considered the best course of action. She decided she’d call Sarah later, make sure their approaches were in sync; the last thing they wanted was to present a fractured front. She pondered the complex relationships within families, recalled the evening well over a decade ago when Wyatt had marched her from the kitchen, saying eagerly, ‘Come on, Mum!’ as he held her hand and led her to the dining room table to be introduced to his new friend Sarah.

When it got to dessert, Bea had brought in her famous chocolate mousse with pride, holding the bowl high, knowing it was Wyatt’s favourite.

‘Oh, wow!’ Peter had laughed. ‘The pièce de resistance, and entirely meat-free, as far as I’m aware!’

Sarah had given him a sideways glance and kept quiet, unwilling to be subjected to any more ribbing. Earlier, while Peter had been carving the roast beef, she’d told them that she was a pescatarian, and Peter had been genuinely bemused. ‘What’s that?’ he’d asked. ‘Does it come after Gemini?’

‘So, what are your plans, Sarah?’ Bea tried to engage the girl as she set the mousse down on the table. ‘Wyatt tells me you studied history.’

‘Yes, I did, but I’m not working right now.’

‘What would you like to do?’ Bea asked keenly, trying to show interest in the guest who had uttered barely more than a few syllables during the entire evening.

‘I don’t know really, possibly work in a gallery or museum, but I’m not sure. I’m waiting for the right opportunity; I don’t want to get stuck in any old job. My mother says it’s better to hold out for my dream than get trapped in something that isn’t going to make me happy.’

‘No, quite.’ Bea swallowed the many phrases that spun through her head.
How will you know when your dream comes along if you have no idea what you’re bloody waiting for? And I’d say to your mother that it’s better that you do something, anything, rather than sit around and expect Wyatt to provide for you. Show some backbone, have some pride!

‘Before you serve the pud, Mum, there’s something I’d like to say.’

Peter flashed his wife a look; she kept her eyes fixed on her son.

Wyatt reached out and took Sarah’s tiny hand into his. ‘Wow, well, where to begin?’

Bea considered shouting out, feigning cramp or knocking the dessert on to the floor, causing a diversion in any way she could, in the faint hope that she could create enough of a distraction for the whole thing to be forgotten. Knowing this was extremely unlikely, she braced herself for what was coming next.

Wyatt picked up his glass and exhaled. ‘The thing is, I’ve asked Sarah to marry me and I’m delighted to say that she’s said yes!’

Peter rose from the table and clapped his hands together. ‘Bravo! Bravo, Wyatt! That’s wonderful. I think I might have a couple of bottles of fizz chilling somewhere – this calls for a celebration!’ He winked at his wife and gently squeezed her shoulder as he ambled from the room.

Bea was aware that her smile was a little fixed and her reaction delayed. Sarah was so very far from what she had in her mind when she considered a bride for her son; it was all she could do not to scream. But Peter had predicted it, before they’d even arrived.

‘She could be the one,’ he’d said, smiling, and had promptly stashed two bottles of fizz in the fridge just in case.

‘Oh, listen to you –
the one
!’ Bea had retorted. ‘You’re so old-fashioned. And no, I don’t think for a moment that there will be any announcement – he’s only known her for five minutes!’ In truth, she disliked conversations like that and avoided phrases like ‘the one’ and ‘the love of her life’ whenever possible. Even after thirteen years of marriage, it was another face that popped into her head on such occasions, making her feel disloyal and sad in equal measure.

‘Well, you can say that, but when you know, you know. Look at me – a confirmed bachelor knocking fifty and in you walked and that was that. I was floored!’

‘You were only a bachelor because you were a workaholic and the chances of meeting
the one
are considerably slimmer when you don’t ever lift your head up from your desk!’

‘I beg to differ! It worked for me and I think you’ll find I got you by doing just that!’ Peter chuckled.

Bea kissed his hand. ‘I got very lucky that day.’

‘We both did.’

‘But surely Wyatt isn’t thinking along those lines? He’s fresh out of university; he’s too young to be settling down.’

Peter laughed. ‘When you were his age you already had a son. If anything, he’s lagging behind.’

‘Oh God, I know you’re right, but I can’t help it. Whenever I picture him, it’s him when he was little, in his cap and short trousers, waving at the car as we dropped him off at school, with that trying-to-be-brave look on his face, smiling but petrified. I guess I’ll always think of him in that way.’

‘It’s understandable. I think all mothers like to feel that they’re needed, even when they’re not.’

‘And I’m not, am I?’

He shook his head. ‘No, my love. But that’s a good thing.’

Bea smiled, recalling Peter’s words and the knack he had of reassuring her while simultaneously steering her mood.

She let Flora sleep for an hour, then glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly eleven. ‘Come on, Miss Sleepy Head. I can’t let you mope and sob the day away on the sofa. Why don’t you come and help in the kitchen and then when the lunch rush is over we could go for a wander, maybe take a stroll out to Woolloomooloo or we could go up around by the lido and back down via Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. A good old-fashioned stroll to clear your head and maybe an ice cream on the way back. How about it?’

Flora sat up, blew her nose and nodded. She felt better already. ‘Yes, please. I’d like that.’

Tait and Kim were sweet, making a fuss of her and keeping her occupied with chores like napkin folding and spoon polishing, all designed to distract. When lunch service was drawing to an end, Bea and Flora donned their sunnies and hats and set off up Reservoir Street’s steep hill, welcoming the breeze that ruffled the eucalypt trees that lined the route.

Flora was surprised by her gran’s pace. She was nimble on her feet the way keen walkers are.

‘I reckon if I put my Converse out by the front door, they could do this route by themselves!’ Bea laughed.

She stepped to the kerb to let a man in sporty attire pass by. His toddler son sat on his shoulders, stretching up into the dappled light to grab overhead branches, trying to reach at the sky.

‘Cheers!’ The man smiled and the little boy squealed.

His wife jogged up behind them. She was pushing a double stroller with adorable twin girls in matching sunnies and hats strapped into it. ‘Thanks, we’re trying to catch up, but it’s not so easy with this!’ She nodded at the bulky stroller.

‘They’re adorable!’ Bea admired the cute little girls.

‘Thanks. We’ve another two at school!’

‘Oh, you lucky thing!’

‘See ya!’ The Lycra-clad woman raced ahead and accelerated up the hill, nearly catching her husband.

‘I bet they have a grand old time – imagine the tea table in their house.’ Bea laughed, knowing she would have loved the chaos.

‘I wish I had brothers and sisters or cousins,’ Flora said.

‘You do? Why’s that, love?’

‘Cos then Mum and Dad wouldn’t be so obsessed with me. They’d have to share their nosying around a bit and that would give me a break!’

‘There are some advantages, though. You get your mum and dad all to yourself, you don’t have to share them – that’s a nice thing too.’

‘Is it? I don’t think so.’

‘Your dad was an only child, obviously, so any spare cash I could scrape together went entirely on him.’ Bea remembered getting her first proper pay packet and finally having enough money to get him a new T-shirt and jeans. She’d folded some notes into his palm:
‘A few dollars, love, to get whatever you like!’
It had felt good. ‘I don’t know how I’d have coped with more than one.’

Flora shrugged. ‘Yeah, but we’ve got the space.’

‘True.’

‘Especially at birthdays and Christmas, wouldn’t it be great to have a whole crowd instead of just us? Y’know, people to play games with or chat to. I’d love that. It’d be like a proper party.’

Bea thought of Mr Giraldi. ‘It would, love.’

‘I sometimes need some space, a bit of freedom, but they’re constantly asking what I’m up to – it’s like a million questions the moment I walk through the door, it drives me nuts! And if I’m quiet, they want to know what’s wrong, but what’s wrong is that I want them to shut up and leave me alone!’

Bea remembered the weekends when Wyatt was home from school.
‘Can I get you something to eat? Do you have laundry? What would you like for tea? Do you need a lift? Can I get you a blanket?’
His frequent sighs of irritation. It was hard not to bombard him: she missed him so much, loved him so much. She hadn’t considered until now that that kind of attention might be a pressure.

They turned left, walking fast along Crown Street, then dropping down to reach Bourke Street. Twisting through the back lanes, they covered the couple of kilometres with ease, crossing the main road via the metal footbridge until finally they had the iconic pale green wooden buildings of Woolloomooloo Pier in their sights. The restaurants that lined the dockside were packed with well-dressed diners who were busy sipping chilled white wine, feasting on fresh seafood and sumptuous salads and admiring the expensive yachts moored in the private marina. Harry’s Café de Wheels was also doing a brisk trade, handing out its famous pies to the snaking queue and serving iced coffees to the yummy mummies whose babies dozed in their hooded strollers.

They stopped for a breather, staring into the murky water by the dock, which was teeming with jellyfish.

‘I hate being thirteen,’ Flora said, kicking her feet against the low wall.

‘Why, darling?’

Flora shrugged. ‘Because I don’t count. I’m not old enough to do anything and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and that makes me feel really wobbly.’

Bea thought of all the things she wanted to say to her granddaughter, the advice she wanted to offer, the words of comfort and reassurance that were on the tip of her tongue. She chose her words carefully, wary of piling on meaningless sentiment when she was already feeling disenfranchised.

‘Yes, you’re right, the world can seem scary when you feel that way. But you’re not alone. All of us feel that way sometimes. I’m in my fifties and I still feel wobbly because I don’t know what’s around the corner. But you know what? It might be great things! And you’re wrong about not counting: right now you’re the only thing that three adults are thinking about, worrying about – in fact five, as we can probably include Kim and Tait as well.’

‘Do you think I should text Mum and Dad?’ she whispered, closing one eye as she looked up into the sunshine.

‘I think you should do what you think is right. If I was you, I would want to make contact because worrying about it only makes things feel worse.’

Flora nodded as she fished in her pocket for her phone. As she did so, her fingers pulled out a slender cream envelope. ‘Oh, I forgot, Dad asked me to give you this. Said he found it in a book about a jungle or something that Pappy had given him.’

Bea stood on the Woolloomooloo Pier, took the thin package into her hands and smiled at the unexpected sight of Peter’s italic script, written in the black ink he favoured. What on earth could it be?

While Flora was engrossed in her phone, Bea peeled the sheet from the envelope and devoured its words. It comprised one simple paragraph written in the middle of the page. He must have hidden it in the book intended for Wyatt, knowing that Wyatt would discover it quite by chance and then pass it on to her.

You are so young, Bea, and you still have a whole other life ahead of you. Always remember, life is for the brave. So go find happiness and let yourself love! You were my greatest joy. You made me so happy, always. What greater gift is there than that?

She smiled at the wonderful message. Even from beyond the grave, he had the power to revive her flagging spirits; to be kind, generous and thoughtful. As ever, he had put her needs first. Like magic, his words began to salve the guilty rip in her heart. She read them again and again, engraving them on her mind.
Oh, Peter! Thank you. Thank you, darling!

Seeing her gran’s teary smile, Flora gave Bea a quizzical look. Bea just shook her head, not ready to share her feelings quite yet. ‘It’s an emotional time for both of us, darling,’ she said. ‘Like I told you, you never know what’s around the corner. But don’t fret: it’s a lovely letter. Let’s carry on with our walk, shall we?’

The two continued their circuit via the Botanic Gardens and paused at the viewing point near Mrs Macquarie’s Chair to look at the Opera House glinting in the sun. Bea ran her hand over the sandstone rock that had been hand-carved by convicts into the shape of a bench, all so that the Governor’s wife, Mrs Elizabeth Macquarie, could sit on the peninsula in Sydney Harbour and watch for ships sailing in from Great Britain. Bea tried to imagine the woman perched there in her empire-line Regency frock, sweating beneath her petticoats and all that intricate lace and silk. Images of Great Britain, the country of her birth, flashed through Bea’s mind. And alongside them came Peter’s words.
A whole other life ahead of you... Life is for the brave... Go find happiness!
Maybe she should set sail for the land of misty moors and tranquil lochs, the land through which her heart and mind had wandered on many a lonely night.

Back on Reservoir Street, Kim beamed at the reappearance of Flora, made even better when Tait emerged from the dining area laughing, sharing a joke with the young girl, showing himself to be the great guy she knew he was. ‘You feeling a bit better there, little scrapper?’ His concern was sincere.

‘Yes.’ Flora sighed. ‘I had ice cream on the way home.’

‘Well, there is no situation in the whole wide world that ice cream doesn’t fix. Isn’t that right, Kim?’ he said over his shoulder.