The woman behind the counter immediately figures out who I am.
“You must be Will’s brother. Ethan, is it? I’m Heidi. Did I hear the babies were born yesterday? In the barn?” Heidi brings our order to the table and leans a hip against it, settling in for a chat by the look of it.
The ensuing conversation means Sadie and I don’t have the opportunity to discuss what happened last night. Or this morning.
Sensing I’m about tapped out on intel about the birth and the family in general, Sadie finally interrupts.
“We probably should get going.” She picks up her bag and smiles at Heidi. “We’re expected at Will and Freyja’s, and I want to grab a little gift first. Is there somewhere I might get something?”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Heidi tips her head to the side, thinking. “Probably the best place is the little shop across the road and two doors down towards the pub. They have some cute stuff.”
We take a last gulp of our coffees and head across the street.
“You don’t need to buy them something,” I say as we wander into the crowded little store.
“I know. I want to.”
And I don’t know how it happens, but in one of those strange moments of serendipity, Sadie finds a gorgeous picture book about Egypt and two cute little knitted rattly things. A llama and a camel. The woman behind the counter enquires about the birth while she gift wraps the present. The gossip in this town is faster than the internet speed.
Finally, after a quick stop at the bottle shop to pick up something to wet the babies’ heads, we’re in the car and heading up the mountain to Will’s.
“We should talk about what happened. But now is probably not the time,” I say, conscious we’ve got five minutes tops before we pull into Will’s driveway.
“We have a two-hour drive back to Sydney. I think that ought to be enough.” Sadie fiddles with the ribbon on the gift bag. “Until then …” She doesn’t need to continue.
“Absolutely. This stays between us. Nobody else needs to know.”
Which is great in theory. Except my family have noses like bloodhounds. They’re too polite to say anything in front of Sadie, but I can tell by their furtive glances and shifty smirks when we arrive, they have theories. Theories that will be discussed and dissected and reconstructed the minute we drive away.
“Oh, Sadie, you’re so sweet. You shouldn’t have,” says Freyja as she unwraps the gift.
“You really didn’t need to get us anything.” Will grins, shaking the little llama in front of one of the babies, even though they’re both sleeping soundly. “You could’ve put your hand in your pocket and brought something though, dickhead,” he directs at me.
“I guess you won’t be wanting this to wet the babies’ heads, then.” I pull the disgustingly expensive bottle of aged whisky I picked up out of my satchel.
Ben swoops in and grabs the bottle from behind. “He might not, but I do.”
“You don’t even like whisky,” Will argues, trying to grab the bottle.
“I find I’ve developed a taste for it. The good stuff, anyway.” Ben dodges out of reach and into the kitchen, where he rifles through the cupboards before emerging with a handful of glasses.
When my family get together, there’s a lot of noise, and it’s often hard to make out who’s saying what.
“Isn’t it a bit early for whisky?”
“It’s never too early for a wee dram.”
“Can someone check on the frittata?”
“I can’t believe how placid these babies are.”
“You should’ve been here at three this morning. Not so placid then.”
“Has anyone seen Isla?”
“She’s with Ansel feeding the cows.”
“Can I help with the food?”
