Not my business,she reminded herself, opening the Jeep’s dusty door.
Much like Clem’s pre-loved dress, her car looked well past its prime parked beside the brand-new vehicles theLove on the Landcast and crew had at their disposal during the show.
‘Are you holding up okay with all this on your doorstep, Louisa?’ Clem asked. ‘It can’t be easy on you and Ian.’
Louisa pressed her lips together. ‘It was my bright idea in the first place. Spencer’s like a son to us, and if he finds someone special, we’ll back him one hundred per cent.’
‘He’s lucky to have you both in his corner,’ Clem replied, making her farewells.
The Jeep juddered over the rutted limestone roads as Clem drove back towards town. South Giddi Giddi was barely visible through the dust in her rear-view mirror, but one thing was clear: the Brealys treated Spencer Hawkins with more love and compassion than her in-laws had ever shown her in her short marriage. They hadn’t been especially warm or affectionate at the best of times. Her father-in-law’s engagement party speech, with jokes about divorce statistics and pre-nup agreements, should have been warning enough, but the hardest blow was when she’d fallen dangerously ill after Harriet’s birth, and in the ‘Get Well Soon’ card, her mother-in-law had suggested that the quicker Clem pulled herself together, the less traumatic the whole incident would be for everyone, especially their baby granddaughter.
Any of those contestants would be lucky to be welcomed into the Brealy family.
She was so deep in thought she had to slam on the brakes when she saw a trailer and ute pulled over on the side of the road.
Ian Brealy lifted a hand and waved.
‘All good, Ian?’
‘My old golf bag’s shifting around on the trailer, that’s all, I just stopped to readjust it. By the way, the crew are raving about your catering. Far better than the fare Marco Grubb was serving up.’
Clem beamed. ‘You’re only saying that because you’re a cafe regular. Escaping filming today? Your foot must be fully healed.’
He gave a sheepish shrug. ‘Too many people tramping around my property, each one bossier than the last. A bloke needs his space, and eighteen holes on a hungry stomach suits me fine, although a smarter man would’ve waited until the catering delivery before nicking off.’
Ian’s grumbling reminded Clem of her grandfather.
Clem laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be back the next few days, and you know you can order all those items off the menu. Plus, I’ll be more places, more often soon—I’m getting Aunty Jean’s coffee van back on the road. She just sold it to me.’
‘That little van’s done a few kilometres in its time. With two foodies in the one family, I’m surprised you didn’t join forces earlier.’
This made Clem laugh. ‘I’ve barely had time to scratch myself until now. There’s plenty of coffee addicts to go around, and now I’ll be able to corner a new part of the market.’
‘I look forward to seeing the van back out and about. Oh, and how did you get on with the guinea pig? Spencer had us laughing about that over dinner one night. Who won that battle?’
‘It was a stalemate,’ Clem said. ‘No clear winner, just another nasty little creature lurking in my garden, living his best life on the run.’
Ian looked delighted at this. ‘Been years since our Belle was a little ratbag like your two causing such mischief. It’s refreshing to hear about kids with a bit of spirit. Should be more of it.’
As Clem drove away, she found herself smiling at Ian’s compliment, trying to decide what had touched her the most; the fact that her daughters had been dinner table conversation at South Giddi Giddi, or the way Ian had patted her car roof softly and urged her to drive safely as she put the car into gear.
Two new emails were waiting for her when she pulled up outside her great-aunt Jean’s house to pick up the girls. Jean’s daughter, Fiona, was already there to collect Selina, and Clem hoped there hadn’t been any more sneaky guinea pig–related transactions going on in her absence.
Miss Lyndall’s emailing on a Sunday? Penwarra Area School must be working them hard,she mused, opening the email about the forthcoming class camp.
Dear Miss Crossley,
Last week, students completed a persuasive writing piece about why their mum or dad would make a great parent helper, and Harriet’s piece was head and shoulders above everyone else’s.
Please see the attached photo of Harriet’s assignment, and details of the camp dates in term four. Being a camp helper is more like an extreme sport than a holiday, and there’s absolutely no pressure to commit yet, but I’d love to discuss this further in person.
Clem’s instinct was to set the teacher straight with a polite, apologetic reply listing all the reasons it wouldn’t work, but Ian Brealy’s nostalgic tone, the way he’d marvelled over Harriet and Indi’s guinea pig heist, made her hesitate.
With a quick look at Jean’s backyard fence, where she could see her daughters bouncing happily on the trampoline, she opened the attached photograph of Harriet’s assignment. She’d gone to town on the coloured border and glitter accents, but it was the writing that hit Clem right in the ticker.
My mum Clementine would be a better helper than all the other parents because she’s a mum and dad combined, but wrapped up in one, so she’ll only take up one bunk bed. She’s the greatest at making sad feelings disappear, and her singing would be awesome around the camp fire. She’s a Swiftie likeme and my friends, so we don’t need to teach her the words to any of the songs, and in the talent show, she can burp really loud, so that will make everyone laugh.
I also think my mum should be the parent helper because she never gets to take holidays or do anything fun, because she’s always too busy, and she says our money is for saving, not spending, so this would be like a free holiday for her as well as me. I think she would love camping with us in the mountains. Please, please, please pick her. Yours sincerely, Harriet Mae Crossley.
