‘We’re doing plays and Isobel has to score them out of ten. You can be on Indi’s team, she’s not very good,’ Harriet said.
‘Am too,’ Indi protested, giving her big sister a shove.
‘Hey, none of that in here,’ Clem warned, glancing out to the cafe floor. Nobody even looked in their direction until a cup from Selina’s load crashed to the floor, shattering on impact.
Selina picked up the pieces, along with the cutlery that had followed.
‘I’m rostered on for another hour, sorry,’ Selina said, mustering up a smile for her second cousins. ‘Have you found that guinea pig yet? I hope you’ve been looking.’
‘Nope,’ said Harriet. ‘He’s gone, I know it. And Mum definitely won’t let us get another one.’
Clem opened her mouth, ready to hold her ground, when Kev spoke up. ‘Your mum’s got a lot on her plate already. Go easy on her, you two hooligans.’
The girls went back to their muffins and as Selina headed out to the cafe floor, Clem shot Kev a grateful smile. TheSunny Cross Farm Gate Cafe mightn’t have the best income to expenses ratio yet, or the most consistent foot traffic, but she knew she had the bones of a darn good team behind her, and an expansion plan that she was implementing, bit by bit, which was more than most businesses could say.
‘Wait a minute, Harri.’
She held open her arms, unsurprised by Harriet’s exasperated look. She hadn’t entirely forgiven Clem for the guinea pig incident, and with the topic fresh in her mind, thanks to Selina, she accepted only the briefest of hugs before returning to the door. ‘They’ll eat the muffins without me.’
Clem laughed. ‘You’re right, I’ll be quick. I was speaking with Miss Lyndall about your camp, and it sounds great. I’d love to come, if that’s still okay with you?’
The delight on her daughter’s face was confirmation enough. ‘Yes!’ She raced back to Clem, throwing her arms around her hips. ‘That’s so cool, Mum, we are going to have SO much fun!’
Clem wasn’t sure if it’d be as fun for her as Harriet imagined, but it had brought them closer together already, and that was worth as many sleepless nights and mountain hikes as the camp organisers could throw at her.
The ringing phone echoed through the quiet house, and Spencer set aside the tennis racquet he was restringing.
‘Get your arse in the car, mate, and join me for Friday night drinks. I reckon you of all people deserve to drown your sorrows,’ Jeff said.
Spencer shrugged. It had been bad enough going into Penwarra and enduring the curious stares and smart-arse comments about the TV show, but in the fortnight since Emilyhad left, he hadn’t had the energy for anything other than school and the most basic of farmwork. He certainly didn’t feel like driving half an hour to the coast for a cold beer on an already-cold winter’s night.
‘Not in the mood for it, mate. Every bugger thinks they’re a comedian making cracks about the show, and I’m not the kind of company you’re after. Can’t imagine you’ll be drinking alone, though?’
Jeff’s friendship circles dated back to primary school, and with his fishing connections in Beachport, plus Mia and his extended family living in Penwarra, he knew nearly everyone in both towns.
‘It’ll be my last hurrah before the little tacker comes along. I barely held a beer in the six months after Reggie landed. If Mia drops this freshie early, my Friday night drinking days are done and dusted for the foreseeable future.’
Spencer gave a dry laugh, his gaze on Dolly, who was curled up in a basket by the fire, her legs jerking around in her sleep, probably dreaming of chasing rabbits.
Even sleeping, the beagle dreamed of chasing things, while Spencer’s own shut-eye—when he could manage it—was full of nonsensical nightmares involving dead-end mazes. He envied the dog’s ability to sleep, just like he envied his friend’s most pressing concern of finding a drinking buddy.
‘Tough gig, mate,’ Spencer said, easing out of the dining chair and tipping his cold coffee down the sink. ‘Your liver will probably appreciate the break.’
‘Fat chance of getting any sympathy from you.’ Jeff laughed. ‘You coming to the tournament tomorrow or am I gonna have to chase your arse down and drag you to the courts?’
Spencer’s lip twitched at his friend’s straight shooting. ‘Restringing the racquet as we speak,’ he said.
‘Bet you are. I’ll swing past yours on my way home to check you’re not full of it. We’ve only got two games left of this tournament, I’m not having my doubles partner pull a sickie because he’s moping around like a sad sack.’
‘I’ll play, you don’t need to—’
The phone clicked. It was so like Jeff to hang up before Spencer could tell him not to bother calling around. With a sigh, he surveyed the kitchen. It was clinically clean, scrubbed until he’d erased almost every memory of Emily and the food they’d made together, the stilted conversations they’d had, the belated getting-to-know you discussions that had been overlooked during the pressure cooker of cameras, crew and other contestants.
Older memories crowded in: the night as newlyweds when Belle had flung a handful of soap bubbles at him, beginning a bubble war that had lasted until their sides ached from laughter. Afterwards, they’d made love on the kitchen table.
A lump grew in his throat and Spencer strode out of the kitchen, not knowing where he was heading until he found himself opening the office cupboards and pulling out the albums he’d banished years earlier.
The album fell open to the page he was after, the one that held their wedding photographs. Two young, dumb, happy kids in the throes of love, and youth, vowing to be together in sickness and in health. Neither of them had realised how soon that vow would be tested, or imagined that their marriage would be cut short by a cruel illness. Spencer felt a sudden and savage fury at his younger self, wishing he’d enjoyed every minute of that blissful ignorance, relished every day with her before they’d had to face one of the toughest decisions on earth, helping grant her last wish for dignity instead of extended pain and suffering.
