‘Not famous,’ he said brusquely, pushing a string of trolleys towards them.
‘New job as a trolley guy?’ Clem joked. ‘With the stories Mia tells about teaching high schoolers, it sounds like herding runaway shopping trolleys would be an easier nine to five.’
He laughed at that. ‘Bugs the hell out of me when people leave them in the middle of the car park, too lazy to walk fiftymetres at the end of their grocery shop.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll see you around, have a great weekend.’
It was on the tip of Clem’s tongue to tell him she’d bumped into Emily at the cafe last month, and quiz him about the Penwarra Players, but he was gone without a backwards glance.
Probably hurrying to get his groceries and head home to Emily.
Their final stop for the afternoon was Fiona’s second-hand store, where they found Jean manning the counter. ‘Woah, you won’t lose that unicorn in a hurry.’ Jean pretended to shield her eyes. ‘Neon pink suits you, Indi.’
‘It’s for baby Fred,’ Harriet corrected. ‘Do you have any new books, please?’
Jean nodded at Harriet’s hopeful question. ‘Fiona has a fresh bunch of novels out the back, knock yourself out.’ The girls ran past the pre-loved clothes and knick-knacks to the small room that housed the books and furniture.
‘Aggie Angelino told me Mia had a rough time in the delivery ward with that new bub. Such a long labour. You going to visit her?’
Clem nodded, though the thought of stepping foot inside the hospital made her pulse rise.
‘Tomorrow.’
Jean ambled out from behind the counter and rubbed Clem’s shoulder. ‘You sure that’s a good idea? It won’t bring up too many bad memories? Hearing about the mum and her poor baby in Glenelg must have been upsetting enough, you need to be gentle with yourself.’
‘Mia’s the one lying there with stitches and a newborn, I’ll be fine,’ Clem said, determined to sound more confident than she felt. Coverage of the Glenelg incidenthadrattled her though,especially when her suspicions about the mother’s ill health were confirmed, so she’d pushed it to the back of her mind, just like Hazel suggested.
Clearing her throat, Clem showed Jean a photo on her phone. ‘The van’s coming along beautifully, Jack’s going to help me fit the new coffee machine on Sunday.’
The segue worked, as Clem had known it would, and the concern on Jean’s face was replaced with delight. ‘I knew you’d do it justice. It’ll be a bundle of sunshine, cruising to my old haunts, covered in sunflowers. And hopefully Selina’s over the silly misunderstanding. How are things working out at the cafe?’
Putting a fist to her mouth, Jean let out a sharp cough, then another, wincing as she hunched over and fumbled with the lid of her water bottle.
‘The cafe’s getting there,’ Clem said quickly, not wanting Jean to worry. ‘Here, let me unscrew the cap.’
Jean apologised, and gestured to the hand sanitiser. ‘Get a squirt of that, love. Darn germs everywhere this time of year, always are at the start of spring.’
They looked up as Harriet’s footsteps thumped along the floorboards.
‘Look what I found, Mum. It’s about an orphan in Canada. You said Mrs Brealy’s from Canada, didn’t you? The lady doing the play?
There’s nothing slow about her,Clem thought, marvelling at how Harriet retained so many pieces of information and was able to fit them together like a jigsaw puzzle. It reminded Clem of how observant her daughter had been when her father, Adam, had come back onto the scene four years earlier, long enough to produce another baby and remind Clem of all the reasons she shouldn’t have given her heart to him in the first place.
‘Ah, you’ve heard about the Penwarra Players then?’ Jean pointed to the shop window, where a flyer identical to the one Louisa had given Clem was taped to the glass. ‘You always did have a lovely singing voice, like your Pop,’ Jean told Harriet, with a wink at Clem. ‘Though my brother usually saves his baritone for bawdy sea shanties and footy team songs these days.’
Harriet’s cheeks reddened. ‘When did you hear me singing, Aunty Jean?’
‘You’re always singing when you’re hooning around on those rollerblades and pottering in the garden at Art’s retirement home. Old ladies like me don’t miss much.’
Clem watched Harriet’s chest fill with pride. She felt churlish for hesitating over the camp and the play, especially when she knew how much a mother’s support could make or break a situation.
‘I think you should give it a shot, Harri.’ Clem turned to her aunt. ‘It says on the flyer that you can read a piece of your own choosing for the auditions. Does it have to be from a play?’
Jean tapped her lip. ‘Not necessarily, just a piece that tugs at the hearts of the audition committee.’ She looked at the book Harriet was holding. ‘You’d make a fabulous Anne Shirley, even without the red hair. And I’d wager your mum is partial toAnne of Green Gablestoo?’
Clem shook her head and pulled out her wallet. ‘First time I’ve heard of it.’
Jean crossed her arms, aghast. ‘It’s the reason I went to Canada for my honeymoon. I’m sure I bought it for you when you and Jack first came to stay with Arthur and Shirl. Isn’t there still a copy in your grandmother’s old bookshelves?’
‘Not that I’ve seen,’ Clem said.
