That sick feeling welled again. Had her cruel words prompted Spencer and the Brealys to leave town altogether?
Clem had spent hours agonising over the way they’d left things, and the sliding doors moments that could have prevented such an awful conversation.
What if he’d told her about the finer details of Belle’s death during a calm conversation? Would she have reacted differently if she wasn’t heartsore and raw from sharing her own traumatic experience?
It was too late to retract her words now though, and from the look of the Roxby Downs family, the damage was done; Spencer wouldn’t be sticking around and there’d be no chance of repair.
When she returned with two baklava donuts, three plates of the ever-popular rustic country breakfast and a pile of steaming scones, the oldest child piped up. ‘If we buy the new property, can we sell you our honey?’
Goosebumps ran up and down Clem’s arms. She should have taken Sebastian up on his offer to look after this table.‘I’m good for a honey supplier at the moment, thanks. The sweet goodness in the donut comes from a local apiarist down the road.’
‘South Giddi Giddi,’ the older lady said with a smile, handing back the empty water jug. ‘We know.’
So itwasthe property they were looking to buy.
‘We’ll get this nice lady’s business card, in case,’ the older man assured his grandson.
Clem fetched a card from the depths of her apron and handed it across. ‘If you end up producing veggies, micro greens or anything else suitable, I’ll be all ears,’ she said, turning to leave the table.
‘Don’t we get the hives though, if we buy the farm?’
Clem forced herself to keep walking, focusing on the surge of pain from the blister on her foot instead of the hum in her head. Would Spencer stay in the region if these people bought the property?
Clem kept the smile plastered on her face as she swept through the bustling cafe, her mother’s voice echoing in her mind.
‘They always leave, Clem, that’s what men do.’
She dialled her grandfather’s number, craving Arthur’s calm voice and sound advice, and even though the idea of explaining the situation had felt too hard on Saturday, she was devastated when his phone rang out.
Had he said something about a Christmas luncheon …?
She strode through the kitchen, pressing a hand to the wall as the small bathroom seemed to spin. With shaking hands, she closed the toilet lid and sank down onto it.
‘This is a disaster.’
Opposing views on the topic of assisted suicide was one thing, but even if they could overcome that, Spencer would end up resenting her for not being able to give him the childrenhe wanted. And how could she compete with the ghost of his late wife, especially knowing how much he still loved her?
But he loves you too.Clem closed her eyes, realising Spencer had shown more empathy in the props room than her ex-husband Adam Dunkirk ever had.
An unexpected memory flashed through her mind of Harriet’s chubby little hands resting on her enormous belly in the obstetrician’s waiting room, the last appointment before she was due to have Indi. She’d never forget the terror she felt, knowing she was high risk for post-natal psychosis because of her past history. Despite the odds of her falling dangerously ill for a second time, Adam had let her down all over again by not showing up to the appointment, or the birth, or checking in during the crucial months afterwards.
Spencer was different in so many ways. He taught Shakespeare and sonnets, he was a gentle lover, a guy who collected other people’s trolleys and returned them to their rightful place. She’d watched him help Harriet run her lines, seen the patience he’d shown with Lachie on school camp, heard the way Ian and Louisa Brealy spoke about him.
Even though he helped their daughter die.
Mascara stung her eyes, and Clem used the hem of her apron to wipe away the tears, frustrated by the emotional ping pong.
Feed the customers, close the cafe, clean it top to toe and then you can sook all you like,she told her reflection. She used the eyedrops in the vanity, then stared at her blotchy, puffy face.
If I want to keep a roof over our heads, and teach my girls they can be strong and self-sufficient, I need to get back out there and not let a relationship—a secret, barely-even-there one at that—be the reason I let my little girls down.
Spencer walked into the kitchen on Christmas Day to find Louisa on the couch with Addison’s daughter, Genevieve. Bryce and Addison were at the dining table getting thrashed in Monopoly by their son Flynn, while Ian sat perched on the chair beside him, commandeering a bowl of homemade Nuts and Bolts.
The presents had been shared hours earlier, and all that was left to do now was set the table, turn off the oven and serve lunch.
‘I was wondering where you nicked off to.’ Ian said. ‘Were you picking the rosemary from the Canunda foothills?’
He smiled at Ian, setting down the herbs he’d collected from the garden.
