The Cafe by the Bridge

by Lily Malone

  ‘Autobiographies. Memoirs. Inspirational true stories of survival against the odds. Fashion mags. That kind of thing.’

  ‘I read those too.’ She tilted the book in her hand. ‘This is good for a holiday and the second-hand shop didn’t have many magazines.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘That’s what this has turned into? A holiday?’

  ‘Ella invited me to stay for the weekend. To feed her bird.’ To have another try at talking to you.

  His lip curved. ‘Only Ella would offer her house to a complete stranger.’

  ‘Hey, I’m a doctor of psychology. I’m a trustworthy citizen. I sponsor a child in Uganda.’

  Slowly, Abe bridged the last remaining metre of porch and held out his hand. ‘I really am sorry for the way I acted this morning.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ Taylor juggled the book to shake his hand.

  He held her palm for a beat longer, then let go. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked him. ‘I mean, I’m sure you know more about birds than I do? I wasn’t sure when I’m supposed to feed it. Night or morning? When do I put the cover over the cage? Is it too early yet? He looks sleepy. Maybe he’s pining. I hope he’s not sick.’

  Talk about making small talk to compensate for my own anxiety. Shut up already!

  ‘I know a bit about birds.’ He put his hands in his jeans pockets and nodded. Taylor stepped back to give him room, then turned and followed him into Ella’s house.

  ‘Ella keeps the seed in the laundry,’ Abe said, moving easily in that direction, far more familiar with Ella’s house than Taylor was. ‘And you cover the cage when it gets dark outside. Take the cover off in the morning, once you’re up.’

  The washing machine was on its final cycle, spinning two days of Taylor’s clothes plus those she’d bought at the secondhand shop. The noise of the machine got louder as they neared the laundry.

  Taylor treated herself to another sneaky peek at Abe’s butt as he scooped birdseed from an airtight bucket. When he stood abruptly, she got stuck doing an awkward dance with him in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding his hand over the birdseed so he didn’t spill it over her like canary confetti. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘I wanted to see how much seed you’d give him.’ She had to shout above the whine of the washing machine.

  ‘There’s a measuring scoop. Fill it to the brim.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. Now I’ll know for next time.’ She pressed hard against the wall to let Abe out of the laundry and followed him to the cage where the white bird sat watching.

  ‘Are the doors and windows shut?’ Abe asked her.

  She put her hand to her chest. ‘You’re not going to let him out?’

  ‘Sure I am. He hasn’t been out all day.’

  ‘What if he gets away? What if we can’t catch him?’

  She turned a revolution in the kitchen, scanning doors, windows and the ceiling fan which, unlike the washing machine, wasn’t spinning. Phew.

  ‘Flying birds is fun. Gotta check the windows, though. If this guy is like my nanna’s bird, he can fly his way out of Fort Knox. Percy is a real Houdini.’

  ‘Percy?’

  ‘Nanna’s bird. He lives out at the farm.’

  ‘What if Perkins III, you know, poops on Ella’s things?’ What if he poops on me?

  Abe shrugged. ‘We clean it up.’

  ‘You clean it up,’ she mumbled, putting her book on the kitchen counter. ‘You’re the one who wants to let him out.’

  ‘No big deal.’

  Taylor checked each room in Ella’s house and closed the laundry, bathroom and bedroom doors. Then she reported back. ‘All shut.’

  ‘Come on, little guy,’ Abe said, reaching in.

  If she’d been the bird and a big masculine hand was coming to get her, she’d be cowering. Perkins III, however, simply hopped onto Abe’s hand and copped a free ride. Once he was out of the cage, he jumped onto Abe’s shoulder, off Abe’s shoulder and launched into a circuit of the kitchen.

  Taylor watched him with her heart in her mouth, hoping he didn’t smash into the windows and hurt himself.

  ‘A bird pooped in my hair once,’ she confessed to Abe without taking her eyes off the bird. It reminded her of a flying white bat, and she didn’t like bats either. ‘My parents took me and my brother to Kalbarri on holiday. There was a parrot zoo there. Not sure if it’s there now.’

  He laughed. Abel Honeychurch’s genuine laughs were about as rare as his genuine smiles and this one dragged Taylor’s attention from the bird to Abe’s face.

  ‘I guess you don’t need to be a psychologist to work out you’re harbouring some resentment there, Doc,’ he said.

  Taylor chuckled. ‘Guess not.’

  He didn’t quite have the look of his elder brother. Taylor had spent some time studying a picture of Jake with Sam at a football game, the photograph framed on Ella’s bookcase. Abe wasn’t as burly. His eyes were a different shade of blue: less deep ocean, more sky over ice. His hair was a lighter brown than Jake’s with a curl flicking up the fringe. Jake’s hair was straight.

  She remembered when she’d first seen Abe, back when she’d been stalking Amanda’s flat on West Street Parade. She’d thought him trendy, with styled hair that wouldn’t move in a hurricane. In jeans and a t-shirt, he looked less city, more country, only with shadows under his eyes like the country air smudged him with ash.

  Abe got busy with the birdseed and the cage. He emptied the water container and filled it with fresh water from the tap. Then he whistled, and Perkins III arrowed towards him.

  Abe took the bird on his finger and approached Taylor. ‘Come say hello, boy.’

  She went dead still. ‘I’m not very good with—’ the bird jump-hopped from Abe’s finger to her shoulder just as Taylor finished, ‘—animals.’

  ‘You’ve got a dog.’

  ‘Dogs are one thing. Birds are another.’ She tried not to shiver in case it dislodged the winged creature.

  ‘You’re doing fine,’ Abe said gently, and his face and shoulders were very close. Close enough that Taylor caught the scent of warm spices drifting from his clothes.

  ‘What’s with this guy’s name? Perkins III? Is he a pedigree bird or something?’

  ‘As the story goes, apparently Kieren Perkins is Ella’s favourite swimmer.’

  ‘He’s named after a swimmer?’ Taylor craned her neck to look at the bird on her shoulder. Then she realised how many chins that would add to the two she already owned, so she looked straight. ‘I didn’t know Ella was into swimming.’

  ‘She nearly made the Olympic team for Beijing. She doesn’t swim competitively anymore but she and Jake and Ella’s ex-coach, who incidentally is also her ex-husband—that’s Erik—and the pool committee: that’s Irene, Loraine, Sally and Helen, although Helen’s moved now,’ he looked at Taylor and added, ‘too many people?’

  She nodded. Nothing was more confusing than trying to keep track of names of people you didn’t know or had only just met.

  ‘Put it this way, the whole entire town, with Ella’s help, all got the local swimming pool up and running earlier this year. Chalk Hill hasn’t had a working pool for years.’

  ‘Which is why it needs a swimming instructor?’

  ‘This is why. Ella’s been doing it since the pool opened, but she’s getting really busy with her real estate job. Don’t suppose you know of any swimming instructors looking for work?’

  ‘No, I don’t know any—’ Taylor tracked her eyeballs to the left to get a look at what the bird was up to. A tug ... ‘It’s chewing my hair!’

  She closed her eyes in case the critter pecked her.

  She didn’t need her eyes open to know Abe was in her space because she could smell him, and her taste buds were doing naughty things, like salivating.

  ‘Is it gone yet?’ she said, eyes staying closed.

  ‘I’ve got him. Relax, Taylor. I’ll let you in on a secret.
I don’t like sheep.’

  Taylor opened her eyes, and yes, he was definitely in her space. ‘You’re from farming stock and you don’t like sheep? How does that work?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone or I’ll be kicked out of the family.’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

  He stepped away to put the bird back in its cage. When he clipped the door shut, she picked up her wine and took a sip to soothe her nerves, leaning her bottom on Ella’s kitchen counter.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine, or a beer? I think there are some beers in the fridge. I’ll replace them tomorrow if you want one.’

  ‘I’d love one.’ Then he jolted as if someone had poked him. ‘Ah, no. I can’t, Taylor, sorry. I’ve got someone waiting for me. I forgot.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, and the thought of Abe having a ‘someone’ hit her like a mule’s kick to the ribs.

  ‘Not that kind of someone,’ Abe said, and this time the words brought a warm rush, like a salve, over those same kicked ribs.

  Taylor waved her hand, as if she could push those feelings away. Why should she care whether Abe did or didn’t have a special someone?

  ‘I didn’t mean …’ She waved her hand again.

  ‘My brother is home for a few days while Jake and Ella are away. He’s come to help on the farm. I forgot about it till now. I’m forgetting a lot of things these days. I’d better get home and see what Brix is up to.’ He checked his watch. ‘Should be there by now.’

  Taylor followed him to the front door, where he paused with his hands in his pockets and the door open, before he stepped out into the twilight.

  ‘You should meet him while you’re here. If you want. I mean, if you think you’re staying for a few days,’ Abe said.

  He wasn’t flirting. It didn’t feel like flirting.

  He was making an effort to be nice. She would have liked it better if it felt more natural. Like when he’d put the bird on her shoulder and told her he wasn’t a fan of sheep. Like when he’d called her Doc.

  ‘Come down to the café tomorrow for a coffee if you want,’ Abe said. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour. I really am sorry for how I acted this morning.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed. You’ll know when it’s time and when you’re ready to talk about it.’

  He turned to face her then, eyes in shadow with the sunset bleeding behind him. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to talk about it.’

  CHAPTER

  8

  Taylor slept far better in Ella’s guestroom than the previous nights at the caravan park, and made a leisurely start to the morning. She emptied the dishwasher, hung out the clothes she’d washed the night before, made a cup of tea, made toast, cleaned up the kitchen and read some more of her book.

  In Chalk Hill style, she left her car at Ella’s and walked into town with Bruno trotting on the leash.

  Strolling along the highway, looking in the window of the very few shops, she was almost at the second-hand shop when Bruno whined. The noise drew Taylor’s attention to an elderly redheaded lady striding with a rattish white dog on the other side of the street. They weren’t far from the Post Office.

  ‘Morning, love,’ the woman called out, waving in a way that made her entire upper body rock.

  People are so friendly in the country. Taylor returned an enthusiastic wave, shouting across the bitumen road. ‘Lovely morning for a walk.’

  ‘Hey, Rene,’ called a voice behind her. Taylor turned to see a stunning brunette exiting the butcher’s shop.

  Oops. Taylor pretended she’d been patting at her hair.

  ‘I’ll wave to you too, love,’ the redheaded lady said to Taylor.

  ‘Rene waves to anyone, don’t you?’ said the brunette. She had an Asian cast to her features, long straight black hair and the type of skin that made pale redheads the world over green with envy.

  ‘Sure do. You’re never too busy to say good morning in my book,’ said Irene.

  ‘Have you found anyone for the swimming pool job yet?’

  ‘Not yet, Jaydah love. Don’t know anybody, do you?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Thanks, love. We’re getting desperate.’

  Taylor’s head turned back and forth between the two women, like she was the net in the middle of a tennis match being played across the Muirs Highway. Imagine trying to have a conversation like this across the middle of Murray Street in Perth?

  ‘Alright, well, I better get a wriggle on,’ Irene said, checking her dog and tugging at its leash because the pooch had strayed closer to the road where a white Toyota was edging into a parking bay outside the Post Office. ‘See you later, girls.’

  Taylor waved alongside Jaydah, and Irene moved on down the main street. Bruno whined to see the white dog go.

  The second-hand shop was a little further, and Taylor was about to smile at the brunette—Jaydah—and keep going, but as she lifted her eyes to wish the woman goodbye she was rocked by a new intensity in the lady’s stance.

  Jaydah was totally focused on a spot across the street where Irene had stood ten seconds ago with her dog.

  Taylor turned to see what she’d missed.

  A man climbed out of the late model Toyota dual-cab. The vehicle screamed ‘farmer’s car’ with its heavy roo-bar, mud-splattered tyres and dog in the back. Taylor had more interest in vehicles than most women she knew, but it was the man that stole her attention.

  Funny, this flash of recognition, given Taylor only knew three people in Chalk Hill: Abe, Ella and Jake, four now if you counted Irene and five with Jaydah, and yet she knew this man instantly.

  Hadn’t Abe told her he was expecting his brother to visit?

  This was Brix Honeychurch. The middle brother of the three. So much like Jake. Not so much like Abe.

  ‘And here’s me in my tracksuit,’ Jaydah breathed quietly beside her.

  Taylor studied the man’s face—he was staring across the highway straight at them, although Taylor was certain he hardly saw her—then she glanced back to Jaydah and whispered, ‘I don’t think he cares what you’re wearing.’

  What was this? Crazy Stupid Love playing out in main street Chalk Hill? Was Jaydah about to launch herself across the street to be borne up in his arms, a la that famous scene in Dirty Dancing?

  ‘Talk to me, can you? Pretend we’re mates,’ the woman said out the side of her mouth. ‘Distract me.’

  ‘Is the butcher any good?’ Taylor asked.

  A grin broke through Jaydah’s lips. ‘Is the butcher any good? Is the butcher any good? Good at what? Cutting chops? Or is he good in bed?’

  ‘I meant cutting chops!’

  ‘Yeah, he’s fine at that.’

  ‘Meat’s always juicy?’ Taylor said. ‘Tender?’

  ‘He cuts a lovely scotch fillet.’ Jaydah flicked her hair behind her shoulder. ‘Is he looking?’

  Taylor snuck a peek at Brix Honeychurch. ‘Yep.’

  Jaydah shivered.

  Brix stood, lean and long, by the side of the ute, rubbing the ears of the dog in the back. He chose that moment to glance across the road towards them.

  Taylor leaned closer to Jaydah. ‘So is he good in bed?’

  ‘Yup.’ Jaydah’s eyes were on Brix.

  ‘I was talking about the butcher, you know,’ Taylor said.

  ‘Rumour has it he knows his way around.’ Jaydah’s teeth flashed a wide smile. ‘I’m good now. Seeing Brix just threw me for a sec there. It’s been a while. Hey, what’s your name?’

  ‘Taylor.’

  ‘I’m Jaydah Tully. I run the bar at the Bowling Club. What are you doing in town, Taylor?’

  ‘I’m staying at Ella Davenport’s for the weekend. They’re away.’

  ‘You’re a friend of Ella’s?’

  ‘A recent friend, yes.’ Which was true enough. Taylor held out her hand to shake Jaydah’s.

  ‘Whoops, don’t shake my hand. We’re supposed to be mates.’ Jay
dah straightened her shoulders. ‘Nice to meet you, Taylor. Thanks for helping me out.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Go get him.’ On impulse, she threw her arms around Jaydah’s shoulders in a brief, but fierce hug.

  It took a second—she’d obviously surprised the other girl—before Jaydah returned the hug and strolled across the street towards Brix, who stopped patting the dog and dusted that hand against his thigh.

  ‘Will you look at what the cat dragged in?’ Jaydah called, a strut in her step as she crossed the white line that cut the highway in perfect halves.

  ‘Hey, JT,’ Brix answered, and Taylor felt the words tumble across the road towards her. His voice was Abe’s, heavier on the country, lighter on the rock and roll.

  She was watching the two of them, so she saw the hitch in Jaydah’s stride when Brix spoke. JT.

  There was an alphabet of history wrapped around those two letters. Taylor didn’t need to be lifelong mates with Jaydah to know that.

  * * *

  It’s gotta be in here.

  Abe thumbed through the jars and packets in the café pantry. Garam masala. Cumin. Fenugreek. Five spice. Pimento. Cinnamon, ground not sticks. He can’t have run out of the sticks or he’d have written them on the shopping list. So he wasn’t looking properly. Too many beers with Brix last night, and it made his head bleary. Eyes too.

  On the verge of pulling all the jars and packets out and lining them up on the stainless steel bench, the café front door chimed and Abe swore.

  Customers.

  Scraping his hands on his apron, he stepped around the stainless steel prep bench and cooktop, and out into the service area that separated the front counter from the commercial kitchen at the back.

  ‘Good morning,’ he greeted the new customers with his old, worn-out smile. ‘Lovely day for it.’

  They assured him it was indeed lovely, before ordering two coffees and a piece of carrot cake to share.

  A middle-aged pair dressed for hiking, they grilled him for a while on whether the wildflowers were out yet, said they were hunting for the Queen of Sheba, and had he heard of any likely spots?

  ‘We know it’s a long shot. Not many of them around,’ the man said.