The Cafe by the Bridge

by Lily Malone

  Abe sat back in his seat and his mum again collected his hand.

  ‘I know you found my letter. Dad told me.’

  ‘Bit of a shock to the system,’ Abe said.

  ‘I know, darling. I’m sorry about that. I always thought I’d get to tell you myself and then I panicked when I got sick. If I’d fallen off my perch in Tamworth you might never have known the truth.’

  ‘In the letter you said he’s in Belgium.’

  ‘He was last time I wrote to him.’

  ‘You have his address? Do you keep in touch?’ The sudden yearning inside him took him by surprise.

  ‘Not so much these last years. But we used to send a card at Christmas. I sent him photos till you were seventeen. Then you were gone. The day you got your driver’s licence you were out of Chalk Hill. Always looking for city lights. Always happier in the big smoke, you were. A bit like me, maybe.’

  ‘Does … Dominic’—he tried out the name—‘know how … how sick you are, Mum?’

  ‘No. And I wouldn’t tell him.’

  They were quiet, until a breeze sifted through the flyscreen, cooling tears Abe hadn’t known he’d cried.

  ‘There’s an envelope for you with my will. It has all the letters Dominic wrote to me. There’s one thing I’d ask, if you’ll let me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, nobody can tell me, and I don’t want your dad’s last memories of me to be filled with talk of Dominic and what happened when I know how much it hurts him. I want him to think of me and know how much I loved him, love him—that I go to my grave loving him—and he can remember me for the good times. Anything else doesn’t seem fair. When I’m gone, if you want to tell your brothers, well, I won’t be here to worry about it, will I? You can all do what you like. But while I’m still kicking, please don’t tell your brothers?’

  It made his eyes prickle all over again. ‘I won’t if you don’t want me to, Mum. None of us have known for all this time. It doesn’t really matter, does it?’

  ‘Thank you, Abe.’ Her eyelids drooped, showing blue veins like a web beneath thin lids.

  From outside the house there was the bray of an engine as their parents’ four wheel drive revved.

  ‘I hope that’s Jake driving. Otherwise the van might come through the house,’ Mum said, eyes still closed, lips open, breathing softly.

  That’s when Abe knew he wasn’t going travelling with Taylor any time soon and he’d probably regret that for the rest of his life, because Taylor was his heart and he hated the thought of his heart travelling around Europe without him. What if his heart got stolen by another man?

  But he was needed here—in Chalk Hill—until his mother didn’t need him anymore.

  CHAPTER

  36

  Taylor had always loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day for some reason she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was because Christmas Eve held the magic of the promise of Christmas: kids across the world went to bed dreaming of Santa. The next day there’d be tears because Santa didn’t bring the exact thing the kid wanted, or Santa didn’t bring enough, or Santa bought the wrong brand when only LEGO would do.

  On Christmas Eve, nobody got disappointed.

  The clinic had closed early so that everyone had one more chance to get to the shops for those last-minute gifts. Taylor didn’t do last-minute when it came to Christmas. She’d bought all her presents in the midyear sales. She’d bought wrapping paper and Christmas crackers last Boxing Day.

  Driving south towards Chalk Hill, it was impossible not to think about the last time she’d visited the town when she’d come to find Abe. It was only a few short months ago and everything then had been green. Now the paddocks rushing beyond the window were brown and dry.

  In the back, Bruno lay like an inky blanket, asleep. The back seat held wrapped presents, bedding, pillows and clothes. There were more boxes in the Redline’s trunk: cookware and cutlery; shoes, shoes, hats and more shoes.

  She’d left a few things at her house in Perth. She’d make a trip back for them between Christmas and New Year. After that, her place would be rented until she decided what might happen next.

  She shivered in the leather seats: a single shiver for the unknown and the known, and all the things the future might bring. Then she eased her foot off the accelerator because the last thing she needed was a speeding fine.

  Taylor put her favourite USB in the sound system and sat back for the drive.

  * * *

  ‘It looks so different without your records,’ Taylor said, turning a circle in Ella’s living room.

  The huge bookcase stacked with records had gone. So had Ella’s antique record player. And Perkins III, he was gone too.

  ‘I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of your bird,’ she said.

  ‘He and Percy—that’s Jake’s nanna’s old bird—have been having a great time getting to know each other,’ Ella said. ‘We can’t shut them up.’

  ‘And Abe doesn’t know I’m here?’ Taylor said.

  Ella’s eyes shone. ‘He has no idea. It’s brilliant.’

  * * *

  Abe pulled into the carport at Ella’s place and sat in the front seat for a while, looking at the tinsel and fairy lights she’d wound along the fence. The day was fading and the fairy lights made diamond stars.

  Given how busy the café had been in the weeks leading up to Christmas, given everything going on with his mum since his parents had returned, he felt surprisingly light. Not quite as bright as the lights now beginning to twinkle, but happy enough all the same.

  Some of that, no, most of that was due to Taylor coming for Christmas. She was driving down from the city after work tonight—bugger the kangaroos, she’d promised to take it slow and steady. He hadn’t seen her since his final visit to Dr Palmer because life had got so busy at the café and he wanted to spend as much time with his mum as he could. They all did. Brix had been home more this last couple of months leading up to Christmas than in the last eight years, although Abe was pretty sure Jaydah had more than a bit to do with that.

  There were a few boxes in the back of his car: cooking gear, glassware, cups and cutlery, and some leftovers from the café that he could heat for a meal tonight. Ella wasn’t taking all her furniture out to the farm, there was no point; the farmhouse was already overflowing.

  So Ella had finally bit the bullet and agreed to move out to the farmhouse to be with Jake. ‘It’s his Christmas present,’ she’d said. Charlotte was spending Christmas and New Year at the farm too and the old house was overrun with young voices and running feet.

  A Christmas tree filled the farmhouse living room with that fresh pine scent, and the two kids had spent their pocket money big-time in the second-hand shop on decorations and tinsel. A few nights ago, Abe and Jake helped them string up the lights in the patio where the Honeychurch clan would celebrate Christmas Day lunch tomorrow. Brix was due in tonight too, and he’d commandeered their parents’ caravan so he could stay out at the farm but not be in Jake and Ella’s space.

  Meanwhile, Abe would move into Ella’s. It would give Jake and Ella and the two kids time to get to know each other without him hanging around in the big house, plus it would give him and Taylor privacy for those weekends when she was down. For however many weekends they had left. He wasn’t going to think about when Taylor would leave on her travels. He’d decided to stay in the now.

  Ella said her landlord was happy to sign over the lease. Abe hadn’t actually seen the lease yet, but if the landlord wasn’t worried about the formality of a signature, why should he?

  He got out and opened the rear door, grabbing up as many of the boxes as he could.

  It was a juggle getting through the gate and he swore softly under his breath when he remembered Ella kept that spare key under the pot plant. He’d have to put the boxes down before he could get the key out.

  Abe bent at the knees to lower the boxes to the porch.

&nb
sp; He thought he heard a dog’s growl and paused … but heard nothing.

  Tilting the pot plant, Abe stooped to reach beneath it.

  That was when the front door opened, almost giving him a heart attack. At the same time, a black wriggling cyclone rushed through the door and at him, as if it was trying to take him out at the knees.

  Bruno had a Santa hat tied above his ears and a collar in which was pinned a big red and green bow. He growled that long, drawn out staffy greeting, and Abe rolled the dog’s cheeks in his hands, making a fuss before he stood up.

  Behind Bruno, leaning on the doorframe, stood the girl of his dreams.

  She too wore a Santa hat, a red and green bow for a collar, a big smile and … holy red lace bra cups and panties, not much else.

  * * *

  ‘So where’s the big flash car?’ Abe asked her later in the bedroom, when his brain was working again.

  ‘Around the corner.’

  ‘You left it on the street?’

  ‘It’s locked. It’s the country, so everyone keeps telling me. Things are different here.’ She worked her fingers through the hairs on his chest. ‘I wanted to be a surprise when you got here. I can hardly be a surprise if my car is out the front, can I?’

  ‘True.’ Abe rolled to his side and propped on his elbow so he could look at her. ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘As long as you want me.’

  ‘But what about your travel plans?’ He had to ask. The question had been between them since he’d told her how sick his mother really was. He didn’t want Taylor to put her plans on hold for him.

  She shrugged and her gorgeous boobs shrugged with her shoulders, and for a few seconds his brain stopped working again.

  ‘Ella says I can stay here as long as I want,’ Taylor said.

  ‘No, Ella said I can stay here as long as I want. She’s going to sign over the lease. The landlord’s all for it.’

  ‘The house is part of my package deal,’ Taylor said, a smile on her face. A saucy smile, or a satisfied smile, or both … he couldn’t quite decide. His brain wasn’t working properly. Her fault.

  ‘Okay, Doc, I’ll bite. What package deal?’

  She tugged on his chest hairs. ‘The new Chalk Hill and Districts Town Pool swimming instructor doesn’t get paid, exactly, but she gets to live in this house.’

  ‘What new swimming—’ he sputtered, ‘not you!’

  ‘Yes me.’

  ‘Can you swim?’

  ‘Of course I can swim. I can swim quite well, actually.’

  ‘Butterfly?’

  ‘Ah, well, no. But this is junior swim school. I don’t have to teach butterfly until at least Stage 9.’

  Abe put his fingers over her hand to circumvent the chest hair tug he knew was coming. ‘You’re going to be the new swimming instructor? Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. I’ve already got a police clearance for working with children. I’ve been working through my AustSwim certificate. Ella’s helping me with all the formalities.’

  ‘How long are you going to be the swimming instructor for?’

  ‘Until they find someone better qualified. It buys them some time, and I don’t mind helping out. Ella’s just so busy.’ A cloud came over Taylor’s face. ‘Until … I guess until things are clearer with your mum. I guess until they’re clearer for you.’

  Until Mum dies. His joy dimmed.

  Taylor must have seen it because she let go his chest hair and took a hold on his hand instead.

  ‘Try not to be sad,’ she said. ‘This way you get to spend time with her before the end. You can talk all these things out with her. You get closure, Abe. It’s sad, but I think in the long run you’ll feel better. There are studies about terminal illness and the effect on families, you know. Your mum will be more comfortable with what’s ahead knowing that all the loose ends with her family are tied off. She’ll get to spend this last time with her family and with people she loves.’

  ‘What did you mean when you said it will make things clearer for me?’

  Taylor pushed up onto her elbows and shook that wedge of copper-coloured hair from her eye. ‘When you know what you’re doing with the café, and with whatever comes after the café. When you’re ready to travel, and I guess, if you still want to travel with me.’

  ‘You know I want to go travelling with you. I love you. You’re not going travelling with anybody else. I’m the one that gets to kiss you under all the waterfalls and at the top of the Eiffel Tower and on the Italian Riviera. No one else.’

  Was that too possessive? Maybe. He didn’t care.

  She squeezed his hand and leaned so she could kiss him then and there, in a conventional comfortable bed, in what up until twenty minutes ago had been Ella’s bedroom, in Chalk Hill.

  ‘Thank you for telling me you love me, Abe.’

  ‘But you knew that, Taylor! You must have known. I’ve been in love with you for weeks.’

  ‘Since when exactly?’

  He didn’t have to think about it. ‘That morning you thought Dalmatian-print Rollies would be okay to climb the Granite Skywalk.’

  She laughed, a husky, pretty sound. ‘Well, that works. I was half in love with you for carrying me over the mud.’

  She lay back on the pillow, but she kept her hand entwined with his, scratching softly at the back of his hand with her nails.

  ‘I thought Belgium might be a good place to start when we travel. Brugge, maybe,’ she said.

  Brugge. Mum’s last known address for Dominic the chef.

  ‘I know someone who runs a B&B in Brugge,’ Taylor continued. ‘I could get in touch. I’ve seen photos of her place on Facebook. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Always fixing things, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s important to you. It’s important to you to find your roots. Even if you can’t find Dominic, at least you’ll know you tried.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m so glad that’s settled,’ she said, snuggling into the quilt. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Brugge. It’s supposed to be a beautiful city.’

  ‘So it’s not all about me and my roots? Is that what you’re saying?’

  She smiled at him and shrugged, very sweetly, and it did those things to her gorgeous boobs … and, well … his brain didn’t know much about anything after that, except that he was in his happy place. He was with Taylor, and she felt like home.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I call Chalk Hill a ‘fictional town’ but the place has become very real to me. Given how many readers have told me they loved Water Under The Bridge (Chalk Hill Book 1), I’m thinking the town has become very real to you too. A crowd favourite in Water Under The Bridge was my one-armed bear of a man ‘Erik’ – Ella’s swimming coach, ex-husband and very best friend. I don’t think there was a reader who didn’t feel sorry for Erik at the end of Water Under The Bridge, and I promise Erik will also get his happy ever after soon.

  Meanwhile, I had tremendous fun writing The Café By The Bridge, the story of the youngest of the Honeychurch brothers, Abe, and chic city-girl psychologist, Taylor.

  Taylor is a melting pot of many people, but her fashion sense is inspired by my most beautiful friend, Julie-Ann, who has a way of putting an outfit together like no one else I know.

  Once again, I’m extremely grateful to my beta-reading friends who saw early versions of The Café By The Bridge and gave me brilliant feedback. Big thanks and ongoing hugs and squeezes to Juanita Kees and Kylie Kaden who have always been massive supports, and of course to my writing group, the Lollygaggers. You ladies rock. My friend Belinda answered a phone call inviting her for coffee one morning in 2017, and didn’t quite realise how much she was about to be grilled about child psychology, puppies, and kittens over that cappuccino! Thanks Bel.

  Another Belinda inspires me on a regular basis with her Facebook photographs of south west flowers, particularly the orchids, and I was so happy when Bel found the Queen of Sheba orchid last year, I had to write that into t
his story too.

  The Card Girls – I love you dearly for putting up with neurotic me. We have so many laughs, unless of course you make me cry. What happens around the card table, stays around the card table… but if you ever make me do pilates again on my birthday, I will write you into a book and in that split second as you put your foot in the stirrup so the hero can hoist you on the back of his horse and ride off into the sunset, I will ensure you get hit by a bus.

  To my agent Haylee Nash, and to Rachael Donovan and Laurie Ormond from Harlequin MIRA, and Julie Wicks who has again edited for me, thank you for your guidance and your words of encouragement about this story, my town of Chalk Hill, and its characters. Your skills make my words so much better.

  Lastly, to you, the person with my book in your hands—thank you for reading Australian authors and Australian fiction. Thank you for choosing my book! I write because of you.

  ISBN: 9781489250490

  TITLE: THE CAFE BY THE BRIDGE

  First Australian Publication 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Lily Malone

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.