Sweet Home Summer

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘God, Mum it’s all or nothing with you,’ Isla said gripping the seat.

  ‘Stop being a backseat driver and yes, I know you’re in the front. Did Dad tell you I’m going to be his money girl at the festival? He’s charging five dollars for a ride on his Harley, and he’ll donate the proceeds to the Westpac Chopper Appeal.’

  Isla was touched. She’d be forever grateful to the helicopter service, but she shuddered at the thought of her mother dressed up like Olivia Newton-John’s bad girl in Grease as her father revved his engine nearby.

  ‘Promise me, Mum that you won’t wear those black spandex pants of yours and remember you haven’t smoked in years.’

  ‘You have your sense of humour back, that’s a sign you’re on the mend.

  ‘I wasn’t joking.’ Isla leaned back in the seat. She closed her eyes and let her mother’s voice wash over her, only tuning back in as they reached the turn off for Bibury.

  ‘Nearly home love. Dad’s meeting us at your gran’s, and Annie and Kris said they were going to call in and say hello. I’ve made a nice shepherd’s pie for tea, and there’s plenty to go around if they want to stay for a bite. Your gran will be warming it in the oven as we speak.’

  ‘Page one hundred and twenty-nine of the Edmonds Cookery Book.’ Isla smiled at the mention of her mother’s trusty recipe for feeding a tribe.

  Chapter 39

  The pie was a dinnertime hit, and Joe and Mary announced they would be heading off once the pavlova Bridget had made for pudding had been polished off. Joe said they wanted to get back and go for a ride on the bike to get into the swing of things for the festival. Isla watched in amusement as he piled the empty bowls together before swaggering to the sink and putting them down on the bench. She blamed his cowboy boots for this new walk of his; that, and all the time he spent sitting astride his bike. She shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable and Annie flashed her a sympathetic smile before getting up to help Kris with the dishes.

  ‘Be careful in that wind out there,’ Bridget said to Joe and Mary. ‘I’ve never known anything like it. These last few months it just seems to blow up out of nowhere.’

  ‘Always am when I’m carrying precious cargo, Bridget,’ Joe said hooking his thumbs through his jeans belt loops as Mary came over to where Isla was still sitting at the table to give her a careful hug.

  She returned the embrace with as big a squeeze as she could muster. She was pleased to see her mother was looking more her usual orange self once again. ‘Thanks for bringing me home today, Mum. I’m sorry for all the bother I’ve caused.’

  ‘Don’t be silly sweetheart, we’re just glad to have you home.’

  ‘You know if Delilah’s too far gone I know of a Hilux going for a fair price,’ Joe said with a naughty gleam in his eyes.

  ‘She’ll be good as new when the panel beater’s finished with her thank you very much.’

  ‘God, you sounded just like your grandmother then,’ he muttered as his wife dragged him down the hall calling out good night to everybody.

  Kris was wiping the bench down when Annie announced they should make tracks too.

  ‘Rest up,’ Annie said, giving Isla a kiss on the cheek. She’d made Isla promise not to show her face at Nectar for at least another day, bored or not, telling her she needed to be in form for the festival. It was only five days away after all. The girls were planning on the café being open on the big day and having a food stall where they could slip customers the café’s calling card at the festival. Isla had organized a stack of coffee gratuity cards weeks ago, and the festival would be a fantastic opportunity to spread the word about Nectar and the good food on offer there.

  They were going to split the day into two shifts. Isla was on the morning shift at the festival and Annie the afternoon. Isla had decided to take Marie’s daughter Callie on permanently, on a part–time basis. Annie had said she worked like a trooper while Isla was in the hospital and the café was busy enough to warrant the extra pair of hands these days. It would ease the pressure off both of them from having to be on board seven days a week.

  ‘Oh, and I’m with your mum, it’s good to have you home.’

  Isla smiled at her and Kris, feeling very lucky to have such lovely people in her life. ‘Thanks for coming tonight, you two.’

  Kris squeezed out the sponge and put it by the sink, smiling over at her before turning his attention to Bridget. ‘The dessert was delicious, Bridget. I’ve never had this pavlova dish before; I think it’s my new favourite.’

  Bridget was already scooping some into an empty ice cream container for him to take home.

  ‘Thanks for having everyone around tonight Gran, it was a lovely welcome home,’ Isla said when her gran had seen the others off. She was putting the kettle on to make a pot of tea.

  ‘My pleasure, but now it’s just the two of us Isla, I think you have some explaining to do, don’t you?’

  Isla looked at her gran blankly, and then the penny dropped, Charlie was here already. ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Yes, oh right indeed. A shock like the one I had today is not good for someone in their dusky years.’

  ‘Twilight years Gran.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Isla knew better than to argue, besides she had some grovelling to do. ‘Gran, I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t caused too much upset, but I promise my intentions with Charlie were all good.’ She picked at a dried bit of mince on the tablecloth. ‘It was just that his cards read like there was unfinished business between the two of you and he sounded so lovely on the phone – and oh Gran, I just want you to be happy that’s all.’

  Bridget appreciated, as she looked at her granddaughter, that she shared the same sentiments where she was concerned. If only Isla and Ben would look to the future and put their shared history behind them. It made her pause; the same could be said about her and Charlie. She couldn’t change what had happened all those years ago, but she could change what would happen next in however many years she had left. She jumped as the back door blew open, and got up to shut it, sliding the lock across. ‘Blasted, bloody wind.’

  It was a relief to see the tendrils of pink lighten the sky, signalling morning had arrived at long last. Bridget wished she could erase the dark circles from beneath her eyes and was tempted to head across the road to see if Mary and her magic Revlon potions could undo the evidence of her sleepless night. She wasn’t ready to tell her daughter about Charlie yet though, and so she’d done her best with a spot of pressed powder and blush. It would be unseemly to arrive on the doorstep of the Fern Bed & Breakfast before 10am, and she felt awash with tea by the time she closed the front door behind her and made her way around the road to the B&B.

  ‘I never got your letters, Charlie, Tom kept them all and burned every one of them,’ she said having decided to come right out with it. Charlie was right; they were too old to pussyfoot around. They were sitting in the front room of the B&B, having made sure the door was shut. Bridget knew of Jill Doyle the proprietor’s gossipy tendencies. Still, she thought, her eyes skimming over the old homestead’s high skirting boards as she waited for Charlie’s reaction, she ran a clean house and that was the important thing.

  Charlie was seated in the chintzy armchair opposite her, and she was momentarily mesmerized by the vein throbbing in his neck. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Tom never—’

  He waved his hand impatiently. ‘I know what you said. I just can’t make sense of it.’

  ‘That’s just it, Charlie, there is no sense to it.’ Bridget had thought long and hard about what she would tell him and what she would never tell a soul. Not just for herself but for the sake of her family and the memories they held of Tom too. He hadn’t just been her husband; he’d been a father and a grandfather too. It would benefit no one to know the truth of how Clara died. ‘He told me what he’d done with your letters when he was dying. It seems he was in love with me from the off and that poor Clara was merely a convenient distra
ction.’

  Charlie made a choking sound and shook his head. ‘All those years I thought you hadn’t kept your word and here you thought I hadn’t kept mine. I thought he was my friend, I trusted him. That bastard! I’m sorry Bridget I know you were married a long time but still—’

  ‘I was angry when he told me what he’d done too, but then he died, and I knew it was a waste of energy because it was too late to change anything. Tom was gone, there was nobody to rail at, what was done, was done. Besides,’ she said clasping her hands together, ‘we’d lived a life together, raised a family together and seen our grandchildren come into this world. It wasn’t all bad, Charlie, and I won’t ever regret my children.’

  He was silent, thoughtful for a few beats before speaking, ‘I’d never expect that of you. I have sons of my own and grandchildren that I would never be without too. What I don’t understand, is why you didn’t contact me when you got my cards?’

  ‘I was scared to.’

  ‘Why Bridget?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to feel all that hurt and anger that I’d felt when I found out about the letters. It was almost too much to bear and look at me, for heaven’s sake. I’m not that young girl you danced with and kissed down by the river anymore. Your head was always full of romantic notions, and I might be an old lady, but I’m also a proud lady.’

  ‘You silly woman, don’t you know I was hurt and angry for years? Can’t you see? I needed to know what happened, why you never wrote to me. It didn’t make sense to me because the girl I fell in love with wouldn’t have behaved like that. That’s why I’ve come back.’ He got up from his seat, moving across the room towards her. ‘And you’ll never be old Bridget; it’s not in your nature. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.’

  He held out his hand to her, Bridget inhaled deeply. This was her chance. It would not come again, this second chance at happiness and so she took it, grabbing his hand with both of hers, knowing that this time she would not let go.

  Bridget and Charlie were inseparable in the days leading up to the festival as they got to know one another again. They spent their time walking the familiar paths of bygone years, hand in hand. The years seemed to melt away, and she felt young and carefree in his company. She felt giddy with the joy of falling in love all over again. She’d have liked to have kept Charlie all to herself, but it wouldn’t be fair for Mary to hear her mother had a beau from anybody else. She’d decided the best course of action where her family was concerned was to take the bull by the ears and invite them to lunch to meet him.

  Now, as she sprinkled grated cheese over the top of the lasagne she’d made, her stomach fluttered at the prospect of how this luncheon would go. She was just as nervous as she’d been the first time Charlie had come calling for her. Back then though he’d had to pass her father’s inspection. How ironic that today he needed her daughter’s and son-in-law’s stamp of approval. The difference this time around though, Bridget thought popping the dish in the oven, was that if Joe or Mary disapproved, they’d just have to get over themselves because she was not letting go of this man twice.

  Charlie was the first to arrive, and she took the single red rose from him with a tsk telling him he shouldn’t have. He was spoiling her.

  ‘I’m making up for lost time,’ he said leaning in to kiss her and Bridget responded with enthusiastic warmth. It was then that Joe’s white Hilux roared up the drive. Bridget gasped breaking away from Charlie’s embrace, as she watched Joe nearly take out the apple tree at the sight of his elderly mother-in-law kissing some old geezer on the front porch. Bridget couldn’t help but think that the colour of Mary’s complexion would be listed as Vermillion if it were to be described on a colour wheel, as she staggered towards them. They were not off to the best of starts and, she felt a surge of relief as Isla came to stand beside them in solidarity.

  ‘Everybody, I’d like you to meet Charlie Callahan.’

  Bridget ushered a gobsmacked Mary and Joe inside; Charlie hung back wanting a minute alone with Isla.

  He took her hands in his. ‘I was so sorry to hear of your accident my dear, but you look like you’re on the mend.’

  ‘I am, thank you.’

  ‘You’re the image of her,’ he said.

  Any doubt Isla felt at her actions in bringing Charlie to Bibury disappeared when she saw the genuine warmth in his smile as he said, ‘I can’t thank you enough for giving us both a second chance at happiness.’

  At first, the conversation around the table was stilted. Bridget sympathized with her daughter, watching as she toyed with the lasagne on the plate in front of her. It must feel like one shock after another what with Isla’s accident and now her mother’s old beau arriving on the scene. Joe though, was behaving like a prized prat as he drilled Charlie like he was still that young man who’d called to her front door, cap in hand, all those years ago. She’d seen Isla elbow her father to try and get him to shut up as she valiantly tried to lighten the atmosphere by asking questions about Charlie’s life in Perth.

  It was as the coffee and jam tart came out that Charlie managed to win Joe and Mary over. Joe got up from the table excusing himself to pay a visit, and as he sauntered off in the direction of the bathroom, Charlie called after him. ‘Great boots!’ As for Mary, he appealed to her vanity. ‘You know Mary if I hadn’t known you were Isla’s mother, I would’ve had you pegged as sisters.’

  Isla made a note to change the tint of her foundation.

  Chapter 40

  The day of the festival dawned with a clear blue sky. ‘Thank goodness that wind’s finally dropped,’ Bridget said, her hand firmly in Charlie’s as she surveyed the scene around her with a sense of profound satisfaction. The Barker’s Creek Hall stood smartly to attention with a line of people crowding the path to its entrance as they queued to see Rohan, the official Matchmaker. They’d just had the official unveiling of Clara’s statue, and the beautiful bronze gleamed under the hot sun near where they stood.

  The unveiling had been followed by Bridget giving a speech about Clara. She touched on the tragedy of her death but focused on the positive aspects of her short life. She’d said thank you to all those who had supported Project Matchmaker and the restorations of Barker’s Creek Hall before asking Saralee to come and stand alongside her. She told the crowd the day simply would not have happened without her help and there was a generous round of applause. Her words had been well received by those that had come to see what all the fuss was about.

  Clara’s Last Dance as the statue had been called was everything Bridget had hoped for. It was the mark of a true artist that, despite never having known her, Ian had still managed to capture her friend’s joie de vivre. It was the expression he had sculpted on her face. The full skirt and jauntily tied scarf denoted the era. He was indeed a talent to be reckoned with, she thought, spying him being ushered towards his latest masterpiece by a reporter from the Bibury Times. To the reporter’s chagrin, however, an elderly woman leaped into his line of sight and photobombed the shot.

  ‘Margaret, get out the way! What do you think you’re doing? Come here, I’ve someone I want you to meet,’ Bridget called over to her friend.

  ‘So many memories,’ Charlie said, quietly looking to the hall and then back at Clara’s Last Dance oblivious to the silver-topped woman stampeding in their direction. ‘That was such a lovely touch, Bridget. Clara would have loved it.’

  She gripped his hand a little tighter before introducing him to her friend.

  ‘Close your mouth Margaret; this is Charlie Callahan. We knew each other a long time ago, and I’m very pleased to tell you we have recently rekindled our friendship.’ Against her better judgment Bridget left Margaret talking to Charlie and went in search of Isla. She wanted to introduce her to Rohan Sullivan before the official matchmaking proceedings got underway.

  Rohan had kept his word and arrived in town the night before. As part of the fundraising effort, Mick Freeman had agreed to accommodate
him at the Pit. Rohan had told Bridget that while not fancy, the lodgings were perfectly adequate and Mick knew his way around a kitchen and how to handle a frying pan.

  Isla’s bruising was fading but her gait was still ginger, Bridget noticed, as her granddaughter walked carefully alongside her to meet the Matchmaker and man of the hour. But she was definitely on the mend.

  ‘Gran, you’re right he does look like one of Snow White’s seven dwarfs,’ Isla whispered as she followed Bridget over to where he’d set himself up at the stage end of the hall. He also looked familiar as though she knew him, had always known him. It was a most peculiar feeling, she thought, shaking the fanciful idea away.

  ‘Rohan, this is my granddaughter, Isla.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  He didn’t reply, and Bridget decided she must have misheard him as he opened his old book, smoothing the tea-coloured pages with reverence. Isla inhaled, fancying she could smell the aged leather binding.

  ‘So how does this all work then?’ she asked, peering over at the book and seeing the pages he had it opened to were blank.

  ‘Ah well now, it’s a straightforward enough business. I have a bit of a chat with him or her, note down their age and their interests in here.’ He tapped the book with his stubby index finger. ‘And then as the day gets long, I begin to match him and her or him and him or her and her or whomever up.’

  ‘The idea, of course, being that those paired off will use the opportunity of the dance tonight to let romance blossom,’ Bridget said.

  Rohan nodded and picked up a pen from the pot full on the table top. Isla thought he would have been better suited to a feather quill and an ink pot. She watched him do a tiny doodle in the corner of the blank page before gazing up at them both with clear, piercing blue eyes and announcing that he was ready to begin. They left him to get on with what most of the crowd outside had come for, the business of finding their perfect match.