by Allie Little
Bloody George, I curse. We need more staff.
“Do you need any help?” I ask as she reappears, braving a sharp frown from Riley. “The plates are done, as is the risotto,” I justify, hoping he’ll relent.
“If Sam could clear tables, I’ll love you forever,” Emily pleads, blinking her blue eyes dramatically at Riley.
“Oh, okay,” he groans, shaking his head. “I’ll let you know when I need you back, Sam.”
“Thanks, Riley,” says Emily, tugging me out by the arm.
Gemma’s at the coffee machine, flirting. Something she’s profoundly good at. She makes love-heart and four-leaf-clover swirls in the milk froth, giggling like she’s thirteen.
“More milk please, Sam!” she calls, so I’m back in the kitchen to retrieve it from the fridge.
“Thank you, Sammy,” she purrs as I hand it over. She returns her gaze to the long line of males queuing for their fix. Her face seems sharper, thinner if possible; her skin pulled taut across her bones.
Later I’m at the dishwasher when I feel Riley right up behind me. He’s way too close and I want him away. I swivel abruptly, finding myself nose to nose with his broody good looks.
He inches even closer. “So what are you doing later, Sam?”
His chiselled face is way too close for comfort so I edge away, feeling the kitchen bench pressed hard up behind me. He mirrors my movement.
“Do you want to go out when we finish? Just for a drink?” And the guy is brash.
I inch further away. “Umm ... I can’t tonight, Riley. I already made plans.”
“Oh yeah? Cancel them,” he demands, his amber eyes scrutinising mine.
I smile nervously, leaning further back. “Uh, I can’t Riley. But maybe some other time?” And I don’t know why I say this. I curse myself silently.
He leans forward like a predator, caging me with his hands placed either side on the counter. My heart races just a little, because if he wasn’t my boss ...
“Do you mean it, Sammy? Okay then. I’ll definitely hold you to that.” He pushes away and saunters off to the other side of the swiftly diminishing kitchen. Pulling lasagne out of the oven, he places it on the bench with a loud sizzle. He cuts it into equal sized portions.
George emerges from his office. Like a crab in the sand at night time he peers from his hole to see if it’s safe to come out, and now there’s a lull he does. He gestures for me to follow him, closing the door firmly when I do. I thank him silently for his gloriously impeccable timing.
He gives an unusual smile. “Well, Sam. To state the bleeding obvious, we’ve been pretty busy lately. I need everyone to do some extra shifts. It’s the only way we’re gonna cope.”
My heart sinks. “I’m already doing five,” I say defensively. “That’s almost full-time work George, spread over the week.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, the cogs audibly whirring. “Could you manage a double shift once a week? What do you think? Is it possible?”
I shake my head decisively, trying to buy some time. “I’m really sorry, George. But along with my other commitments, I just wouldn’t have the time.”
He removes his glasses, tapping a finger on the desk. “Other commitments, hey? Well, we’ll leave it for the moment. But I am going to need you to take on some more at some stage over the next few weeks.” I watch him restrain obvious frustration before he waves me from the room. “At least think about it,” he says, as I duck hastily around the doorframe.
The storm hits about a half hour later. We drag in umbrellas and secure windows in the wind. It sweeps low across the bay, the whitecaps spewing spray across the darkening water. The ferry pulls out wide from the wharf and I wish I was on it, heading home and finally finished for the day. I push the thought swiftly away. The line at the coffee machine disperses and Gemma’s left with no-one to giggle with. The café empties too, the rain pelting the roof so hard I can hardly hear thoughts floating by in my head.
Riley comes out and stands behind me. He watches the water fall, running in rivulets downhill toward the bay. Feeling his closeness, I twist to face him.
I eyeball him, in intimate proximity. “What do you want, Riley?”
He leans forward, gazing directly into my eyes. “Ah, wouldn’t you like to know,” he almost growls. “Just kidding,” he laughs. “Let me know when you want that drink.” He shoves a cookie in his mouth and struggles to close it. Glancing up at the low-slung sky, he turns and walks back to the kitchen.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hey Sis, come for a run? Come on, I’m heading to the beach.” The voice is familiar, breaking my dreams apart rudely in the dark. I experiment with the cruel act of opening my eyes. Dawn shafts grey light through my window, hitting the bed near its base. There’s still an absence of colour in the sky. “Come on, grab your board. There could be decent surf.” He shakes me violently and I groan.
“You’re heartless. Let me sleep.”
“Don’t be lazy.”
“Brutal,” I say rolling onto my side, forcing my eyelids apart. “I worked last night you know.”
“The beach is calling. Can’t you hear it? Grab your stuff.” He’s out the door, jangling his keys in the silence like dawn-birds in the dark. “You coming or not, Sam?” His voice is impatient so I roll clumsily out of bed. I drag on a bikini, reach for my rashie, then pull a beach towel from a brass hook wobbling loosely behind my door.
Ben already has the engine running. I throw my board in the back and jump in. He eases the Subaru along the river before turning left to climb the Singing Bridge into Hawks Nest. The pre-dawn calm is broken by the sound of pounding surf when we pull up at Bennett’s beach. The sand is pitted with footprints like the peel of an orange, the break rolling perfectly to the right. Curling green rollers come in even sets, hitting the sand when they fall, sucking back again in retreat. A bright rim of light arcs above a single cloud, and a golden pool glitters on the surface of the sea. My breath catches and my heart begins to melt. So worth getting up for. Diamonds are dancing to the day. The horizon shines with hues of gold when we dump our boards on the grassy dune.
“Let’s run,” Ben says, taking off north toward Dark Point. He’s faster and already has a headstart. The sand is like concrete, dead flat for easy running.
“Wait,” I yell after him.
“Come on then, slow coach,” he taunts as he runs backwards, waiting for me.
“Yeah, yeah. All right.” I catch him and we pace it out, side by side. We find a rhythm, our breathing matched steady and deep.
“You working today?” he asks.
“Nup. Today it’s just me and the beach, at least until lunchtime. And thanks to you, I’m here nice and early.”
He sniggers. “And we have the pleasure of a family dinner, I hear.”
It’s my turn to snigger. “Yeah, one of those. Mum wants to get us all together and it’s the only night we could find while you’re here.”
“That’s cool.”
“So did Lily move out?” I ask.
At the mention of Lil, he picks up the pace. “Not sure. I haven’t heard,” he says, his face clouding over.
I continue anyway. “So what’s happened? Or would you prefer not to say?”
“She met someone at uni. They’re study partners apparently.” His tone is laced with heavy scepticism. “She says they’re just friends, but they’ve been spending a hell of a lot of time together. She was never home. Never called.”
“So, you don’t think they could actually be friends? Just like she says?”
“Well, it’s a weird coincidence we’d break up right when they’re spending so much time together, don’t you think?” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“I guess so. But maybe you should give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps there really is nothing going on.”
“Even if that is the case, she still wants to break up. So whether she was or she wasn’t seeing this guy, she doesn’t want us to exist anymore. And that fucking kil
ls me. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
His fists clench and I can’t help but shake my head in utter disbelief, because this is so not what I expected. Ben and Lil were supposed to be forever. Or so we all thought, including Ben.
Finally we turn to run the long strip of beach back to our starting point. The sun has slipped further above the horizon and its heat stabs at me even though it’s early. Pre-dawn fishermen start disappearing in four wheel drives, their tyre trails snaking behind them over the dune.
We reach the surf club totally knackered and find the locals have snagged the best spots on the break. And these guys love Ben. Love him. In that matey, blokey kind of way. Because he’s that kind of guy.
“Benno! Mate.”
“How are ya, mate? It’s been too bloody long. You comin’ in for a surf?”
“Faark, it’s been a while. You forgotten how to surf, mate?
“Ha ha, yeah mate. It’s been so bloody long he’s forgotten.”
Ben stands at the water’s edge with a grin as wide as I’ve seen. There are six of them packed tightly on the break, on the southern end of Bennett’s, south of the surf shed. Weathered and sun-washed, they own the beach because they’re here. Ben grabs his board and paddles belly-down through the waves to his school mates out the back. They jeer and laugh and I know for sure I’ll never be included in the Boy’s Club. I have absolutely no desire to be either. There’s too much testosterone riding the pretty curling waves. I watch them, perched waiting for the perfect set to wash through. Their hair’s dry so they’ve been there a while, watching waves pass them by.
The sun rises further into the blue and summer swimmers dot the beach between the flags. Body boards are strapped to ankles, and sand tents pop up like pimples on a teenager. I grab my board and paddle out.
The water’s cold. I keep my distance from the guys, preferring to give them a wide berth on the waves. They never hassle me, ever, probably because I’m Ben’s sister so they wouldn’t dare, but I prefer to stay well out of their way. I watch Ben on a wave peeling to the right, cutting low before it hollows out to whitewash. Then he’s back on his belly and duck-diving so deep he must be hitting sand. He surfaces close by.
“Come on,” he says with a grin. And we paddle out together.
The beach is a chaotic mess of people now jostling for position. And Ben’s mates are calling it a morning.
“It’s too bloody busy, mate.”
“Yeah mate, I’ve had enough. The wind’s starting to chop it up anyway, boys.”
“Hope I can find my way to the car through that faarkin’ hornet’s nest.”
“You comin’ in, Benno, or hangin’ with your sister?”
“Gonna hang a while, guys. Catch ya later,” he says. “Gotta make the most of it.”
“Yeah, too right mate. You’ve lost your edge.” They laugh together in deep-throated harmonies.
I watch them leave. Brown and muscle-bound, with hair bleached light in the salt and the sun. They’re backslapping each other and laughing like they haven’t a care in the world, but they must because people do. Ben paddles for a wave and misses it, slow on the crest before it curls in on itself, rolling fast and white to the shore.
***
Family dinnertime and the river reflects the sky in vivid hues of fire. It’s glassy and clear and I never tire of it. Dad heats the barbecue and even though the meat hasn’t hit the hotplate yet, the charcoal-scent of food is remnant from last week.
“Set the table, Sam,” Mum calls. She trawls out raw oysters from the Fish Co-op and nestles a bottle of crisp French champagne into an ice bucket. Dad grabs the bottle and pops the cork, the bubbles fizzing like frothy shallows in the surf. Heat still lingers in the warm summer evening, so the champagne’s a most welcome revitaliser. I gulp at it greedily.
“So what are we celebrating?” asks Ben, raising the glass to his lips.
“Do we need a reason to celebrate?” Dad asks, smiling. And you can feel his content. Ben’s presence usually has that effect.
“Having you home, darling,” croons Mum over the rim of her glass. “Although perhaps if you’d brought Lily home, you wouldn’t be in such a mess. Maybe a little more effort on your part could have avoided this nasty predicament of yours.”
Ben instantly tenses like a statue, warning her to back off. “She didn’t want to come, Mum. That relationship is over.”
“Yes, but women like to be chased, darling. They like to feel reassured you like them, or love them, whatever the case may be. You do love her don’t you, Ben darling? Get back there and prove it. For God’s sake, be a man and let her know you care.”
His face darkens. “Women only need reassurance if they’re unsure of themselves, which as you know Mum, Lily isn’t.”
“He’s right, Pam. Lily is a strong woman who knows her own mind,” says Dad, tipping up his champagne glass to drink.
Ben scowls. “Thanks, Dad. There’s really no need to rub salt in my already gaping wounds.”
“I’m just saying, darling,” Mum continues. “That if she truly means so much to you, get back to Sydney and work it out. Although I have to say, I didn’t much like her at first. But I accepted her into this family as one of my own, so I am a little peeved she’s done the wrong thing by you.”
Ben exhales, obviously frustrated. “Just leave it, all right? We’ve had this conversation, several times, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
She nods her head slowly and swallows an oyster whole, grimacing at the biting sourness of the lemon. I smile at Ben, trying to lighten the mood as the awkward silence engulfs all of us.
Dad swivels back to focus on the barbecue because it’s easier than making trivial conversation with Mum. Anything is easier than making conversation with Mum.
She carries on regardless. “So, I was speaking with Kate Lindstrom’s mother today, Sam. Down at the Boatshed Café. Kate’s overseas as you know, actually making something of herself. Unlike you, Sam. I never thought this gap year was a good idea. But Kate’s working in a fashion store in London and has found herself a couple of flatmates in West Hampstead. It all sounds very exciting.”
I sigh because her message is clear. Crystal clear. I’m a total disappointment and should be doing more than working in a café in a small coastal town. So much more. But nothing I do is enough to please her, let alone make her proud. And I’m not even sure I want that. To make her proud. So maybe it’s her acceptance I seek. Or perhaps it’s her love. Because even if it’s dark love, she’s still my mother. And that’s not something that’s ever going to change.
Mum hands Dad the pork belly with a rather acidic expression. He casts it onto the sizzling hotplate, turning up the gas on the flickering flames.
CHAPTER SIX
I step off the ferry, the wharf weathered silver under my feet. Squinting my eyes in harsh shafts of light, I slide into my havaianas and head reluctantly uphill. Summer afternoon sunshine bounces from the ground and tourists sprawl slowly through the streets. When I slip my aviator sunglasses onto my nose I hear my name called loudly from behind.
“Sammy! Sam!”
I turn to see Emily running from the bus stop. Her English-rose skin is starting to freckle and her hair is streaked with blonde. She and Gem moved into a flat above the bay, and they spend endless days lying on the beach. Every spare moment, it would seem.
“Hey, Em,” I call as she approaches.
She’s breathless when she reaches me. “I want to ask you something before we get to work.” Her English accent lilts softly against the broad Aussie accents all around us. The sweetness in her face is magnified in the sunshine, and it looks flawless in the light. “Gemma and I are going to a party after work. We would really love you to come.”
“Whose party is it?” I ask, striding determinedly uphill to reach the café.
“A friend of Gemma’s. From school.”
I pause briefly, unable to invoke an appropriate excuse. “Yeah, maybe Em. I’ll see h
ow I feel after work.”
She nods prettily. “You should come, Sam. You never go out,” she says, scraping her blonde hair up into a high ponytail as we walk into work.
For the dinner shift I spread crisp white cloths over the tables. I take wineglasses by their stems and place them in position, folding starched napkins next to shiny cutlery. And a strange sense of satisfaction fills me when the room is beautifully set, the glasses and white cloths clean against the glistening blue of the bay.
Riley’s eyes look bloodshot. He’s in the kitchen, swaying around to the music. His eyes are heavy-lidded and pale, detracting from his otherwise very good looks. Jessica Mauboy’s playing on the radio and he’s singing quite tunefully along. I need a doc-tor, ‘cause this is starting to burn. I hope this doesn’t translate to the food.
“You coming out later, Sammy?” he asks cautiously when we’re alone. “Be good if you did.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Emily didn’t mention Riley was going. The party suddenly seems even less appealing. Or does it? I mean, he’s attractive and appears to be interested, although he does have a rather forward way of showing it. So what is wrong with me? The fact that he’s your boss, Sam. Almost.
“What are you so scared of, Sam?” Riley turns his back on me to check the ovens. “Start on the salads,” he says. And his voice is like a hammer, bashing at the awkward silence loaded between us.
I’m busily tossing salad into bowls and trying to create the impression that Riley isn’t under my skin when Gemma breezes through the swing-doors. She looks from me across to silent Riley and then back again, raising her eyebrows and gesturing at him behind his back.
I shrug at her. She pins a couple of orders to the wall and leaves.
Riley’s broad shoulders are turned away and thankfully he’s focused on the food. He thaws after a while though, and seems to change tack. I had thought Riley was laid back, but now I’m not so sure. He pours rice into the rice cooker, spilling it onto the bench and not appearing to care. The grains bounce across the floor and he walks across them to the fridge to check dessert.