‘Ooh, Easter Café would be good. Nothing but chocolate – can you imagine?’ Bea drained the last of her mug. ‘Could you send her an email from me?’
‘Sure, do you have the address?’
‘Yes, I’ve got her letter.’ Bea pointed at the sheet.
‘No!’ Flora giggled. ‘The email address? Don’t worry, I’ll get it from the website.’
Bea gathered the soft grey woollen wrap around her shoulders and watched as Flora tip-tapped her way dexterously across the keyboard. She found it amazing how tech-savvy this young girl was. She thought back to when she was thirteen, when she and her sister, Diane, would invent games that involved hiding objects in the garden for the other one to find, or writing plays they would then perform for their parents. Their favourite pastime had been singing along to the Top Forty every Sunday night and recording it on their radio-cassette player, trying to master the skill of hitting and releasing the pause button when the DJ was speaking between songs. That tape would then be played to death all week long, before the process was repeated the following Sunday. It was another world entirely.
‘Okay, so you tell me what you want to say and I’ll type it. My spelling isn’t very good, but we can spellcheck it.’
‘Ah, spelling, that I can do. We are a great team.’ She winked. ‘Right.’ Bea considered what she wanted to say. ‘Dear Alex...’
Flora snorted her laughter. ‘That doesn’t sound very friendly! You need to imagine that you are chatting to her on the phone – Mum told me that.’
‘Oh, that’s a good tip. Right...’ Bea drew breath, ready to start again. ‘Well, Alex, I have put your letter in my handbag...’
Flora laughed again and leant back with her arms folded across her chest.
Bea giggled too, happy that she could amuse her granddaughter so much. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know! It just sounds funny.’
‘I never realised it was going to be this tricky!’ Bea pulled a face.
Flora straightened, pushed her hair behind her ears and levelled the laptop on her knees, looking much older than her thirteen years. ‘I know, imagine Alex is standing over there and you are talking to her and I’ll try and write what you say and then we can change it if we need to.’
Bea thought about what she wanted to say, slowly dictating the words that would link her to a café in Scotland. Scotland... She watched as Flora’s fingers whizzed from side to side.
‘Read it back to me, would you, Flora?’
Flora coughed. ‘Hello, Alex. It was so lovely to get your letter. It caused much excitement here, so rare to receive a proper letter written in ink, and the Scottish stamp has been much admired. I had a look at your café forum online and am quite enamoured with the cupcakes from Plum Patisserie. I must admit my mouth watered at the sight of the strawberry torte in Osnabrück – is that Austria? Our café is very different. The Reservoir Street Kitchen, named after the street in which we live, is a neighbourhood café which I set up twenty years ago with my husband. We serve fresh food made with love. It’s the kind of place where everyone feels like they have family and friends even if they don’t. I’d love to know what inspired you to set up the Christmas Café. Yours sincerely, Bea Greenstock.’ Flora made a face at the rather formal sign-off. ‘Shall I mention her cats?’
‘No!’ Bea shouted. The pair of them laughed again. ‘I like you being here, Flora Greenstock.’
‘I like being here too.’ Flora gave a long, slow yawn. The day’s events had taken their toll.
‘Come on then, missy, it’s bedtime for you. You’ve had quite a day.’ Bea patted her leg. ‘There are clean towels in the linen cupboard on the landing.’
‘Thanks, Bea.’ Flora stood up.
‘And don’t forget: no phone or iPad, that’s what Dad said.’
Flora rolled her eyes and sloped off into the hall, placing both items on the counter-top in the kitchen.
Bea watched her disappear, then turned to the photograph of Peter on the wall. ‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books. Lovely to see her, Peter, but what’s this all about, eh?’
She stretched her legs and placed her green silk cushion on her lap, before reaching for the letter, a letter from far, far away. Her fingers drummed on the Edinburgh postmark as her head filled with a lilting Scottish burr. It was the voice that had lulled her to sleep with stories of lochs shimmering in the sun and winding paths up mountainsides abundant with flowers. ‘The white heather is the rarest; they say it grows only on soil where no blood has been shed. It’s lucky...’ She remembered every word he had spoken, as if it was yesterday.
Five
Bea had slept more soundly than she’d expected. There was something quite comforting about having someone else under her roof; it made her feel protected in some way, like she used to when she lay next to Peter night after night. Thinking about him made her tears gather. She sniffed them away, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.
Bea was surprised to find Flora awake and alert at 5.30 a.m. She had tiptoed past the study door and into the sitting room, not wanting to disturb her granddaughter, but she needn’t have worried: there she was in the kitchen, in her short cotton sleepsuit, holding a half-eaten banana.
Bea took up position in the middle of the sitting room and stood with her arms outstretched and her knees bent. ‘Morning, Flora. You’re up nice and early. How did you sleep?’
‘Good, thanks, though I didn’t know where I was when I woke up. I got my phone back – that’s okay, isn’t it?’
Bea couldn’t decide if this was said with sincerity or a hint of sarcasm. ‘Sure.’ She smiled, then closed her eyes and flopped forward.
‘What are you doing?’
‘A few stretching exercises: my own mix. I do them every morning. Keeps me supple.’
Bea could see Flora didn’t know whether to laugh or join in. She realised how little they actually knew about each other, their knowledge restricted to just the outline facts about each other’s lives. Apart from what they had each gleaned second-hand from Wyatt and Sarah, the details were sketchy.
Flora grunted noncommittally. ‘Can I have a shower?’
Bea closed her eyes and nodded. She didn’t want to be disturbed. As she went through her exercise routine, she tried to ignore the sounds of Flora nosing through the bathroom cupboards, the water jets hitting the shower tray and the catchy chorus she sang as she washed.
Twenty minutes later, Flora returned with two glasses of orange juice on a vintage black lacquered tray. ‘I got you one too, Gran— Bea.’
‘Oh, well thank you, how lovely.’ They both took up their previous night’s positions on the sofa. ‘You remembered I like ice in my juice – top marks!’
Flora sighed. ‘It’s about the only thing I’ve got top marks in recently. School is really rubbish. I’m not even allowed to go at the moment. I suppose Dad told you I’ve been suspended?’ She looked up at her gran, who gave a brief nod. ‘They’re so mad at me, but it’s not even my fault!’ Flora stared into the middle distance.
Bea swallowed the temptation to ask whose fault it was. ‘They only want what’s best for you, darling.’ She was aware of how quickly she jumped to their defence without knowing the facts. She felt a slight shiver along her spine as her own mother’s words sprang into her head. ‘Sydney? Well, good luck. You’re going to need it. What in God’s name will you do there with no money, no husband and a bastard baby? Not that it’s any concern of mine.’
‘I guess.’ Flora shrugged. ‘I don’t even want to go back. I don’t care!’ The wobble of her lip implied the opposite. ‘They’ve suspended me, and then it’s the summer holidays, so they’ve only given me a longer holiday – some punishment!’ she scoffed, but her composure was rattled.
‘I think it’s more a chance to sort out what’s going on with you, Flora, rather than a punishment. At least that’s how I’d look at it.’ She tried to sound encouraging. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Su
re.’ Flora sat back on the sofa.
‘Why are you so fed up? What’s making you so mad?’ Bea nudged her with her elbow.
‘Everything!’ Flora huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.
‘Could you be a bit more specific? I mean, when you say “everything”, do you mean things like global warming, world hunger? Which, while they are undoubtedly important issues, are very hard to solve. Or by “everything” do you mean things a bit closer to home?’
Flora considered her gran’s words. ‘I do get mad about the big stuff, particularly people that hunt animals. I did a project on that and it makes me cry to think about it!’
‘I understand that, darling,’ Bea said soothingly. Kind, kind girl...
‘But I guess, yes, what makes me really mad are more things about me.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘What things about you?’
Flora kicked her bare foot against the floor, ‘Lori Frankoli has got big boobs, proper boobs, and she wears a bra, not a sports top.’ Whether inadvertently or not, Flora pinched her sleepsuit and pulled it away from her chest.
Bea wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘And do you want big boobs?’ She considered her own rather flat chest, her boyish figure, and hoped that, if that was Flora’s overriding wish, she would take after her mum, who was more blessed in that department.
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Marcus Jordan said he’d only go out with a girl who wore a bra.’
‘I see. Do you want to go out with Marcus Jordan?’ Bea asked tentatively.
‘No! I don’t want to go out with Marcus Jordan. I hate him!’ Flora practically shouted.
‘Right.’ Bea swallowed. ‘Why do you hate him?’ She hoped she was getting closer to the source of Flora’s angst.
‘He told Craig Dawson that I was having a period.’ Her cheeks reddened at the mention of this very adult term.
‘Oh.’ Bea hadn’t expected this. ‘And were you?’
‘No! I don’t have periods yet, but Katie Phipps said she had hers and I didn’t want to feel left out so I kind of said I was too and she told Lori...’
‘With the big boobs?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Flora nodded. ‘I carry tampons around with me all the time just in case, and she told Marcus and everyone was laughing at me because Craig’s mum and my mum are friends and my mum told her that actually I hadn’t started yet and they knew I had Tampax in my bag...’ Her bottom lip wobbled as her tears gathered once again.
‘Oh, darling!’ Bea placed her arm around the girl’s slender back.
‘I just don’t know why Mum said anything! She’s such a cow.’ She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
‘No she isn’t. She’s your mum and she loves you. You mustn’t talk about her like that. She probably didn’t understand why it was important. It was probably a conversation between her and her friend, something she mentioned in passing and she didn’t know how it would affect you.’
‘So then I yelled at her, and Dad yelled at me and said I’ll have to wait a whole year until I can get my ears pierced just because I yelled at Mum, even though he told me I could get it done when I was fourteen, and I told Lori I was getting it done and she said I bet you don’t, turns out she was right! Because now I’ve got to wait till I’m fifteen! And she’s had hers done for ages. It’s so unfair! And then Lori and Marcus were laughing at me in the dining hall, asking me if I had a tampon and stuff like that and I flipped. I don’t really know how it happened. He was trying to get the Tampax out of my bag and I swung my arm out to get the bag back and kind of punched him in the mouth.’ She looked up at her gran to gauge her reaction. ‘He was bleeding and then everything went crazy. They took me to the headmaster and called Mum and...’ Flora’s tears fell as the words tumbled out.
‘Oh, darling girl. It’s okay. Take your time.’ Bea pulled her into her arms and caressed her head while she spoke. ‘It feels like a terrible mess, but in the scheme of things it’s a mere blip.’
‘Doesn’t feel like a blip. Lori’s supposed to be my friend, but she was shouting that I’d attacked him! I didn’t attack him: it was one punch and I didn’t even mean to do it! It was an accident. But everyone started repeating it, saying, “She’s attacked him! She hit him!” And now that’s what everyone thinks because that’s what everyone was saying.’
‘Even one punch isn’t the answer, love.’ No matter how tempting... Bea buried the thought.
‘I’d never attack Marcus, not really.’
‘Marcus who you hate? And don’t want to go out with?’ Bea confirmed.
Flora nodded. ‘I just got so mad and they were laughing at me and Lori was leaning on his shoulder like she owns him. And she was looking at me and kind of winding me up and winding him up too, like she does when he answers questions in class – he’s smart. And she’d already said that I had Woolworths tennis shoes and that had made Marcus and Craig laugh. And Mum said just get cheapies and then if I liked school tennis, she’d get me some good ones.’ Her speech was fast and garbled.
‘Ssshh... It’s okay, Flora. Take deep breaths.’
‘I hate Lori and her stupid boobs.’
‘She sounds mean,’ Bea admitted.
‘She’s my only proper friend and so I’m st-stuck with her,’ Flora stuttered through her tears.
‘It’s not always easy being young. Things can feel like the end of the world, but I promise you it is just a blip. Ask your dad! He thought he was going to prison when he was eleven.’
Flora pulled away and stared at her gran, wide-eyed. ‘What did he do?’
‘Well, it’s for him to tell you the detail, but there was a mishap with a hamster and our neighbour Mrs Dennis chased him down the street with a cricket bat. I had to tell her that violence wasn’t the answer too.’
Bea’s laptop gave a loud ping.
‘That’s your email alert.’ Flora sat upright, glad of the distraction. ‘You might have a reply from Alex!’ She wiped her eyes and sniffed.
‘Oh, how exciting!’ Bea reached for the computer.
Flora leant across. ‘So you move that little arrow by catching it with your finger on the pad, then steer it to the email icon – the envelope – and tap it twice.’
Bea tried and failed, twice. Her third attempt was successful. ‘I did it!’ She was delighted.
‘You did!’
‘Well, I had a very good teacher.’ Bea smiled at her granddaughter, who rubbed the rest of the tears from her lashes and forced herself to smile.
Bea reached for her glasses and read the text aloud. ‘Thank you for your email, glad you got the letter. I rather enjoyed putting pen to paper, a skill I need to hone. In answer to your questions, yes, I do have a cat, a very proud white Persian called Professor Richards. He’s named after an old teacher of mine who had just the same knack of looking at me with withering disdain when I failed to grasp a concept and would also only talk to me when in the mood!’
Bea looked up from the computer and shook her head at Flora. ‘I can’t believe you asked her if she had a cat!’
Flora smirked but didn’t say anything, and Bea continued reading.
‘Secondly, Osnabrück is in Germany, I have been reliably informed, and they were delighted to hear how much you admired their torte. The forum has been running for four years or so and keeps me busy. I like the idea that lone café owners like myself have an outlet, and how wonderful to share experiences across the ether.
‘I set up the Christmas Café because, to me, Christmas is the one time of the year when people come together; it’s a time for sharing and giving a warm welcome to strangers, and I wanted to capture that. Business is good here, and that leads to the old dilemma of whether to dilute my profits and take on another member of staff, or whether to get up earlier and work later. The Scottish winters are not conducive to early starts! I should think the Sydney winters are much kinder; it’s on my list of places to visit. One day.
‘Do you have a cat? Is that where your interest spri
ngs? We have light rain and drizzle here today. Hope the weather is being kinder to you. VBW, Alex.’
‘She admits she talks to her cat!’ Flora said, raising her eyebrows. ‘That’s a bit weird.’
‘Oh, Flora, it’s not the weirdest thing. I talk to the toaster, asking about how the toast is coming along, the washing machine, photographs. Talking to a cat sounds positively sane by comparison.’
‘You have a point. Are you going to reply?’
Bea paused. She wanted to reply to the kind woman with the white cat, but some instinct made her wait. She was quite a private person usually, and even if it was just small talk about cafés, she didn’t really want her granddaughter being privy to all her correspondence with this lady.
‘I’m not sure. I’ll have a little think. By the way, I forgot to mention your phone was making a buzzy whirring noise. I didn’t know what to do with it so I put it under a cushion. Doesn’t it irritate you, that dreadful intrusion?’
Flora retrieved her phone, then held it out to her gran. ‘It’s an Instagram from Lori. She sent me a photo of her new swimsuit.’
‘Fascinating.’ The little moo... ‘I know Kim and Tait do Instagram, but I don’t really know what it is, that and Chapter Face are all alien to me.’
‘Chapter Face?’ Flora snorted her laughter. ‘It’s Facebook! And Instagram would be good for the business, you could send out food pictures and messages.’
‘What kind of messages?’
Flora leant closer and showed Bea the screen. ‘Look, here’s one just come in from a guy I follow at Bondi. He’s having breakfast and he’s put “Banana on toast, yum...” and then he’s included a picture.’
Bea held the phone out at arm’s length and squinted, intrigued. ‘So it’s a food thing, like a log of who is eating what, when...’
Flora laughed. ‘No! Not always, but sometimes, yes. That was just a food example, but it can be about anything, anything at all. It’s a way of telling people what you are up to at any time!’
‘So it could be random things like “I am playing Scrabble” or “My cat’s ignoring me”?’ she said, thinking of Alex McKay.
The Second Chance Café Page 6