‘I sometimes need some space, a bit of freedom, but they’re constantly asking what I’m up to – it’s like a million questions the moment I walk through the door, it drives me nuts! And if I’m quiet, they want to know what’s wrong, but what’s wrong is that I want them to shut up and leave me alone!’
Bea remembered the weekends when Wyatt was home from school. ‘Can I get you something to eat? Do you have laundry? What would you like for tea? Do you need a lift? Can I get you a blanket?’ His frequent sighs of irritation. It was hard not to bombard him: she missed him so much, loved him so much. She hadn’t considered until now that that kind of attention might be a pressure.
They turned left, walking fast along Crown Street, then dropping down to reach Bourke Street. Twisting through the back lanes, they covered the couple of kilometres with ease, crossing the main road via the metal footbridge until finally they had the iconic pale green wooden buildings of Woolloomooloo Pier in their sights. The restaurants that lined the dockside were packed with well-dressed diners who were busy sipping chilled white wine, feasting on fresh seafood and sumptuous salads and admiring the expensive yachts moored in the private marina. Harry’s Café de Wheels was also doing a brisk trade, handing out its famous pies to the snaking queue and serving iced coffees to the yummy mummies whose babies dozed in their hooded strollers.
They stopped for a breather, staring into the murky water by the dock, which was teeming with jellyfish.
‘I hate being thirteen,’ Flora said, kicking her feet against the low wall.
‘Why, darling?’
Flora shrugged. ‘Because I don’t count. I’m not old enough to do anything and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and that makes me feel really wobbly.’
Bea thought of all the things she wanted to say to her granddaughter, the advice she wanted to offer, the words of comfort and reassurance that were on the tip of her tongue. She chose her words carefully, wary of piling on meaningless sentiment when she was already feeling disenfranchised.
‘Yes, you’re right, the world can seem scary when you feel that way. But you’re not alone. All of us feel that way sometimes. I’m in my fifties and I still feel wobbly because I don’t know what’s around the corner. But you know what? It might be great things! And you’re wrong about not counting: right now you’re the only thing that three adults are thinking about, worrying about – in fact five, as we can probably include Kim and Tait as well.’
‘Do you think I should text Mum and Dad?’ she whispered, closing one eye as she looked up into the sunshine.
‘I think you should do what you think is right. If I was you, I would want to make contact because worrying about it only makes things feel worse.’
Flora nodded as she fished in her pocket for her phone. As she did so, her fingers pulled out a slender cream envelope. ‘Oh, I forgot, Dad asked me to give you this. Said he found it in a book about a jungle or something that Pappy had given him.’
Bea stood on the Woolloomooloo Pier, took the thin package into her hands and smiled at the unexpected sight of Peter’s italic script, written in the black ink he favoured. What on earth could it be?
While Flora was engrossed in her phone, Bea peeled the sheet from the envelope and devoured its words. It comprised one simple paragraph written in the middle of the page. He must have hidden it in the book intended for Wyatt, knowing that Wyatt would discover it quite by chance and then pass it on to her.
You are so young, Bea, and you still have a whole other life ahead of you. Always remember, life is for the brave. So go find happiness and let yourself love! You were my greatest joy. You made me so happy, always. What greater gift is there than that?
She smiled at the wonderful message. Even from beyond the grave, he had the power to revive her flagging spirits; to be kind, generous and thoughtful. As ever, he had put her needs first. Like magic, his words began to salve the guilty rip in her heart. She read them again and again, engraving them on her mind. Oh, Peter! Thank you. Thank you, darling!
Seeing her gran’s teary smile, Flora gave Bea a quizzical look. Bea just shook her head, not ready to share her feelings quite yet. ‘It’s an emotional time for both of us, darling,’ she said. ‘Like I told you, you never know what’s around the corner. But don’t fret: it’s a lovely letter. Let’s carry on with our walk, shall we?’
The two continued their circuit via the Botanic Gardens and paused at the viewing point near Mrs Macquarie’s Chair to look at the Opera House glinting in the sun. Bea ran her hand over the sandstone rock that had been hand-carved by convicts into the shape of a bench, all so that the Governor’s wife, Mrs Elizabeth Macquarie, could sit on the peninsula in Sydney Harbour and watch for ships sailing in from Great Britain. Bea tried to imagine the woman perched there in her empire-line Regency frock, sweating beneath her petticoats and all that intricate lace and silk. Images of Great Britain, the country of her birth, flashed through Bea’s mind. And alongside them came Peter’s words. A whole other life ahead of you... Life is for the brave... Go find happiness! Maybe she should set sail for the land of misty moors and tranquil lochs, the land through which her heart and mind had wandered on many a lonely night.
Back on Reservoir Street, Kim beamed at the reappearance of Flora, made even better when Tait emerged from the dining area laughing, sharing a joke with the young girl, showing himself to be the great guy she knew he was. ‘You feeling a bit better there, little scrapper?’ His concern was sincere.
‘Yes.’ Flora sighed. ‘I had ice cream on the way home.’
‘Well, there is no situation in the whole wide world that ice cream doesn’t fix. Isn’t that right, Kim?’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded.
Bea didn’t know whose smile was the widest: Flora’s at the attention she was getting from the Reservoir Street Kitchen staff or Kim’s, whose face split from ear to ear as she glanced at the blond and beautiful Tait.
Bea’s phone rang. She flipped the lid and laboriously pressed the button, still uncomfortable with her mobile phone, as she took the call outside. ‘Yes, hello?’
‘Mum?’
‘Hey, Wyatt! How are you?’
His hesitation told her he was nervous. ‘Good, I guess. Flora texted us to say she was sorry, which is a step in the right direction, I suppose. I’m worried she thinks this is all some kind of game, but she’s messing up her life – this gang she’s got herself in with... it’s worrying.’
‘They’re not really a gang, love. They’re just kids, and I suspect kids without as much guidance as Flora. She’s a smart girl, she just needs a bit of steering.’
‘You are not to encourage her, Mum, not to make this all into some kind of joke. Because it’s not funny. We’re at our wits’ end.’
Bea was staggered at how quickly his anger had flared. ‘Wyatt, if you’re phoning to thank me for putting my business aside, taking Flora in and looking after her, then you are most welcome, but I do not expect to be lambasted for it.’
Bea was proud of her assertiveness – she usually just let Wyatt go unchallenged. She heard him take a deep breath.
‘Sarah is beside herself,’ he offered by way of explanation.
Bea pictured Sarah, nursing a large gin on the smoked glass terrace, dipping her toe in the infinity pool and hoping the sun didn’t melt her forehead.
‘I’m sure she is, but tell Sarah worse things happen at sea.’ As she spoke she could smell the salty air, saw herself strolling around the deck in the moonlight, strangled by her high collar, bored by the boat ride and the company of her parents. And then, ‘Miss Gerraty, this is Dr Brodie...’ She felt her eyes crinkle in an involuntary smile at the memory of that moment, when her stomach had knotted, her pulse had quickened and she’d fallen.
‘This isn’t the time to be flippant, Mum!’
His tone brought her back to the present. She had evidently made him cross again; it was a skill she seemed to have. ‘You’re right, no time for fli
ppancy, but please remember that your daughter is a clever, healthy girl who is only thirteen. She’s not messing up her life, she’s trying to figure things out and she is only thirteen! It’s a horrible age between childhood and womanhood. She’s lovely, a lovely soul, and that’s what every parent wants. She just needs space, maybe some time away.’
She heard his sigh. ‘I am grateful that she’s with you, but please, please don’t encourage her with any of your silliness,’ he snapped.
Bea snorted her laughter. ‘My silliness? Listen how you talk to me, Wyatt! You think me advocating space and some time away will make things worse for Flora? Or maybe it’s my liberal tendencies that give you cause for concern?’
‘Please don’t trivialise this.’
‘Why not, Wyatt? It is trivial. In the grand scheme of things.’
‘I might have guessed that would be your stance.’
Bea pictured his scalp reddening beneath his thinning hair. ‘I tell you what, love, I’m going back to work. I’ll keep Flora here for as long as she needs, but I suggest you and Sarah take a good hard look at what’s going on under your roof. Flora said she can’t talk to you because you’re arguing all the time.’ She cringed the moment the words left her mouth; she had never meddled in this way.
‘If you’re suggesting that my daughter steals and fights because of how we parent her, that would be a bit rich!’ he spluttered.
‘If that is in some way a dig at how I parented you,’ Bea shot back, ‘then please remind yourself that it was me that gave you the best education, me that dragged you from the bloody gutter to a seat at a university table... me! And if you think that parenting is what causes these situations, may I also remind you that my child was never in a fight or felt the need to fence stolen goods under his bloody bed!’
She ended the call and felt a sense of elation at having stood up to her son, quickly followed by a quake in her stomach, weakened by the exchange.
‘Give me strength!’ she said to the blue sky above.
Nine
In the still of the late afternoon the sun had danced across the sitting room and come to rest on the far wall. Bea wanted to talk to a friend; her new e-penfriend was just the person. She could chat to Alex from the comfort of her bed if she so chose, didn’t need to apply make-up or leave the house and could end the conversation whenever she felt like it. Plus Alex was remote enough in her life not to judge or intrude. Perfect.
From: BeaG
Subject: Re: Hello Again
Hey Alex,
Goodness me, what a day. Hope yours was less eventful! My granddaughter has suggested you might change the name of the café for different events – Valentine’s, Easter... although, thinking about it, I’m sure that would cost you a fortune in neon. Christmas Café sounds perfect. Do you serve Christmas food every day?
I was thinking about what you said in your last mail, that Christmas is a difficult time. It really is, isn’t it? I feel particularly alone at this time of year. Hard to admit, but I do very much wish that I had a man by my side. I loved being half of a couple. Celebrating without him makes the joy a little thin, the fun a little forced. I never minded being in a crowd if he was close by, but now, the prospect of attending a social event without him to call upon leaves me feeling nervous and a little afraid, which is ridiculous. I’m fifty-three!
As I was reminded only recently, I have a whole other life ahead of me. What am I supposed to do? Sit quietly through the coming years? Watch more TV? Learn to knit? Hardly. I long for company – and not necessarily a love interest. I would in fact settle for a better relationship with my son. That doesn’t feel like too much to ask. I wanted to end on something light and witty, but my brain’s gone a bit blank, sorry.
Bea x
Bea sat staring at the screen, thinking about the truth behind her words. She wished she was the kind of person that could nap, knowing that twenty minutes of escape would be just the thing to reset her whirring mind. She closed her eyes and listened to the laughter coming from the café below: someone was chuckling and it made her smile. She loved how happiness could be infectious, like a yawn.
It was a pleasant surprise as her laptop buzzed her into action. She sat up straight and wriggled back against the sofa cushions.
From: Christmas Café
Subject: Re: Hello Again
Hello Bea,
I know what you mean about Christmas. It comes with expectations, doesn’t it? A certain pressure. And yes, we only serve Christmas fare: turkey and Christmas pudding every day, that’s the whole menu!
It’s been a long time since I was comfortable at a social event. I prefer to be walking or settled with a good book! It’s a great testament to your marriage that you miss being half of a couple, a wonderful compliment to your husband. Are you not close to your son? And why such an eventful day? If you don’t mind me asking...
Ax
Bea replied immediately. It was as if the two of them were in conversation, not typing emails across ten thousand miles.
From: BeaG
Subject: Re: Hello Again
I don’t mind at all. Eventful because my granddaughter, Flora, is having a bit of a tough time. She’s staying with me, desperate for a change of scene. Being a teenager isn’t easy, is it?
As for my son, that’s a bit harder to explain. Things weren’t the easiest for him when he was small and I guess we didn’t address issues that maybe we should have. I hardly ever see him. I receive a monthly telephone call, which I sometimes confuse with one of those sales calls, the type where they tell me I’ve been selected at random to have a free and fabulous kitchen installed or that I’ve won a time-share in Phuket. His calls are a bit like that, scripted and formulaic. We exchange pleasantries, swap our views on the forthcoming weather and then he says, ‘I must go...’, as though he’s running out of time. Truth is, it’s not time he’s running out of, it’s things to say to me.
Bea stopped typing and gave a wry smile as she steeled herself to continue.
I have to confess that after I’ve set the receiver down, I often sit and remember the hours and hours of conversation that we used to have about cricket, travel, space. Nothing was off limits. We were very good friends – I was lucky. But things change, don’t they? That’s the one constant, change.
Bx
PS Turkey and Christmas pudding every day? Really?
There was a pause in communication. Bea pictured Alex reading her email; she swallowed the ripple of embarrassment, hoping she hadn’t over-shared.
From: Christmas Café
Subject: Re: Hello Again
Flora? Now there’s a good Scottish name. To be honest, I’m trying to remember what being a teenager felt like; it’s been a while. I’d swap with her, though: no aching joints, dwindling prospects or constant discussions with my peers about health. I’m sorry to hear that you and your son are distant. It happens; life can be too busy and sometimes we prioritise wrongly. Have you told him how you feel? He might be unaware?
Ax
PS No! Of course not! We have a full and varied menu of wholesome, home-cooked food.
From: BeaG
Subject: Re: Hello Again
You’d swap? Urgh, tell me about it! I’d give anything to run my hand over a flat stomach instead of the crêpey old pouch I’m now saddled with!
I’m really enjoying our chats, it’s like I’ve found a new mate – always a good thing, you can never have too many! And no, I haven’t told my son how I feel. I guess that’s the nub of the problem right there: lots of chat about things that don’t really matter and little discussion about the big stuff.
Bx
From: Christmas Café
Subject: Re: Hello Again
Agreed, you can never have too many friends! Your comment made me laugh; a toned stomach is indeed a dim and distant memory for me too. Not sure what the correct response is to make you feel better... And as for the big stuff, it’s not too late until it’s too late.
‘What are you doing?’
Bea abandoned her email and looked up to find Flora standing in the doorway. She was spooning large mouthfuls of muesli into her mouth as she talked, positioning the food in the centre of her tongue and jutting her chin to make sure none spilled.
‘Oh, just swapping emails with Alex. She’s got a good sense of humour.’ Bea smiled. ‘I’m her e-penfriend apparently.’
‘Cool!’ was Flora’s succinct summary. ‘Did you speak to my dad today?’
‘Yes. Yes, he called earlier.’ Bea closed the screen and looked at her granddaughter.
‘What did he say?’ Flora stopped shovelling the cereal.
‘He was a bit upset; wants to put everything right and doesn’t really know where to start. I think he’s a bit afraid.’ And I shouldn’t have shouted at him. This isn’t about us. She hated the way he addressed her with such impatience; it made her feel stupid or, worse still, like an inconvenience that had to be tolerated. She had always hidden this from Peter, not wanting to encourage discord between the two of them and knowing that Peter would have taken him to task.
‘It’s all my fault, isn’t it?’ Flora looked doleful.
‘Not everything, no. Don’t you worry about Daddy and me. I seem to irritate him no matter what the issue. I don’t think I noticed it as much when Peter was around – or maybe it didn’t bother me as much because I was distracted.’ She sighed, remembered it was Flora she was speaking to and smiled to compensate for the over-sharing.
‘I miss him, he was a great pappy. He used to let me puff on his cigar when no one was looking and he even gave me my own once. I still have it in my drawer. And although he was quiet, he was really noisy when we were on our own. He used to make me laugh.’
‘He was only quiet in front of your dad; at home he was very different.’
‘They didn’t really get on, did they?’ Flora braced herself for the reply, aware that this was unchartered water.
‘It’s not that they didn’t get on, they were just very different. They both found it hard.’
The Second Chance Café Page 10