‘Good for you, darling girl!’ Bea clapped. ‘Mr Giraldi okay?’
‘Yep. Complained that his muesli and honey wasn’t up to scratch in your absence, but had it every day anyway, just to confirm the fact.’ Tait sighed.
Bea laughed. ‘Bless him! Look, you guys get yourselves off home and I’ll see you both in a week.’ She reached up and hugged first Kim and then Tait. ‘Thank you both. I don’t know what I would do without you. Your pressies are in your bank accounts.’ Bea had, as ever, given them an over-generous bonus.
‘You beauty, Bea!’ Tait beamed.
Kim looked genuinely touched. ‘Thank you.’ She placed her arms around her boss’s neck.
‘I am so proud of you, Kim,’ Bea whispered as she hugged her in return.
Bea waved them off in opposite directions and looked around her; it was great to be home. She dumped her bag and rummaged in the storeroom until she found a hammer and a nail. On an empty section of wall she hung the dusty sampler from St Andrews. She read the words that made her smile and wondered what Miss E. H. Arbuckle would have thought if she’d known that her beautiful work and beautiful message, embroidered over a hundred and fifty years ago, would end up in a café in Surry Hills, on the other side of the world.
Seventeen
‘Who wants the last of the chocolate mousse?’ Sarah held the bowl up high above the deck, like an auctioneer with one final lot. ‘Come on, it’s Christmas Day and this is Bea’s world famous chocolate mousse!’
Bea noted the loving expression on Wyatt’s face as he looked at his wife. They were clearly very happy together and Bea wondered why it had taken her so long to accept that simple fact. Could she have done more to welcome Sarah into their tiny family unit over the years? Made more effort to put her at her ease? She didn’t like the answer that came back to her. For the first time she considered the part she’d played in distancing herself from her son and his wife. She’d kept so much from Wyatt; was it so surprising that communication was difficult?
‘Bea, can I tempt you?’ Sarah lifted the bowl higher, as if that might help sell it.
‘I couldn’t. I’m stuffed.’ Bea smiled. ‘The food was wonderful, Sarah. Thank you.’
‘Oh, any time!’ She smiled back. ‘What about you, Flora? You’ve hardly eaten a thing.’
Flora had been quiet all day. Bea wondered if it was jet lag catching up with her.
‘I’m good, Mum, but it was lovely.’
‘Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I fancy a stroll on the prom.’ Wyatt stood up from the table on their vast deck and looked out towards the ocean.
‘Actually, Wyatt, I’ll come with you.’
‘Oh.’ Wyatt glanced at his wife. Evidently, being saddled with his mother as he tried to clear his head and work off his Christmas lunch hadn’t been part of the plan. ‘Sure.’ He gave a brief smile.
Flora gave her gran a secret thumbs-up.
Mother and son made their way from the house and on to the promenade, walking in silence side by side, slowing only to wave at friends and neighbours, wishing them a Merry Christmas and making a fuss of little ones trying out their new scooters and trikes along the walkway.
‘Sarah’s happy you’re here, Mum. I know it means the world to her how you’ve talked Flora round. Things seem better now she’s back. You were right, time away did her good.’
‘I’m glad Sarah’s pleased. I’d like to get closer to her too, like I did with Flora. It was lovely spending time with her in Scotland. Really lovely.’ Bea began the conversation that she hoped would help dismantle the wall between them.
‘She’s a good kid.’ He nodded out to sea.
‘She really is. And you were quite right, this crowd she’s got in with sounds like a motley bunch. But Flora’s smart; you have to trust her to do the right thing. She’ll figure out what’s what – she’s nearly worked it out already. Although I think the soft spot she carries for Marcus might be a bit harder to tackle.’
‘Marcus who she punched?’ Wyatt was trying to keep up.
‘Yep. The very same.’
‘Blimey, that’s a new one. I can only imagine what Sarah would have done if that had been my opener!’ He grinned.
Bea noted how his shoulders dropped, losing their tension, as if he had expected a battle with her about the right way forward for Flora. ‘I expect you just want her to find someone who makes her happy?’
Wyatt nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Sarah makes you happy, doesn’t she?’
Wyatt looked at his mother. ‘Yes. She always has.’
‘I know. And that’s all we ever really want for our kids.’ Bea paused. ‘Flora mentioned that you and Sarah argue about me sometimes...’
Wyatt glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘We do.’
‘What about, exactly?’
Wyatt was silent.
‘I only ask because if I know what it is I’m doing that causes an issue, then I can try and put it right.’
‘Why now?’ he asked levelly.
Bea shrugged, a gesture she’d picked up from her granddaughter. ‘Because it’s never too late to put things right until it is.’
Wyatt sighed. ‘Sarah thinks you don’t like her.’
‘That’s not the case! I do like her.’
‘Well, it feels like that to her, so it is the case!’ he countered. ‘She’s always felt that you were in some way disappointed at my choice.’
Bea looked at her feet, feeling the uncomfortable grains of truth swirl then settle in her gut.
Wyatt continued. ‘I’ve told her a million times that it’s irrelevant what you or anyone else feels or doesn’t feel. It’s what she and I feel that counts, and we are strong and happy and if no one else wants to be a part of that, it’s fine.’
‘I do want to be a part of it, I always have.’ Bea gulped down the tears that threatened.
‘I don’t think you even realise what you do half the time, how quickly you dismiss her.’ He sighed.
‘Dismiss her how?’ Bea’s voice was reedy, tense.
Wyatt slapped at his thigh as he tried to think of an example. ‘I don’t know... Take Christmas, for example. She always asks if there’s anything in particular she can get you as a gift, she agonises over it, and you always say the same thing: “Good God, no! I’ve got far too much stuff.” You deny her the pleasure of giving you a present every year. It just keeps her a little bit at arm’s length.’
Bea was dumbfounded. ‘I thought I was saving her the bother – I don’t need presents!’
‘I’ve told her not to chase it, but she does. She desperately wants your approval, hankers after crumbs of a compliment. Christ, she even tries to make your bloody chocolate mousse! I hate seeing her that way – it’s so difficult for her, but she’s determined to do the right thing, always puts everyone else first, that’s her nature. And when you come over, she tends to drink a bit more than she should because she’s nervous. I watch you eyeing her glass, but what you don’t see is her throwing up with nerves before you arrive.’
‘I had no idea.’ Bea felt ashamed. She stared out at the horizon. ‘I wish we had a bloody translator.’
‘A what?’
‘Doesn’t matter. The point is, I want to fix it, Wyatt. I do.’
Wyatt only nodded. She knew him well enough to know that words meant little; it would be her actions that would make the difference.
‘Did Flora tell you much about our trip?’ Bea was trying to find a way to start the conversation she had been dreading for longer than she cared to remember.
‘She said it was cold!’ He smiled briefly, flashing his even, white teeth. ‘Very cold! In fact that seemed to be her overriding impression.’
‘We had quite an adventure.’
‘Oh yeah? See the Loch Ness monster?’ he asked, still walking slightly ahead, not looking at his mother.
‘No, better than that.’
Wyatt picked up the pace. He wanted to walk in silence, clear his head, as
was his habit.
‘Wyatt, will you stand still for just a bloody second!’ Bea spoke a little louder and sharper than she had intended.
Wyatt glanced round to see if anyone had heard, then stood by her side and looked out to sea. Surfers bobbed on the white-crested swells, wearing wetsuits and Santa hats, and sea diamonds twinkled in the distance.
Bea pinched her nose, conscious of the noise of her bangles as they rattled on her wrist. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the water.’ Slipping out of her sandals, she walked back to the wide, shallow steps and trod them carefully until she felt the hot, soft sand underneath her toes.
Wyatt followed.
‘When you were little, the water was like a magnet for you. Didn’t matter what you were wearing or where we were heading, if you saw it, you’d run full tilt until you were submerged. I’d shout at you in the sternest voice I could muster: “Don’t you dare go in that water!” Like it made any difference.’
Wyatt gave a small sniff of laughter, remembering doing exactly that.
‘Used to frighten me half to death, but you were a natural, a little merman. I remember one day arriving at school with you all soggy. I’d done my best to dry you off, but you were sopping. Your teacher saw the funny side. You sat in the classroom in your pants until your shorts dried out.’ Bea smiled at the happy, happy memories.
The two picked their way through the family groups and clusters of mates sipping cold tinnies and enjoying the day. Bea found a spot on the shoreline, set her bag down and plonked herself on the sand. Wyatt lowered himself next to her and sat with his knees raised and his elbows resting on his legs. A group of eight girls, all wearing bikinis, Santa hats and white beards, linked arms in the shallows for a group photo, the two on the end holding up bottles of champagne for the camera.
There were a few moments of silence while both Bea and Wyatt let the hypnotic rhythm of the ocean calm their emotions. The relentless roll of the white foam provided the perfect backdrop for Bea to share her news. She bit her lip and took a deep breath before delivering the words clearly and succinctly.
‘I saw your dad.’
Wyatt turned his head and shoulders to face his mother and stared unblinkingly at her. ‘You what? Sorry?’
Bea took another deep breath. ‘I saw your dad,’ she repeated, holding his gaze.
It was a while before he spoke. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ he asked.
Bea shook her head. ‘No.’
Wyatt slumped forwards slightly, so that his legs were flat on the sand, his head bowed. A couple ran past them into the surf, heading out to sea hand in hand, splashing and laughing as they went. Wyatt waited for them to pass, trying to digest Bea’s words.
‘You saw my dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know who he is?’ His tone was calm.
‘Yes. I’ve always known,’ she whispered.
‘And you never said? You... you never thought it might be important?’ Less calm now, he began inadvertently grinding his teeth.
‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know when would be the right time, and then the longer we didn’t discuss it, the harder it became.’
‘Holy shit.’ Wyatt placed his hand on his chest. The two were silent for some seconds, both wondering how to proceed. ‘Have you always been in contact with him?’
‘No. No contact. I knew nothing about his life until this trip. When we met up, it was totally out of the blue. I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Wyatt said. ‘I feel quite numb. I feel sick.’
‘I know it’s a lot to take in.’
‘A lot to take in? That’s an understatement,’ he snapped.
‘I’ve never known what to do for the best. I wanted you and Peter to be close and I thought—’
‘No, Mum, you didn’t think!’ Wyatt’s voice went up an octave. ‘You tried so hard to push Peter and me into a relationship, to make things easier for you, assuage your guilt, that we never had a chance to get close!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bea stared at him. ‘I only ever wanted what was right for you. Every decision I ever made was about what was right for you! Peter gave you a good life, he paid for your school—’
‘Yes. Yes, he did. He was a good man. But you were like a gatekeeper, watching us all the time. It felt like an experiment. I didn’t know how to play happy families, not with you over-analysing our every move. You should have just—’
‘I should have just what?’ Bea heard the crack in her voice.
‘You should have just left us to get on with it. You didn’t have to constantly coax, referee, make suggestions. You made it impossible for us to get to know each other; you made me feel like a guest when he was around. We were always on edge, everything going via you, afraid that we might not be living up to your dream.’ Wyatt lifted his sunnies and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Bea felt winded. ‘I didn’t know.’
Wyatt poked at the sand with his finger. ‘I can’t believe you knew who my dad was. I figured if you did, you would have told me. I’ve always felt like I had this big missing part – it’s not like I had any contact with your family, and the other half of me was a complete mystery! And all this time—’
‘It wasn’t that straightforward.’
‘Wasn’t it? Why not? How could you not have wanted to put my mind at rest, stop the thoughts I had night after night, stop me feeling so crap and wondering where I came from, who he might be? And all the time you knew!’
‘What did you think, Wyatt? That your dad could have been one of many?’ She felt her lip tremble.
‘Honestly? Yes! That crossed my mind, along with a million other scenarios, all just as unsavoury.’
‘Christ, no wonder you judge me so harshly!’
‘Who is he, Mum?’ Wyatt removed his sunglasses and looked his mother in the eye. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name is John Brodie,’ Bea whispered. ‘A doctor. He’s from Edinburgh and you look just like him.’ Her tears broke their banks as she bowed her head and quietly cried, swiping at her eyes in embarrassment.
Wyatt placed his hands on his thighs and gulped deep intakes of air, like an athlete in preparation. ‘Oh God! I don’t believe it. Edinburgh! Did Flora meet him?’
Bea nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Jesus H. Christ! Flora met him?’
‘Yes. He’s a wonderful man. We fell in love. Properly in love, but he was married and had to go home. As you know, I was very young. He truly broke my heart,’ Bea stuttered through her tears, ‘and I broke his. He never knew about you, I never told him and I didn’t know he knew, not until this trip. I hadn’t planned on meeting him, but I did. And honestly, Wyatt, it was as if time had stood still. The way I feel about him...’ She shook her head.
‘Did Peter know about him?’
‘Yes.’ Bea nodded. ‘Peter knew everything. We had no secrets. He loved me regardless, and for that I will always be more than grateful.’
‘Shit.’ Wyatt rubbed at his chin and neck as if that might help his concentration. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I’ve only ever done what I thought was best for you, Wyatt. I need you to know that.’
‘I do know that.’
This admission caused Bea’s tears to fall again.
‘Is he a medical doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he still married?’ The questions were coming thick and fast now.
‘No, his wife died about ten years ago.’
‘Does he have other kids?’
Bea paused. ‘Yes. You have a half-sister, Moira, and a half-brother, Xander; they are a couple of years older than you, twins.’
‘Holy shit!’ Wyatt sat back with his hands clasped behind his head and his elbows sticking out like wings. ‘Do they know about me?’ he asked, wide-eyed, looking so much like the child she had adored.
‘They do. John’s spoken to them. Xander has known for a while, Moira more recently. I found o
ut that John came to Australia about nine years ago. He saw us, Peter and me, from afar, and he watched you with Flora.’
‘Jesus Christ! That is insane!’ Wyatt was finding it very hard to take in. ‘Why didn’t he speak to me? Why did he come all this way and not speak to me?’
‘The same reason I didn’t pursue him – he didn’t want to create a big upset and he didn’t know how much you knew or didn’t know.’
‘I knew very little, as it turns out,’ he sniped, bending forward again as if he’d been punched.
‘He asked me to give you this.’ Bea reached into her handbag and pulled out a paper bag with the word ‘Topping’ written on it.
Wyatt carefully took the gift into his hands and opened the bag, removing a slender book. ‘The Collected Poems of Rudyard Kipling,’ he read out loud, then looked at her quizzically. ‘Kipling was one of Peter’s favourite authors...’
‘Yes, he was,’ Bea said. ‘And one of John’s too, as it happens. That’s why I knew so many of the poems off by heart.’
Wyatt ran his fingers gently over the cover as though it was a precious object. He carefully opened the front jacket. Tucked inside it was a postcard showing the tumbledown ruins of St Andrews Cathedral.
‘That’s where he went to university – St Andrews,’ Bea said, relieved that at last she could start filling in some of the blanks.
Wyatt turned the card over and saw for the first time the spidery handwriting of his father, in dark blue ink. He coughed and read the words aloud, oblivious to the surfies and swimmers frolicking in the Christmas Day sun.
‘If you can wait and not be tired by waiting...
If you can lose, and start again at your beginnings...
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a man, my son.
Very best wishes, John Wyatt Brodie.’
Wyatt sniffed up his emotion and pushed his sunglasses firmly up his nose. ‘You named me after him?’
The Second Chance Café Page 22