He thought about that for a moment, about how his mother had suffered from lung cancer. Of how his family had dropped everything to spend time with their mother, a woman who would do anything for any one of them.
‘I think the trick is knowing which battles to fight. Sometimes it’s best to let things run their course.’
Her blonde head swung up. ‘Run their course? I don’t think I can do that.’
He frowned. ‘You might have to. It’s going to take a while before Nancy is able to do anything. She’s in her late sixties, isn’t she?’
Rachael grimaced. ‘I hear you, but it won’t hurt to put a recovery plan in place.’
Mike nodded slowly. He knew a little of the family politics involved when it came to the serious illness of a parent. He couldn’t imagine navigating around the many views within the Henderson clan.
‘I’m sure all Nancy wants is to spend time with you.’
They reached the wooden picnic setting in the park and Mike set the basket down at one end of the table. Rachael sat opposite him. He reached across, wanting to take her hands, but hung back. Instead he let his hands stay in place, half-way, but close by.
‘I’m also worried about Shar and Bob, but, that’s another issue.’ She sat back, straightening herself, her eyes bright.
He understood. Bob and Shar worried him too; they were the friendliest couple he knew and the first to invite him into their home for a meal.
‘Remember, you can’t do it all,’ he said. ‘When my mother had lung cancer, my two older sisters, Maureen and Kate, took over. They set up rostered visits for us and made life difficult. At a time when we all should have been pulling together, we were pulling apart.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Is your mother still alive?’
He shook his head. The strength seemed to ooze out of his body whenever he thought about that awful time. And the shame would stay with him forever. He and his siblings had argued for weeks over his mother’s treatment options until she begged them to stop any treatment.
‘She died in a hospice surrounded by her family.’
Rachael let out a soft sigh. ‘I can’t imagine that’s easy to live through.’
His gaze travelled over her well-rugged up body and part of him cursed the season. He caught her gaze; it was firm and steady. Her eyes were the perfect backdrop against the tidal wave of hurt and sorrow which engulfed him whenever he thought about his mother’s death.
How many clients had laid it all out on the table for her, admitted their worst, and found a measure of peace staring into those eyes?
‘It’s big to lose a parent.’ He paused. Inside he groaned as it struck him that, as a foster-child, she’d probably already lost her real parents. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to imply anything.’
She pulled away and shoved her fisted hands deep into her pockets. She almost threw the words out at him.
‘You didn’t. I got over being a foster-child many years ago.’ The quick, brief smile that followed didn’t reach her eyes.
His gaze dropped to her hands still bunched in her pockets.
Oh, honey, you are so wrong.
His only angst about his childhood was having two older interfering sisters. He could not even begin to imagine her childhood.
She flashed him another quick smile. ‘Anyway, I gave Nancy and Bert hell and they were wonderful. The best.’
A ball hit Mike square in the back and bounced over his head. Rach leapt up and caught it. Shock and surprise registered on her beautiful face, shattering the hollow empty look that’d be forever etched in his memory.
She grinned at him.
‘Wow, that’s a first,’ she said, holding up the ball as if it were an alien creature.
He reached up and took it from her.
‘Good one.’
He swung around to see his team walking towards him, a little bedraggled and weary. He waved them over. ‘Come and meet Rachael. She’s brought us a treat.’
At the mention of treats his team ran up to them, all shouting and talking together. He waved Chloe over to stand alongside Rachael. Chloe was one of only a few girls playing the sport in Mindalby, and he wanted to encourage her. She showed promise.
He lifted the basket onto the table and smacked away at a few impatient hands trying to open it.
He grinned at his team. ‘Okay, let’s introduce ourselves shall we?’
Never before had he been more proud of his team as they stood side by side and introduced themselves. He wasn’t sure if it was the promise of a treat or Rachael’s dignified presence that had them so well behaved.
He looked across at Rachael who was now standing at the top end of the table. She gave them all a small wave.
‘Hello everyone, it’s nice to meet you all. Sorry, I burnt the pastries this morning, so I hope you like the replacement.’
She stepped forward and with a big grin she lifted the tea towel, waving it through the air with a huge flourish.
‘It’s scones with strawberry jam and cream.’ She opened another plastic container. ‘In here I’ve got spoons, plates and napkins, and some orange juice.’
Mike caught her eye and winked. ‘This’ll be a first. We aren’t used to high tea.’
Her eyes widened, and she beamed a smile at him. Chuffed, he ignored his inner radar that had been nagging him since they’d starting chatting. She’ll be gone in two weeks.
In the next minute the kids made a grab for the scones, nearly tipping over the basket.
Rachael didn’t miss a beat and soon had things under control. Her movements were firm and quick as she handed out napkins. He watched as she grabbed the nearest scone, smothered it in jam and cream, and handed it to him cradled in a napkin. His hand brushed hers as he took it.
‘I haven’t gone overboard, have I? I’m never sure about these things.’
He spied the unused napkins preparing for lift-off in the light breeze, spilt juice, smeared jam over the plates and plastic spoons, and upturned cups littering the length of the picnic table. It confirmed she had no idea about children, especially eight-year-olds.
He shook his head. ‘You did beautifully.’
‘Thank you.’
An idea struck him. Before he thought too deeply about it, he rapped his hand on the wooden picnic table to get his team to quieten. A few did.
‘Come on now, quieten down a minute. This is important. Rachael has gone out of her way to provide this delicious food. She has a busy job, a sick mum and still found the time to cook for us. This proves her heart’s in the right place, with us. Agreed?’
The kids raised their arms and gave a loud cheer.
Warming to the theme, Mike gave a quick glance across at Rachael.
‘How about we make Rachael our honorary team manager?’
The team gave an almost deafening cheer and thumped their fists in unison against the wooden table. Mike turned to Rachael, praying and hoping he hadn’t gone too far. Her eyes were shining as she nodded a confirmation.
Chapter 4
An hour later, Rachael parked her car down the side street of the bakery and waited for Mike. He waved to her and gave two hoots of his horn as he drove past. She was tempted to hoot back, but thought better of it. They were hardly teenagers.
She smiled to herself. Honorary team manager, now that was a different kind of hoot. It would give Shar and Nancy a good giggle. All her life she’d avoided any form of sport. The mere thought of getting hot and sweaty charging after a ball of any size saw her sneak away to find a nice little hidey-hole somewhere with a good book.
She fingered the timetable Mike had given her. It was a pity she was only in town for such a short time. Could she stretch it somehow? It would be nice to have some male company.
She suspected he was the type of guy who’d appreciate a good yarn, with a glass of red by an open fire. She knew it in her bones. A merlot—that was Mike, warm, rich and as deep as the ocean. Would he object to a woman asking him out?
&nb
sp; Stop it.
There were too many more important things going on, to sit around and fantasise about what Mike would be doing on a Saturday night.
She gathered her things and in a few moments she had opened the back door and stepped into the bakery. Her hand slid across the wall and she switched on the lights. The first thing to strike her was how the dull-coloured walls and the tired furnishings made the place look gloomy and cheerless. It sent a shiver down her spine. It received the morning sun, but not the afternoon. How had she forgotten that?
Perhaps it was time to suggest a few strategically placed skylights. Her city office had floor-to-wall glass windows all the way around and she missed the light. She dumped her handbag and the wicker basket on the back bench, then headed towards the small back room which used to be Bert’s office. It would be perfect for her to use during her stay.
She pushed open the door and her heart sank.
The two bookshelves on opposite walls were overflowing with books, papers and boxes. The desk wasn’t any better. Boxes of old magazines and parcels of clean linen had been dumped under the desk.
She rubbed her head. Something wasn’t right. This was a working office; the bakery was a going concern. The desk should be free of debris. Were they even working out of this room?
A thought struck her. She grabbed the bakery keys and ran outside to the small side garage used as a store room.
She tried all the keys and finally found the right one, but the door was jammed. With her two hands on the old wooden door she pushed hard. The door gave way and she almost fell in. Stunned, she stood stock still. The room was empty.
Back inside Bert’s office she sat down at his desk and pulled at the folders on the nearest bookshelf. Her hands were trembling as she went from folder to folder searching for the bakery’s financial statements. Her heart raced inside her chest as she struggled to gather her thoughts.
They’re not here.
She closed her eyes and massaged her temple. After a few minutes she took in a few deep breaths. Calm down, Rach, they’re here; you’re just not seeing them.
Rach sat back, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and scanned each bookshelf. On the second row her eye caught sight of a familiar blue folder with the words ‘Profit & Loss’. She grabbed it and eased her way over to the desk and sat on Bert’s old chair.
The top desk drawer was stiff and difficult to open but eventually it gave way. She pulled out an old half-empty notebook and titled each page by the year and started making notes. Taking her time she studied the financial statements covering the past three years.
After a while her hand stopped trembling and her brain kicked into gear. The figures frightened her. They were steady, but showed no real growth. She noted that there were small jumps over Christmas and Easter, but nothing significant. It was barely a living wage. How were they surviving?
Why hasn’t anybody told me?
She swallowed hard. She knew why. Ever since she’d left home to go to uni she was treated as if she were special. She was the first member from the family to ever go to university and that made her too important to disturb with mundane family problems.
That pattern continued when she’d started working in the city. She hadn’t minded at all. In fact it suited her. Hadn’t she been on the fringes of family life all her life? At least with the Hendersons she’d been made to feel part of the family since her first careful step into their home.
She wanted to weep. That truth hurt, but there was no getting away from it. They loved her and only wanted the best for her. There had been much sacrifice for her to go to uni.
Agitated, she got up and paced the length of the bakery. Moving helped and her mind crept into a familiar steely mode, where she became fully focused. By her reckoning the bakery was unsalvageable—but it had to be salvageable. What else could they do? What did it mean for Shar and Bob?
Her head throbbed. She grabbed her bag and rummaged around for her Panadol.
As her headache subsided, she gathered her notes together and glanced up at the clock. Shar would be at the hospital.
Hugging the documents close to her chest, she started walking—her car could wait—to give her time to think and calm down. Her mind bounced around different scenarios of what they could do, but each thought led back to her life before and after Nancy and Bert, of their love for each other and their colourful band of children. They had fostered so many the family was known locally as the Henderson clan.
It was the only time in her life when things had truly lined up and had worked out for the better.
By the time she reached the hospital she was calm and over the initial shock.
She peered through the small glass window in the door into Nancy’s room. Nancy was asleep, with Shar seated by her side. Shar gave her a small smile, but when she spied the papers in Rach’s arms she looked away.
She pulled up the spare chair beside her sister. ‘How’s Nancy?’
‘Much better I think. She’s drifting in and out.’
She leaned across and took Nancy’s warm hand in hers; she was pleased to see a little colour had returned to her face. She gave it a squeeze and kissed the older woman on the forehead. Nancy always wore glasses and without them she looked like a familiar stranger she couldn’t put a name to.
Shar busied herself straightening Nancy’s bedsheet. Rach wondered whether her sister fully understood the problem they faced.
It crossed her mind to find somewhere more private, but what could be more private than a hospital room? Her head started to throb again at the thought of what lay ahead—the arguments, the hundred and one decisions, and then all the work involved.
She tapped Shar on the arm. She swallowed hard, her throat parched, as the words rolled out like a semi-trailer driving down a gravel road with flat tyres. ‘We need to talk about the bakery.’
Shar squeezed her eyes tight and whispered, ‘Not now.’
‘Yes, now. How bad is it? From what I’ve seen you’re barely making ends meet.’ She winced at the harshness of her voice.
Shar nodded. ‘You don’t need to tell me. We were doing okay, not great, but okay until the mill closed. You wouldn’t believe the change—I can’t. I’m not buying the stock I used to. If it weren’t for the council chambers, and a few regulars, I don’t know where we’d be.’
‘Who’s doing the books?’
Rach’s words triggered something in her sister, who jumped up and walked to the only window in the room which overlooked the carpark.
‘Stop it, Rach. Stop with the questions, alright? I don’t know about the books.’
She rubbed her forehead; it was still throbbing behind her eyes. ‘I need to know what trouble we’re in.’
Her sister’s answer was to rest her head against the window and let out a long groan.
‘Come on, Shar, tell me. You had a bookkeeper. Where are the latest books?’
Shar turned and faced her, her expression grim. ‘I got rid of her. At fifty dollars an hour she had to go.’
Stunned, Rachael stared at her sister. ‘Does Nancy know?’
Shar gave her a quick jerky shake of her head.
She strummed her fingers against the chair’s arm. ‘You cannot run a business without …’ She broke off. It was useless pointing out the obvious.
An awful thought struck her. If her family was struggling, how was everybody else coping? Her family sold bread, a food basic; bread was not a luxury so how were other businesses going? Where did the flow-on effect end?
She joined Shar at the window, her legs slow and clumsy like she had jelly in her knees. She took a deep breath; some things had to be tackled head-on.
‘What do you want to do with the bakery? Close it? Or keep it going?’
Her sister flinched. ‘Who would buy it? It’s making didley squat and right now it’s all we have. It’s our only income.’ Shar crossed her arms against her chest. ‘I can’t let it go. I love it and we were surviving—just. I used to blame the
bread makers for the downturn, you can buy a secondhand one now for next to nothing. But, when the mill closed, it all changed. People stopped buying cakes. Remember? Bert used to say, bread was our bread and butter, but cakes were the cream.’
The bakery had supported the Henderson family through decades. She too loved it, and couldn’t bear to see it go. That was the truth of it. Working at the bakery with Shar had been the best time in Rachael’s life and for one sweet sharp moment she’d have given anything to do it all again.
They stood side by side in silence except for the ticking of the clock above Nancy’s bed and the soft murmur of the television in the next room.
Saving the bakery would not be easy; she needed to get up to speed with any changes in the region. To her eternal shame, the Henderson clan and the bakery had been background noise in her life. Not anymore.
She saw the confusion in her sister’s eyes.
It would take sheer grunt and time to turn things around. In her experience luck was one of the smallest ingredients, but the bakery had plenty of goodwill. She wasn’t sure how far that would take them, but it was a start.
She cleared her throat. ‘We’ve got to be on the same page here. We can’t walk away when it gets a little difficult. We have to do something now. Today. You hear me?’
She spotted the quick jerky nod and was satisfied.
‘We have to find a way to make this work. Okay?’
Shar reached out and grabbed her hands, squeezing them so tight she thought a bone would break.
‘I’m with you, Rach; just tell me what we need to do.’
At those simple words the ball of pain burst behind Rachael’s eyes and a shot of heat throbbed at her temple.
Could she take this on? It frightened her. The responsibility, the family, their livelihood, searching for answers, and finding ways to make it work—she could be leading them in the wrong direction.
She rubbed her forehead. Was she even capable of building a business? This would test them all.
Her eyes strayed across to Nancy and in a heartbeat she knew they had something of value. They were a clan, a strong one, and there was strength in numbers. She wasn’t alone.
A Reason To Stay Page 4