A Reason To Stay

by Linda Charles

  Her mind rattled back to Shar’s conversation with Bob’s mother yesterday morning naming some families who had pulled their daughters out of ballet classes, and extra after-school tuition. It was all starting to sound very close to home.

  ‘Gordon, what’s the rush? Can’t we talk the banks into waiting for another six months or more? It’ll take that long for people to find new work and there’s talk of turning the mill into a co-op.’

  ‘A co-op? Who in Mindalby has the money to be buying into that? I’m seeing more red than black on this map.’

  She winced at the sudden blast of paper rustling over the phone.

  ‘Mindalby, here it is. That’s the hardest hit. You can’t blame the closure of the mill on everybody’s financial stress.’

  She gripped her phone. ‘Gordon, we both know it takes a while for money to filter through.’

  ‘Exactly my point. All this started well before the mill’s closure, but now that’s closed things will only get worse.’

  She closed her eyes. It could only get better, it had to get better. They were investing so much money and time into the revamped bakery, it had to work. What would Gordon know about what was happening in Mindalby, he wasn’t the one speaking to local business people.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do up here.’

  ‘There’s plenty you can do. I want you to speak to both banks in Bourke and any in the satellite towns like Mindalby, and get the process started. We’re getting a list of names together now and that’ll be emailed to you shortly.’

  Stunned, she bit into her bottom lip. Things were rapidly spiralling out of control.

  Gordon purred. ‘I can’t believe it. With you there, the timing couldn’t be better.’

  The man was positively crowing. She couldn’t argue with his logic, but the work was irksome and she had no stomach for any of it.

  She stood up. ‘Gordon, I don’t think you appreciate the position you’re putting me in. There’s a slight conflict of interest happening here. I would know a lot of these people.’

  ‘I know, but you’ll be dealing directly with the banks on this one, preparing the paperwork, you won’t be dealing directly with any of those families.’

  She glanced out the window and saw two of the girls who were receptionists at the council walking to work. Could this affect their families? None of this boded well for the future of Mindalby. If there were as many properties affected as Gordon indicated this could result in a fire sale.

  What a disaster.

  She rubbed at her forehead.

  ‘Gordon, I’ll discuss it when you’ve sent through the paperwork and come up with an action plan over the weekend. Okay?’

  That might buy her much-needed time to work out how she could get out of it.

  ‘Okay. I know this might pose a few problems for you, but remember the banks are in business to make money. They can’t sit around and wait for money to filter through; they have mum and dad shareholders to take care of.’

  She rarely questioned Gordon, but this was different. This affected people she knew, some of whom had been a big part of her life. Up until now she’d always been proud of her job, but to be asked to hunt down mortgage defaulters in her home town was a bit rich. Even for Gordon. It was an opportunity for someone else, not for her.

  She couldn’t do it.

  ‘Have a nice weekend, Rach. Speak with you Monday.’

  He clicked off.

  Rachael switched her phone off and grabbed a bottle of water. She drank it in one hit and felt the rush of cold water wake up her body, refreshing her.

  Gordon’s call worried her. When her family was making one of the biggest decisions in their lives, he managed to find an opportunity which only confirmed her worst fears. Mindalby was struggling financially.

  What did it matter? She wasn’t prepared to pack up and close the bakery. Business had cycles and Mindalby was in a low growth cycle. Who knew where it would be in ten years’ time?

  People still enjoyed fresh bread. Her idea of doing cupcakes, and new varieties of slices and pastries could work. Locals were struggling to purchase full portion of most things, but they might be prepared to buy smaller servings. Later when things turned, they would start to offer larger portions.

  Her first set of trial samples had gone down well.

  If the bakery was to have any future she had to get started. She put away her notebook, phone and bag.

  In the back office she studied the pictures of the lemon meringue slice, the chocolate fondue cup cakes, and the pumpkin and cherry tarts she planned to cook. Had she made the right choices? She prayed they worked out as minis.

  She wrapped the apron tight around her waist and studied the first recipe. If things went to plan she’d have them in the oven by the time Shar and Bob turned up.

  Her first port of call would be to drop into the CWA ladies; tomorrow it would be Nancy and the nurses at the hospital.

  She cleaned the bench and prepared for her first bake of the day. Just thinking of the taste tests cheered her.

  By the time Bob and Shar arrived she was busy cutting up the lemon meringue into tiny bite-size squares. With a flourish she waved her arm around the display, happy with her morning’s effort. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Bob as he made a grab for one of the chocolate fondue cakes.

  Shar bustled over and studied each container before moving onto the next. ‘Oh, Rach, haven’t you been busy? They look sensational. They’ll go like hot cakes.’

  She grinned at her sister. ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘They will,’ announced Bob. ‘They’re delicious, Rach. You can bake those any time you like.’

  She threw off her apron and carefully picked up her three containers holding the treats. ‘Fingers crossed.’

  Shar ran on ahead and opened the front door for her.

  She bit her bottom lip. ‘Before I forget, Mike dropped by and left some tools by the garage. He said you might need them when you gut the place.’

  ‘How was he?’

  Lovable.

  She shook her head. The image of a weary-looking Mike and his husky whispering of ‘bad night?’ remained lodged in her brain.

  She shrugged. ‘Worse than me.’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ muttered Shar as she closed the door behind her.

  Rachael crossed Burton Park Road and knocked on the heavy glass door of the CWA hall. Maisy Mitchell, their branch president, opened the door. Her face broke out into a big grin.

  ‘Hi there, Rach, so glad to see you.’ Her eyes flew to the container. ‘I hope you have some goodies for us in there.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, another set to trial.’

  Maisy opened the door and led the way into the main hall. ‘Come on in, we’ve been expecting you and we’re all eager to taste-test.’

  As Rachael walked through the doorway she was hit with a warm rush of memories. The CWA hall hadn’t changed since she’d last seen it. Its dark wooden floors, pale blue painted walls, three ceiling fans whirring overhead, and picture of a young Queen Elizabeth on the side wall facing two large windows, were as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

  It even smelled the same. She could remember dancing and going crazy having fun with Shar and Bob at their school Christmas parties, family weddings and a few twenty-first birthdays in the hall.

  Maisy lightly touched her on the back.

  ‘We have the quilting club here today, Rach. You might remember a few faces, and we do have some new ones. Let’s re-introduce shall we?’

  Rachael laid her containers out on the top table and then Maisy introduced her to Esther McDonald, Ming Rossini, Debra Henderson, and Wendy Ryder. She knew most of them, and went and hugged and kissed each one in turn. It had been many years since she’d seen the older ladies. Her nose twitched from the variety of scents.

  ‘Rachael Hammond, goodness me, it’s lovely to see you.’

  Rachael momentarily froze. She knew that
voice well.

  In the doorway, standing tall and business-like, was Anne Watson, her old school principal at Mindalby High. She was the most respected woman in Rachael’s life after Nancy. Mrs Watson was the reason she’d worked so hard to get into uni, she was the one who’d taught her how to study, and once she’d learned that skill her life started to fall into place. Mrs Watson was the first person who’d truly believed in her.

  Rachael went up to her.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Watson. How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Mrs Watson’s face broke out into a familiar smile.

  ‘I’m well, thank you. I’m a little surprised to see you here. I’m sorry about your mother. It was a bit of a shock. When you’ve finished catching up with everybody come and join me. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ She meant it. Mrs Watson could be trusted and wasn’t afraid to voice her opinion. It would be good to run a few things by her.

  Rachael went over to where she’d left her containers. The casual atmosphere was infectious and she could feel herself slowing down. Everyone was busy doing their own thing, chatting, setting up food, or sorting out their quilting. There was a nice unhurried feeling in the room.

  ‘Rachael dear, we like to start our meetings with a few words and a cup of tea,’ said Mrs McDonald.

  Rachael smiled to herself; she expected the chatter to continue all during the meeting. Before she settled down she headed for the small kitchen out the back. ‘Good idea. I need a strong one. What are the orders?’

  Once she’d handed out the hot teas, she then offered out her treats. The oohs and ahs were responses to the visual, but from the smiles and polite requests for seconds she knew her minis had scored a home run.

  After the last treat was eaten she settled, with a strong cup of tea in hand, into one of the oversized lounges next to Mrs Watson.

  ‘Rachael, have you ever tried quilting? Is it something that would interest you?’ asked Mrs McDonald who sat opposite with every conceivable colour of lemon cotton thread in her hands.

  She shook her head. ‘No, never. I wouldn’t be any good at quilting. I’ve only ever threaded the odd needle. Well, the very odd needle. I don’t even have a sewing kit.’

  This was met by a few giggles and she kicked off her shoes, sat deeper in the lounge and knew if she didn’t start talking to Mrs Watson soon she’d fall straight to sleep. What did it matter if she did? She doubted anyone in the room would mind.

  Mrs Watson put down her work. ‘Consider trying, Rach; you’d be doing better than most. You’ve threaded a needle.’

  Something inside her broke. She wasn’t sure if it was Mrs Watson’s tone or her quirky reasoning but she threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t stop; tears were rolling down her face. Everyone around her gave her an amused stare. She glanced across at Mrs Watson. There was something so very solid and good about being back in town with old familiar faces.

  ***

  The late afternoon sun was low in the sky. Rachael checked her watch as she closed the front door of the Henderson home. Her afternoon was over in a blink. It was past five and she started a slow jog to the bakery. Her plan for baking more treats and then visiting Nancy had gone sideways once she’d started chatting with Mrs Watson, and then after another cup of tea she’d promptly fallen asleep.

  Pinning her hair up she ran down the side of the bakery, and almost fell over the jumble of carpet, lino, and wooden planks in the backyard. She spotted Shar tossing more wood out the back door.

  She ran up to her. ‘How’s it going?’

  Shar flashed a big wide smile. ‘It’s gutted. All gone. No way back now.’

  A sliver of anxiety rippled through her. She followed Shar. A tired-looking Bob stood in the centre of the shop wiping the dirt and grit from his face. He broke into a grin. ‘What do you think?’

  She walked slowly down to the bakery’s front door, her footsteps reverberating on the wooden floors. With each step the enormity of what they were doing hit her, crushing her enthusiasm with the same efficiency as if she’d been hit by a five-tonne truck. She rubbed at a nervous tic throbbing at her side. It seemed so simple, to gut the place and get it ready to paint. The space looked enormous and the work ahead frightened the hell out of her.

  She spun around and faced them with a broad smile. ‘I think it looks great.’

  Bob joined her. ‘It’s taken all day.’

  ‘Oh Bob, this is better than I expected. I didn’t think you’d get this far.’ She stood on her tippy-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s a great start. Mike and I should be able to get this painted in a few nights. In a week we should be back in business.’

  Shar picked up her bag. ‘I’m glad you like it but, Rach, we’re going. We’ve stored the furniture and paintings in the garage and we’re taking the keepsakes home.’

  Once they were gone Rachael closed the front door and leaned against the wall. The shock of seeing the bakery empty brought it all home and her head was filling with doubt. Had they done the right thing? Should they have waited? Would they have survived without making changes?

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Stop it, stop going over it.

  If they didn’t renovate the bakery, what else did they have?

  ‘You like?’

  She turned.

  Mike was striding into the room. By sheer physical force he dominated the empty space where only minutes earlier Shar and Bob had been standing.

  I do.

  She remembered their bargain—one night painting his place and one night painting the bakery. That was fine before the kiss. It wouldn’t take much for things to easily slip from friendly to raunchy. Mike was the stronger one—he’d already proven he could pull back. She was not that strong.

  She glanced at Mike as he carried in paint brushes and old sheets. Her heart fluttered. Anxious? No, she was scared. That was the honest truth. The last thing she needed was to fall for him.

  He walked up to her, a curious expression on his face.

  ‘You okay?’

  Her eyes flew to the empty walls, to the space once occupied by the fridges, and to the floor boards.

  ‘Do you think I’m wrong in pushing this? Pushing Shar and Bob? If I get it wrong I’ll never forgive myself.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Not at all. The bakery’s been standing still for too long. The mill’s closure has shaken a lot of folk, but the re-open is great. Businesses are either standing still or going under. Look at Callie’s shop next door—she took a risk.’

  She digested that. The discussions at the quilting club had centred on the small changes happening in town. If only it were that simple. The real word to use was challenge; there couldn’t be any change without a challenge or two.

  ‘I’m scared, that’s all. I feel I’m rushing things,’ she whispered.

  The expression in his eyes softened and it was nearly her undoing. He raised an eyebrow and her heart did a little tumble.

  There was a shift in the air.

  Thoughts of the bakery and the work ahead disappeared.

  He stepped closer to her, invading her personal space. She liked that. Then he reached out and grabbed her hand. His fingers were warm as he squeezed her hand.

  ‘You’re not alone.’

  Her breathing faltered.

  Scared? Oh yes. He’d just doubled the odds of her falling for him.

  Chapter 11

  Five days later, Rachael stood back and marvelled at the bakery’s transformation. After much discussion, they’d agreed on the ‘Ancient White’ paint colour, and it worked. Having the walls and ceiling the same colour gave the bakery clean lines and a great sense of space. She couldn’t have been happier.

  Mike had been as good as his word. They’d sanded down walls at his home and the bakery. After the first two nights she couldn’t lift her arms above her shoulders. Tonight they would tackle the walls in his lounge room. Bi
t by bit she was growing fitter. Her body ached and she could feel her muscles in every movement. But her morning headaches were a thing of the past.

  Her phone rang.

  Gordon.

  ‘Hi there, Rach. Quick call. I’ve just finished a meeting with Oliver, and we were looking at the bankruptcy work.’

  Her heart sank. She hated being away from crucial meetings and hearing news secondhand.

  ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘How does this sound? We thought you could start the prelim work in Mindalby and Oliver would finalise it here. It’ll be more streamlined. I realise you have a lot going on now, so why don’t you stay there for another two weeks. That should do it, don’t you think?’

  She let out a long sigh. Her stars were lining up.

  ‘That’s very doable, Gordon. I’ll get in touch with Oliver and get started on that. Thank you, I appreciate it.’

  She switched off her phone and tossed it into her bag. ‘Thank God for small mercies. Gordon said I can stay here for another two weeks.’

  How times had changed. Normally she’d have been cursing Gordon to hell and back at any attempts he made at taking the smallest piece of work from her. She’d have charged down to his office and nutted it out from every angle until she was satisfied.

  Shar stared at her, her eyes bright. ‘I’ll second that. I want you here when Bob and the guys come back with the ovens. It’s getting exciting now, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘We have to start planning the opening.’

  ‘Put it in your notebook,’ said Shar. ‘That’s where I check up on things. I can’t keep up.’

  ‘You can’t rely on my notebook. You should be making your own notes.’

  Shar frowned; her eyes fixed on something out the window and she pointed to the street. ‘What is going on over there?’

  She turned to see Mike almost running down the street, his suit jacket in hand.

  ‘He does not look his normal self. Something’s going on over there,’ announced Shar.

  Rach raced outside and watched him until he turned the corner into Locker Road.

  ‘I think I know. His daughter was a no-show last night on their Skype call. He’s just started a daily call with her rather than a weekly one.’