by Janene Wood
Simon hoped his mother would be proud of him for stepping up and accepting responsibility for the other kids. The thought of her watching over him was what kept him going when the enormity of the task threatened to overwhelm him and he began to wonder if he should have taken the easy way out and gone along with Holly's grand plan, even if it meant splitting up the family. But Family Is Everything, he reminded himself when things got him down. Simon could hear his mother's voice whispering the words inside his head even now, and he knew he was doing the right thing.
He walked at a steady pace, quickly leaving the primary school and the surf life-saving club behind. There were few other landmarks before the road gradually turned inland and gave way to untouched bushland, finally meeting the Bruce Highway twenty miles further on, just Cabot's, ahead on the left, and half a dozen of the town's older dwellings, including the McDermott house, nestled quietly amongst the trees.
Cabot's Fine Dining was unlike any of the other eateries in town, of which there were several. There was the Cutters Arms, of course, which did a decent counter meal, but it was basic fare and the ambiance could only be described as rough. The Golden Lotus Chinese restaurant was reasonably priced, but it wasn't everyone's cup of tea; only the most adventurous Creekers ate “Chink food”. The Parthenon did a great hamburger, and their fish & chips were light and crispy, but there was nowhere to sit, and besides, the décor was a little...greasy. Thyme Square Cafe had the most diverse menu, but was unlicensed and only open from breakfast to lunch.
Which left Cabot’s.
Cabot's was where people went, from miles around, to celebrate milestones and special occasions. Likewise, if you were trying to impress a new girlfriend or business associate, or if you just wanted top class food and wine and didn't care how much you paid for it. Simon was aware there were people who fitted into the latter category, people who threw money around like it was in endless supply, but he'd never met one.
The restaurant itself was an unimpressive, square, squat building, constructed from the ugly concrete blocks so common to this part of the world, although, to be fair, the facade had been rendered and painted a tasteful dove-grey, and the blue roof and blue-and-white striped awnings prevented it from being a complete eyesore. What was impressive was the view. Backing onto the main beach of Fiddlers Creek, Cabot's dining room and terrace overlooked miles of pristine sand, with a view of the ocean that stretched all the way to the distant horizon. With a view like that, even an ordinary meal tasted like something special.
Of course, you could always sit on the beach with your takeaway fish & chips and enjoy the same view for a fraction of the price.
There was a rumour going around that Philip Cabot, the grandson of the restaurant's original owner, had recently sold it to an out-of-town buyer – a foreigner, no less – who planned to turn it into an Italian pizzeria. Looking at it from the street, there was no outward indication that the rumour was true, and Simon was hardly in a position to judge whether there had been any changes internally, having never so much as set foot inside. He had never eaten at Cabot's, and the way things were going, was never likely to, not unless he won the lottery, or a long-forgotten relative died and left him their life savings. Fat chance of that happening, he thought to himself, running a resentful eye over the compact structure of the restaurant, growing larger with every stride.
Life sucks, he mused, and then you die.
But that was hardly news, and there was no point dwelling on it. He continued past the restaurant, past the adjacent car park, noticing but declining to admire the obscenely expensive sports car parked at the front door. The new owner's, no doubt. An ostentatious demonstration of the unfair distribution of wealth in today's capitalist society, he thought bitterly. He forced himself to think about something else...like what to cook for tea tonight.
The thought of cooking always cheered him up, even though the pantry wasn't as well stocked as he would have liked and he'd be lucky if there was anything left in the fridge after Sam and Jack ate their fill for breakfast. But that simply made the task of devising a tasty, nutritious meal all the more challenging. Half a dozen different ideas popped into his head at once and he automatically began sifting through them, discarding them one after another for a variety of reasons, until he was left with today's winner: Early Winter Vegetable Pilaf. In other words, vegetable stew with rice. Not the fanciest of dishes, but it would be tasty enough if he spiced it up, and it would fill them–
Simon wasn't sure what made him stop and turn back around; there was no obvious reason for it. It was almost as if some outside force took control of his body, just for a moment, and turned his head. He found himself looking back across the car park, his legs suddenly heavy and unwilling to obey his commands. The next instant he was blinded by a flash of light, so dazzlingly bright that he had to raise his hand in front of his face to shield his unprotected eyes. He moved his head a few degrees, blinking until his vision returned to normal, then took a few steps forward. Now he could see what had caught the light; a small metallic object sitting in plain sight atop the brick wall of the parking lot.
It was a ring. More specifically, it was a man’s gold dress ring, heavy and ornate and inset with a large, rather gaudy gemstone. Strange. He must have walked right past it a second ago without noticing it. It had to have been placed there deliberately, but what kind of moron would leave a piece of expensive jewelry lying around where anyone might find it? Picking it up to examine it more closely, he knew at once that the stone was a diamond. A large and very valuable diamond. Not that he knew diamonds from glass; his certainty was more intuitive than intellectual.
To a young bloke with little more to his name than the clothes on his back, it had to be worth a small fortune.
Simon knew instinctively that this was a pivotal moment in his life. Looking up from the object in his hand and making a slow, deliberate turn on the spot, he casually – guiltily – made sure no one was observing him. In the distance was the primary school, its playground standing empty now, with half an hour to go before the afternoon bell was due to ring. Soon this whole area would be a hive of activity...but not yet. The surf club was likewise deserted. He shifted his gaze to Creek Road, down which Baz and Shep had driven only minutes before. In the distance, he could see a woman watering her garden, paying him no attention. There were no other signs of life. The only sound was the gentle roll of the waves and the murmur of the sea breeze rustling the high branches of the gum trees. The trees whispered knowingly to each other, but knew how to keep a secret. No one would ever know...
What a stroke of luck! All his prayers had been answered in one fell swoop. Simon's fingers closed around the ring and clutched it tightly as he savoured the sweet sense of freedom that filled him so unexpectedly. He felt properly alive for the first time since New Year’s Eve, when his life and that of his family had changed so dramatically.
No, it was much longer than that. Even before that terrible day, he had felt stifled and trapped, as if he was treading water at the bottom of a deep, slippery-sided well, with no hope of climbing out or of ever being rescued. He imagined the simple pleasure of being able to pay their bills, of not having to worry about what they were going to eat the next day...and the day after that. It was a heady feeling, being so unexpectedly free. He understood now why men went to war when their freedom was threatened; why they sang songs and gave thanks to the Almighty when it was restored. Closing his eyes, Simon breathed deeply, willing this extraordinary feeling to soak deep into his bones. To fully appreciate the simple joy of it.
So that later, when the water was up to his neck again, he could remember how it had felt.
Because of course he couldn't keep the damn ring. He had never seriously, deep in his core, entertained the idea. He might be drowning beneath a pile of unpaid bills and feeling overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his new responsibilities, but he wasn't so desperate that he would cast aside his scruples and steal something that didn't belong to him. O
pening his fist, he gazed longingly at the ring. It was tempting; that much he would admit. But he would find his own way out of the well. He was resourceful and motivated. Compromising his integrity would only be inviting trouble.
Inspecting the ring once more, he noticed an inscription on the inside, worn with age but still legible. H, forever yours, K.
The ring was a love token! If there was any lingering doubt in Simon's mind as to his true intentions, the inscription finally settled matters. He was no more romantic that your average 18-year-old youth, but how could he sell this ring, knowing as he did, the depth of sentiment behind it? Knowing that even now, some poor schmuck must be agonizing over its loss.
His mind turned to more practical matters. Whose ring was it? And just how was he supposed to go about finding them? Cabot's was the obvious starting point. Hopefully the owner of the fancy sports car would know who it belonged to and take it off his hands. If he didn't, well, he would take it to the cops and let them sort it out. Suddenly he couldn't wait to get rid of the bloody thing.
Entering the restaurant, Simon found himself in a large foyer, dominated by an enormous tropical aquarium, emitting an eerie, otherworldly glow. Beyond the foyer was the main dining room, and beyond that, a vast wall of floor to ceiling glass overlooking a pleasant outdoor terrace, paved in sandstone and shaded from the tropical sun by a high-peaked semi-opaque roof. The Coral Sea glittered and glistened tantalizingly in the background.
“Hello the house!” called Simon, pausing at the end of a long, frosted-glass partition on his left. He could hear the murmur of voices but couldn’t see through the glass. “Is anyone here?”
“We're closed,” called a man’s deep voice, beyond the partition. The voice was followed seconds later by the man himself, a gentleman past his prime, at least to Simon's young eyes, completely bald and dressed in tailored grey slacks and a white cotton sweater. The man's immaculate clothes were in acute contrast to Simon's sweaty work wear, making him suddenly self-conscious. He was clearly out of place in such an elegant setting and couldn't wait to get out of there.
The man spoke again. “We're open for lunch and dinner from Tuesday to Sunday, but I recommend you book well in advance.” The tone of his voice was perfectly civil but there was an edge to it that said, though by the look of you, I doubt you can afford our prices.
Simon responded by moving closer and puffing out his chest ever so slightly. He was preparing to disabuse the man of his reasons for being there when he noticed a second person, now visible at a table on the other side of the partition. “Kate?” he said uncertainly. “What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school?”
Kate looked up, startled. “Simon! What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” insisted the elder McDermott.
Kate seemed unconcerned at being discovered somewhere she wasn't supposed to be. “My history teacher went home sick,” she explained, “so Heather and I skipped last period. Don't worry,” she assured her brother hastily, seeing the storm building in his eyes, “the whole class left early. All except Penny Huxley, but everyone knows she's the biggest suck-up in the history of the world.”
“But why are you here?” he demanded, giving the bald man a sideways glare.
Kate gave a sigh of adolescent exasperation. “Gramps saw me waiting at the bus stop and offered me a lift.” Her face lit up in sudden rapture. “Have you seen his car, Simon? It's incredible! It only took 15 minutes to get here from school. He's a fantastic driver, by the way, so even though we were going really fast, I wasn't worried at all. We could have outrun the cops, easy.”
Simon's disapproval quickly transformed into outright hostility. “Who the hell do you think you are, mate? I don't even know your name, and you're driving my impressionable 12-year-old sister all over the countryside?”
He turned to Kate. “And you, you great dolt... You should know better than to get into a strange man's car!” Simon found it hard to believe that such a smart girl could be so stupid.
“Simon! Calm down!” cried Kate in obvious embarrassment. “Gramps isn't a ‘strange man’. Don't you remember Sam and I telling you about Tayo going berserk and attacking a man at the garage? That was Gramps.” She paused for a much needed breath. “He could have hit back when Tayo tried to punch him but he didn’t. He defused the situation instead, saving Tayo from making even more of a fool of himself than he already had.”
Somewhat mollified, Simon muttered, “Yes, well, I still don't like you going places with people I don't know.” To Gramps, he said, “And if you're in the habit of speeding everywhere, mate, you won't be driving my sister.”
Gramps met Simon's eyes unwaveringly, but Simon was determined to make his point. If he was going to be his sister's guardian, then he was going to do it properly.
Gramps gave a small nod, acknowledging Simon's right to bring him to task. “Consider me suitably chastised, Simon... may I call you Simon? My name is Ressic. Harry Ressic,” he said with a proud lift of his chin, offering his hand.
Simon considered briefly whether or not to shake it. He allowed Ressic's hand to hang there a moment short of actual rudeness before deciding it would be churlish not to accept the proffered olive branch. They shook, giving Simon the opportunity to examine the other man more closely. Ressic had eyes so brown they were almost black, and an olive complexion that proclaimed him of Mediterranean or Middle Eastern extraction. His confident demeanour suggested he was successful at everything he turned his hand to.
Kate frowned as the two men sized each other up like a pair of junk-yard dogs. “Si, if you didn't know I was here, then why are you here?”
The question diverted Simon from his scrutiny of Ressic and he reached into the pocket of his work shorts. “I nearly forgot. I found this outside,” he said, holding the ring in his palm so Kate and Ressic could inspect it. “I thought someone here might know who it belongs to.”
Ressic gestured him closer. “May I see it?”
Simon allowed the other man to take the ring from him. He felt its loss keenly, knowing it could have been the solution to all his problems, yet he didn’t regret his decision. When the day finally came that he was free and clear of debt and money was burning a hole in his pocket, it would be because he had earned it, fair and square.
Ressic gave the object a cursory examination before cocking an eyebrow at Simon. “As a matter of fact, the ring is mine. A cherished gift from the woman I love. You have my most sincere thanks for returning it, Simon.” Maintaining eye contact, he added, “It’s more refreshing than you know, to meet such an honest man.”
“I only did what was right,” said Simon uncomfortably. “Like anyone would.”
“Believe me, not everyone would have done what you did,” Ressic assured him, giving him a cynical half-smile. “What would you ask of me, Simon, as a reward?”
Simon felt like he had been slapped in the face. There had been no thought of reward in his mind when he’d decided to return the ring to its rightful owner. “That's not necessary,” he replied stiffly. “I’m just glad you got your property back.”
“And if I insist? There must be something you need, something I can help you with?”
Simon sniggered softly. “Well, if you happen to have a spare job lying around, that would be handy.” He spoke offhandedly, expecting Ressic to laugh and brush aside such an absurd suggestion. Instead, Ressic shrugged indeterminately, as if anything was possible.
“What sort of experience do you have?”
“I was kidding!” cried Simon, mortified that Ressic thought he was seriously begging for a job. “Really. I’m okay; I’ve got a job.” He also had his pride. Bucket-loads of pride. It was time to get out of here before he humiliated himself any further. “It was nice to meet you, Mr Ressic. Kate and I will be on our way now. Come on bruv, get your things together.”
But Kate was in no hurry to leave and took more time than Simon would have liked. “I've left you one of my notebooks to look at, Gra
mps,” she informed the older man as she finally zipped up her school bag. “I'll drop in and pick it up in a couple days.”
Simon gave her a questioning look, to which she responded, “Gramps asked if he could read some of my short stories.” She nodded at the book on the table, then looked up at Ressic who was watching her carefully. “By the way, Gramps, Simon’s a really good cook, so if you do happen to need someone…you know, to help out in the kitchen, he'd be really great.”
Ressic didn't hesitate. “I actually have an opening you might be interested in, Simon, for an apprentice chef. The pay's lousy for the first year and the hours are terrible, but if you're any good you could make a decent career of it. Maybe own your own restaurant one day. It's close to home and it's regular work; only a fool would knock it back. What do you say?”
Simon's pride reared up again at the insinuation he might be such a fool, but he was nothing if not practical. Circumstances had made him so. He could swallow his pride if necessary, especially if it meant making a better life for himself and his family. Off the top of his head, he figured the job had to pay at least what he was getting now, and it sounded like he would get a raise once he made it through the first year. His pulse began to race at the prospect of a regular job, one where his intelligence and creativity would be more highly valued than his strong back. He would have long-term prospects again, and best of all, he would be doing something he loved. It didn't get any better than that.
Showing no sign of his rising excitement, Simon nodded his acceptance. “When do I start?”
It wasn't till much later that it occurred to him that the whole thing with the ring was some sort of weird test on Ressic's part. A set up. It didn't bother him particularly; being desperate and a confirmed pragmatist, he was more grateful than curious as to Ressic's motives. If it was as he suspected, the reason would come out eventually. Till then, he was just glad he passed the test.