by Susan Duncan
“Oh love, too crook, is he?” Ettie says, quickly putting a couple of cakes on a plate. She lines up three cups and hits the espresso button. “What a shame.”
“Nothing to do with his health. He’s been nervy since he discovered he had to produce a birth certificate and fill in a few forms. He was still prepared to go ahead until the, er, accident put the wind up him.”
“What accident?” asks Kate.
Julie throws a quick glance at Ettie. “Um, he lost his tax records when the basement flooded in the big wet.”
Ettie tsks.
“Poor bastard,” Julie adds. “He’s at death’s door and still haunted by the thought that he might have to hand over money to the government.” She breaks off when a customer wanders in looking for bait and ice-cream. Kate takes care of him, trying to figure out whether it is too late to cancel orders with the providores and, if not, how much of a financial hit they’ll take.
Big Julie says, “He knows it’s a late call and there’ll be expenses. He’d be grateful if you’d give him a bill for what he owes.”
Kate feels a twinge of remorse. Bertie might have made a religion out of stiffing bureaucracies but she should have known he’d never cheat his friends.
“I have an idea,” Ettie says, softly and slowly, as if it is still taking shape in her head. “This is how I see it.” She sits down and leans forward, elbows resting on the tabletop. “We’ve already done a lot of preparation and we know Bertie hates waste, right? So why don’t we have a naming ceremony instead of a wedding? No forms, no certificates, nothing official. Just two people who love each other making their vows amongst a community that loves them.” She sits back, slapping her palms lightly on the table.
Big Julie frowns and says nothing, spooning the froth at the bottom of her cup into her mouth.
Ettie continues, earnest: “Don’t you see? Sam can conduct the service, make the speeches and take you sailing off into the sunset when it’s all over. Like a ship’s captain. It’ll be glorious. Totally romantic.”
Big Julie is still unconvinced. “I’ll talk to Bertie. He’s pretty adamant, though.”
“Turn him around, Julie. This isn’t just about him. Oh I know he’s crook but this is for you. His grand gesture. He needs to make it for his own peace of mind.”
Two hours later, Big Julie rings the café. She sounds like a different woman. “It’s on!” she says, excited. “Bertie’s even going to wear a black tie with his T-shirt!”
“Good on him, love,” Ettie says. “Tell him he’s showing his true romantic spirit at last!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the Sunday of Bertie and Julie’s naming ceremony, the sky is overcast, the grey water as smooth as sharkskin. Sam sits at a table on the deck with a pencil and paper, watching Kate setting up. She has the knack now, he thinks. Stack, wipe, straighten chairs, cluster the sugar and salt and pepper in a neat circle. Quick as a flash, she lines up her world. Who’d have thought a five-star journo could turn her life upside down and make a go of it? Or maybe chaos scares the hell out of her? That mother of hers, she’d scare the bojangles off anyone.
Kate catches him staring. He grins, happy to see it tips her off balance.
“Reckon it might rain?” she asks, looking up at the sky, worried they don’t have a perfect back-up plan, although the chef has kindly offered his home if the heavens open.
“Could build to a storm or fade out to sea,” Sam says, without checking for signs. His face is creased with concentration. Christ, the longest note he’s ever written is an invoice, and they’re challenging enough. What the hell is he supposed to say at a naming ceremony, whatever that is? A feeling of dread builds inside him like the bloody storm.
He licks the tip of his pencil, writes a word, crosses it out.
“Want me to write it for you?” Kate asks, looking over his shoulder at his pathetic efforts.
“Would you, mate? I’m stuck.” His face glistens with relief. He thrusts the paper towards her in a flash, throws the pencil after it and pushes back his chair.
“No way! That was a joke, Sam. You’ve known Bertie all your life, and Julie for twenty years. You can do it, just take your time and think about it.”
Sam looks so miserable, she takes pity and picks up the pencil. He leaps to his feet like a kid who’s been let off the hook and plants a kiss on the top of her head.
“Owe you one,” he chirps, taking off before she changes her mind.
Kate writes:
Describe how they met.
How they fell in love.
How they are loved by the offshorers.
Any funny stories (the coffee jokes are old hat so don’t go there).
You might want to ask other people for stories as well.
Explain what a naming ceremony means.
Pronounce them partners for life (do not cry or even sniffle here or everyone will howl).
Anything else you think appropriate.
She finds Sam in the Square. “There you go. Nothing to it.”
He snatches the paper eagerly, but his face falls. “Mate,” he says, “where’s the good stuff for me to read out?”
“It’s all in your head, Sam. I’ve given you the pointers. Now talk from your heart.”
He looks doubtful. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll wing it. Only way.” He folds the list and stuffs it into the back pocket of his shorts.
“You got all those flowers attached yet, Jimmy?” he calls, heading for the barge.
Jimmy looks up from where he sits cross-legged amidst a sea of white gauze. He’s holding a basket of cut roses and a roll of thin wire. The long crab claw of the crane hovers over his head. “It’s gonna look magic, isn’t it, Sam? How many of these flowers you want?”
“All of them, mate. That’s what they’re for. And make sure you can’t see any bits of wire poking through the edges. Ruins the effect.”
“Nice and romantic, is that it, Sam?”
“You got it.”
Jimmy reaches into a huge basket of roses. “You think anyone will marry me?”
Sam catches a tone in Jimmy’s voice, holds back a flippant remark. He walks over to the boy and squats alongside him, picking a red rose out of the basket and winding wire around the stem.
“Well, mate, that’s a big question, ’cause there’s plenty of ways of looking at the institution of marriage. Me? Now, remember, I’ve never been married, right?” Sam holds up a hand to block the question forming in Jimmy’s head. “Never felt right. Don’t know why, but it didn’t. And that’s the thing about marriage, it’s gotta feel so damn right that to keep loving someone without it feels all wrong. You get my drift?”
Jimmy’s hand shoots up.
“No questions. Not yet. Now there’s another complication I’ve got to mention if I’m going to do this right. Just ’cause you think marriage is a great idea doesn’t necessarily mean the woman you want to marry feels the same way. It might hurt to know she doesn’t love you as much as you love her but it’s got to be a two-way street or it’ll never work. You getting this, Jimmy?”
Jimmy is bursting. “How do you find a girlfriend, Sam?”
Sam grins and pushes himself to his feet, handing Jimmy his wired rose. “Mate, they find you,” he says. “Trust me. They find you. But only when the time is right. You’ve got to be patient. Sometimes it takes longer than you’d like.”
Sam checks his watch. Noon. Three hours to go. He glances towards the south. The light is eerie, bruised and bright at the same time. Touch and go whether the whole shebang will be washed out. He picks up another rose and wires it to his T-shirt. “All my life I’ve been saying good morning to Bertie and I never knew he was a mad rose grower. Everyone’s a mystery, mate. Deep down, we’ve all got hidden passions.”
A large sign announces the café is closed for a private function, but no one takes any notice. Locals and tourists wander in and out and Kate makes coffees and toast so no customer is turned away or offended. She feels a quiet th
rill every time the till pings. She is turning into a rabid capitalist, not unlike the people she used to write about, she admits. Even more alarming, she really, really likes the feeling.
Ettie and Marcus arrange platters of salami, cheese, olives, grilled vegetables and dips. Singing, bumping hips and shoulder-swaying in time to a tune about life being a cabaret. The oven is filled with bite-sized fish pies, salmon quiches and mixed mushroom tartlets, the chef’s last-minute contributions because he is, after all, a man who is passionate about food, and even more passionate about a woman who understands that passion.
Ettie has prepared a mountain of lamb cutlets marinated in garlic, rosemary and grated lemon rind. Pounded calamari, dunked in heavily salted and peppered flour, is ready for the deep-fryer. The chef’s boozy celebration cake, a towering edifice decorated with marzipan sculptures of café tables and chairs, and astoundingly accurate figures of Bertie and Julie, stands in a safe corner. Ettie worked late for three nights until she was happy with the result. She took a vote on whether to add a cup of coffee. Everyone said yes, so she decided it was a bad idea.
By three o’clock, with the storm holding off, the barge looks like a florist shop and the back deck of the café is crammed with guests clutching bunches of flowers to throw in celebration. Phil croons songs from the fifties. Bertie told him rock music sung flat out would be the death of him and he was near enough to last rites as it was. He’d like a lovely rendition of “Ave Maria”, though, if they could manage it. Phil generously offered to go solo when Rex visibly buckled at the prospect.
Jimmy, resplendent in electric-blue satin shorts and a red satin singlet, is on sentry duty in the Square, under orders to alert Ettie as soon as the happy couple rolls up in the hire car.
“Not yet!” he calls, sticking his spiky head through the door every five minutes until Sam feels compelled to tell him they don’t need a no-show report. Only a they’re here announcement.
Sam has changed into dress-up blue jeans, a crisp white shirt and wears a double-breasted navy jacket with one of Bertie’s yellow roses pinned to his lapel. His steel-capped boots have been replaced by soft boat shoes, he’s cleanly shaven, his hair damped into order with a squeeze of Jimmy’s much-maligned gel. His hands are so well scrubbed, the freckles stand out like dollar coins. He paces up and down, rehearsing his speech.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Kate says, laughing.
“This is real pressure, mate,” he admits, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
Kate puts a hand on his arm. “You’ve got it back to front, Sam. Forget about yourself. This is about Bertie and Julie. Think of them and you’ll be fine.”
He takes a second to absorb what she’s saying, then picks her up, swings her around like a rag doll and gives her a smacking kiss on the mouth. “Mate, sometimes you show so much dash I’m floored. Might as well have a beer then, since the pressure’s off.”
“Once and for all, I’m not your bloody mate,” Kate says, crankily.
By four o’clock the sky is threatening. The excited chat has quieted to an uneasy murmur.
“Is this fashionably late?” Kate asks Ettie.
“Bertie’s never done anything fashionable in his life.”
“Didn’t think so. Should we call? Or shall I run over and see what’s happening?”
Just then, Jimmy pokes his head through the café door. “They’re here!” he yells triumphantly. He races off and comes back in a second. “Nope. Only Julie. No Bertie.”
“Oh God.” Ettie rips off her apron and flies into the Square.
“He died,” Julie tells Ettie in a broken voice. “The silly old bugger went and died on me an hour ago.” She stands beside the hire car, glorious in Ettie’s ivory wedding dress, her face wet with tears.
“Oh love.” Ettie puts her arms around her.
“His heart gave up. I don’t know what to do,” Julie says, not moving. “I keep wanting to rush somewhere but I have no idea where to or what for. It all feels weird without Bertie.”
Ettie takes her hand. “Do you want me to tell everyone to go home? We can go back to the house and I’ll spend the night with you. We’ll toast the old bloke and tell stories until we drop. What do you think?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t think I could manage an empty house right now.”
“Then how about we go on with the show and turn it into a celebration of Bertie’s life? He’d like that. Value for money, even if it’s not quite what he planned.”
Julie cracks a tiny smile. “A wake before the funeral, is that it?”
“He’d love it. A wedding and a funeral for the one price.”
“Bit unconventional.”
“So was Bertie.”
Ettie takes her hand. On the other side, Jimmy sticks out his scrawny arm like a wing for Julie to hold onto. Together they lead the widowed bride towards the barge. “Baby steps, love, and let’s remember the good times,” Ettie says.
Julie walks towards the crowd. Dramatically blonde and beautiful in a silken bridal gown that shimmers creamily against the greyness of the day. A cheer goes up. Applause breaks out. There are a few wolf-whistles. Julie’s courage falters, and Ettie holds on more tightly, afraid that if she lets go, Julie will run away. They reach the barge and Jimmy helps her to step aboard the Mary Kay. There, under a mossie net bower wired with cascades of Bertie’s prized roses, Julie brushes tears from her eyes.
“Bertie,” Julie says in a broken voice, “is here in spirit.”
The crowd rocks backwards with a groan. Without any prompting, Jimmy passes Julie a crumpled handkerchief out of his pocket. “It’s clean. Promise.”
Kate, who’s found Sam next to the keg, pulls him through the crowd by the hand, instructing him to tell every Bertie story he can think of – the happy ones if he can.
Sam looks nervous and hesitates.
“Just do it!” she hisses.
He clears his throat, straightens his cuffs and steps forward, giving Big Julie a comforting hug before turning to the crowd.
“Bertie,” he begins. “Well, as we all know, Bertie was a good man. Er.” He scrabbles for Kate’s list, pulling it out of his pocket. Reads for a second and looks back up at the crowd. Beside him, Julie is still, her head bowed. He sees a tear trickle down her cheek. Nearly weeps himself. He coughs. “Under his sharp one-liners – which were, I admit, a bit off-putting until you got to know him better – Bertie was a man who cared. About community, family, friends and the environment. Because he understood they were the real driving forces of everyday life. Now to be honest – sorry, Julie love, but I’m sure you understand what I mean – he, er, often hid these sentiments well.”
There is a faint ripple of cautious laughter. “But we all know that in a real crisis he was the first to shove a hand in his pocket. Even though they were deeper than most.”
Genuine laughter now. “He saw a lot during his forty or so years as proprietor of The Briny Café. But he knew how to keep a secret. And he never told a story that might do harm. Bertie stood up for his beliefs. Understood the true meaning of loyalty, even if it cost him. Long as it didn’t cost him too much.”
He turns to Julie. “It’s a joke, love. So we’re still good, right?” She lifts her head and smiles then, standing up straighter.
Seeing she’s okay, Sam continues: “Bertie loved Cook’s Basin ’cause he understood it was one of the last pure places and its ways needed to be preserved for future generations. And anyway, we’re the only ones who would have put up with him for so long. Julie love, I’m on a roll.” The crowd gees him on with a few whistles. “Seriously, Bertie was, in every way, a gentle man and a gentleman.”
“You’re repeatin’ yourself, Sam,” Jimmy cuts in, trying to be helpful.
“Thanks, mate. Good to know you’re listening.”
“He made the best chips in the world,” Jimmy offers, determined to say his piece.
“And the worst coffee!” A shout from the back.
Sam holds up a hand. “Any comments regarding his coffee should be held for a later date out of respect.” He sees Kate standing at the rear of the deck, slightly apart from the crowd as usual. She gives him a nod. A thumbs-up. He smiles with relief.
Beside him, Julie takes a deep breath and finds her voice. “Let me tell you about my Bertie,” she says and the guests, trussed up in their wedding finery but finding themselves at a wake, are still and silent. “He could be a cranky, stubborn and miserly old bugger. But he never let anyone down in his life. And when he loved, he loved completely.”
“Hear, hear.”
“Jimmy?” she calls.
“Yeah, Julie?”
“Fetch me a glass of champagne so we can all toast the finest man I ever knew.”
“Hear, hear.”
Jimmy returns with a glass and a bottle in a flash.
“To Bertie,” Julie says, raising her glass. Slabs of golden light break through the sullen mass of clouds. In a blink, the threatening storm is shunted over the horizon and a stampede of wispy pink clouds race across a blazing blue sky. The bay sizzles red and silver. Sunlight strikes the deck, setting hair aglow.
“It’s Bertie,” a voice shouts out. “Callin’ in to The Briny Café one last time. Here’s to Bertie!”
The celebration of Bertie’s life ends with draining the last drops out of the keg. The water police, having heard the news of his death, call in to pay their respects and end up ferrying the worst drunks home. Fast Freddy babies the last crying partygoers into his green water taxi and hands out clean tissues from the box he keeps on his dashboard. He does at least ten runs back and forth until the café is an empty shell. It is his best turnover since Christmas Eve almost a year ago. He takes the trouble to say a private thank you to the former, much-loved proprietor of The Briny Café, whom he is sure is already returning to life in a new guise.
“Bertie’s on his way back already. Reincarnation,” he tells Sam, driving him home on the last taxi run.
“Turtle, prob’ly,” Sam suggests, seriously smashed.