by S. E. Babin
Before the tears that were already building momentum could swell enough to overflow, there was a quiet knock at the bedroom door.
‘Callie, you up? It’s half nine.’
‘Yes, Mum, I’m awake,’ she said, blotting her eyes to avoid a heart-to–heart that would surely ensue if her mother spotted the tears. She pulled herself to sit, propped up against the headboard of the bed.
‘I’ve made pancakes and hash browns with eggs and sausage, your favourite.’
Callie smiled in spite of the fact that her stomach felt like it had turned completely upside down. She hadn’t eaten anything other than one piece of fruit and black coffee for breakfast for years.
‘C’mon,’ her mother said, sensing her reluctance. ‘Dad’s itching to see you. I had to stop him from coming in here at six-thirty this morning. You know how he is.’
Callie made a face. She did know how he was and that was the problem. Cam got every bit of his tact and manners from their father, although he hadn’t yet perfected the art of foot in mouth as well as Dad had.
She swung her legs to the side of the bed and with a swift, ‘I’m a tough, grown woman who can handle anything’ affirmation, got to her feet, simultaneously bracing for what she knew was the painful conversation that was about to follow.
‘Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my only daughter, the classy lawyer from Sy-de-ney, who hasn’t managed a visit home to see her poor old parents and slow brother in three years.’
Cam, who was standing at the sink scratching his backside, muttered something undecipherable, but it was enough to indicate he was insulted.
Callie perched on the stool at the kitchen counter. Although her father’s words sounded somewhat callous, she knew that he was actually being affectionate. Darcy Ashton loved nothing more than to get about town bragging to any man and/or his dog who would listen, about his super-clever daughter who was a big shot lawyer in ‘Sy’de’ney.’ In their family, the more sarcastic and insulting the comment, the more you were being told you were loved. What Darcy didn’t love, however, was that Callie was so willing to leave it all behind and never come back, even to visit.
Callie blew him a kiss and watched as her mother piled her plate high with enough cholesterol-laden breakfast to kill a small horse, or possibly a large one.
‘Dad,’ she began, taking a bite of some crispy bacon and letting her tastebuds enjoy the frenzy that it created, ‘how many times did I beg you and Mum to come and visit me? Work was crazy and I couldn’t get away long enough to make the trip home. You know that.’
Darcy raised one eyebrow, a skill he had mastered over the years to alert people to the fact that he thought what they were saying was utter rubbish.
‘Codswallop,’ was the expression that followed to make sure she understood. ‘You invited us because you knew full well that we would never come to that cesspool of a place and you didn’t want to come back here because you’d have to face poor old Hamish O’Reilly and his battered heart.’
‘Darcy!’ Marjory said, whipping his still half full plate out from under him as punishment. ‘Let her be. She hasn’t even had her breakfast yet.’
Darcy watched as his plate, and the eggs on it, moved further away from him. He knew well enough by now that if he wanted anymore breakfast he’d have to cut it out.
Cam plonked himself beside his father at the kitchen table looking terribly pleased that Callie was getting such a hard time.
‘Not saying I’m not happy to see you back. I am,’ Darcy continued, watching the plate his wife was holding, ‘I just want to see you happy and Hamish would have given you everything. Treated you like a real lady, he would have.’
Marjorie piled some extra eggs and another piece of toast onto the plate and returned it to Darcy who hoed into it before she could take it again.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway, does it?’ Callie said, stuffing in a rasher of the salty bacon, ‘looks like I’m stuck here for a while, so who cares?’
‘We all care, Callie,’ Marjory interjected, ‘we care a lot, don’t we boys?’
Cam and Darcy both nodded their agreement while Callie tried hard not to return to old habits like rolling her eyes and making snide remarks.
‘Anyway,’ Marjorie continued, ‘there’s plenty of time to catch up with Hamish and apologise, especially now that Zack fellow is out of the picture. Hamish is as handsome as ever, you know? And it will be wonderful to have the entire family together for Christmas. The timing couldn’t have been better really.’
It was no use. The eye roll could no longer be kept at bay and forced its way out in dramatic fashion, accompanied by a sideways head tilt and the all too familiar teenage groan of parental annoyance. Every ounce of class, maturity and sophistication Callie had spent years developing was now lost over one family breakfast.
* * *
‘Callie, C’mon, I want to get to the store before Janice Black does. She was after this one particular black jacket that I wanted and Lesley May’s daughter, Suzanne who works at Target, said that they were supposed to be getting some in, but the computer told her that only one was sent.’
Callie pulled on her boots and picked up her purse. The temperature was already hitting thirty degrees and it wasn’t even lunchtime. She scanned her case for something cooler to wear, but her corporate attire was not built for the stifling heat of South Australia in December.
‘What on earth are you wearing, luv?’ Marjorie asked, trying hard not to laugh. ‘You look ridiculous.’
‘Mum, this is top-end clothing, worth more than the entire contents of the lounge-room.’ She looked down at the mid-length skirt, button-up blouse and suit jacket and sensed that in spite of her immaculate taste, it was a little ridiculous for country town shopping.
‘Honey, we’re going to Kadina, not a dinner party with Oprah.’
Callie frowned. ‘I haven’t got anything else. Everything you wear in Sydney has to look good, especially when you go out shopping. Some stores won’t even serve you if you look like you can’t afford what they’re selling.’
Her mother looked more confused than usual. ‘But, if you’re going in to buy something nice, why do you already have to be wearing something nice? Isn’t that….’ She gave up half way through, deciding that what they did in Sydney was just something she would never understand, or, in fact, care to.
‘I’ll grab something more casual if I can find a decent boutique, but I’m not buying anything at Target,’ Callie said, grabbing the keys from her mother’s hand. ‘We better get going before Janice snags that top.’
Marjorie was out the door and in the Ute in a flash. Callie slid in behind the wheel and felt a slight rush, which took her by surprise. As much as she would never admit it, even to herself, she missed thrashing about in the paddocks and tearing along the coast line, with the family dog, Bluey, in the back and the wind lashing her wild hair against her cheeks. She could hardly remember how free she had felt in those moments, but the very act of sitting at the wheel of the Ute brought back some of those feelings in a rush that almost brought her to tears. Where had she been? The real her, the Callie Ashton who was tough, ambitious, a tomboy who was afraid of nothing and no one?
When she pulled into the carpark of Target Country in Kadina, a fresh wave of anxiety spread its way through her. That anxiety gave way to horror when her mother held up set after set of matching tracksuits in colours like brown and beige, wide brimmed hats and checked cotton shirts.
‘Surely that’s a man’s shirt,’ Callie protested at the suggestion she buy a short-sleeved shirt in blue and covered in what looked like pictures of wheat or barley.
‘I think it’s cute,’ Marjorie insisted, ‘You had one like this when you were little.’
Callie vaguely remembered being forced into the hideous brown number that had some even more hideous pattern strewn all over it. Her body shuddered in response. And just to make matters worse, the store seemed to have the Micha
el Buble Christmas carols CD playing on continuous repeat. The very one that Marjory loved and could not resist singing along to.
Callie let out a groan that caused her mother’s shoulders to tense and her face to take on a determined look. She rustled through every – single – rack, until Callie, who was desperate for it to come to an end, agreed to her mother buying a blue and grey velour tracksuit, a pair of blue jeans, 2 pairs of khaki shorts and some brown boots for out on the land, that Callie swore she would never in a million years wear. She did however settle on some thongs and bathers for the beach. They left the store, having spent under $100 and with an arm full of items Callie wouldn’t have been seen dead in back in Sydney.
The elation Callie felt at getting around the store for over an hour without incident, or running into one of the many nosey, bored, middle-aged women of the Copper Coast, was short-lived when they smacked head-on into Janice Black coming through the door as they tried to exit. The look of pure delight on Janice’s face was evident when she realised that the perfect opportunity to poke her nose in and stick it to Marjorie at the same time had just presented itself.
‘Oh, Callie Ashton, how lovely to see you back in your sweet little home town.’ Her smirk was enough to send Callie’s blood cold. Janice had the most uncanny ability to completely insult and belittle you while sounding sickly sweet and delightful. Callie had often thought how Janice’s tactics would have been so useful in the courtroom and in the tough world of corporate and criminal law. Instead she saved it for all of the poor souls that inhabited Moonta Bay (and surrounding towns) and anyone else that was unlucky enough to cross her path.
‘Hi Janice,’ Callie smiled politely when her mother jammed her elbow into Callie’s side.
‘Marjorie, fancy seeing you here too. It’s just so hard to find the time, isn’t it, when you’re dealing with, well you know, Cam’s situation and now this.’
Marjorie had all but turned white. She’d never been good at dealing with bullies and Janice had been tormenting her since junior high school.
Callie, seeing her mother’s distress, jumped into lawyer mode. She, on the other hand, was used to dealing with the likes of Janice. ‘Well, Janice, we must go,’ she said in the professional voice she usually saved for the toughest judges in court. ‘You see we’re planning quite an elaborate Christmas Eve dinner party, you know, the sort that people throw in Sydney, not like your usual small-town dig. It’s going to take soooo much preparation and we’re having some special items brought in from the city so we need to be there to receive them.’
Callie felt her mother’s hands clutch her arm tightly for support, while Janice, clearly annoyed by being put in her place, eyed them suspiciously.
‘In fact,’ Callie added just to put the finishing touches on, ’Mum’s just bought a fabulous new black top to wear for it. It was the only one in all of the Copper Coast apparently.’
With a huff, Janice Black, who usually kept the upper hand and ruled the gossip clan with an iron fist, stomped off muttering something that suggested she was not at all impressed.
‘Callie, what on earth?’ Her mother gasped, struggling to stifle her pleasure at what had just taken place. ‘I can’t pull together a party in five days. Not to mention that Janice will be ropable. We’ll pay for this. You know that, don’t you?’
Callie knew she was right. Janice would be calling her ‘people’ and waging some kind of uprising against them within the hour, but she didn’t care. After the types she had come up against, and won against, back in Sydney, Janice was about as scary as a kitten showing its tiny claws.
‘We’ll be fine, Mum. We’ll just get the house looking all Christmassy and invite some friends around. It’ll be fun.’
Her mother gave her a questioning look, but seemed to accept the idea.
Basking in her moment of glory and the feeling of control and power that it brought with it, Callie hopped back into the Ute and wound down the windows.
‘By the way, did I tell you that Mel is back in town? She’s been back for a couple of months now.’ Marjory lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Divorce. The husband was a cheater.’
‘Divorce isn’t a dirty word, Mum. You don’t have to whisper. I’ll have to catch up with her. I miss her you know? She’s one of the only things I did miss about this place.’
Marjory gave her daughter and questioning look.
‘And you and Dad of course,’ she quickly corrected.
Marjory repeated the look.
‘Yes, okay, okay, and Cam. But only a little bit.’
The familiar summertime burn of the steering wheel and the scorching hot metal of the seatbelt was yet another reminder that she was home, and in spite of what she had just said about not really missing anything, there was something comforting and strangely fantastic about it. That was until she spotted a new black dual-cab truck pulling into the hardware store across the street and a strikingly gorgeous Hamish O’Reilly, hopping out.
Callie’s breath caught in her throat. Her mother followed her line of sight until she too spotted him.
‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Marjory said. ‘He’s not a boy anymore, and boy is he one heck of a man.’
Callie stared in shocked silence. The young man she had left behind three years ago had grown into the kind of man that, even at a distance, women stopped to stare at. Broad shoulders, large, farm-bred arms and sandy hair that he raked his hands through with enough sex appeal to cause any good woman to go weak at the knees.
Callie started the engine and turned her head away. There was a feeling inside her, the same one she had felt the night before. It wasn’t exactly regret-- she had loved her time in Sydney before everything fell apart-- and it wasn’t exactly longing. How can you long for something that you haven’t known for so long? It was something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Either way, she wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
3
Callie slipped into a pair of black slacks and a white silk shirt. It was too hot for anything with sleeves, but pants were essential, given that she hadn’t shaved her legs since leaving Sydney. She pulled her hair up high and wrapped a band around it to hold it in place. She stared in horror at the reflection in the mirror.
Only a few weeks ago, she had been standing in front of Judge Maxwell, arguing a case involving a low-level Mafia-affiliated career criminal, while dressed in Dolce and Gabbana.
Slumping onto the bed, her eyes again found their way to the photo of her and Hamish. Her mother was right, he was definitely no longer the boy in the photo and although he’d been handsome then, the three years she had been away had been more than kind to him. One of his arms alone looked as if it might be as big as the top of her thigh. The white t-shirt he had been wearing, even at a distance, showed off how muscular his body was beneath the fabric.
‘Stop it, just stop it! It was a lifetime ago.’
Getting to her feet to avoid driving herself any crazier wondering ‘what if’ and what could have been, she grabbed the keys, hopped into the Ute and headed towards town. Sugar, and lots of it was needed as well as some alcohol, something strong. There had to be somewhere in this Godforsaken town that could ply her with both.
She ranted the entire way about how she should never have come back to Moonta Bay. Coming back was just opening up old wounds and hurt feelings, but once she hit Main Street, it was impossible to stay bitter. Sprawling green grass on one side and the crystal blue of the ocean on the other brought with it a calm that only this town could give her. This time of year, when summer was well underway, but not yet scorching enough to turn the grass brown and crunchy, was Callie’s favourite.
Dreaming of hours spent lying on that grass and ice creams at the Foreshore Deli, Callie spotted something new further down the road. A bright yellow sign, with a blue ‘Billy’s Bakery and Cake Shop’ caught her eye and lured her in. With her foot hard on the accelerator, she pulled up outside the shop with a squeal of the brakes loud enough t
o turn the heads of dog walkers nearby. She made her way into the shop and slotted into a booth in the back corner.
‘What can I get you?’
The deep voice startled Callie, causing her to jump and let out a little yelp.
‘Sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to freak you out. What’s got you so jumpy in a cake shop?’
Callie scoffed at the question. Clearly ‘Billy’, if he was Billy, wasn’t aware that it was impolite to pry into the personal lives of his customers while taking their order, nor was he aware that calling a grown woman you weren’t in an intimate relationship with, ‘honey’, was rude as of about three or four decades ago.
‘Cake, thank you, ‘honey.’ Something with plenty of cream…and jam, lots of jam.’
Billy gave her a smirk, realising her contempt for his use of the word, and went back to the counter. As he pulled a Kitchener bun the size of his hand out of the cabinet and added an extra dollop of jam, he watched as the young woman fussed about in the booth, moving further into the corner and lowering her sunglasses as if she was in the witness protection program. Maybe that would at least explain why she was so jumpy.
He returned to her table with the bun and a can of Coke. When he set them down in front of her, she eyed him suspiciously. ‘I didn’t ask for a Coke,’ she said, pushing it back toward him.
‘I know that, but you looked a bit hot and bothered, so I thought you could use a cold drink.’
Callie smiled and accepted. ‘I don’t normally drink coke, but I guess just this once won’t hurt.’
The truth was her tastebuds were already working into a frenzy at the very thought of the approaching sugar load. Her life in Sydney had been all but sugar free and Zack was a vegan so she’d pretty much inadvertently adopted that lifestyle, but with a cream bun and coke in front of her, it was time to let loose.