by Lilly Mirren
While they argued, Sarah crept away, pushing her trolley ahead of her. She grabbed the few items she needed as quickly as she could and headed for the checkout. As much as she loved this town, it was more than a little crazy at times. Too few residents, with too much time on their hands for idle gossip. It was still so bizarre to her that anyone would be interested in her life and what she was doing, whom she was dating and how her career was progressing.
She was in such a hurry to leave the Foodstore that she almost ploughed directly into Vicky and Meg as she left.
"Whoa! Where's the fire?" Vicky asked, blocking the trolley with both hands so that it didn't run her down.
Sarah sighed with relief. "I'm so glad to see the two of you. Marg and Mrs Bunyan were asking me all kinds of intrusive questions. They cornered me in the canned foods aisle, and I didn't think I was going to be able to get out of there."
Meg laughed. "You still call her Mrs Bunyan?"
"Yeah, of course. What do you call her?" Sarah huffed.
"Mandy - we haven't been in high school in over a decade." Vicky chuckled. "We were about to grab a coffee, come with us."
Sarah eyed her groceries. She hadn't bought anything that needed refrigeration. "Okay, let's go."
The three of them found a table at the Emerald Cafe that had a view of the beach in the distance through a grove of banksia trees and clumps of wispy spinifex grasses.
With her groceries in cloth bags by her feet, Sarah relaxed into one of the colourful, high-backed chairs that dotted the outdoor area. As Thad walked out with a tray of food, she caught a glimpse of her mother in the kitchen through the swinging door. The door swung shut again, and Sarah turned her attention to her friends.
"I love your mum's cafe. It's got such a great view and some of the best food in town," Meg said as she took a sip of the green smoothie Crystal had brought to their table a few minutes earlier.
"Yeah, me too. I had to work here this afternoon, anyway, so I thought we might as well have our coffees here." Sarah shrugged. "Besides, I think I'm becoming addicted to the coffee - it's so smooth and divine."
Vicky chuckled. "You could be her PR manager."
"Yeah, well, she needs one, that's for sure."
"Are things that bad?" Vicky asked, her brows knitting together above wide blue eyes. Her straight, mousy brown hair was tucked behind her ears.
"They are… Dad left the cafe in pretty bad shape financially. I'm helping Mum. I have a few things to figure out, but I've basically narrowed down the things that are costing the cafe the most money. Now, I have to talk to Mum about it - and I don't think she's going to like it."
Sarah had never enjoyed confronting her mother - some kind of hang-up from childhood where she always wanted Mum to be pleased with her. She'd been the good child, the girl who did well in school, didn't get into trouble, made good choices and was easy to get along with…well, most of the time anyway. It made the difficult conversation she had to raise with her mother about the fate of the cafe even more challenging.
"Enough about all of that, though. It'll work itself out. Tell me what's going on with the two of you."
Meg stared at the table.
Vicky cocked her head to one side. "I'm okay in most respects, still not feeling great. I don't know what's going on with me, but I think it's probably just a food intolerance or something."
"You should see someone," Sarah suggested.
"I know. I will… I'm a procrastinator. I hate going to the doctor."
"I know what you mean," Meg added.
"Things improving with Brad, at all?" Sarah asked.
Meg shook her head. "Not really. He's talking a little bit more but doesn't say anything unless he absolutely has to. He's as angry as ever, though, and still taking it out on me. Thankfully, he seems willing to go to his appointments, so I'm trying to focus on that as a positive. But I'm having to work extra shifts at the salon to pay for all of the appointments - doctors' visits, physiotherapy, the medical debt from the hospital in Hawaii that wasn't covered by our insurance, rent… The list just goes on and on. It's pretty overwhelming, actually. Apparently, he'll get some kind of payout from his superannuation disability insurance, but if they agree to do it, we won't see it for a while yet. There's so much paperwork, red tape…ugh."
Meg pressed both hands to her forehead. "I'm holding it all together, and I think I could manage, if only he didn't snap at me, glower at me and basically live as a hermit in the dark." She sighed, combing her fingers through her red curls, which glowed like they were on fire beneath the rays of the morning sun.
Sarah pressed a hand over Meg's where it rested on the table. "I'm sure it will get better. You'll both be okay… It'll take some time, that's all."
Meg's eyes glistened. "Thanks. I know that's true, but it's hard to hold onto right now. If he would only…ah…well, there's nothing more I can do about it. I can't control him any more than I can control the waves. Right?"
Vicky and Sarah both nodded in agreement.
They chatted about other things for a few minutes, until they each drained the coffee cups dry, then embraced. Sarah watched her friends leave. She inhaled a slow breath, shaking her head as she did. No matter what was going on in her life, she couldn't imagine suffering the way Meg and Brad were.
"There's my girl," Mum said, enveloping her in a hug. "Are you here to see me?"
"I thought I'd do some more work on your accounts…and I need to talk to you." Sarah picked up her grocery bags, one in each hand.
"In that case, come on through to my office. We're about to start the lunch rush, but I can spare a few minutes."
Once she was seated in the small office, Sarah took a few moments to gather her thoughts. It was a strange position, giving her mother advice. Most of her life, their roles had been reversed, and she wasn't sure how to begin.
The tiny space was crammed with things - a small, old timber desk and matching chair with an embroidered seat cushion, a dented filing cabinet, a bookshelf housing cookbooks from decades past, and framed photographs that hung on the walls and dotted every empty surface.
Mum settled onto her embroidered chair. "So, what did you want to talk about, sweetheart?"
Sarah swallowed. "We need to discuss happy hour. I know it's an arrangement you've had with Auntie Diana forever, but…"
Mum waved a hand. "Oh yeah, happy hour. I know."
"Really? You already know? Know what?"
"That it's a problem. I've spoken to Diana about it."
Sarah chewed her lip. "Um…okay. What exactly did you discuss? Because I'm not sure what the problem is, only that you're losing a lot of money on it. I'd have to be here taking note of everything that's going on to figure out why."
Mum arched an eyebrow. "Well, let's see. I've noticed lately that happy hour has been very well attended…more than usual. And when I spoke to Diana about it, she said the B&B hasn't been full, in fact bookings are down. So, we know people are taking advantage of the offer, we just don't know how they're doing it. I'm assuming word's gotten out about how good Crystal's music is, there've been a lot of people cheering and dancing, they love her."
"She is very good," Sarah admitted.
"Yes, she is, and she's a darling girl. Besides that, I think the food here is pretty well liked, and the half-priced drinks are drawing diners in as well."
"I'm sure you're right. But that doesn't explain why it's not boosting revenue the way it should be."
"I know," Mum replied, her lips pursed. "I was hoping you'd help me figure that one out. We've got to make a change, one way or the other. I hate to give up our connection to Diana's business, but…"
"You may not have a choice," Sarah finished, crossing one leg over the other.
"I may not have a choice," Mum echoed her words with a sad smile. "But I'm glad you're here with me."
"So am I," Sarah replied. "I never thought I'd be glad to be living back in the Cove - I used to believe it would be a sign of failure. But I'
m here, and it feels like home."
Chapter 28
Franklin
Telephones around the small police station had been ringing all day. The water police who shared their office space had made a drug bust the day before, and journalists from all over the country were calling to get their hands on the story.
Franklin sat in his office, tapping at his keyboard, filing a report of his own. So much of what he did was paperwork. He'd resented it when he started out, but he was used to it now and had been through enough trials to know that good work in the office often meant the difference between a conviction and a criminal being let loose on society again.
His new constable strode across the office, a cup of coffee in her hands. She sat at her desk and clicked the mouse to wake up her computer monitor. Her desk was in full view of Franklin's office and flanked by other, empty workstations only utilised whenever visitors from other locations needed a place to hot-desk.
The sight of her sent a mild stab of guilt through his chest. He regretted the way he'd yelled at her two weeks earlier, though he'd yet to mention it to her. He was the boss; he didn't need to apologise. At least, that was what he'd been taught by his father back when he was younger and his dad could remember what day of the week it was.
Something beeped in the break room. She stood and walked out of sight. He could do with a cup of coffee himself. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head and stood to follow her.
"Good afternoon, Constable," he said as he walked into the small kitchen with two round dining tables and matching chairs that served as the office break room.
"Good afternoon, sir."
She pulled a bag of popcorn from the microwave. The scent of popcorn and butter soon filled the small space, making his stomach grumble.
He didn't have to apologise, but he shouldn't have gone off on her the way he had. After all, she was only a proby. She didn't know any better. It was his job to teach her, a job he didn't want and certainly didn't need. Even though Emerald Cove was quiet for much of the year, there were only a few of them on the job, and it kept all of them busy enough that anything extra, like holding the hand of a new recruit, meant longer hours he didn't want.
Still, it wasn't strictly her fault. She wasn't needed, he didn't want her as a partner, but she hadn't asked for the posting - at least that was what he'd been told.
He poured coffee into a mug, then opened the refrigerator to search out the milk. "Are you settling into the Cove okay?" he asked in a gruff voice.
He hated small talk, didn't have any desire to form a connection with her, but he was curious enough to make the effort.
She poured the popcorn into a bowl, faced him with a smile. "I guess so."
"Is it what you'd hoped?"
She cocked her head to one side. "I don't know… It's quiet, which is good. But…"
"What?"
"Everyone seems to know each other. They're not really looking for friendships." Her cheeks coloured, and she looked away, she seemed to regret opening up to him.
He shrugged. "Yeah, that's what it's like living in a small town. Everyone's friendly, no one wants to be a friend. To them, you're an outsider, just like the tourists that file through here day after day during the summer months."
She placed a piece of popcorn in her mouth and chewed, leaning against the bench behind her. "So, how long does that last?"
He chuckled. "You mean until you're a local?"
She nodded.
"About thirty years," he replied.
She gaped. "Thirty years?"
"They don't want to invest in a friendship if they don't think you're gonna stay." He laughed as he headed out of the kitchen, then stopped at the door and spun to face her. "So, did you ask to be stationed here, or was it dumb luck?"
She frowned. "I asked for somewhere quiet, I guess they figured this was as good a place as any. And you needed a partner…so…"
His nostrils flared as anger surged. "Actually, I didn't need one—" He stopped himself with a quick breath. He'd already decided not to go there again; it wouldn't achieve anything. "Never mind."
Her face clouded. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…about your old partner, I mean. I looked it up… Anyway, I'm sorry."
Heat spread through his chest. He didn't want to talk about it, certainly not with some first-year-out-of-training proby cop who wouldn't stick around anyway. "Yeah, well…thanks." He gritted his teeth. "Where were you before this?"
It was blunt, but he had never asked before and was suddenly curious. The recruitment office hadn’t told him, and he couldn't remember seeing anything in her file.
"Around…you know, here and there. I was in Sydney, obviously, to do the training. And before that, I moved around, mostly in New South Wales."
His eyes narrowed. He'd interviewed enough liars to know one when he saw one. But why would she lie? Her gaze flitted to his face and away again. She was nervous too, her knuckles white as she grasped the popcorn bowl. He'd been curious about her past, who she was; now he was intrigued.
He headed back to his office and slid behind the desk, immediately tapping on his keyboard to search for anything that might come up involving a Rebecca Mair.
Nothing.
That was odd. Most people who reached their late twenties, like Rebecca, had some kind of digital footprint online - a Facebook page, a Twitter account, Instagram or a newspaper article about their role on the local debating team. Some kind of evidence that they existed. But not Rebecca.
He scratched his chin with one hand, reached for his phone with the other and made a call.
"Hey, Mack, how are you? It's Franklin Russell from Emerald Cove here."
Mack went through the training process with Franklin years ago, and they'd kept in touch. Mack worked in recruitment now and was usually a rich source of information for Franklin whenever he wanted to know what was going on in the head office.
"Frank! Great to hear your voice. How's it going up there? Living the dream, living the dream!" He chuckled, his deep voice booming.
Franklin grinned. "It's idyllic. Listen, I have a quick question for you - you guys sent me a new recruit, Rebecca Mair. She's been here a few weeks, but her personnel file is on the light side, and I really don't know that much about her. Can you fill me in?"
There was a pause; Mack coughed. "Uh, let me see, Rebecca Mair." Another pause. "Oh yeah, I remember her. Sweet girl. Got potential, I think. There's really not much else to tell. She wanted a quiet posting, we gave her to you. End of story."
"Yeah, that's pretty much what she said as well," Franklin replied, his eyes narrowing. What were the chances he'd hear the same story in almost the exact same words from two different people? "Nothing else you can tell me?"
"Nope. Nada," Mack replied.
"Okay, great, thanks for your time. I'll give you a call soon, and we can catch up."
"Sounds great. See ya."
He hung up the phone, pressed his chin into his hands and studied his computer screen. Something was fishy about his new constable, and he was going to find out what it was. Then, he'd send her back to where she came from.
Sarah
The sand was warm beneath her feet. A wave curled lazily to shore, bubbling and frothing as it tumbled up the beach. Cold water tickled her toes, and she scrunched them up in response.
Sarah adjusted her hold on the surfboard under her arm. Her wet suit was a little tight, but since she hadn't worn it in almost a decade, she figured that was to be expected. Although, a little tight was probably an understatement; she could barely breathe. It'd faded a little as well and felt stiff. She only hoped it wouldn't split while she was surfing.
"Ready?" Mick asked, jogging up beside her.
She faced him with a nod. He set his surfboard on the beach, then tugged up the wet suit that lay loose about his waist. His tanned muscles flexed as he slipped each arm into the suit.
"It's cold," she complained.
He chuckled. "No, it's not, it's beautiful
. Perfect. You can't call this cold, it's the hottest part of summer. You seem to have gone soft living in the city, Sassy. Are you a city girl now?"
She studied the waves; they were big but not dumping. "I'm not soft… I'm cautious. And yeah, I guess I am a city girl."
He laughed. "Okay, let's see some surfing then. We've got to find the country girl inside you and dig her out, she's buried in there somewhere."
The first wave smacked her in the face, making her gasp. The cold of it woke her up as the sun crept over the horizon and blinded her with its golden reach the moment her head peeked over the crest. She squinted at the horizon, her arms digging through the water, taking her into the face of the next wave, this time with a smile.
She duck dived, feeling the water rush over her, churning, pummelling, the cold no longer such a shock. When she burst into the sunlight this time, she was already laughing.
Why had she stayed away so long? Muscle memory had her pulling long strokes through the water, faster and faster, diving beneath the waves and coming up again with a shake of the head to dislodge the biggest drips that would run into her eyes if she let them.
She felt alive. Awake. Fierce.
Mick had reached the calm before her, behind the set. The place where they'd sit up on their boards and wait for the perfect wave. He pushed himself into a sitting position, crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.
"There she is. You found her. The country girl is back."
Sarah giggled, reliving her teenage years. The first duck dive had sent her back fifteen years in an instant. She was young, carefree and had saltwater dripping into her eyes.
She sat on her board beside Mick and offered a half smile. "Feels good to be out here again. Thanks for inviting me."
"No worries," he replied.
She caught the first wave. It wasn't as easy to spring to her feet and balance on the board as it had been years earlier, but she managed it and stayed up for a few seconds before ploughing headfirst into the water. The tug of the leg rope around her ankle, the bubbles of air floating skyward from her mouth. It all rang a nostalgic bell in her head.