by Stella Quinn
Pretending she was okay wasn’t easy, but she’d had plenty of practice. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about the food, perhaps just take the teapot around again.’
‘Sure thing.’
‘And, um, Poppy? Are you right to hold the fort for five minutes? I just want to duck out back for a second.’
‘Wow. I’ll be the boss? You know I’m fifteen, right?’
Vera forced a smile, pulled off her apron and set off through the kitchen and out the back, but the second the door closed behind her, she sank onto the back step and felt her dam wall of pretence break.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why couldn’t this grief for her old life be done already? This guilt over stuffing her aunt into a crappy care home and making a total balls-up of everything? She was tired of crying, and having to make excuses, and run from rooms so she could hide what a total mess she was.
A bump at her elbow made her look down; the cat was there, its round furry face looking up at her expectantly.
‘I don’t have milk if that’s what you’re after,’ she sniffed. ‘And if it’s answers you’re after, I sure as hell don’t have any of those.’
The cat butted her elbow again as though to make doubly sure she knew it was there, then it curled itself onto the step beside her and commenced making a noise like it had a lawnmower tucked away under all that fur.
Was that … purring? Her life was swirling down the plughole into a sewer-stink of regret, and her new bestie thought this was something to purr about?
‘You suck at empathy,’ she muttered.
But the longer she sat on the step, the warmer her right hip began to feel under the cat’s weight, and the more that loud rumble of a purr began to sink into her soul. The tears had stopped. Her breathing had sorted itself out. She felt … a little wrung out, like she always did when her emotions found themselves exposed … but better.
‘I suppose I’d better go and rescue my fifteen-year-old employee from those tea guzzlers,’ she said to the cat.
It ignored her, but in a very empathetic way.
CHAPTER
14
By the end of the week, Jane Doe had taught Josh that her day wasn’t done until he’d taken her out for a late afternoon stroll about the park. Saturday was no exception. When he reckoned the old girl had sniffed enough trees and park benches and rhododendrons, he headed back to the clinic and found Hannah sitting on the bottom step of the inner stairwell.
‘Hey, it’s the weekend and I’m the sucker on call,’ he said. ‘What are you doing spending your time off sitting here in the dark?’
She leaned back and crossed her arms. Even in the dim light spilling down from the landing upstairs he could see she had her cranky face on.
‘If this is about the orange juice from your fridge,’ he said, ‘I’ll replace it next time I go to the supermarket. Pinky promise.’
He held out his little finger but she batted it away.
‘I thought you’d solved the city council problem, Josh.’
‘What, that silly chicken complaint? I went down there, didn’t I? I even booked an appointment with—’ Oh, crap. The appointment had been for Monday morning up at the council office on Quarry Street, and with the excitement of having Poppy home, he’d totally forgotten about it.
‘Barry O’Malley?’ said his sister.
‘Yep. I should have gone to see him the other day. Shoot.’
‘That might explain the letter that I just got from Barry. Hand delivered, in person.’
‘Our local member came here?’
‘He asked to see you, but you were out with your girlfriend here, piddling on trees in the park, so he gave me the lowdown.’
‘The lowdown on what?’
‘Read it and see,’ she said, shoving the letter in his hand.
He flicked on the overhead light, then took a seat next to his sister on the bottom step. Jane Doe flopped to the floor with a grunt.
To Hannah Cody and Joshua Cody
Cody and Cody Vet Clinic
Yeah, he knew what their names were and what their business was called. He scanned down until he reached the meat of the letter.
… failed to address the complaint received by council from a member of the public regarding chickens … council is obliged to deal with all complaints … subsequently received a second complaint, details of which are attached.
Josh lifted the letter to reveal the second page.
A complaint has been received by council that indicates subsection 12(1) of the Companion Animals Act 1998 has been broken by owners and staff of the Cody and Cody Vet Clinic as a result of their continued practice of exercising dogs in the area outside clinic grounds without ensuring said dogs are wearing collars identifying the dogs’ names and the owners’ addresses or phone numbers.
‘What the fruit?’ said Josh. ‘This is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever read.’
‘Yeah,’ said Hannah. ‘Pity you weren’t here to say that to Barry.’
He turned back to the cover letter.
… where complaints are not addressed, council reserves the right to deny renewal of, or suspend for a period of 90 days, constituent privilege. In this instance, that privilege would be the veterinary practice business licence on issue to Hannah Celine Cody and Joshua Preston Cody of 36 Salt Creek Flats Road, Hanrahan.
‘What was Barry O’Malley’s take on all this?’
‘He said it sounded like a crock of shit, but he’s obliged to respond to all complaints that aren’t anonymous.’
‘Someone put their name to this bullshit? Who?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me.’
‘Well, hell. It must have been someone pretty close by if they can work out there’s no phone number on Jane Doe’s collar.’
‘It’s just so … mean-spirited. Who would do this?’
He let out a breath. ‘No idea. Wait, you don’t think …’
‘What? Who?’
‘Remember Kelly Fox? She brought her kid’s guinea pig in the day Poppy came to town, and it didn’t go so well.’
‘I don’t know, Josh. Kelly’s a gossip, but she’s not evil. Besides, we’d already received the chicken complaint before you ran her out of here.’
‘Well, someone’s messing with us. I don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I,’ Hannah said. ‘What will we do?’
‘I’ll go see this Barry O’Malley guy first thing Monday morning and resolve the chicken problem. Maybe we get a bulk order of collars made so when you or me or the vet nurses are toddling a dog around the park for a post-operative walk, we don’t get another of these idiotic complaints. I’ll give him a copy of our collar order, take up our records so he can see we haven’t got some bizarre secret income stream from harbouring chickens onsite.’
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘Better print everything up and take copies. We should probably start a file if we’re going to tackle this like adults.’
He groaned. ‘I hate paperwork.’
‘Well, sure, we can find out who’s trying to bully us by throwing eggs at everyone who comes too close to the dogs in the park, but is that really going to work?’
‘Okay, point taken. I can be an adult. I’ll print and file everything.’
‘Okay then.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
His sister didn’t budge from her position on the bottom step.
‘You got something else you want to talk about?’ he said.
She sighed. ‘Not really.’
‘Nothing about … Tom Krauss, for instance?’
She stood up abruptly. ‘Definitely nothing about him. On that note, I’m going for a bath. Don’t forget you’re on call tonight.’
He held up his mobile phone. ‘The devil’s instrument is glued to my hand. You going to be here in the building in case I’m gone during the night? I don’t want Poppy to be alone.’
‘Of course I’ll be here. It’s not like I ever go out.’
He yelled after her as she walked up two flights of stai
rs to her flat. ‘The world wouldn’t stop spinning if you did!’
He looked at his phone and decided it was way too early to be hoping Poppy would have finished her shift at the café. He headed into the office to find an online shop that might fulfil bulk orders of dog collars.
He was ten collars richer and a hundred bucks poorer when he had a brainstorm. If he was heading into council offices on Monday anyway, that would be the perfect time to check on his development application for the heritage work he intended to do on the outside of the building. Splicing new timber into the unsound verandah posts, repair work to the masonry window trims and the big one—the roof—was going to take some careful thought. The most important part for the renovation, however, would be restoring the downstairs entry to its original state, rather than keeping the cheap but functional shopfront his grandparents must have had built before opening the haberdashery store.
Expensive, time-intensive, and tricky work … but he’d enjoy doing it.
He printed off a copy of his application, so he’d have it handy for his Monday visit, and was just losing himself in some online research into tuckpointing mortar, when the phone out in the reception room rang.
His mobile finally caught the call diversion and trilled in his pocket. Please god it wasn’t some farmer from down on the flats needing help with a difficult calving.
‘Josh Cody,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘Mister? My mum’s seen your lost dog notice down at the Cooma Markets and she says you’ve got my dog.’
It took a second for the message to sink in. ‘Your dog … do you mean the brown labrador?’ He looked down at the fat animal currently sprawled over his boot.
‘Yes, sir. My Rosie’s been missing a couple months or more, and my brother told me the drop bears done her in and ate her for snacks.’
Josh closed his eyes. ‘How old are you, mate?’
‘Seven.’
‘Uh-huh. You reckon your mum can bring you into the clinic here in Hanrahan so we can see if our lost dog is your Rosie?’
‘I can ask her.’ The boy’s voice didn’t sound overly hopeful.
He tried again. ‘Maybe your mum can come to the phone and I can have a chat with her now?’
‘Oh, she’s not here now. She works nights on the new freeway with one of them Stop Go signs.’
‘Okay. Well, maybe when she gets home you can ask her to drive you here. Or call me.’
‘I guess.’
He wondered if he ought to mention the eight puppies snoozing away in their pen. ‘When did your dog go missing?’
‘When I was six.’
He grinned. This was like pulling teeth. ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Parker.’
‘Parker, when you were six, was that just a little while ago?’
‘I had a cake, even, from the bakery. Seven candles, so that makes me seven now.’
‘It sure does. Listen, you know anything special about your dog? Maybe she can do a trick, or has a scar, and I can check to see if this lost dog I’ve got here has the same one? Then we’ll know if this really is your Rosie.’
‘Well, she loves tuna out of a can with an egg cracked over it.’
Yeah, like that would narrow it down. What labrador didn’t love food? ‘Anything else?’
‘She drools when I eat vegemite on toast. Oh, and I know, she used to love swimming and running, but then she got some grey around her snout because she’s old and she just sleeps all the time instead of playing footie with me in the backyard.’
A soft snore rumbled out of the dog sleeping on his foot. Grey hair did sprinkle Jane Doe’s snout, just as the boy described. ‘Get your mum to give me a call, Parker. And if this is Rosie we’ve got here, don’t you worry, because we’re looking after her, okay?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Cody.’
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Parker sounded pretty adorable, but still. Jane Doe had grown on him. He looked at his watch. He could go upstairs and put another coat of paint on the bathroom ceiling while he waited for Poppy to finish her shift, or he could go and have one beer at the café. Chat with his daughter and get his eyes on the new owner again, just to see if that spark she’d lit in him last week was the real deal.
He eased his boot out from under the snoring dog and headed for the back door. A beer it was.
CHAPTER
15
Vera had spied Marigold and Kev in the café just after sundown, but she’d been procrastinating ever since. Was she ready? Was she filled with courage and swag and all that other confident stuff she’d been talking herself into?
Of course not. Having a noble idea three nights ago about finishing her aunt’s quilt was one thing … actually doing it was another.
Her chance to do or die came when Marigold swanned over to the cake cabinet to inspect the desserts in minute detail.
‘And what’s this pale pink concoction, Vera, my love?’
‘Rosewater meringue. It’s served deconstructed with strawberries and gold kiwi fruit and crème anglaise.’
‘Mmm. And in those tall glasses?’
‘Oh, I think you’ll like that a lot. Have you ever been to Italy?’
Marigold shook her head.
‘My tiramisu trifle will take you there. It’s served with a generous tipple of amaretto sluiced over it, homemade ice-cream, and whipped mascarpone.’
‘Vera—stop talking, start serving. I’m about to embarrass us all and start drooling.’
Vera busied herself gathering long silver spoons. ‘Um, Marigold, I wonder if I might ask you something.’
‘Honey child, I am yours. Ask away.’
‘I have this unfinished project. My aunt started it, but her fingers gave way well before her mind started to, and I think—if I can finish it—it might bring her a little pleasure. She loves colour so much, you see, and the blankets at Connolly House are very bland.’
‘A craft project? Vera, you dark horse. Do you have it with you? Let’s have a look.’
She reached down and pulled out the calico tote she’d hidden under the counter for this very purpose. Marigold grabbed it from her and bustled into the back room to the big table.
‘Oh my,’ she said, as Jill’s quilt spilled out in all its dazzling brightness. ‘It’s the beginnings of a rag quilt.’
Vera frowned. ‘Is that a thing I should have heard of?’
Marigold grinned at her. ‘You’ve promised to finish this, but you don’t know what it is?’
She shrugged. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘All quilts are special, but this one is special in the way it’s made. Usually we make one enormous quilt top, then worry about wadding and whatnot.’
‘Okay.’ She was totally lost, but it seemed easier just to agree. Maybe if she appeared totally clueless, Marigold or one of the other crafty types would take pity on her and offer to finish it. She could pay them in jam drops. Or chocolate sundaes with hot fudge brownie sauce.
‘A rag quilt is different. You make lots of small squares—scrap fabric on the top, wadding, scrap fabric on the bottom—then when you have enough squares, you stitch them together. The joins ruffle up around each little square to give the quilt texture. It’s a perfect way to build a quilt as large as you want even if you only have a very small workspace.’
‘Small like a coffee table and one sewing needle?’
Marigold pulled her in and gave her a rousing kiss on the temple. ‘Small like one amazing craft group filled with people who will help.’ She grinned at Vera. ‘You are so bringing this every Wednesday night from now on. Oh! The fun we are going to have. Choosing the colours from a scrap fabric stash is my favourite thing.’
Vera smoothed her hand over the fabric. ‘I don’t have sewing skills, but I would like to learn. I promised myself I’d finish this for Jill, and so far it’s just one more promise I’ve not seen through.’ She flashed a look up at Marigold. ‘I’d be grateful for your help.’
‘Oh, pet.
You’re so sad, and you shouldn’t be. You’re letting guilt get in the way of your life. Come on, let’s wrap this up so it’s safe, and you and I will put our heads together on Wednesday and get started, okay?’
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now, let’s get back to that dessert cabinet before someone snatches those tiramisu things out from under us. My need, Vera, is great!’
She’d no sooner delivered their desserts and tucked her calico tote back away under the counter when Poppy was leaning into her.
‘Oh goodie, Dad’s here.’
She looked up and then wished she hadn’t. Josh had settled at the stool on the end of the counter and his eyes settled on her like a firebrand.
‘He ordered a beer.’
‘Excellent, um, excuse me I just—’
And like a coward she darted into the kitchen where she contemplated shoving her head into the freezer for a couple of seconds to make sure her cheeks weren’t flushing.
‘You’re chicken-hearted, Vera,’ she told the jumbo packet of frozen peas taking up the second shelf. The pea packet seemed to agree. After a moment, the thought of how huge her electricity bill was going to be if she stood in her freezer door every time the vet came into the café made her see how ridiculous she was being.
This was her café, damn it. She marched back out a few moments later with a dish of tartes aux fraises to top up the stock out front, determined to be composed. There were a dozen tables she could concentrate on serving, and Poppy could certainly serve any food her father might require.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the talk of the town,’ said a loud, stroppy voice by the till.
‘Oh, golly,’ muttered Poppy.
Vera looked up from the dish of tarts she was hoping would tempt the guests who liked to pop in after the early Saturday night movie screening for dessert. ‘What’s up?’
‘You know how Dad’s here?’
‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.
‘Well, so is guinea pig woman. She must have been at the movies with her kid, because they’ve just rocked up. That’s her in the doorway, the one with the bulging eyes and the zippered-up mouth.’
Guinea pig woman and son? Oh. The penny dropped. She looked across the servery and saw a pretty blonde woman with a pouty face and big hair marching towards the counter stool where Josh Cody had taken a seat with a beer and today’s Snowy River Star.