Twenty-seven
Gill couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner at the yacht club and the way she’d opened up to Joe. It was completely out of character for her to have shared such personal issues with someone who was practically a stranger – even if she had known who he was for years.
But Freya was arriving today, and Gill wanted everything to be perfect for her. So, she put her concerns about Joe to the back of her mind and concentrated on making up the bed in the spare room and cooking a lasagne for lunch. It was Freya’s favourite meal – or had been. It was so long since Gill had seen her daughter, her tastes could have changed. She planned to serve it with a salad and had bought a bottle of prosecco to celebrate Freya’s return home.
Gill was on edge as she waited for Freya’s arrival, unsure how to greet the daughter she hadn’t seen for almost six years. It felt like a lifetime. In that time, all three of Freya’s best friends had married, Jess, Rachel’s daughter, had three children, and Amber, Poppy’s eldest, had recently given birth to twins. Liz’s daughter, Tara, seemed to be more focussed on her career than having children.
At first, when Max left, there had been no talk of divorce, then, as he began to enjoy his freedom, the letter from his solicitor had arrived. Gill should have anticipated it. She knew how these things worked. But she’d been shocked to realise her life was following the pattern of that of her clients. That had been three years ago, and still nothing was settled.
Gill was putting the final touches to the table on the balcony when there was a knock at the door. With her heart suddenly racing, she hurried to answer it.
The figure standing on the doorstep looked like a stranger. The curvy, young woman with the shoulder-length, chestnut curls who had left Australia full of hope and excitement at the prospect of entering a doctoral program in an American university had gone, replaced by this lean woman with a cap of short blonde hair and a network of lines around her eyes and mouth.
Then she smiled tremulously, and it was the Freya Gill remembered, the little girl who had followed her around, who had sat on her knee listening to bedtime stories, whose skinned knees she had kissed better. Without thinking, Gill pulled Freya into her arms. ‘Welcome home, darling.’
‘Mum!’ Freya hugged her back.
It was so good to feel her daughter in her arms again, but she was so thin. What had been happening to her?
When they separated, both women were in tears.
‘It’s so good to see you, Freya. I…’ Gill bit her lip. Now wasn’t the time. ‘You must be hungry,’ she said. ‘I hope you still like lasagne.’
‘You remembered.’ Freya wiped her eyes with one hand. ‘Can I just…?’ She gestured to the bathroom.
‘Of course. When you’re ready.’
When Freya disappeared, Gill wiped her own eyes and carried Freya’s case into the hall. It was heavy. She must have brought almost everything she owned. Gill wondered if she’d been sincere when she said she might find work in Australia. She hoped so. She went into the kitchen, took the lasagne out of the oven and carried it out to the balcony, along with the salad. The wine was already there, sitting in a cooler.
By the time Freya joined her, they had both recovered from their tears.
‘Sorry,’ Freya said. ‘It was seeing you again. You still look exactly the same, Mum.’
‘A few more wrinkles,’ Gill said, grimacing. ‘But you’ve changed.’
‘The Californian experience,’ Freya said, putting one hand up to her hair. ‘I’ve had it like this for some time. Maybe now I’m back, it’s time to go natural again. What do you think?’
‘I think I could get used to this look, but you had lovely hair.’
‘Hmm.’ Freya gazed into space. It was as if she was remembering something. Then she shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
During their meal, Freya gave little away about her life in California, and Gill managed to steer clear of asking too many questions.
When they had finished eating, Freya yawned, stretched her hands above her head and said, ‘I’m bushed. I need to lie down. Is that okay?’
‘Of course. I thought we might go to Crossings for dinner if you feel up to it. You won’t recognise the place. Poppy…’ Gill paused. ‘You do know about Jack?’ Poppy’s husband had died in a freak sailing accident around the same time Freya had left for the States.
‘Yes, I heard. I’ve kept in touch with Amber from time to time.’
Gill hadn’t known. It had never occurred to her to ask any of her friends if their daughters had been in communication with Freya. Maybe they didn’t know. ‘You know she has twins?’
Freya’s eyes widened. ‘No. I haven’t heard from her for ages. I got busy. I lost touch with Tara and Jess too. Are they still living in Pelican Crossing?’
‘They are. It’ll be good for you all to catch up.’
‘Mmm.’ Freya didn’t sound enthusiastic about seeing the women who had been her best friends. Gill decided to leave it.
‘About Crossings … sounds good. I’d like to see what Aunt Poppy has done with the place. Thanks, Mum.’
When Freya had disappeared into her bedroom, Gill cleared up the dishes and made herself a coffee. Taking it out to the balcony, she stared out at the distant ocean, wondering what had happened to her daughter to put that sad expression into her eyes.
*
‘This is amazing, Mum.’ Freya gazed around the restaurant in surprise. ‘Aunt Poppy did all this? It looks completely different.’
‘It is. She and Jack completely remodelled it. The renovation had only just been completed when… It happened on the day Crossings was scheduled to have its grand opening.’
‘I think Amber said. It must have been awful for her. I can’t imagine… And she continued with all this?’ She gestured around the room, at the tables filled with couples and family groups, the waiters and waitresses darting between them and the kitchen.
‘Not only continued. Crossings has won several awards, been featured in various magazines and even on television, on Weekender .’
‘Wow!’
Gill was pleased Freya seemed refreshed from her nap and appeared more cheerful than she had during lunch. Had she imagined her daughter’s sadness? Had it only been the exhaustion of the long plane trip?
They had placed their order, deciding to share a seafood platter – with Freya saying how much she had missed their locally caught fish – and were enjoying glasses of a chardonnay recommended by the waiter, when Gill recognised a couple entering the restaurant.
Her heart began to pound at the sight of Joe and Erica being shown to a nearby table.
‘Mum?’ Freya’s eyes followed Gill’s to where the couple were seated and where Joe was looking across at Gill with a smile. ‘You know them?’
‘Joe Harris. He’s our mayor. And his sister, Erica, is a client of mine. We both go swimming in the mornings too.’
‘Swimming?’ To Gill’s relief, Freya made no comment about Joe, though why should she?
She was more comfortable talking about the swimming. ‘I belong to a group of wild swimmers. We meet at the beach before the sun is up. I didn’t go this morning because you were on your way here, and it was your first morning back home.’
‘Wild swimming… sounds awesome. I may join you.’
‘Sure. I’d like that.’ Gill stared at her daughter. She couldn’t get used to seeing her and had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She had dreamt of this moment so often. But in her dreams, it was the old Freya. This blonde, harder version of her daughter took some getting used to.
They had finished their platter and were drinking coffee, when Joe came over.
‘Hi, Gill,’ he said easily, ‘this must be your daughter.’ He stood waiting to be introduced.
Embarrassed, Gill said, ‘Yes, this is Freya, Joe. Freya, Joe Harris, our local mayor…’ she felt Joe staring at her, ‘… and a friend of mine.’
‘Delighted to meet you, Freya,’ Joe said, holding out his hand. ‘Your mum has talked about you.’
Freya shook his hand.
‘I’ll leave you to your coffee. Hope to see you soon, Gill.’ Joe walked off.
When he had gone, Freya stared wide-eyed at Gill. ‘Hope to see you soon, Gill,’ she repeated. ‘Just how good a friend is our local mayor?’