Chapter 2
Clem ducked out the cafe’s back door, locked it behind her and followed the paved path that linked the cafe to her home.
Backpacks sat on the kitchen bench, and she found her daughters sitting cross-legged in the lounge room, a mountain of plastic horses, Barbie dolls and farm figurines spread out before them, intent on the television.
‘Hey little beauties, did you have a lovely day?’
She glanced around the farmhouse kitchen, her babysitter Isobel nowhere to be seen. Clem stopped short, noticing the two horse riders on the screen leaning at a precarious angle in their saddles and tipping their straw cowboy hats back for a kiss. ‘What’s this rubbish?’
‘It’s Isobel’s favourite show, Mum. It’s got ponies and tractors and lots of pretty ladies,’ Indi said, shoving two Barbie dolls onto her plastic horses and trotting them along the rug. Clem grabbed the remote control, jabbing at the buttons as Indi pressed the Barbies’ faces together.
‘Doesn’t look suitable for little girls.’ Clem frowned, eliciting a cry of protest from both her daughters as the screen went blank.
Spencer Hawkins is going to be eaten alive by the ladies on that show. Was he drunk or just plain crazy when he applied?
Isobel rushed in, wiping wet hands on her hoodie.
‘Sorry, I was only gone for two seconds. We’ll have this mess packed up pronto, right girls?’
‘I was more worried about the TV than the toys,’ Clem said, checking her watch. ‘If we’re going to show them fairytales, I’d prefer Disney over a reality dating farce.’
The high schooler’s brows knit tight with concern. ‘I’m so sorry, I should’ve thought of that.’
Clem looked again at her girls, noticing their matching French braids. Getting a brush through three-year-old Indi’s wild hair was difficult at the best of times. Even if Isobel had bad taste in TV, the teenager was obviously a child-whisperer.
‘Don’t stress,’ she said, giving Isobel a warm smile. ‘You’ll know for next time. Though I’m not sure I’ll need you for Thursday school pick-ups going forward. This is the third Thursday in a row it’s been slow.’
Isobel’s shoulders fell. ‘I’ll have to find another part-time job if I’m going to afford uni next year.’
‘We’ll sort something out,’ Clem promised her. ‘How are you with social media? I’d love to outsource that.’
‘Seriously? I’ll totally slay.’
‘I was thinking of putting some content together, you’d better taste test our latest concoction first. I’m planning on adding these to the winter specials menu.’
All three gave a delighted whoop of joy when they spotted the fairy floss-topped donuts Clem and Kev had created that afternoon.
‘Is this your famous white chocolate custard?’ Isobel sighed blissfully as she bit into the puffy pink donut, catching the pale filling with one hand as it oozed out the side.
‘Sure is. What do you think?’
‘Even better than the baklava donuts, and that’s saying something,’ Isobel said.
‘We should definitely put them on the cafe’s socials.
Have a fresh batch ready for me Sunday morning, and I’ll go into content creator mode, show you what I can do for Sunny Cross Cafe.
If this doesn’t encourage the sweet tooths to venture a kilometre out of town, I don’t know what will! ’
Clem eased out the breath she’d been holding. I sure hope so.
Friday afternoon dragged on, and Spencer couldn’t believe his bad fortune when the junior school parent–teacher interviews ran late, throwing the senior school schedule out of whack.
After a few sessions, it became clear that many of the parents were there to hear about his exploits, not those of their teenagers.
No matter how many times Spencer steered the conversation back to his students’ slipping grades or impressive achievements, the parents frittered away their interview slot discussing Love on the Land.
In a town as small as Penwarra, he should have known the news would spread like a bushfire. By the time the interviews were finally finished, Spencer was ready for a long, hot shower and the undemanding company of Dolly.
The fresh air of the car park was a welcome relief after the stuffy auditorium, and the sky was ripe with golden-edged clouds that heralded another stunning sunset.
Spencer was almost at his car when he heard someone disparaging Love on the Land.
Keep your head down, keep walking, he told himself. With a bit of luck they might not even notice you. He was grateful for the large four-wheel drive that provided a convenient barrier between him and them.
‘Absolutely, I can’t stand those programs,’ a second voice replied.
Spencer couldn’t see who was talking, but it was clear they hadn’t noticed him, or perhaps they were one of the few people in town who didn’t realise he was soon to appear on the show.
‘I’ve got no idea why anyone would sign up to be humiliated on national TV.
So many divas and ego-mad idiots go on reality shows to promote themselves. Can you imagine?’
Spencer grimaced. But when he unlocked his ute, the lights illuminating the dim car park.
A young voice rang out from a dusty blue Jeep.
‘There’s Mr Hawkins! Look, Indi! Mr H, over here!’
Two women swivelled in his direction, and Spencer’s embarrassment was swiftly replaced by a sucker punch to the guts.
Dark hair, olive skin, medium build. The case of mistaken identity only ever lasted a second before his brain caught up, but the jolt was gruelling every time.
What were the chances of running into Clem two nights in the same week? She looked every bit as embarrassed as he felt, he thought, acknowledging the ladies and Clem’s daughters with a nod. The other parent headed for the school gymnasium at a brisk clip, calling a farewell over her shoulder.
The two girls waved enthusiastically from the Jeep’s back seat, beckoning him over.
A quick hello, he promised himself, then I’ll be on my way.
Spencer peered into the back seat.
‘Hey, Harriet, how’s things?’
Harriet had attended the workshop his senior drama students had put on for the junior school earlier that term. While many of the kids had fidgeted throughout the session, she’d sat attentively in the front row, soaking up the techniques like a sponge.
‘My babysitter Isobel said you’re going to be on TV. She let us watch an episode from last season. Will you get famous too?’
‘Really, really famous?’ Indi leaned out the window. ‘Like Bluey and Bingo? Will you have your own TV show?’
‘I definitely won’t be famous,’ he said, cringing at the awe in Indi’s voice. There was a hunk of hair missing above her eyebrows that suggested she had taken to it herself with scissors. How had that gone down at home? he wondered.
‘Bluey’s a cartoon. Real people don’t go in cartoons, Indi,’ Clem said quietly. She turned to Spencer. ‘I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known you were in earshot.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve questioned my life choices plenty of times these last few weeks. No offence taken. How’s the farm gate cafe going? I’ve heard great things about your donuts. I keep meaning to call in.’
Her mouth twisted into a surprised smile. ‘Well, if you do, it’ll be on the house. Sorry again about before.’
‘Don’t stress, I’ve heard plenty worse.’
Something went flying across the back seat and a scuffle broke out between the two girls. ‘Don’t throw Orange Peel around!’
A wail came from the inside of the Jeep.
Clem turned with a grimace. ‘Speaking of questionable choices, letting the girls have fairy floss donuts for smoko wasn’t my smartest decision of the day.
I’ve no idea why they’re playing with fruit scraps but I’d better get them home before a brawl breaks out. ’
Giving her a grin, Spencer headed for his ute. He was just opening the door when a scream ripped through the car park.
Spencer wheeled around, a fierce protective urge surging through him when he spotted Clem’s flailing arms. Leaving his door wide open, he sprinted for her Jeep.
Clem didn’t mind blue-tongue lizards, and she’d graduated from bolting to walking hastily in the opposite direction if a snake slithered across her path, but there was something about a fluffy, beady-eyed guinea pig, with its sharp teeth and those creepy squeaking noises, that totally freaked her out.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a second scream, and used her other arm to support herself against the door frame of the Jeep. Indi and Harriet were frozen in place, with the quivering fluffy beast on the car seat between them.
‘He won’t hurt you, Mummy,’ Harriet said. ‘And he only did a little poo on the seat. I promise I’ll put him back in my bag.’
‘Where did that thing come from?’ Clem ground out between clenched teeth. Guinea pig poo was the least of her concerns; it was the loving tenderness with which three-year-old Indi patted the creature that worried her. ‘And I want the truth. Now!’
Instinctively, Clem’s thumb went to the tip of her pointer finger, rubbing the little nub where her fingernail was supposed to be. She wanted to reach in and grab the rat-like thing before it could maim her children too, but her feet felt glued to the spot.
‘He’s a good boy,’ Indi said. Another scream rose in Clem’s throat as her little girl snatched the guinea pig and cuddled it to her face.
‘Indi, be gentle!’ Harriet’s shout had a panicked edge to it.
‘Right. This. Minute. Missy, put it down—’
‘Is everything okay here?’
Clem turned at the sound of Spencer’s voice. His face was flushed, his breath laboured, having sprinted in their direction. ‘What happened?’
Clem’s heart hammered against her chest, so loud she could hardly even hear her own words. ‘I need a basket. Or a cat trap. Or even a plastic bag. Can you see if there’s something in the boot, please?’ He didn’t need to be asked twice.
‘I’m going to murder Jack if he’s behind this.’ Had her brother forgotten the reason she was missing the tip of her pointer finger?