Chapter 6
‘I’m about ready for this fog to shove off,’ Sebastian said, tossing his car keys into the small staffroom locker.
‘Nearly ran straight into a kid on an e-bike after dropping off the catering at the bowls club. If it’d been five minutes earlier, I’d have had cakes, croissants and baklava donuts splattered against the back of my seat.
What type of idiot’s out riding in a pea-souper like this? ’
Shaking his head, Kev jostled a pan of polenta-crumbed pumpkin, sweet potato and eggplant until all the pieces were rearranged, then returned it to the oven.
‘Someone with a death wish is my guess,’ Kev said. ‘I nearly hit an e-bike when I was driving back and forth to the sawmill last year. Not a scrap of road sense, no headlights, not even a helmet.’
The discussion was interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching on the driveway.
It had been a quiet morning, all their regulars had been and gone by lunch, and this close to closing time, the dreary late July weather kept the tourists at bay.
‘I hope that’s Brian with the extra apples and spuds.
He’ll be fit as a fiddle with the number of trips he’s done up and down those cellar steps,’ Clem said, brushing her flour-dusted hands on her apron.
‘Don’t put them all on the produce stands,’ Kev said. ‘I had a request for the German apple cake today, if he has more Granny Smiths.’
But instead of a produce delivery, a customer emerged from the fog, bundled up in a heavy jacket and a scarf that could double as a throw rug.
She wiped her boots thoroughly on the mat before stepping onto the polished concrete.
Clem hadn’t recognised her from afar, but realisation dawned as Emily came inside.
‘Please tell me there’s soup on the menu?’
‘Emily,’ Clem said. ‘Welcome back to the cafe. Are you … visiting? Staying?’
While she knew filming had wrapped up a few weeks earlier, Clem hadn’t seen much of Spencer or the Brealys since she was catering at the farm.
Emily gave a tight smile. ‘I can’t really say,’ she said. ‘But I’d kill for a bowl of something warm and hearty if you’re still serving.’
Clem shook herself. You’re here to sell food, not wrangle gossip out of paying customers. ‘Of course,’ she said, rattling off the specials.
She’d barely finished taking her order before Emily pulled a notebook and pen from her handbag and settled into the booth by the window, a signal she was there for food, not small talk.
And even though Clem could tell when a customer wanted to be left alone, she couldn’t help lingering when she delivered the bowl of steaming soup.
‘Come January, that paddock will be a riot of yellow and gold,’ Clem said, gesturing to the window and sneaking a look at the notebook.
It was either a diary or a journal, and for some reason she found herself itching to know what Emily had been writing.
‘Sunflowers as far as the eye can see,’ Clem went on.
‘It used to be a sunflower farm in my grandfather’s day, and the last two years we’ve put in a new crop.
Heads as big as dinner plates, they look magnificent in full bloom.
You’ll be here in summer to see it, then? ’
Emily placed the pen between the pages, marking her spot, and took her time answering.
It was a cheeky question, and they both knew it.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I really can’t discuss that,’ Emily said. ‘Soup looks delicious, thanks.’
Clem glanced at the notebook as she left the table. It probably contained every juicy detail about the reality TV experience, and whether Emily and Spencer were an item, but short of ripping it out of the woman’s hands, there wasn’t a snowball’s hope in hell Clem would be reading it.
Who even are you? Is your life really this devoid of excitement? Stop fixating on what’s going on between Spencer and Emily and focus on the business you should be running, the new employee you can’t really afford and the school camp invitation you haven’t fully committed to yet.
Seb looked up from the coffee machine when she returned. ‘I thought you were above fangirling?’
‘I wasn’t fangirling,’ Clem protested. ‘Just making polite conversation.’ But when the door opened again a few minutes later and the Brealys walked in, she couldn’t help noticing the way Emily packed up her notebook.
On her way out, Emily paused at the produce stall to exchange the briefest of hellos with Ian and Louisa.
Clem caught Seb’s eye. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?
He shook his head, amusement twitching at his lips, and mouthed the word ‘fangirl’. Clem narrowed her eyes at him, grabbed a cloth and swiped it across the spotless counter.
Louisa smiled as she opened the door for Emily. ‘Always rushing about.’
‘Careful in that fog,’ Ian called over his shoulder before turning to greet Clem and Sebastian. ‘Foggy all the way here. Keeping the customers at bay too, I see.’
Clem followed the Brealys’ gaze around the now-empty cafe.
‘Definitely quieter this week. But winter will be over before we know it, and business will pick up then. How’s things with you guys?
I bet it’s nicer without a camera crew camped out at your front door.
Spencer’s good? Nice surprise to see Emily … ’
Ian gave his order to Sebastian and started loading fresh vegetables into their bags.
‘I’m not sure we’re allowed to say,’ Louisa said, sharing a look with her husband. ‘It’s got to stay hush hush.’
Clem didn’t have to turn around to know there’d be a smirk on Sebastian’s face. She didn’t consider herself invested, but the not knowing was downright infuriating.
Clem searched Ian and Louisa’s faces for a hint, anything that might give some indication of whether Spencer and Emily were an item, or if Emily just happened to be passing through town, but Ian was suddenly absorbed in the produce and Louisa had busied herself fossicking through her handbag.
Louisa handed Clem a flyer. Setting the cleaning cloth down, Clem read the headline.
The Penwarra Players. This was the script Spencer had been working on the other week.
‘We’re planning our annual play and we’re down a few ensemble members.
There’s usually a great bunch of cast and volunteers, lots of laughs, and it all culminates with a three-day run of performances in February.
You and your girls would be more than welcome to audition. A fun new family hobby, perhaps?’
‘Mmmm …’ Clem scanned the flyer, considering the unexpected invitation.
Harriet’s camp letter, and her concerns about never having fun, had haunted Clem the last few weeks.
And while she had promised the teacher she’d consider going along as an official parent helper in November, she hadn’t confirmed either way, or made any headway on the ‘fun’ part for herself, either.
Since becoming a mum and a small business owner, fun was something she squeezed in when she could.
Days like today felt close to fun, with the Wednesday coffee crew thankfully back to their weekly cafe catch-ups, laughing and ordering up big.
This week Brenna had given her an inside tip about Buster’s Happy Hen Farm expanding, and Sam and Laura had been delighted to tell her about their sons being chosen for district swim championships.
Their cheerful camaraderie gave the cafe such a lovely warmth. I really need to get back in touch with Hazel and Mia, Clem reminded herself, trying to recall the last movie night she’d had with her mum’s group mates, catching up with popcorn, wine and chocolate while the kids watched a movie.
She racked her brain. It must have been this year, because Mia and Hazel had both been pregnant and she’d been the only one drinking wine—which was probably why she’d fallen asleep mid-way through Frozen.
Such a party animal …
‘Spencer works behind the scenes, building the sets and helping Louisa with the script,’ Ian added when she returned to clear their dishes. ‘They’ll start auditions in spring. It’s a nice bunch of people, nothing like those pretentious twits from the TV show, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Any other day Clem might have dismissed the idea with a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks,’ but on this brisk July afternoon, with spring on the horizon and Emily’s name conspicuously absent from the discussion, Clem tucked the flyer into her apron pocket.
‘I’m not sure I’ll have time, but Harriet would probably love to,’ she admitted. ‘We’ll think about it.’
The school grounds were nearly empty when Spencer unlocked his car at the end of a long Friday afternoon, and he was caught by surprise when he heard his name being called across the bitumen.
‘Mr Hawkins! Is there any chance you could give me a lift home? Mum’s stuck in Mount Gambier with a flatty and Dad’s in Sydney for work.’
Archie Winklin, one of his favourite students, hurried across, backpack over his shoulder. There were rules about giving lifts to students, and Spencer wouldn’t put his hand up to do so on a regular basis, but he’d be driving right past the magnificent front gate of Winklin Wines.
‘Go on then,’ he said, moving his tennis racquet and bundle of marking from the passenger seat into the back seat. ‘Just this once.’
‘Knew I could rely on you, Mr H,’ Archie said. ‘You playing tennis tonight? I’d be there myself if I didn’t have piano rehearsals. Lucky the weather’s cleared, that fog was thick as custard. And how about that brawl in the playground today?’
The lad’s cheerful chatter was like a shot of caffeine on the drive out of town, and a welcome distraction from the hard conversation he and Emily needed to have when he got back to South Giddi Giddi.
It had been a week since dinner with her sister, a week since he’d laid his cards on the table, and his hope that they could make things work had cleared with the fog.
Spencer was so deep in thought he almost drove straight past the grand entrance to Winklin Wines.