Chapter 8
Clem faffed around the cafe on Monday morning, folding up half of the crochet lap rugs and storing them inside. The other half she kept in the outdoor cupboard. While the worst of the cold weather was done, spring, summer and autumn had their fair share of changeability on the Limestone Coast.
‘Do you think Uncle Jack wants to be in the play?’ Harriet asked as the police cruiser appeared in their driveway.
‘Lauren’s good on the radio and podcast, she’s probably really good at acting too.
’ Harriet tossed her lunch box aside, smoothed down her school uniform and raced across the cafe to open the door for her uncle.
Clem smiled at the cheerful chatter between the pair, ran a quick eye over Indi’s daycare bag and picked up the abandoned lunch box.
She grabbed a notepad and penned a quick ‘You’re awesome’ note for Harriet.
There would be a time when her girls were too cool for lunch box notes, but until then she’d keep slipping them in at random and imagining Harriet’s smile when she discovered them at recess.
Jack crossed the cafe to greet them. ‘Watch out Nicole Kidman, Harriet Crossley is set for world domination,’ Jack said. ‘I look forward to hearing more about this play.’
Jack took both lunch boxes, looking around for his younger niece while Harriet slipped her school backpack onto her scrawny shoulders. ‘Indi’s outside looking for Orange Peel. We saw a glimpse of him last night when we got home from the hospital, didn’t we Mum?‘
Jack’s gaze met Clem’s. ‘Hospital? How did that go?’
Clem knew her brother wasn’t talking about the guinea pig sighting. ‘So-so.’
Jack had been the one to pick up the pieces after she’d fallen dangerously ill eight years ago, and he’d done everything he could to make sure she didn’t become sick again when she had Indi.
‘Mia would’ve understood if you didn’t visit her in hospital.
You didn’t have to put yourself through that, a quick explanation would have got you off the hook. ’
Harriet looked between her mum and her uncle, shrugged and headed for the door. ‘I’m going to help Indi.’ She looked at her wristwatch and pointed a finger at Jack. ‘Don’t be too long, mister.’
‘Enough time has passed since I was sick, I should be able to do things like that,’ Clem said miserably.
‘And how was it? ‘
Clem sighed. ‘Awful. I’ll be happy if I don’t set foot in a maternity ward for another decade. Four screaming babies, four tired mums and four sets of visitors. My definition of hell and now everyone probably thinks I’m an idiot.’
Jack nodded and, to her surprise, leaned in to give her a hug.
‘You’re doing a great job, you know?’ he told her.
‘Not many people have gone through something as traumatic as post-natal psychosis, and it’s okay to lose it every now and then.
Your friends will understand, and if they don’t, maybe they aren’t actually your friends. ’
‘Of course they’re my friends,’ Clem snapped.
‘Sorry, I know they won’t judge me, but I’m not dredging up the whole sorry story, not now.
I’m fine, honestly, Jack. It was a ridiculous over-reaction.
’ She capped and uncapped her pen, lowering her voice as the girls rushed in.
‘Hearing about that Glenelg case, and the stress of the cafe coupled with those crying babies just sent me into a tailspin, that’s all. I’m fine now, really.’
‘Uncle Jack, we’re ready!’
Clem watched her girls pat Jack’s pockets, searching for his car keys.
‘Thanks for taking these munchkins to school this morning. Hectic day for me. Are you sure you’re right for pick-up? The sooner the school bus is back on the road, the better.’
Jack squirmed away from Harriet and Indi, who had now resorted to tickling him. He tossed his keyring high in the air with a wink and caught it. ‘Piece of cake. You have a good day, and no more stressing, yeah?’
Clem waved them goodbye and settled in for a busy morning at the cafe. The early-morning walking group called in first, then Sam and Laura popped in for coffee on their way to work at the health centre and primary school respectively.
She was nutting out the costing for a catering quote when Spencer walked in, looking shower-fresh and annoyingly chipper for 7.30 on a Monday morning.
After her meltdown yesterday, she was even more conscious of how perfectly put together he seemed, with a sports jacket over a wrinkle-free shirt and a new haircut that suggested he’d gone straight to the barbers after the hospital visit.
And here I am, wearing the same dress and earrings combo I’ve pulled out on three of the last five workdays, with cappuccino froth on my apron and hair that should have been washed two days ago.
It was almost satisfying to spy a red, raised shaving cut on his chin.
‘Morning,’ she said, forcing herself into hospitality mode. ‘Can I get you a table? Menu?’
A hot night between the sheets?
Clem’s cheeks flushed at the unbidden thought. Where on earth had that come from? She reached for the iPad to take his order, sending a small white milk jug crashing to the floor.
‘Just a takeaway long black, thanks. Also, Ian asked me to check the honey supplies, said you were low last time he and Louisa dropped in. I’ll make a note of what varieties you’re short on,’ he said, heading to the display.
‘The honey. Yes! Absolutely. Knock yourself out.’
She crouched down, swiping at the spilled milk and giving herself a mental kick up the butt.
He’s here on business, nothing else. She dumped the broken jug and its tiny handle in the bin, along with the milky paper towel, and tucked the loose tendrils of hair behind her ears.
Business. That’s what this is. You make the coffee, and sell the honey. That’s all that’s going on here.
He was writing notes in a small notepad when she stood up and started on his order.
‘And I wanted to check you were fine after yesterday.’
Clem silently groaned. She’d hoped he’d forgotten that not-so-stellar moment.
He’s here for coffee, a honey stocktake and a welfare check.
Could this visit get any worse? Maybe Emily could dash in, looking all kinds of Country Style capable, and drape her arms around his neck.
Clem banished the thought and focused on grinding the beans, tamping the coarse grounds down and fitting the portafilter.
‘Yeah, sorry about that, I’m not a huge fan of hospitals.’
‘Glad I’m not the only one who hates them,’ he said, pocketing the notebook. ‘I’d rather perform on stage than spend the night in one of those rooms with all those beeping machines.’
‘Thanks for letting me sook on your shoulder, that was good of you.’ She was also grateful he hadn’t pressed her for details, and handed over his coffee with a shy smile before reaching across the counter and squeezing his shoulder.
It was meant to be a brief ‘thank you for being a kind soul’ gesture but with his eyes locked on hers, and his body so firm under her touch, she felt a rush of adrenaline.
Clem cleared her throat and jammed both hands in her pockets.
‘And speaking of the stage, Harri’s rehearsing an audition piece for the Penwarra Players. We’ve never done anything like this before, I’m still not sure how it works.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to run, but I’ll call in this weekend, if you’ll have time to chat between orders? I can tell you about the theatre group, give Harri a few tips for auditions.’ Clem nodded. Oh God, now I’ve gone and made him awkward. ‘Only if you’ve got time. No pressure!’
Stop talking. Let the poor guy leave.
‘Might see you Saturday.’
Clem watched him take the cafe steps two at a time, realising she had no evidence one way or another of whether Emily was still in the picture. And if she was, then Clem had absolutely no business looking forward to the possibility that he might visit this weekend.
Spencer had had more than enough questions from the Year 9s in his English and Drama classes this week, and more attention than he’d like from a particularly bold and cheeky group of students who were fascinated by reality TV.
It was dumb luck that he’d chanced upon the same group of girls at the supermarket on Saturday morning. They followed him down the aisles, trailing twenty metres behind him and giggling, until he got sick of ignoring them.
‘Girls,’ he said coolly. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘All good, just hanging out before netball. You buying the fancy body wash for your new girlfriend, Sir?’
‘Mmm, she must like croissants for brekky, and smoked salmon. That’s some fancy stuff, Mr H, I love that for you.’
‘When are you going to bring her into school? Is that why you got your hair cut?’
Spencer looked in his trolley. He always used the coconut and lime shower gel, and the fine foods were destined for a late lunch at Jeff and Mia’s house on Sunday, but he wasn’t about to explain himself.
He gave them a gentle reminder that his private life would remain exactly that, and he’d have to mention it to the principal if there was an issue. They giggled as they left, but their attention felt like a shot across the bow.
How much worse would it be when the series aired, and he was on TV for three or so hours a week, instead of the tiny teasers they’d started airing?
That’s November’s problem.
Spencer was hopeful of finding a quiet table at Clem’s cafe, away from the curious looks of the other diners, but it looked like he was out of luck. The tables were brimming with patrons and the only free one appeared to be reserved.
Clem gave him a cheerful wave.
‘You made it,’ she said. ‘I saved you the corner table.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘But I won’t knock it back. I figured I could get some words down on the script.’
‘Work away,’ she said. ‘I’ll come over and grab your order in a moment.’