Chapter 8 #3
‘Honey delivery on my way to a meeting,’ he said, flashing her one of those smiles and putting a box on the table. ‘And after the morning I’ve had, I figured I deserved a decent coffee. Long black to go, please?’
He was in and out in less than five minutes, but the gossiping from Kathy’s choir and her grandfather’s equally nosy pétanque gang lasted at least three times that.
‘Do you think he’s going to come off well in the TV show? I hear those producers choose a hero and a villain in every relationship, and edit the footage to suit their own agenda. Didn’t I hear you were there?’ Kathy said. ‘It must have been exciting on set?’
Clem shrugged. ‘I was, but mostly just in and out, dropping off the food.’
‘You must have an idea which ladies he liked best. Did you see them smooching for the cameras? Any catfights?’ Clem’s grandfather called from the neighbouring table.
‘You’ve got your hearing aid turned up high, haven’t you Pop?’ Clem scolded, clearing his plates. ‘You know I didn’t see anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you lot.’
She slipped into the kitchen, putting an end to the speculation, and as she ferried the next orders out, she glanced at the table in the corner where Spencer had sat on Saturday, so wrapped up in his writing that he’d missed the pony club secretary storming out in anger.
Imagine being so immersed in something you love.
The wayward thought caught her by surprise. She loved the cafe, the cooking, the customers and her little team. Didn’t she?
Clem shook her head, dismissing the thought, along with the churning in her guts when she recalled the paperwork waiting for her when the girls were in bed tonight, and the inventory she had put off longer than she should.
I love it most of the time.
She watched Selina taking orders and clearing plates from the outside tables, her lips pressed into a tight smile as a customer pointed to the menu, then gestured to his friend opposite.
Modifying a dish perhaps, or asking Selina’s opinion?
Whatever his query, Selina’s shrug and brief answer looked nothing like Sebastian’s animated upselling technique, or Kev’s wholehearted menu endorsements.
Clem checked the table docket after they left.
They hadn’t ordered anything more than the coffees they’d started with.
Clem deliberated over the best way forward as she filled the last orders, but her carefully scripted reprimand fizzled on her tongue when she overheard Kev and Selina cleaning up.
‘What’s on for the rest of the day, Selina? Studying? Shopping? Scrolling?’
Clem kept her eyes on the cabinet she was rearranging, but she heard the swish of Selina’s mop pause for a moment before the teenager sighed. ‘I’m already grounded, and Mum confiscated my phone. Studying, I guess.’
Her dejected tone reminded Clem of her own angsty teenage years. Her grandparents had chosen compassion over criticism each time she messed up, surely she could dig a little deeper and afford her second cousin that same courtesy …
She waved Selina and Kev off, studied the paperwork cluttering up her desk and reached for the colourful markers.
Stuff the spreadsheets and catering contract updates, we need a new cafe motto.
Sunny Cross Farm Gate Cafe = Great food, great service and good vibes ALWAYS.
Clem decorated the words with a border of stars, sunflowers and coffee mugs before checking her watch. She only had two hours until Jack dropped the girls home from school and daycare.
She locked the cafe doors and switched her work uniform for exercise gear.
Which podcast today?
She chose a business podcast for the walk, but after half an hour she was tired of the announcer’s eternal optimism and scalability suggestions.
She wasn’t sure how cashed-up the average small business owner was, but she certainly didn’t have unlimited funds to spend on the kind of marketing campaigns the podcast recommended.
Her fingers hovered over the screen as a podcast on healing and thriving after trauma popped up as a suggestion, based on her previous listening history, but she swiped past that too.
She’d given that topic way too much brainpower since the maternity ward fiasco, and was determined to put it behind her, where it belonged.
A hare hopped along the limestone road in front of her, and Clem typed ‘dating as a single mum’ into the podcast app. She hadn’t been expecting much, and was surprised to find hundreds of shows to choose from.
She chose a British podcast, and the presenters’ candid discussion had her in stitches as she walked along the quiet country road.
She was halfway through a second episode when Mia phoned.
‘Hey, I’ve been meaning to call you. How’s life at home with little Fred?’
‘Oh, he’s a dreamboat, sleeps, feeds, repeats. I’ve barely gotten out of my PJs, but that’s beside the point. I’ve got goss for you.’
‘Goss?’
Clem was halfway home, between the limestone ruins and Sunny Cross Cafe, and she paused, suddenly wary of what Mia had to say.
‘Now don’t be alarmed, but I got pretty good at eavesdropping in the maternity ward, and I might have scored a few phone numbers and swapped a few Snapchat handles.’
Clem wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.
‘What? You were scoping out single guys from the hospital bed? You’re as bad as Hazel.’
Mia’s laughter ended with a snort. ‘I’m being your wingman. Err, wingwoman.’
‘I’m totally not interested. In fact, I’d rather get one of those bull-nose piercings than date a newly divorced dad with a newborn, and you know how much I hate those piercings.’
‘I’m talking about proud uncles and colleagues coming in with big bunches of flowers, you doofus. I’m not a loony. The mums in there were lovely. As soon as they heard I had two single best friends, they gave me a heads-up anytime a prospective match came in.’
‘Nope, not happening,’ Clem said, picking up her pace again. The girls would be home soon and she’d promised them fresh biscuits. ‘I’ve got a firm rule about blind dates, and that’s “when hell freezes over”.’
Mia’s intentions were good, but her chances of finding love for Clem, when Clem wasn’t sure she even wanted it, were slim to none.
The sky was ablaze with red, yellow, pink and orange in all its panoramic glory as the cray fishing boat glided across the ocean on a spectacular spring morning.
‘It’s not bad, eh?’ Jeff was wearing only a light jacket over his shorts and t-shirt, and even though it had been cool enough to light the fire two days earlier, the day was off to a warm start.
He and Spencer worked together unpacking the equipment needed for a day of hauling in southern rock lobster, letting the boat’s autopilot lead them to their first stop.
This afternoon they’d be having lunch with Mia and the boys, but for now it was just him and Jeff, the boat, the water and the sunrise.
‘Magnificent,’ Spencer agreed, his smile stretching almost from ear to ear. He hadn’t been out on Jeff’s boat since last spring, and as nature put on this spectacular show, and the water reflected it back up at them in every direction, he wondered why he’d left it so long between trips.
‘Not a bad office,’ Jeff said, checking the trio of monitors displaying the GPS, ocean depth and floor mapping images.
‘I can’t imagine spending my days inside a classroom, all cooped up with entitled teenagers, then dealing with emails and calls from their parents the moment you’re clocked off.
“My darling Tarquin would never do that.” “Can’t you see how gifted my precious Beatrice is, she should certainly be school captain.
”’ He shuddered, slapping a hand on Spencer’s back. ‘Couldn’t think of anything worse.’
‘They’d never hire a grumpy bugger like you, anyway.
And there’s plenty to like about the job, I bet Mia’s shed a few tears at Year 12 graduation ceremonies in her time.
The kids make you proud, even the ones that give you the most grief.
When they nail their exams or score an apprenticeship, man, it hits hard. ’
Jeff laughed. ‘You’re an old softie, mate.’
Their banter made the journey pass quickly, and by the time Jeff had finished telling Spencer about the new Ducati motorbike he had his eye on, the sun was up and they were nearing their first GPS mark.
‘I hope you’re feeling lucky today, Hawkie,’ Jeff said, slowing the engine and pulling up alongside three buoys.
The technique to hook the rope, loop it around the winch and bring up the pot from ten fathoms below was like lamb marking and drenching, a series of tasks that ran together automatically when you’d done them enough times.
Jeff did a drumroll on the boat’s fibreglass side as the pot came into view with a dozen red flapping crustaceans inside.
‘Yeeeowww,’ he howled, giving Spencer a fist bump. ‘It’s gonna be a good day, man.’ Jeff measured the crayfish while Spencer removed the half-empty bait containers and replaced them with fresh ones.
‘You’re good luck, Hawkie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’ Jeff’s grin broadened when the next five pots they pulled up were equally successful. ‘Tell me about this TV sheila. Guessing there won’t be wedding bells ringing anytime soon?’
Spencer looked up from the carp, mackerel and bony cod he was stuffing into the bait pot.
‘Nope.’
Jeff had been knee-deep in nappies and running Reggie around since baby Fred’s arrival, and Spencer was surprised that the topic of Emily was even on his radar.
‘Would’ve thought you had bigger fish to fry than worrying about me, mate.’
Jeff feigned a hurt look. ‘Course I worry. That’s what mates do. And who else is going to jump on the cray boat at a few hours’ notice and help out when my pain-in-the-arse deckie pulls a sickie?’
‘I’m no good to you on a school day.’ Spencer laughed, tossing the old bait to the hovering albatrosses that followed the boat. ‘Lucky for you he had the courtesy to get crook on a weekend.’