Chapter 18
With an aching heart, throbbing head and a thunderstorm of emotions clouding her every spare minute, Clem hadn’t needed any encouragement to make the Sunny Cross Farm Gate Cafe a carol-free zone in the week before Christmas.
But when she walked from the cafe floor into the kitchen on Saturday morning, six days before Christmas, she heard Bing Crosby’s unmistakable crooning.
‘What the hell’s that?’
Sebastian took a step backward, then glanced out the open window. ‘Don’t bite my head off, nothing to do with me. Reckon it’s coming from your place.’
It must be Pop and the girls, she thought. She’d forgotten that the cafe and house windows were both open.
With a frown, Clem surveyed the bustling cafe. It was their first busy day in weeks. She hadn’t stopped for morning tea, and with customers in a jovial mood, she didn’t want to interrupt the enthusiastic ordering or give them any reason to leave before they were good and ready.
‘Issy’s already promoted Sunny Cross as a jingle-free zone on our socials. I’ll talk to Pop.’ Clem sighed.
‘We’re out of gingerbread breakfast muffins, and the rustic fruit mince pies. Want me to change the specials board?’ Sebastian asked as she undid her apron. ‘They’re in a buying mood today.’
Clem nodded. ‘Thanks, Seb. If you get a spare second, rejig the counter display too, so the last of the Christmas cakes and mini-Christmas puddings are right by the till.’
She zipped out the back of the cafe, down the paved path and into the farmhouse laundry.
‘Pop!’ Clem cried, plugging her ears with her fingers.
The scent of sugar and spices and buttery biscuits greeted her at the door.
Normally the heady aroma and the sight of her grandfather wearing the sunflower-patterned apron he’d bought her would have caused her to pause.
But today, with her head hurting almost as much as the blisters from her new shoes, she pushed through the door with a grimace.
The music was even louder inside the farmhouse kitchen, and Arthur looked surprised when he turned to find her there. ‘You have to turn that music down,’ Clem yelled. ‘We can hear it from inside the cafe. You’ll drive my customers away.’
‘Hey, Clemmy! Are you here to sample our wares?’ Grinning, he grabbed a gingerbread man off the cooling rack, juggling it between his fingertips, before setting it back down again. ‘Maybe wait a moment, that one nearly burned my fingertips off.’
‘Hi, Mum!’ Indi called, waving a wooden spoon. ‘We’re having our own Christmas party.’
‘I told Pop to turn it down,’ Harriet yelled, then covered a giggle with her hand. ‘But he likes it loud. We’re testing out the new speakers for the Christmas party.’
‘Uncle Jack borrowed them to us,’ Indi added.
‘Lent them to us,’ Clem corrected. She glanced over her shoulder, where a new car was pulling into the driveway, and turned the volume dial on the speakers. ‘Can we save the loud music until after the cafe closes?’ She gave her grandfather a pleading smile. ‘Please?’
‘If your customers are getting cranky about Frosty the Snowman, then we need to rustle you up some new custo …’
Art’s cheerful banter trailed off as he studied her face. ‘Clemmy, are you okay?’
She straightened her apron, smoothed her hair and pulled herself together. Don’t lose it now.
‘Love you, Pop, thanks.’
Clem dashed back to the cafe, the headache pounding at her temples.
Three more days of work and then she’d have two whole days of sleeping in, ignoring the phone, only cooking in single batches, for the people she loved, in a timeframe that suited her.
And although she knew the schools wouldn’t reopen until late January, she felt a sense of relief that she hadn’t won the school canteen catering contracts.
They would’ve been a recipe for burnout.
She took the steps to the cafe two at a time and was relieved to return to the mellow Cafe Del Mar mix on the stereo, the buzz of conversation and the efficient team of staff she’d come to know and love.
But the moment she saw a young family arriving with a beagle puppy, she felt a raw jab of pain in her heart.
Don’t think about Spencer. Don’t think about Spencer.
With a muffled apology to Kev and Sebastian, Clem fled through the kitchen, shut the back door behind her and sank onto the concrete step.
Losing it is not an option.
And as she picked a fading bloom from her Pierre de Ronsard rose, plucking the petals off one by one, she wished she’d pushed Spencer on the topic of Belle, or more specifically Belle’s death, earlier.
Sharing a life with a man who not only condoned medical euthanasia, but who had assisted with the process, felt impossible. Her father’s suicide had ripped their family apart, and despite many counselling sessions, she still felt the weight of his loss.
If only she’d known Spencer was an advocate for voluntary-assisted dying, something she couldn’t fathom, they could have saved so much time, and then her heart wouldn’t be aching like it was now.
It’s not like you told him about your dad either, a tiny voice reminded her.
Her hands shook so much she almost dropped the phone trying to dial Jack’s number.
‘What’s up?’
Clem tried to pull herself together, not wanting a repeat of the night last week when she’d arrived on Jack’s doorstep, tears streaming down her face and breathless, having run all the way from the hall to his house.
Lauren had taken one look at her and ushered Indi out the other door for ice cream.
She’d collected Harriet from theatre rehearsals too, and put them both to sleep in their own beds while Clem had raged and sobbed and spilled the whole sorry story to Jack.
And like he’d done so many times in the last nine years, he listened.
Just like she knew he’d do now, and tomorrow, and all the days after that.
‘Do you need me to swing by? Or Lauren’s at home, she can be there in five minutes.’
Clem shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Kind of. Nothing to worry about, I’ve set a timer on my phone and I’m giving myself three minutes max to snivel like a tired toddler.’
‘Sounds like the clock’s ticking then. Shoot.’
‘Do you think about Mum and Dad?’
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Do you?’
‘As little as possible,’ she admitted. ‘But knowing what I know about Spencer, and even though Belle was terminal, I can’t help casting him as a murderer, someone who would have aided and abetted our father.
What about the sanctity of life? I would give anything to have stopped Dad doing what he did, so how can I have feelings for a man who endorsed that type of decision? It’s eating me up.’
‘We were kids when Dad made that choice, we weren’t supposed to be the ones carrying that weight. This is a different set of circumstances. I mean, if Spencer was bragging about helping his wife die, I’d be worried, but it sounds like it was pretty hard on him too.’
‘But how could a grown adult, in their right mind, make that choice? And how can Spencer still love Belle after what she did? What she asked him to do?’
‘People do strange things for love. I don’t think we can judge him for it any more than we can judge Belle for taking her fate into her own hands.’
Clem’s alarm vibrated. She blew out a deep sigh. ‘That’s it, timer’s gone off, let’s shut up this tin-pot therapy clinic. Some of us have work to do.’
He laughed at her brisk, businesslike tone. ‘I’ve got appointments available all tonight and tomorrow too, so call if you need me,’ he said, hanging up.
Clem retied her apron, plastered a smile on her face and marched back into the cafe.
You’ve vented, now it’s time to get this show on the road.
‘Scones are looking good, Kev,’ she said as he passed her carrying plates laden with sky-high scones, fresh strawberry jam and fluffy clouds of cream from the Kongorong dairy farm.
‘Nice work, Sebastian.’ Clem collected lattes with sunflowers etched into the coffee art. She launched into cheerful chatter as soon as she got to the table, hoping her lovely regular, Janey—who’d brought her daughter as well as her sister—wouldn’t notice anything was amiss.
‘I bet you’re loving having the kids home from boarding school, Janey! Have a great Christmas if I don’t see you again beforehand.’
Clem bustled away without waiting for a reply, intent on filling orders, tallying up bills and keeping the cafe humming. The distraction worked, and an hour later, her smile felt like less of a grimace.
‘Travelling through for Christmas?’ She didn’t recognise any of the people sitting at the large table, but she suspected it was three generations of the same family. Their brunch order had been a pleasingly large one. ‘It’s a beautiful time of year to visit.’
The man nodded, taking his wife’s hand. ‘It sure is, but hopefully we’ll be doing more than visiting in the future. We’re down for Christmas visiting friends in Penwarra, then we’re looking at a property. We’ve been searching forever, but we think we might finally have found the perfect place.’
‘In Penwarra?’ Clem asked. Her mind was only half on the conversation, her questions automatic as she handed out cutlery and water glasses, but she stopped scanning the cafe when the man shook his head.
‘About twenty minutes from here, two residences, glorious garden. It’s had a bit of media attention recently—’
His wife elbowed him. ‘It’s not on the market, we really shouldn’t say.’
There’s more than one Limestone Coast property in the media at this very moment, Clem told herself. Surely Ian and Louisa aren’t selling?
Spencer glanced across to his sister, who was sitting beside him in the passenger seat.
As pleased as he was to see Addison and her family a few days earlier than planned, he wasn’t in the mood for one of his sister’s interrogations.
What should have taken fifteen minutes at the shops blew out to two hours, and they’d only narrowly avoided a prang in the car park while they were trying to leave.