The Seachangers

Chapter 6

6

Ruth

Officially, summer was only weeks away, although the weather suggested otherwise. It was unseasonably cold and when it wasn’t raining it was trying to. Usually by November, soup had disappeared from the menu. Not so this year—today’s potato and leek had already sold out.

Along with—or because of—the protracted start to the warmer weather, I’d decided that this summer I wouldn’t open Sundays; people could stay at home and make their own coffees and cooked breakfasts. I needed two full days off each week to recharge my batteries. Alas, I was becoming more like my mobile phone: never fully charged because the battery was on the blink. I would not be coerced by anyone or anything to renege.

When I informed Allie of my decision, she frowned.

‘Mia’s Saturdays won’t change and there’ll be other casual shifts over the holidays,’ I said, assuming that was the reason for the puckered brow. I had promised her daughter Saturday and Sunday work when the summer season began.

‘You could always have Tuesdays off,’ Allie said, throwing me completely. ‘I could work the long shift that day. One of the other casuals might be interested in my shift. Liz or Gayle, or even Lorna. Then you could open Sundays and still have two days off.’

Why hadn’t I thought of that? Truthfully, of late I was struggling to think of everything I already had to think about, never mind coming up with new and innovative ideas.

Then Allie shrugged. ‘Locals look forward to the cafe being open on a Sunday over the summer,’ she said. ‘Your cooked breakfasts are a treat. When Mum and Dad come up over the holidays they make sure they include a Sunday.’

‘Do they?’

‘Absolutely. They only get instant coffee and toast at my place.’

I chewed over what she’d said. ‘You’d have to start early on Tuesday mornings to open by eight. There’re the muffins to bake so they’re fresh and still warm for the early birds. And the wholesaler’s delivery can arrive at any time. The perishables need to be unpacked and put away. And what about your school run?’

‘The kids are old enough to get themselves to school on their own one morning a week. Cody’s thirteen, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I’ll give your idea some thought,’ I said. If I was considering rolling over on a decision I’d told myself I definitely wouldn’t, I had to at least given it some thought beforehand.

Later that afternoon, just as Allie was about to leave, she turned to me with a serious expression. ‘What I’m about to say isn’t meant to put pressure on you, Ruth, and it’s totally up to you because it’s your business, but any extra hours of work would be extremely helpful. Things are a bit tight in the Thomas household.’

My surprise must have been obvious. Not because things were tight in her household, rather that she’d shared the information with me. We’d worked together for years and Allie rarely disclosed anything personal.

‘Mia and Cody’s dad was retrenched a while ago,’ she continued in the same serious tone. ‘He hasn’t found another job. Hence, his contribution has dwindled significantly. Teenagers are expensive to run.’

‘I imagine they are,’ I said. ‘And your idea has merit and I’ve almost made up my mind. Just let me think on it a while longer. Do a few sums.’

‘All right and thank you, Ruth. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

The kitchen door clicked shut behind her. I went back to wiping down the counter and unloading the tray of clean mugs.

Did Allie need more hours than the extras she’d get if she worked on Tuesdays? Would she look for other casual or part-time work if I couldn’t give her those hours? If she took on another position, would she be less available for me?

Lost in those thoughts, I jumped when a familiar voice said, ‘Earth to Ruth. Any chance of a coffee and that last chocolate muffin?’

‘Henry Cooper! Long time, no see. How are you? Do you want the muffin warmed, with ice cream on the side?’

‘Ah, you dear woman, you read my mind. As to your first question, I’m very well. And how are you?’

I paused, tongs grasping the muffin in mid-air while I gaped at him. People always asked how you were without really wanting to know, but Henry’s probing gaze didn’t falter.

‘It’s Tuesday,’ I said. ‘It’s the first day of my working week and I feel as if it should be Saturday, the last day of my working week.’ My personal rule was to never share my gripes with the customers; as far as I was concerned, nothing was more of a turn-off for paying patrons. All they wanted was to sit and relax over a cappuccino and a slice of pecan pie, without a side serve of my woes.

But Henry had asked with genuine interest, which was nice. Henry Cooper was a gentleman, as was his son Zach, the local policeman. Henry didn’t live in Cutlers Bay but he visited often.

‘You’d put in a helluva lot of hours,’ he said, glancing around the cafe, ‘to keep this place ticking over the way it does. It’s a credit to you and I imagine it’s hard to get away, to have a break. You’re never not here.’

‘What’s a break?’ I said. ‘But thanks, Henry, and please don’t mind me. I’ll get over myself.’

He watched while I finished making his flat white. The microwave pinged and a group of women who’d lingered over lunch and dessert waved and called out their thanks as they left. The noise level in the cafe dropped considerably.

‘I can take the coffee,’ he said. ‘And I’ll come back for the muffin. Save your legs.’

‘You are a kind man, Henry.’

I dolloped a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream onto the plate beside the muffin and handed it to him when he came back. He practically salivated.

‘Don’t tell Zach or Angie. They’ve gone even more health conscious now they have a toddler and I’d be in strife if they knew I came in here for a fat and sugar fix. But I’ve been working bloody hard.’ He scrutinised the paint-clogged fingernails of his free hand. ‘Antique white,’ he said and I noticed his paint-splattered clothes. ‘I’m helping Zach paint the new house.’

‘They’re moving?’

‘Yep. Into the other police residence, the one next to the station. It’s bigger and has a real garden. Much more suitable for a family. Only downside is that it’s right next to the police station.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine,’ I said. I knew what it was like to live on the doorstep of where you worked.

Henry wandered off to eat his muffin and drink his coffee. He waved when he left twenty minutes later.

I kept up with the steady stream of customers wanting coffee and teas and cakes, along with the school kids after soft drinks and ice creams, until it was four pm and closing time. Laurie came at four thirty. We’d renegotiated, because the extra half an hour gave me time to clear and wipe the tables before he came along to put up the chairs.

‘How goes it?’ I said when he came in through the kitchen door.

He lifted a hand in greeting and immediately set to work. Never what you’d call a chatterbox, some days he was more taciturn than others. The previous week we’d touched briefly on Theo Adams’s death. It was Laurie who’d brought up the subject of Theo’s suicide.

‘The poor old bugger,’ he’d said. ‘Awful way to go, to think you have no other choice. His family, that’s who I feel for. That said, life can be lonely when you’re old and on your own.’

‘Life can be lonely when you’re not so old and on your own,’ I’d said, more to myself than to him.

He’d stared at me for a good ten seconds, given me a nod of acknowledgement and carried on mopping the floor, leaving me to wonder what on earth was wrong with me. I wasn’t lonely, was I? Not with people around me all day. And I never shared my discontent with others. Probably because I’d rarely been discontented. But I’d been brooding ever since Audrey Franco had told me that Graham Wurst was retiring, and I didn’t consider myself a brooder. Here I was, the wrong side of sixty, working full time and without a satisfactory buffer between me and poverty if I decided to stop working and retire. And with no-one to go home to. The last part had never bothered me before. Why did it bother me now?

You’re getting old, Ruth , a voice whispered in my ear. Who’ll be there to care for you if and when you can no longer care for yourself?

‘Ruth?’

I blinked.

Laurie loomed in front of me, a worried expression on his craggy face. ‘Are you all right?’ he said.

‘Yes, yes … I’m fine.’ I felt flushed and foolish.

‘You don’t look it.’

I flapped my hands about in an attempt to cool my face.

He nodded knowingly. ‘The wife used to get those hot flashes. Went on for years. Always said she was fine, but I could see she wasn’t.’

‘It’ll pass,’ I said and patted his arm.

‘Right-o. I’m done here. Unless you have other jobs need doing.’

I pushed a hand through my hair. There was something … ‘Yes! The drum of used oil from the deep fryer. Could you please carry it out into the service lane? The recycle bloke’s picking it up in the morning, early.’

While he did that I wrapped up the few leftover scones for him to take home. I could have put them in the freezer but Laurie would enjoy them. I bundled them into the green supermarket bag, along with the usual frozen meals and a date and walnut roll.

When I handed him the bag, he looked inside.

‘There’s too much here, Ruth. You need to give me more jobs or less food.’

That made me laugh. I locked the kitchen door behind him. Instead of baking like I’d planned, I went home with the leftover lasagne and salad and opened a bottle of wine.

Two generous glasses later, I was nowhere closer to having a clue who’d care for me if I ever needed caring for. Who’d be there for the long haul, if it ever became a long haul? It was a sobering thought. I poured myself another, smaller, glass and pretended I had nothing better to do than sit and cogitate about who I could call on, if in my dotage I ever needed someone.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t completely alone in this world. There were people I could, and did occasionally rely on. Friends. Family. Robert and Elliot, my two brothers, were older by a decade. Twins. Both had married and then unmarried and Robert had married again. Both had produced progeny somewhere along the line. As a result, I had two nieces and a nephew, who now had offspring of their own. It was because of one such niece that I’d wound up in Cutlers Bay in the first place: Stacey, Elliot’s only child, had been living here with her husband, Chris, and their two children, when, in the days following Mum’s death, I’d experienced an urgent need to reconnect with family. Interestingly, Stacey and her family had moved on and were living in Far North Queensland, closer to her in-laws. I couldn’t see myself visiting them up there any time soon. Or them rushing down to help if I was in strife.

My brothers? They were in their early seventies and polar opposites despite being twins, though not identical. But they were close and looked out for each other in the way that twins often do. Being a decade younger, I wondered if they sometimes forgot who I was. It’d always been that way and I’d learned to never take it personally. Besides, although we kept in touch regularly, I didn’t go out of my way to remind them of my existence.

And friends? Well, that’s the thing about seachanges. Initially, curiosity wins and they flock in for a stickybeak. The more faithful follow through for a while but gradually the novelty and the visits peter out completely. Sad, but true. And understandable. Only the very committed hang on. And I’d had other priorities to consider rather than driving south to visit them.

Since I’d moved to Cutlers Bay, my whole focus had been on making the business a success. Along the way I’d met a lot of people, acquaintances, knew many of them by name, but the long hours I worked had prevented the pursuit of meaningful friendships.

Thinking about it now, it was all a bit depressing. Bloody Graham Wurst. I hadn’t considered any of this until he’d decided to retire.

Resisting another top-up, I put the wine back into the fridge and set about doing what I’d promised Allie: working out if the business could afford to pay her for another five hours a week so that I could continue opening Sundays and still have two full days off a week over summer.

I glanced at the time. It was almost eight thirty and despite the wine, I felt remarkably clear-headed. Without a second thought, I picked up the phone and called Selina. Her kids would be in bed, her partner glued to the television and she’d be settling down to her paying job: bookkeeping for various farms and small businesses around the district. She’d been doing Rosie’s Cafe’s books for several years now, after I’d almost crashed and burned trying to do it all.

‘Ruth, hello,’ she said after several rings. ‘How did you know I’d have Rosie’s file open?’

‘Pure luck. I was hoping you’d have a minute for me to run something past you, then I can make a decision.’

‘Fire away,’ she said and I quickly outlined Allie’s suggestion, finishing with, ‘Can the business afford it?’

‘And it’s just for the three months over summer?’ I could hear her computer keys clacking.

‘To begin with, but if it works and it’s affordable—’

‘You might keep it going.’

‘Yes, and not just for me. Allie’s financial circumstances have changed and I’d hate to lose her because I couldn’t give her the hours she needs. And honestly, Selina, I’d already made the decision not to open on Sundays over summer because I desperately need two full days off a week.’

‘Hmm,’ she said and then quoted what the extra hours would cost the business. ‘Easily doable. In fact, if you wanted to, you could comfortably give her more hours than that … say, double the amount?’

‘I could have her start at nine or nine thirty on the other three days …’ I could hear excitement creeping into my voice as I warmed to the idea. ‘And finish at three instead of two thirty. That would be wonderful. I could do more baking.’ Or not.

‘Or take time for yourself,’ Selina said, with her usual candour. ‘When I came into the cafe last week for lunch, you looked exhausted, Ruth. Similar owner/operator businesses tend to change hands every three or four years. Sometimes even sooner than that. You’ve been going at it for five years. There’s more to life than work.’

‘Funny you should mention that … Thanks for your help, Selina. I’ll let you know what Allie and I agree on.’

I wanted to call Allie with the good news but it was almost nine and it could wait until the morning. Thinking this deserved a celebration, I went to the fridge for the bottle of wine. It was a wine I’d been gifted. I lifted the bottle to read the label and then laughed when I saw it was low alcohol. That explained my clear head.

But not the dreadful headache I woke with the following morning.

* * *

‘You look awful,’ was Allie’s greeting when she came in at five minutes before ten. I was in the kitchen leaning heavily on the sink.

‘I feel as if I can barely drag myself around.’ The usual two-shot long black earlier had done nothing other than make me feel as if I was going to be sick. I swallowed hard to stave off another wave of nausea.

‘Do you get migraines?’ Allie said, her brow wrinkled with concern.

‘Never have before,’ I croaked.

She stowed her bag. ‘Why don’t you go and lie down? I’ll manage here.’ She peered through the servery window into the cafe. ‘There’s no-one waiting.’

‘Should I test for Covid?’ I said. ‘I’ve never had a migraine. In fact, I’m rarely ever sick at all.’

‘Do you have a fever? A sore throat? Sneezing?’

I shook my head and then wished I hadn’t. ‘Just a headache and I feel like throwing up. I suppose it could be a virus.’

‘Sounds more like a migraine to me. Mia gets them occasionally. But do a test if it’d put your mind at rest. Now go,’ she said. ‘Lorna’s home and I’m sure she’ll come and do a few hours. I’ll call her now.’ She whipped out her phone.

Feeling too unwell to do anything other than put myself to bed, I sidled past her to the cool, quiet comfort of home. Not even bothering to get undressed, I closed the blinds and fell onto the bed, dragging a blanket over me. I was asleep in minutes.

I slept for eight hours. When I woke, my head was fuzzy but nothing like the pounding pain I’d had that morning. Allie had returned my mobile phone, which I’d left in the cafe kitchen, along with a note. I found both on the dining room table beside the day’s takings. Allie had written:

Wanted to check you were okay before I went home. You were sound asleep so didn’t wake you. We had a good day. Hope you’re feeling much better. Drink plenty of water. Lorna brought soup and it’s in the fridge if you feel like eating. Ring me if you need anything. I’ll open up in the morning, so don’t stress if you’re not feeling up to it. Allie.

Bless her heart. She was a good soul. Sure enough, there was a Tupperware container of chicken and vegetable soup in the fridge. After drinking a tall glass of water, I took a hot shower and changed into my pyjamas before I heated a bowl of soup. Two toasted crusts of bread made the meal. I was hungry and it was delicious.

The food had me feeling even better. At this rate, I’d be okay to open the cafe in the morning. But after an hour spent doing a few light chores, I was yawning widely and not so certain I’d be up to tomorrow’s early start. Before I went back to bed, I attended to the day’s takings and then flicked a quick message to Allie to confirm I was much better, the RAT was negative and yes, I would appreciate her opening up in the morning. I’d be there later.

I did hesitate before I tapped send. It was a rare thing for me to be relying on someone else. I could not remember a morning I hadn’t opened up in all the years I’d been working the cafe.

It’s one day , I remonstrated with myself and sent the message.

Allie responded immediately with a smiley face and a thumbs-up emoji.

* * *

‘You’re all better?’ Allie said when I went through to the cafe just before ten the next morning. She was at the coffee machine. It was busy, the orders piling up.

‘Feel a bit fragile, but otherwise I’m good to go.’

‘Hope you’ve had breakfast.’

I laughed. ‘Yes, Mum.’ When I’d woken, I’d been ravenously hungry and had eaten three slices of toast with Vegemite. But no coffee yet and the smell of it as I’d come into the cafe had been enough to make me feel queasy. I went to the kitchen, tied on a clean apron and read the next food order: a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Peeling off two slices of bacon, I slapped them onto the grill. This will be the test , I thought, as they started to sizzle. I took a deep breath and was fine.

When the place had emptied out after lunch, I said to Allie, ‘When can you start opening on Tuesdays?’

She grinned. ‘Whenever you want me to.’

‘Sunday trading will begin on the first Sunday in December. What about the Tuesday after that?’

‘Done!’ She high-fived me after she’d put down a pile of dirty crockery.

‘And,’ I said, drawing the word out. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Would you be interested in extending your hours on the other days? Say, start at nine thirty and finish at three?’

She took half a second to process the offer. ‘Yes! I can do that, and thank you, Ruth. I’d offer to fill in on weekends as well, but Mia would be horrified. Bad enough me telling her what to do at home. Plus, there’s the cost … I understand having the casual juniors working weekends makes it easier.’

‘You’re after even more work than that?’ I said, half-dreading the answer. But any further discussion was put on hold when a group of golfers, older women, blew in wanting cakes and cappuccinos. And one hot chocolate. It was that kind of weather.

‘I’m not doing anything about more work until the new year,’ Allie said after we’d delivered all the food and drinks. ‘Get Christmas and the holidays out of the way.’ She sighed. It came from deep down.

I squeezed her shoulder. ‘Life throws up all sorts of challenges and somehow we manage,’ I said.

We cleared tables, washed dishes and replenished the milk fridge. The golf ladies scattered in a whirlwind of laughter and good cheer. For a moment I hated them, their easy camaraderie and the free time they had to play golf. How dare they? I’d played golf, once, par three. I’d been at uni, making it about forty-five years ago.

Allie cleared and wiped the recently vacated tables, chatting to the few remaining customers as she went. Today her boundless energy was enough to wear me out. I refilled the cake cabinet and added a few things to the list on the whiteboard where we wrote reminders to restock, order, etc. My head began to pound. Nothing major, just a dull thud, a bit like distant drums. I had a drink of water and reminded myself that if I did need more time off because I was sick there was money put aside to cover costs. But not for long. The cafe needed me fit and healthy to keep it afloat and vice versa.