Chapter 12
12
Ruth
Although I hadn’t stayed up to formally see in the next year, I woke early on New Year’s Day with a sense of anticipation. For what, I had no clue. I’d tossed up whether to open at all on New Year’s Day, but decided I would. The cafe had closed for Christmas Day and I was reluctant to lose another summer Sunday’s trading, and there were a few lunch bookings. The New Year’s special was ham and cheese croissants. And I’d decided on apricot and almond muffins, plus the usual breakfast fare.
Mia and George were rostered to work. George was the eldest son of a local farming family home from uni on his summer break. He’d worked for me over the previous summer and I was thrilled when he’d approached me to say he was available again this year. He was an enthusiastic barista and the customers liked him.
Mia arrived early. In looks and expression, she was a lot like her mum, except her hair was dark brown and she was slimmer and already several inches taller. When she’d worked yesterday she’d had even less to say than usual. I don’t think I noticed her crack a smile the whole five hours she was here. I wanted to say something to her about the need to put on a smile for the customers even when you didn’t feel like it, but I was privy to what was happening at home and didn’t have the heart to put more pressure on her.
‘Happy New Year,’ I said when she came in. ‘Did you stay up until midnight?’
She shook her head. ‘I wanted to, but I was knackered.’
I lifted the two trays of croissants out of the oven in a blast of buttery-scented air. The muffins went in. I glanced at the clock. The muffins wouldn’t be quite ready by opening time. Never mind.
Mia washed her hands and helped me lift the croissants off the oven slides and onto cooling racks.
‘Make any New Year’s resolutions?’ I said.
‘Same as last year: Get out of Cutlers Bay as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘I am so over this place. I’m saving every cent I earn and as soon as I turn eighteen, I am out of here.’ Her jaw was set, her expression fierce.
I was taken aback by her vehemence. Never before had I seen such a display of emotion from her. Any emotion actually.
‘And what are your plans for when you do get out of Cutlers Bay?’
‘I’m going to travel.’
‘Oh! Good for you. Where?’
‘Everywhere. But especially Italy. I want to go to Florence and to Venice. And France. Paris, the Louvre. Morocco. Spain.’
‘Great choices, lots of wonderful things to see. So much history.’
‘Have you been to those places?’
‘Sure have. And I lived in Paris for a year when I was about twenty-five. Had the most amazing time. Shared this poky studio apartment with another Aussie. Camille. Her mother was French and Camille could speak the language like a native. We worked at the same bar.’
Mia was staring at me her mouth open, her eyes like saucers.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I didn’t know that,’ she said when she’d found her tongue. ‘Mum never told me.’
‘Probably because I’ve never told your mum.’
‘Why not?’
‘No particular reason. It was a lifetime time ago. Sometimes I wonder if it was even me who went to all those places, had all those experiences. But I travelled quite a bit when I was in my twenties and thirties. When I ran out of money, I’d come home for a spell, save up and travel some more.’
‘Why’d you stop travelling? Did you get married or something? Have kids?’
‘No, I’ve never been married and I don’t have any children. I suppose I stayed home for longer stretches when Mum and Dad got older. Then Mum was on her own after Dad died and I stayed put permanently to look out for her. My twin brothers are a decade older than me and they had their own families and commitments and I guess Mum got to depend on me.’
‘I’m never going to get married either,’ Mia said. ‘No. Way.’
I was washing the dishes I’d used to mix the muffins and she was drying. I nudged her with my elbow. ‘Never say never. You might meet some gorgeous hunk you can’t refuse.’
‘Don’t worry, Ruth, I’ll be able to refuse,’ she said flatly, sounding years older than a tender seventeen.
‘What about school? You’ll do Year 12, won’t you? And then there’s university,’ I said. ‘You’ll need a job that pays well if you’re going to do all that travel.’
‘I will do Year 12 this year, but no university, not for me. Besides, Mum could never afford to support us both and Cody’s the brains of the family. I want to do something hands-on, like hospitality. I wouldn’t mind doing bar work or waitressing. I love working here, Ruth. It’s such good experience for me.’ She smiled and it lit up her whole face.
I regarded her for a moment with a new and burgeoning respect. Here was a teenager who clearly knew her own mind. Such a lot going on behind the quiet reserve.
‘It’s almost nine,’ I said. ‘Everything’s ready out there so why don’t you open up and I’ll finish off here? George starts at ten. You do the coffees until then.’
‘Okay,’ she said, shoulders squared.
It wasn’t long before I heard Mia talking to the first customers. We sold out of the ham and cheese croissant special well before midday.
* * *
Early Tuesday afternoon, out for a jaunt on my day off, I bumped into Angie Daniels in a dress boutique in Kadina, the regional centre half an hour’s drive north from Cutlers Bay. I’d been browsing through the racks with no real intention of buying anything, deliciously squandering my free afternoon.
I liked Angie. It didn’t matter who you were, a homeless person or the mayor, she treated everyone with respect and kindness. She’d been over forty when she’d given birth to her daughter, Lily. The pregnancy was unplanned and Angie and Zach Cooper, Lily’s father, had navigated some pretty bumpy terrain before they’d settled down and become a family.
‘Ruth!’ she said when she spotted me. She was on her own and appeared flustered. ‘Just the person I need to see.’
My eyes must have widened at that because she laughed. Then she dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. ‘I need something special to wear but everything I look at is so expensive, even the so-called cheaper stuff. And you always look nice.’
‘In a polo shirt and a pair of cotton capris? Plus or minus an apron?’
‘And? You manage to look stylish, the way you turn up the collar and with your hair in that fancy twist. And always wearing bright-coloured lipstick.’ She drew back and gave me a critical once-over. ‘That dress you’re wearing now is lovely.’
I glanced down at my coral-coloured linen shift. ‘I’ve had it for years.’
‘But I’ll bet you didn’t buy it from an op shop.’
I hadn’t, rather an exclusive boutique in Sydney, although it most definitely would have been on sale. ‘What’s the occasion you’re shopping for?’
She blushed and leaned in closer to whisper, ‘Me and Zach are getting married.’
‘Angie! Congratulations. That explains why Zach’s been grinning like a loon of late.’
‘Yeah, he has, hasn’t he? He asked me and I said yes, mainly for Lily. Personally, I don’t think it’s important to be married, not if you’re committed to the other person and the life you’re making together. But in some circles it still seems to matter that a child’s parents are actually married, even though a serious chunk of those marriages are unhappy and will end up in the divorce court.
‘And although it’s not a secret, we’re not broadcasting it either. We’re having a small civil ceremony and then lunch with family. It’s a fortnight away and I still have nothing to wear,’ she said, the last words rising with panic.
I looped my arm through hers and gently shepherded her towards the entrance. ‘Let’s go and sit somewhere, have a drink and talk about this. Who knows? I might be able to help.’
We found a cafe and ordered. I always enjoyed being this side of the counter for a change.
‘Did you have anything particular in mind?’ I said as we took a seat. ‘A dress, trousers and a silky blouse, leggings and a colourful, floaty top, a skirt and jacket? Do you have shoes you want to match? What’s Zach wearing? A suit? I take it you’re not going with the traditional white—’
Angie reached across the table and gripped my forearm. ‘Look at me, Ruth. Have you not noticed in the years you’ve known me that I have absolutely no fashion sense and my wardrobe reflects that? I own three pairs of jeans, an assortment of shorts and a bundle of T-shirts, but only one dress. I’ve owned that dress for over a decade and have worn it to several weddings, a funeral, out to dinner for my fortieth birthday and on my first real date with Zach. Unless I find something else soon, I’ll be wearing it to my own wedding. And did I mention that I bought it at an op shop?’
‘No, you didn’t mention that. I’m sure we’ll work out something. Trust me.’
The waitress came with our order. Angie eyed the ice cream–topped chocolate concoction put in front of her. ‘Oooh,’ she said with glee and rescued the dollop of whipped cream as it began its slow slide off the ice cream.
By the time we’d finished our drinks, we’d agreed that Angie would come by the flat sometime in the next few days and browse through what I had in my wardrobe.
‘I’m almost one hundred per cent certain we’ll find something suitable. You’re only a fraction taller than me and roughly the same build. If what you chose needs to be altered, I have a sewing machine and I know how to use it.’
When I’d moved to Cutlers Bay it’d been in a rush and I’d thrown all my clothes and shoes into boxes and suitcases holus-bolus. There hadn’t been time to sort through and discard what I’d never wear again, which would have been well over half of it. When it had all been unpacked, the clothes filled the wardrobes in my bedroom and the spare room to bursting. There were dresses, tailored skirts and trousers with matching jackets and all manner of party frocks and after-five wear, a lot of them bargain buys purchased during my travels. So many of the outfits I hadn’t worn in an eon. And was never likely to wear again in the foreseeable future. The outings I’d worn those clothes to were another facet of the Ruth I’d almost forgotten had ever existed. The Ruth before Rosie’s Cafe. That Ruth would never have entertained the idea of only wearing polo shirts and capris.
‘Wow, was I ever lucky to bump into you,’ Angie said. ‘I’d about given up and resigned myself to wearing the grey number again. I can’t bear the thought of spending my hard-earned cash on an outfit I might not like that much and would only ever wear once. Such a waste.’
‘You’re right. My clothes are just hanging there gathering dust. Not much call for after-five wear in Cutlers Bay.’ At least, nothing that included me.
‘Thank you, Ruth,’ Angie said. ‘I’d better go.’ She gathered up her well-used daypack and stood. ‘Zach has Lily and his afternoon shift starts in an hour or so.’
* * *
Back home, the first thing I did was go into the spare room, open the wardrobe and start pulling out any garments I thought might suit Angie. The wardrobe in my room yielded several more. I laid them all out on the spare bed, leaving them on their hangers. Some were still encased in the filmy plastic covers from when they’d last been dry-cleaned. I surveyed the selection with satisfaction; it’d give Angie a place to start. She was sure to find something here and knowing that made me feel good. Just because I might never wear the clothes again didn’t mean others couldn’t benefit from my excellent taste.
That thought made me laugh. I’d never considered myself a committed clothes horse, however, the array spread out before me suggested otherwise. And there was a large suitcase on the shelf above the hanging space packed to the brim with knitwear and accessories. Somewhere in there was a vintage Coco Chanel cardigan I’d purchased in Paris. Could be worth a bit now, along with a handful of other designer items. Money that could come in useful down the track, when the clothes wouldn’t.