Chapter 34
34
Ruth
Allie’s last day was unremarkable, except for the fact that it was her last day. I’d bought her a gift in Adelaide: a copy of a cookbook on my shelf that she’d admired several times. All the best , I’d written in the card. She’d been glassy-eyed as she’d unwrapped the gift. When the kitchen door snapped shut behind her at three pm, I felt bereft; a glimpse of what it must feel like to be abandoned. But the customers did not allow me to wallow for long.
An hour later, after I’d closed the cafe, Erin came for her interview. I invited her through to the office. As we went she explained that her children were at school now and she was eager to re-enter the workforce. That’s when it came back to me why she’d only worked for me briefly when the cafe had first opened: she’d had a toddler and had been pregnant with her second child and found it all a bit too much.
‘The thing is,’ Erin said when I got down to the nitty-gritty of days and hours she could work, ‘Liam, my husband, isn’t as pumped as I am about me getting a job. I was wondering if I could start with two days a week and if that doesn’t cause any disruption at home, I’d be willing to increase to three days. What do you think?’
My eyes narrowed. Not exactly what I’d had in mind, but then Erin was different than I remembered her. Not as bright and bubbly, nor as trim. ‘And if it does cause too much disruption at home, what then?’ I said.
On the opposite side of the desk, Erin shifted in her seat, crossed and then uncrossed her legs, the hiss of fabric against fabric. ‘I’d have to quit,’ she said, unable to meet my eye.
At least she was upfront. ‘What about school holidays? Would they be a problem?’
She fidgeted some more, twisting a thin gold band I assumed was a wedding ring around her finger. ‘I couldn’t do school holidays. Sorry. Liam’s mum will help out every now and then but she definitely won’t do school holidays. She says it’s not her job to bring up her grandchildren.’ This said in an almost-whisper, eyes flicking to the office door as if she expected her mother-in-law to burst through at any second. ‘And I couldn’t start until the week after next.’
I felt like stamping my foot and wailing. I had hoped for more, much more. Solving the staff shortage was proving more problematic than I’d foreseen. Lorna was willing to do extra, but only in the short term and her hours were always dependent on how her mother was coping. George was back at uni; Mia and Suzie were at school and only available on Saturdays. Gayle and Liz, my two other reliable casuals, weren’t interested in any more hours than they already did, that is the short shifts over lunchtimes on Thursdays and Fridays. If I said no to Erin, I’d have to advertise and manage on my own for longer stretches than I did now. Simple as that.
‘Erin, what if we try Tuesdays and Wednesdays to begin with? Ten am until three pm?’
I held my breath when she screwed up her face. ‘I’d need to finish by two thirty at the very latest to give me time to get to the school to pick up the children.’
‘Okay,’ I said slowly. The school was ten minutes away, max. ‘Erin, are you sure you’re ready to go back to work?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, nodding vigorously. ‘I really liked working here before. I feel as if I have a lot to offer.’
I shelved any misgivings—and there were a few—and we agreed on a starting date the following week when she could come in for a couple of hours of orientation. She’d let me know which day worked best for her.
After she’d gone, I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. What happened to the good old days when the employers had dictated their employees’ terms?
Although I tried hard not to feel despondent, I did. The cafe just wouldn’t be the same without Allie.
With a burst of energy that came of a visceral need to do something—anything—proactive, I scrolled through to Bryan Chalmers’s number.
The call went to messages.
‘ Bryan, I would like to talk further about what we discussed the other day. When would be a good time? Thanks.’
It was amazing how much better I felt after I’d done that.
* * *
That night I sat down on the sofa with a cup of tea and a notebook and a pen. I would begin to make lists of everything I needed to do to prepare the cafe and flat for sale. Then I’d do at least one of the jobs on the list every day. I opened the notebook and stared at the blank page for a futile few minutes. Where to start?
I put the notebook down on the sofa and reached for the tea. That’s when I spotted the parcel that had been delivered with this morning’s mail and I’d dropped onto the arm of the sofa when I’d come in from the cafe. It was a plastic postbag and whatever was inside was soft. I ripped it open. Wrapped up in layers of silver tissue paper was the silk cheongsam I’d loaned to Angie and that her sister-in-law had asked to borrow. The return address on the postbag read: Steph Cooper, Wallaby Way, Broome, Western Australia . I’d assumed her sister-in-law was local, not that it mattered. There was a thank-you note sticky-taped to the tissue paper. It was brief and sincere and the garment had obviously been dry cleaned. I messaged Angie to say the cheongsam had arrived from Broome. She rang me and launched straight in.
‘Steph said she’d posted it. Did I not mention she lived in Broome? Oops. She was so grateful to have something beautiful to wear. She’s a single mum. Speaking of which, Joanne, who I know from Lily’s playgroup, has something important coming up and nothing suitable to wear. She tried the op shop but they send all the decent stuff to their metro outlets, or so the story goes.’
‘Send her around and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you! She’s around my size. Skinnier, if anything. And, Ruth, please don’t think I’m trying to turn your wardrobe into a community wardrobe. But I know what it’s like when you need to look good and don’t have much money and the last thing you need is to spend on an outfit you might never wear again.’
‘I honestly don’t mind so long as the clothes are clean and in good shape when they’re returned to me.’
‘I’ll pass that on to Joanne and she can decide whether to come and see you. You might even recognise her. She’s been into the cafe a few times.’
Lying in bed that night, my head buzzing with all the things I needed to do but hadn’t been able to think of when I’d had the notebook open in front of me, I thought about Angie’s comment. A community wardrobe? I’d never heard of such a thing. But Angie was right about how often clothes were purchased on a whim or for a special occasions or the likes and then never worn again. Sometimes they were never worn at all. I’d been guilty of that, sending clothes to Salvos with the tags still attached.