Page 11 of Return to the Waratah Inn

“They are. I tried one,” Bindi replied. “We could all do with making our food a little healthier. Having so many professional chefs in one family has made healthy eating something of a challenge. But I’m glad you’re doing so well. Where’s Betty?”

Mima pointed at her friend, who was taking a break at the other end of the pool, seated on the stairs, puffing hard. Betty waved, and Bindi returned the gesture.

“Anything else going on? I bet this place is an incubator for drama,” Bindi said with a smirk as she lay back on the banana lounge and crossed one long leg over the other.

“You have no idea, my love. Apparently, Trevor was dating Cecilia but didn’t tell her he was also seeing Margaret. And Margaret had no idea he was sneaking out to see Lynn. It’s all very Melrose Place.”

“You’re hanging with the cool kids now, Mima. It’s to be expected.” Bindi giggled.

Mima hesitated. She wanted so badly to speak to someone about the phone call. Bindi would understand. She had a history in television—had worked as a journalist in Melbourne before she returned to Cabarita Beach after Edie’s death. She’d know what to do. But Mima couldn’t bring herself to say the words. They were words she hadn’t spoken in so long, she wasn’t sure she could even form them with her lips.

As Bindi chattered on about a guest at the inn who was causing them trouble, Mima’s thoughts roved over the past, looking for something to latch on to. Her mind’s eye travelled back over the years. She was young again—beautiful and carefree. Her curls whipped up by the wind as she and Edie skipped through the streets of Sydney to see a newsreel or to meet some men in uniform for a date. Then the war was over, and Edie had left with Paul. Left her all alone.

Nostalgia washed over her. Swallowing hard, she tried to draw a deep breath, but could feel the sobs rising. No, she couldn’t let Bindi see her like this. Bindi would want to know what was wrong, and Mima wasn’t ready to discuss it. It was too much to reveal beside the community swimming pool. If she opened up here and now, she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears. The emotion and grief of it all would overwhelm her. She’d managed to shove her emotions deep down for a long time—she could continue stuffing them deeper still now that she’d gotten so good at it. But that phone call had dislodged something. She’d agreed to their terms and said she’d come on their show. Why had she done that? Because she couldn’t do or say anything else. She’d been in shock. She hadn’t wanted the conversation to continue, and the fastest way to end it had been to say yes.

Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll come on your show. I’ll face it all—the things I’ve done and the things done to me, the past I’ve left behind, the pain and trauma I never believed would surface again.

It was like she stood in front of a train, on those two metal tracks, and watched as it barrelled down on her. Her feet were stuck on the railings, and there was nothing she could do to wrench herself free. It was coming, time was running out, and she couldn’t escape.

The TV show would happen. And if she didn’t go, it would air anyway. She couldn’t stop it. There was nothing she could do. But beyond all of that, she wanted the truth after all these years. It couldn’t be real, what they’d told her must be a mistake, yet now that she faced the prospect of revelation, the fear deep down inside her made her want to run. Could she do it? Could she bring herself to stand tall, walk on to that stage, and confront the past surrounded by all of those people in the live audience? Could she talk about what she’d endured and how they were wrong, she didn’t have a son.

If she thought about it too long, she’d begin to panic. But she had to do this. She’d regret it forever if she didn’t. The best way to cope would simply be to push it out of her mind until the moment she stood at the edge of the stage. If she didn’t think about it, she could manage. At least for now. And when it happened, she’d deal with it then.

Chapter Seven

January 1998

Kingscliff

The sheets were mussed, crumpled, and had formed uncomfortable piles around her prone body. Kate wriggled up into a sitting position, her back framed by a mountain of pillows, including one long curved one that was intended to hug her body but had spent the night trying to suffocate her.

Noah lay by her side, head turned towards her, button nose pressed against her arm, and one little hand curled into a fist by his ear. She gazed down at him, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness. He’d kept her up most of the night, crying, feeding, and then crying some more. She rubbed both her eyes with the heels of her hands and yawned so widely, she thought her face might crack in two.

“Good morning,” Alex said in a chipper voice as he bounced from the bathroom into the bedroom, wearing jeans and a buttoned shirt.

He sat on the blanket box to pull on a pair of boots.

“Shhh…” Kate whispered as fear plunged a dagger into her heart. “Don’t wake the baby.” He was adorable sleeping, but she dreaded him waking. His cries still echoed in her ears.

“Whoops! Sorry.” Alex came over to give her kiss on the forehead. “Have a good day.”

“Wait. What? Where are you going? It’s Saturday.”

Alex tucked his shirt into his jeans and looped a belt around his waist. “I’m working at the inn today giving riding lessons to the guests. I told you that. Didn’t I?”

“You did? I’m sure I would’ve recalled you saying that. Although, I didn’t remember to put on pants yesterday, so anything’s possible. I guess I’ll see you around lunchtime, then?”

Alex tipped his head to one side. “Oh… um… I have that school swim team to coach. We’ve got a training session after lunch, so I thought I’d eat in town on my way there. I won’t really have time to pop home. And then some of the guys want to take me out to celebrate the new baby. We’re going to the Kingy for some tea and maybe a few drinks. I didn’t think you’d mind, since you’re pretty well occupied here with the little man.”

Kate wanted him to enjoy tea with his mates. He didn’t get to do that very often, and she’d always supported it. She’d been suggesting he go out with them for months, in fact. But the timing threw her off. Noah was only five days old. He wasn’t sleeping much at night. For most of the afternoon, he was cluster feeding and crying until well into the evening. She was sleep deprived, hormonal, and had spent most of day three either in tears or wanting to cry when her milk came in.

Over the past few days, Alex had been gone a lot of the time—either surfing, getting groceries, checking on things at the inn for her, or running myriad other little errands he liked to get done during the summer holidays. She knew there wasn’t much he could do given she was feeding the baby, but having him there so she could take a nap or a shower, or even grab something to eat, made all the difference. Still, she could do this. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard. She was a capable adult. She could handle one little baby on her own for a day.

“Okay, no worries. Have a lovely time. We’ll be fine here on our own. Won’t we, Noah?” She caressed the side of the baby’s soft face. His rounded cheeks were pink and perfect. His big eyes focused only on her—he didn’t notice anything else going on around them. She was his world.

After Alex left, she fed Noah, then changed him. When she burped him, she felt a rush of satisfaction in her accomplishment—she was getting the hang of things. She’d be an expert in no time. Around eleven o’clock, she put him in the bouncer so she could get herself some breakfast, but he didn’t like that and started screaming immediately. Instead, she fastened him into the baby carrier and wore him on her stomach, leaning out around him to try to make her bowl of porridge with honey, cinnamon and freshly sliced peaches.

Noah was happy in the carrier, and soon fell to sleep with one hand curled into a tight little fist by his face. His fingernails were tiny and pink, and the top of his head smelled divine. She inhaled the scent of his hair, then sat on the back deck to eat her porridge, careful not to spill any of the hot meal on him, which meant she had to lean to one side and tip her head at a funny angle.