Page 79 of Return to the Waratah Inn

Simone glowered at her beneath a dark brow.

“No, really—I mean it. You did good, kid.”

Simone rolled her eyes. She got to her feet, her cheeks red. “I was horrible. I can’t do this. It’s too hard. And you wouldn’t even help me. I could’ve been drowned, but you don’t care. Because you’re not my mother, and you never will be!” She spat the last words at Reeda, her brown eyes flashing.

Reeda stood as well, slowly, thinking through what she could say. Simone was hurting, and she wanted Reeda to know it.

Reeda looked Simone in the eye. “I know I’m not your mother, honey. You love your mum, and I don’t want to replace her. I can’t replace her. She’ll always be your mother. But I do care about you, and I hope that someday you’ll let me do that without fighting me every step of the way.”

Simone’s hands clenched into tight little fists at her sides. “I hate you! I hate you! I don’t want you to look after me. You’ll get sick of us one day, and you’ll send us back. That’s what always happens. Don’t think I don’t know it. I do know it—it happens every time. And they all say the same thing: ‘We care.’ But they don’t. When it’s too hard, they give up. If it’s complicated, they move on. If it’s messy, they don’t want to know us. If my mum shows up, they get out of the way.”

Reeda shook her head sadly, silent in the face of Simone’s outburst.

“So, give up now because I don’t need you to care for me. I don’t want you in my life. I hate you, and I wish I’d never met you. I don’t need you or anyone!” The words she shouted turned into a scream and she ran down the beach wailing, with Reeda staring after her in surprise, her mouth ajar.

Reeda waited a few moments and watched from a distance as Simone slowed her pace, then moved to the water’s edge to wander along the sand. Reeda sat and waited, not letting Simone out of her sight but giving her space and time to calm down. She leaned back on her hands, watching the waves as they curled to the shore, breathing deeply, restoring her own peace while she watched her wayward charge turn around and begin the journey back along the sand.

Finally, Simone sat beside her in silence. She rested her elbows on her knees.

“Can we go now?”

Reeda arched an eyebrow. “That’s it? You scream at me, and that’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How about, ‘sorry’?”

“Fine. Sorry.” Simone rolled her eyes.

Reeda turned to face her, her expression softening. “Thank you. Listen, I know it’s hard. I know you’ve had a rough time with people letting you down or abandoning you. I don’t pretend to know all of the details, I can imagine it’s been hurtful. But can we please agree not to use our words to tear each other down? I’m not here to try to make your life more difficult. I want to see you thrive. I’m trying…” Reeda’s voice broke on the emotion that welled up her throat. “I’m trying to give you everything you need for a chance at a good life. I can’t promise that you’ll always be with me and Duncan—I’m not in control of that. But I can tell you that if it’s up to me, you’ll always have a home with us. That’s the best I can do.”

Tears rolled down Simone’s cheeks. She quickly dashed them away with the back of her hand. Then, with a nod, she stood to her feet and picked up the surfboard she’d abandoned earlier.

Reeda stood as well. “Would a hug be okay?”

Simone looked at her through wary eyes. Then she moved closer and let her arms wrap around Reeda’s waist, her cheek resting on Reeda’s chest. Reeda enveloped her gently, held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

Then they walked back to the car together with their surfboards beneath their arms. They didn’t speak, but Reeda felt the change in atmosphere between them. Something had shifted. The wall was lower than it had been before they arrived. It hadn’t been knocked down yet, not fully, but there were gaps between the bricks that held it in place.

Chapter Forty-Three

February 1998

Cabarita Beach

At forty-five years old, Alan Younger looked to Mima like a taller version of her own father. He was strikingly similar to Mima, or at least how she remembered herself looking when she was the same age, but in a more angular, masculine and tanned body than her own short, plump one. She sat in the rocking chair on the porch at the Waratah Inn, pitching gently back and forth and watching him interact with the girls.

Kate showed him Nan’s garden while Reeda and Bindi argued over whether or not the sugar peas were ripe enough to pick and eat. The children ran around the garden, ducking along rows and winding arms around the fence posts that lined it all as they spun and chattered together. It warmed her soul and tugged at her heartstrings. If only Alan had grown up with these girls—that’s where he should’ve been. But he’d missed out on knowing them all, just as they’d missed out on knowing him.

He dutifully tasted a sugar pea for Bindi and nodded his head, murmuring something Mima couldn’t hear. No doubt he was remarking on how tasty it was. Mima knew—she’d eaten more than a few of them herself that very morning when picking the fresh produce they’d needed for the lunch service.

He opened the gate and shut it again behind him, then strode purposefully to where Mima sat.

He lowered himself into the rocking chair beside her. “The peas are delicious.”

“They are,” Mima replied. “I’ve been dying for you to meet everyone.”

“They’re great. So, these are your best friend’s granddaughters. Is that right?”