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‘But tell me, did Stan…’ But Cleo was talking to herself, the buzz of a disconnected call in her ear.
*
Cleo didn’t get much sleep. She couldn’t believe Stan had lied to her – lied by omission – that he had another child, another daughter. It made a mockery of their life together, the life she’d thought so perfect. Who was this girl? Who was her mother? Had Stan been in touch with her? Had… perish the thought… had Hannah even met her when she was staying with Pat?
When she did finally fall asleep, it was to dream of another girl, older, but looking exactly like Hannah, taking Stan’s hand and running across a beach with him.
Her eyes felt gritty when she awoke, but she felt strangely calmer than she had been the night before. Oddly, she had given no thought to the girl’s mother, the woman Stan had… Now she did think about her, she couldn’t stop. She checked her watch, wondering when Pat would call. She’d said tomorrow. It was close to midday there in Santa Barbara. It was tomorrow for both of them.
Cleo showered, fixed her hair and makeup and dressed in the black capris and white tee-shirt with its green pandanus logo, which had become her work uniform, before setting off for the café. Once there, she began her morning routine, pausing every few seconds to check her phone. It wouldn’t be ideal for Pat to call her at work, but this was one call she didn’t intend to miss.
She was staring at the phone willing it to ring, when Ruby Sullivan arrived with her morning delivery of cakes. Ruby was an elderly woman whose cakes were to die for and, each morning around this time, she’d arrive on her green pushbike, a collection of cakes carefully packed into the basket at the rear of the bike. Although Cleo was an excellent cook and loved baking, she couldn’t compete with the sweet confections Ruby seemed to be able to produce so effortlessly day after day from what she claimed were old family recipes.
‘Morning, Ruby,’ Cleo said, slipping her phone back into her pocket, and pasting a smile onto her face.
‘Morning, Cleo.’ The woman stepped off the bike with more dexterity than one would expect from someone of her years, though no one knew exactly how old Ruby was, and no one would dare ask her age. She peered at Cleo. ‘There’s something worrying you.’ It wasn’t a question.
Cleo flinched. She’d heard about Ruby’s way of seeing what people were thinking, of making weird predictions but till now, hadn’t experienced it herself. ‘I’m fine, Ruby. Late night.’ She hoped her explanation would satisfy the other woman.
‘Hmm. So you say. If you’re worried about your daughter, you needn’t be. She can take care of herself, and she’ll make you proud of her. But you need to watch out for yourself. Don’t let your pride prevent you from finding happiness. Things aren’t always what they seem.’ While she was speaking, Ruby was unloading a variety of Tupperware containers from her basket, reminiscent of times gone by. But they kept her cakes fresh on the trip to the café and, every day, she managed to fill them with yet another collection from her vast range of recipes.
‘Thanks, Ruby.’ Cleo was talking about the cakes she was now unpacking from their containers to load into the fridge, but she had the distinct impression Ruby thought she was referring to her words of so-called wisdom.
Cleo breathed a sigh of relief when the older woman wheeled her bike away and hopped on to cycle off.
‘Ruby been at it again?’
Cleo turned to see Bev Cooper gazing at her with a knowing expression. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I know that look. It’s the one people get when they’ve heard one of Ruby’s pronouncements. Don’t let her worry you. She’s famous for them, as you’ve probably heard. The thing is…’ she frowned, ‘…she’s right more often than not. Don’t know how she does it, but she’s an institution in Bellbird Bay. Your first time?’
Cleo nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘I guessed. You seem spaced out, not your usual vibrant morning self.’
‘Late night,’ Cleo said again, hoping to divert Bev.
‘Sure there’s nothing you want to talk about? I have a few minutes before the rush starts.’
Cleo glanced around. The café was empty. Her staff were all busy in the kitchen. She could spare a few minutes. She fetched two coffees and joined Bev at the table by the kitchen.
‘So, what’s up?’ Bev didn’t beat around the bush. Usually, it was one of the things Cleo liked about her. Today, she wasn’t so sure.
She picked her cup up, then put it down, stroked the rim of the cup with one finger, while she considered what to say. Finally, she said, ‘I spoke with my sister-in-law last night.’
‘The one in California?’
‘Pat, yes. I asked her about the message Hannah received.’
‘And?’
‘I think she knows who the girl is.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘Nothing. It was late there. She promised to ring back.’ Cleo took out her phone to check it. Still no call.
‘I can see why you’re worried. Is there anything I can do? Do you need to take some time off? Do you want to call her again?’
