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Entering the kitchen moments later, the two women sat at the table with Sybella who was eating a bowl of cereal. ‘She likes eggs for breakfast,’ he said and kissed the top of her head. The child offered him a sly smile.
‘We could do a social media response or a series of posts about Caleb’s life here in Bellethorpe, sort of like a counter-attack?’ Bridie was saying.
‘Yeah, that’s a good idea, but our older residents aren’t on Facebook or TikTok or whatever and won’t see it. We need something that covers all angles, something to inform the locals that everything is under control,’ Jacqueline replied.
‘I’m not responding to that vitriol. That feeds into these people. The moment I post anything, there’ll be a thousand negative comments.’ His voice rose and Sybella sat up straighter. He softened his stiff stance as he paced the kitchen.
‘Okay, okay,’ Jacqueline held up her palm. ‘It’s more important to address it locally for the moment anyway.’
‘I know,’ Bridie started, ‘we’ll get Geoff to run a piece in The Times, an expose: Sydney chef arrives in town to care for orphaned niece, helps at the tuckshop and agrees to cook for the festival.’
‘Hang on,’ his hands gripped the top of the chair in front of him. ‘Why do you want to help me?’
Simultaneously they replied, ‘Because we care,’ and ‘Because the town cares.’
Jacqueline looked at Bridie and Bridie looked at Jacqueline and both turned to face Caleb. Sybella pushed her bowl away.
‘And we don’t want people to become sick,’ Jacqueline added.
‘You all finished? Bridie asked and Sybella nodded. ‘Go and get dressed and brush your teeth and we’ll get you to school.’ The little girl rushed away.
‘I’ll talk to Geoff today,’ Bridie said as she cleared the table. Jacqueline nodded.
‘No more secrets,’ Jacqueline said and patted Caleb’s arm. ‘Let us help you for goodness sake, that’s what this town is good at.’
Jacqueline left and Caleb went over to Bridie who stood at the sink rinsing the cups. ‘Bridie,’ his voice hitched, and he moved to stand behind her, ‘leave the dishes. I can do them.’ Caleb remembered the feel of her arms around him last night while he cried like a baby, her kindness and hushed words of assurance. Embarrassment mixed in with desire.
He stood parallel to her back, so close, warmth radiated off her body and he heard her breaths. He reached for one hand and placed it by her side. His fingers circled around her wet pinkie finger, generating only the slightest of touches. Bridie did a sharp intake of breath, lowered her head. Blood coursed through his veins at the reaction to him and at their closeness. He imagined moving her luscious locks out of the way of her pale cream neck and trailing feathery light kisses down the skin until she shivered.
‘Uncle Caleb, I’m ready,’ came a sweet little girl voice. He stepped back, dropped Bridie’s fingers, his heart hammering too fast.
Bridie wiped her hands and avoided his gaze. ‘I’ll be off too. Have a lovely day at school, honey. Au revoir,’ and Sybella beamed. When Bridie finally glanced up, she nibbled her bottom lip and a flush of pink tinged her cheeks, matching her pink shirt. He fought to control his groan as she turned and departed.
‘Uncle Caleb?’
‘Hmm.’
‘I know a way to get everyone to like you.’
‘You do?’
Sybella nodded and gestured for him to come close, and he leaned over, and she whispered in his ear.
‘You think?’ he asked, and she nodded again. ‘Can we make a plan this afternoon?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, then said, ‘I think you’re a wonderful cook,’ and she kissed him on the cheek.
‘Yes, Geoff, I know. Yes, it’s a busy time of year, oh, okay, the boating and trailer show. Does it have to be covered in this week’s edition? No, I didn’t realise. But this is great material for the paper. The whole town is talking about him and we can set the record straight.’ Bridie scribbled notes while holding the phone between her ear and neck.
‘Okay, when does your new cadet arrive? Soon, yep, that’s great but not soon enough. It’d be beneficial to run this piece now.’ She sipped her coffee, but movement caught her attention outside her study window. Her father was in the field. The phone slipped and landed with a clunk onto the desk. She grappled to pick it up and apologise but Geoff talked on unaware. Listening, she watched her father bend over and pick a bright red berry and pop it straight into his mouth. He paused, savoured the flavour. Her spirits soared as he moved along the line of plants and lifted individual leaves with loving care and attention. He picked as he went and placed the berries into the cane basket he carried and tugged on a few troublesome weeds along the way. At the end of the row, he retrieved the hose and pulled it off the reel and watered the runners closest to him.
Please let him keep going; pick today’s berries and then at least, her only task would be packaging and delivery. She could manage that. Picking took the longest.
Not for the first time her mind turned to their previously thriving patch that was so large it required seasonal pickers. They could still do with the help now, but economic return on their dwindling orchard didn’t warrant the expense.
Geoff said something and her mind tuned back into the conversation. ‘Okay, no worries, Geoff. I understand we’re all doing the best we can. Forget I asked, take care.’
Her father disappeared from her line of vision. She tapped her laptop awake and searched Caleb Stirling chef Sydney and her screen filled with results. The guy was a serious celebrity. Heaps of restaurant reviews, some glitzy party shots and loads of food images. Bridie stopped reading to gaze at him: him in his kitchen garb, in fancy suits with slicked back hair and surrounded by gorgeous people. Her body warmed.
