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‘Yes, I want to help.’
‘Okay, you help but Bridie has to go.’
‘What? No, I’ll help too.’
‘No, I insist, you must go and reward yourself with the spoils of your hard work.’ Together big and little hands gently pushed her out of the tent.
‘Okay, kiddo, let’s do this.’
Caleb stood in the shadows watching the crowd. It was a scene of pure joy: laughter, happy screams, people milling on picnic blankets and couples strolling hand in hand. In the dinner marquee guests finished off the last course. French cheeses were always something to linger over.
He was no festival connoisseur, but he gauged the event a huge success.
His head no longer throbbed, but his arms and legs ached, and his eyes were like saw-dust. In usual circumstances he’d pour another long-deserved drink after a frantic night in the kitchen. He realised with dawning clarity, that his behaviour had to change. Alcohol was to be enjoyed and fine wine an indulgence, not a coping mechanism to get through, get on and ultimately get out. He was a chef for goodness sake, he understood appreciating quality. Alcohol needed to be treated the same way.
And tonight, he’d cooked for one hundred people without a drop of alcohol in his system, well, none that wasn’t left-over anyways. Triumphant! The first step in the right direction.
‘Caleb, thank you, that was incredible,’ Yvette patted him on the arm. ‘The best meal I’ve had in a long time and certainly the best French festival.’
‘That was awesome, man,’ another bloke slapped him on the back as he exited the tent.
‘Caleb,’ Jacqueline paused for effect, touched him on the arm, ‘that was amazing. You’re an incredible chef, those flavours, the presentation, it was all sublime. In case you’re unsure, you have a place in this town, you’ve earned it. I hope you’ll stay.’ That made his heart twist in his chest.
A procession of people left the marquee and each congratulated him. Could he accept that he might be back? That he’d overcome his disaster, his fear?
There was a heavier slap to his back and a hand gripping his.
‘Good to see you.’
‘Marco, you’re here.’
‘Had to come and check out where you’ve been hiding.’ Caleb went to interrupt but Marco stopped him. ‘No, it’s okay. I understand. This place has potential, especially with this weird French thing it’s got going on. There’re a few vacant spots in town. Want to try something different?’
‘Are you serious? You’re happy to take another risk on me?’
‘Of course. You’re one of Australia’s best chefs. We have some stuff to sort out with Lavapond before we can start a new venture, but yes, I say we do it. You will draw the crowds no matter where the restaurant is.’
‘Mate, I won’t let you down.’
‘You never have,’ and he walked away, ‘oh and well done with your Insta feed and those pics, people love them, keep it up!’
What? He snatched out his phone and caught a glimpse of an endless feed of food pics, but Bridie approached.
‘You did it.’ She glowed in the moon-lit sky.
‘You don’t ever drink. You had some champagne today?’
‘No, I don’t usually drink. My father deals with life by drowning himself to the point he can’t wake up the next day, and sometimes worse. I’ve detested drinking ever since, seen it as a sign of weakness, blamed it for making people behave badly, but it wasn’t the drink, it was them. My father struggles and will probably always struggle, with or without alcohol. He has good and bad days. Like everyone else, I’ve indulged him and picked up the slack too often.’
‘I’m so sorry about this morning. I’m not like your dad, I only ever used to drink in the kitchen, and it was a habit, not an addiction. Busy service, pressure, everyone did it. I realise it’s a mistake and I promise to stop doing that.’
‘For me?’ her voice quavered.
‘Yes, for you. I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.’
‘Thank you,’ she bowed her head before gazing into the distance. ‘But I have to thank you too. You’ve made me realise that I’m not the one running this town, I am not the sole person responsible for the tuckshop, minding sick children, making cakes and running a farm and trying to translate books. I’ve always been alone and it’s nice to be needed but it’s become a bit out of hand.’
‘A bit?’ he joked. ‘You won’t have time to help others anyway because I need you. Sybella needs you.’ He moved closer so his breath fanned her face, placed one hand to her cheek and let the other wind through her hair that flowed around her shoulders. Her eyelashes fluttered and she inched closer, their bodies warm. His head was pounding for a different reason as he massaged her cheek with his thumb and shivers of delight bolted through his body. He swept her hair to the side and planted a kiss to the soft skin of her neck. She leaned her head back in response and he trailed a row of kisses from her collar bone to her jaw. Their lips met and lust engulfed him, desire rocking through him. Caleb wanted more and he pressed harder and tasted all of her, smothering her with his kisses. She quivered under his touch, and he moved back to let them both catch their breath, but Bridie found his lips once more, her arms surrounding his back until his body burned.
A crack blasted above their heads and the sky erupted in a kaleidoscope of colour. Bursts of fireworks in spirals of red, white and blue filled the sky, trails of smoke billowing after each explosion. Caleb lowered his gaze and saw the lights reflected and dancing in Bridie’s expression.
‘Fireworks!’ Came a shriek and little hands clasped around their joined legs. Caleb lifted Sybella up to join in their embrace and the three of them cuddled, enjoying the best French festival Bellethorpe had ever seen.
* * *
THE END
