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‘When do you possibly find the time? You’re always here at school or at a meeting or helping someone out?’ Caleb shook his head.
‘Yeah, it’s a bit tricky. Someone always needs a hand.’
‘Do they? Or are they used to you doing everything?’
Her reply was too quick, and he realised he’d hit a sore spot. ‘I don’t do everything, it’s a community effort.’ She walked away without further comment.
Caleb followed behind with Sybella holding his hand. A few mothers blocked their path and snapped shots of him with their phone. Caleb glanced at Bridie and heard her muttering, ‘What on earth,’ as the women retreated.
‘A newcomer to town is always interesting,’ she said and kept walking.
She didn’t know. Could she be the only person in town who didn’t?
Bridie reached the house first. She stopped and glanced at the path and across the yard and scorched him with a look. ‘Didn’t feel like shepherd’s pie tonight?’
‘I prefer fish,’ he was quick and responded with like lack of emotion. Without turning her gaze back upon him, she said, ‘Someone worked hard on those meals specially for you. Let’s clean it up before they see.’
‘Eww, that’s gross,’ Sybella tip-toed through the debris avoiding stepping into the mess. She raced inside once past the worst of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he reached for Bridie’s arm, working hard to conceal the bag. A swelling of emotion boiled up inside of him. ‘I forgot myself. I’ll clean it up. You go in and keep Sybella company and heat up the dinner,’ his voice cracked without his consent.
Bridie’s face was a patchwork of concern and that angst, that care, that concern, was for him. It only took him 700 kilometres to find someone who cared. Caleb slouched his shoulders and his lips trembled, holding back the tears. But he couldn’t and the dam broke. It was the first time he’d cried, and the relief was enormous. The tears started silent and fat and trickled down his cheeks but when her arms encircled him, it was like permission, and he lost his control. Her grip was firm and close providing reassurance everything would be okay. Bridie offered comfort, relief from the pain he’d held inside, and those tears turned into ugly heaving sobs that racked his chest. Gasping for air, he clutched her tighter, and hung on.
6
‘You know I don’t care about your reputation or what people say or even if you’re a drunk, but as Mayor of this town I’m responsible for my citizens.’
Jacqueline Kennedy stood at the head of the couch with her hands on her hips and glared down at him, as usual, with absolute disregard for his privacy.
Bloody woman. Couldn’t she leave him the hell alone? He stretched out his legs, but one foot bumped the empty vodka bottle and it hit the rug with a soft thud. He expected a reprimand and braced, ready.
He was on the couch, again. Hungover, again. Damnit, but that wasn’t the swear word he wanted to curse. His temples throbbed in unison and his throat was as dry as a desert. He wasn’t surviving today. And Jacqueline blabbered on.
Caleb glanced at his watch. Shit. The room was too bright, Jacqueline’s voice like a jackhammer. He was late for tuckshop and Sybella late for school.
‘You’re helping at school, and we’ve lined you up for the festival. People are relying upon you. This,’ and she swung her phone around and Caleb saw she was on his Instagram page, ‘cannot adversely affect the local community. We aren’t a haven for people to run away and hide from their problems.’
‘I’m here because my sister is dead.’ He sat up.
That made her pause. Lips tight set, she glanced at the phone. ‘You’ve got quite a following and at the moment you’re being trolled. People are cruel.’
He ran his hands through his hair.
When he didn’t say anything further, she kicked his shoe, her tone softer and said, ‘You’re a mess. Tidy yourself up,’ Jacqueline pulled away the crochet rug he’d used as a blanket and folded it into a neat square.
Then Bridie barrelled in, making the tiny room even smaller. She gave a tentative wave. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’
‘Did you know about this?’ Jacqueline shoved the phone in her face.
Bridie frowned. ‘His Instagram feed? Boy you have a lot of followers.’
‘No, not that,’ and Jacqueline snatched the phone away and swiped at the screen. ‘This.’
Caleb hung his head in his hands as Bridie took the phone and read.
‘Putting aside the personal toll,’ Jacqueline said and arched one eyebrow, ‘this could be a marketing and PR nightmare. What are we going to do about it?’
As if she hadn’t just read the damning article about him and his restaurant, Bridie lifted her handbag higher on her shoulder and smoothed her hands down the front of her white jeans. ‘Well, first things first. Sybella is due at school. I have her clean and ironed uniform,’ she held it up. ‘And Caleb is due at the tuckshop. Caleb, you have a shower and I’ll put the kettle on. Jacqueline can help.’
