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‘I need to sort out some serving platters and plates. Let’s pop these into the fridge to set and we’ll find Bridie. She’ll know where I can source some.’ Sybella nodded, head supported by her hand. ‘Tell you what, can you please taste test this one?’ and he slid a fresh, small, strawberry tart across the table. Her eyes popped open as wide as saucers; her energy immediately invigorated.
Sybella rubbed her tummy as they left the house, still singing the praises of the tart. ‘That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’
Caleb laughed. ‘That’s the finest praise I’ve ever received,’ he said, wiping the crumbs away from the corners of her mouth, the only evidence of the treat she’d devoured.
The festival was in the local showground, only metres from their home. ‘Sybella, is it always this cold here in winter? This town is freezing!’ Caleb said as they walked. Whenever he’d left the house recently, it felt like the South Pole. The little girl giggled, ‘Yeah, I guess. We get snow sometimes and we can ski and skate!’ The temperature must be below freezing so he believed the snow bit, but enough to ski? That he would have to see for himself.
To make matters worse, the sun slid behind a cloud and the world grew dim. He shuffled faster as a thunderclap rumbled the sky and forced the clouds overhead to rush past. A slight breeze picked up and the familiar fresh scent of rain permeated the air.
‘Oh, no, not rain,’ Sybella moaned but they’d reached the grounds. It was a hive of activity, people bustling to and fro, carrying tents and chairs and tables. Various marquees were set up forming a white tent wonderland. They wandered past signs indicating ticket sales, drinks, a bar and walked through tables and chairs scattered across an expanse of lawn. He spotted Bridie; she was hard to miss; a burst of pink in amongst the bleakness of the day. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with random curly strands framing her face, the bubble jacket was patterned with strawberries. She was a living, walking berry.
An unexpected wind gust swept the red check tablecloths into the air, and Bridie scrambled to chase after them. Rushing over, Caleb managed to save a couple. ‘Do you have something to secure these with?’ he asked. Bridie paused at the sound of his voice and turned, smiling but her body was ramrod straight. Caleb detected the strain around her eyes and mouth.
She stared at him for a moment too long. Was she happy to see him? ‘Oh, thank you Caleb, Sybella, yes I do. Hang tight. I have a bunch of lantern lights for each table.’ She disappeared for a second and then produced a box. Working together they placed the lights on each table.
‘These look beautiful,’ he said.
She gave him that contemplative look again as if she considered everything he said. ‘The white marquees mixed in with the red and blue will look incredible,’ he continued.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, her voice tentative. ‘Would you like me to show you around so you’re familiar for tomorrow?’
Before he could respond, someone yelled a question at Bridie, and she became distracted answering. When she’d finished, he said, ‘Yeah, that would be great, thanks. I’m wondering if you have serving platters for the sweet food?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I’ve hired everything. You’ll have more than you need. C’mon, Sybella,’ and she grasped the girl’s hand and they traipsed across the grass. He fought against his need to walk with them, to clasp her other hand, hold it close, warm up her fingers, be near her.
They arrived at the kitchen specially made for a chef and industrial in its fit out and size. ‘It’s all yours,’ Bridie said.
Caleb scanned the space, feeling a little bit like he was floating. His heart beat faster than it should, and his palms became clammy. All of a sudden, he was back in the kitchen at Lavapond. There was the noise of guests eating, drinking and talking, the clash of cutlery, the yelling of abuse and he felt the heat from the cooktop; it was all too real.
How can anyone ever trust his cooking again?
He flinched.
‘So, what do you think?’
He heard the words, but they didn’t register.
‘Caleb?’
Sybella kicked him in the shin.
‘Oh, ah, it looks as if it has everything I need. And clean, too.’ Bridie stared, wanting more, but his lips were stuck together. Letting it go, she went to one of the open cupboards and extracted a handful of serving platters. ‘This is where they’re stored; take as many as you need. Probably best to bring the food over and we serve from here tomorrow?’
‘How many people are expected for dinner again?’ he asked as if she hadn’t spoken.
Bridie paused, hand to chin in contemplation. ‘Uh, let me see. I think we’ve booked for around one hundred.’
One hundred? The sting of bile rose in his throat. He swallowed and tasted the bitterness and sharp tang.
A man opened the flap of the tent and dashed inside. ‘Oh, thank goodness I found you, Bridie. We’re having a disagreement over whether the jukebox should be placed to the left or right of the stage. Can you please come and sort it out?’ Bridie nodded and turned back to face them, pausing.
‘You go, you’re busy. We’ll see you tomorrow,’ he managed.
Bridie’s lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but then she closed her mouth and left.
When she was almost out of sight, Sybella screeched, ‘Bridie, the tarts are the best, you’ll love them!’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she said and waved with a weak smile.
