stared at her gran with new respect. ‘Making your own home almost from scratch. How would you even know where to start?’
‘It was a great adventure, you’re right, turning this place from offices and warehousing into the apartment. And then setting up the Kitchen...’ Bea took another mouthful of cocoa, enjoying the feeling of the soft, melted marshmallows against the roof of her mouth. ‘You know, a lot of people thought we were mad. Instead of sitting by the water or strolling around a golf course, taking it easy, we were donning bib ’n’ brace overalls and picking up sledgehammers! Maybe we were a bit mad.’ Bea laughed. ‘In fact, there’s no maybe about it!’
‘Why did you guys open the café?’ Flora asked.
There was the smallest flicker to Bea’s eyelids. Because I wanted to feed people around a table. Cooking for them with love and feeling their gratitude. I thought it might make up for the big, close family I craved. ‘Who doesn’t want to run a café? It’s great fun!’
‘I guess. But it’s hard work...’ Flora blinked, giving Bea the impression that this too had been overhead on one of Wyatt’s rants about the foolish ambitions of his mother, the only woman he knew who chose to slog her guts out every day.
‘I think, Flora, that it’s one of life’s great privileges to do something because you want to and not because you have to. Don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so.’ Flora nodded, not entirely sure she understood. ‘This apartment is awesome, even if it is a bit noisy with the doors open. It’s cool.’
‘Thank you, that’s nice to hear. It’s funny, my gran always seemed so old, even though I knew her when she was much younger than I am now!’ She smiled, picturing her late grandmother back when they all lived in England. ‘She had a little Edwardian house in Surrey, not far from the Epsom Downs—’
‘So you came all the way from Surrey, England to Surry Hills, Australia – neat!’
Bea smiled at her funny, perceptive granddaughter. ‘You couldn’t imagine two more different places, darling!’ She chuckled. ‘Where my gran lived, on the Epsom Downs, was famous for horse-racing. They used to train the horses in the early morning and I used to love watching them galloping through the mist, heads down, steam rising from their bodies. Quite a sight. But I didn’t like my gran’s house so much: it was so old-fashioned, full of tasselled lamps, brass ornaments, chintzy cushions and embroidered pictures of dogs, if you can imagine that! And the whole place smelt of mothballs. I always wanted to fling open the windows, it was stifling.’
‘Sounds gross.’ Flora grinned.
Bea laughed; she liked the girl’s honesty. The two sipped their drinks in amiable silence.
‘It was just different and I believe it came into fashion a while back, all that vintage floral on just about everything, but personally I can think of nothing worse than being one of those women who wear frocks and mackintoshes that coordinate with their bread bins.’
Flora laughed; this sounded like her mother’s friends for a start. ‘Why did your parents leave Surrey and come out here in the first place? I mean, I’m glad you did, but I was just wondering why.’
‘Well, I don’t know how much Dad has told you, but my father was a minister. A man of God, at least that’s what he told everyone.’ ‘You will leave and take your shame with you. You are not my daughter...’ His words were still crisp in her mind. ‘He and my mum came to take over the running of a church in Byron Bay, up in northern New South Wales.’
‘But you didn’t stay with them?’
‘No. I didn’t.’ Bea took a deep breath, not able to discuss this today; she needed to change the topic. ‘I’m a bit worried about you, Flora. It is lovely to see you, but I’m worried about you. I hated seeing you so upset earlier. Dad said you were having a spot of bother at school. You don’t have to talk to me, of
‘It was a great adventure, you’re right, turning this place from offices and warehousing into the apartment. And then setting up the Kitchen...’ Bea took another mouthful of cocoa, enjoying the feeling of the soft, melted marshmallows against the roof of her mouth. ‘You know, a lot of people thought we were mad. Instead of sitting by the water or strolling around a golf course, taking it easy, we were donning bib ’n’ brace overalls and picking up sledgehammers! Maybe we were a bit mad.’ Bea laughed. ‘In fact, there’s no maybe about it!’
‘Why did you guys open the café?’ Flora asked.
There was the smallest flicker to Bea’s eyelids. Because I wanted to feed people around a table. Cooking for them with love and feeling their gratitude. I thought it might make up for the big, close family I craved. ‘Who doesn’t want to run a café? It’s great fun!’
‘I guess. But it’s hard work...’ Flora blinked, giving Bea the impression that this too had been overhead on one of Wyatt’s rants about the foolish ambitions of his mother, the only woman he knew who chose to slog her guts out every day.
‘I think, Flora, that it’s one of life’s great privileges to do something because you want to and not because you have to. Don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so.’ Flora nodded, not entirely sure she understood. ‘This apartment is awesome, even if it is a bit noisy with the doors open. It’s cool.’
‘Thank you, that’s nice to hear. It’s funny, my gran always seemed so old, even though I knew her when she was much younger than I am now!’ She smiled, picturing her late grandmother back when they all lived in England. ‘She had a little Edwardian house in Surrey, not far from the Epsom Downs—’
‘So you came all the way from Surrey, England to Surry Hills, Australia – neat!’
Bea smiled at her funny, perceptive granddaughter. ‘You couldn’t imagine two more different places, darling!’ She chuckled. ‘Where my gran lived, on the Epsom Downs, was famous for horse-racing. They used to train the horses in the early morning and I used to love watching them galloping through the mist, heads down, steam rising from their bodies. Quite a sight. But I didn’t like my gran’s house so much: it was so old-fashioned, full of tasselled lamps, brass ornaments, chintzy cushions and embroidered pictures of dogs, if you can imagine that! And the whole place smelt of mothballs. I always wanted to fling open the windows, it was stifling.’
‘Sounds gross.’ Flora grinned.
Bea laughed; she liked the girl’s honesty. The two sipped their drinks in amiable silence.
‘It was just different and I believe it came into fashion a while back, all that vintage floral on just about everything, but personally I can think of nothing worse than being one of those women who wear frocks and mackintoshes that coordinate with their bread bins.’
Flora laughed; this sounded like her mother’s friends for a start. ‘Why did your parents leave Surrey and come out here in the first place? I mean, I’m glad you did, but I was just wondering why.’
‘Well, I don’t know how much Dad has told you, but my father was a minister. A man of God, at least that’s what he told everyone.’ ‘You will leave and take your shame with you. You are not my daughter...’ His words were still crisp in her mind. ‘He and my mum came to take over the running of a church in Byron Bay, up in northern New South Wales.’
‘But you didn’t stay with them?’
‘No. I didn’t.’ Bea took a deep breath, not able to discuss this today; she needed to change the topic. ‘I’m a bit worried about you, Flora. It is lovely to see you, but I’m worried about you. I hated seeing you so upset earlier. Dad said you were having a spot of bother at school. You don’t have to talk to me, of
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