Second Chance Family, page 11
Possibly not, but they’d have to discuss that later. With luck Callie could catch someone at the Happy Snipper about an appointment for tomorrow, or at least she could leave a message. ‘Listen, honey, I have to take Jenna to practice, but I’ll come back straight away and we’ll work something out, okay?’
Grace sagged against the bathroom door frame, her expression one of such utter despair that Callie felt bad about leaving her.
‘While I’m gone, don’t do anything silly, will you? You might feel better if you tuck your hair up under a beanie or in a towel or something.’ She took Grace by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. ‘Okay?’
To her relief, her daughter gave a reassuring nod. ‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Good.’ Callie, relieved, was about to leave when she turned back. ‘I suppose you felt you needed to do this after what I told you last night? About Sandy Findlay and the red hair and everything?’
Grace nodded unhappily. ‘I don’t want to be related to some guy we’ve never heard of. I want to be Grandpa Keith’s granddaughter.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Callie hugged her hard.
The twins were tired after staying up so late the previous night, and all three children went to sleep quite early. Callie decided to check if her mother was available for a FaceTime call.
Her parents still lived in the house in Brisbane where Callie had grown up, and she was comforted by the sight of her mum’s happy smile as she sat ensconced in her favourite armchair in a corner of the loungeroom that still felt so familiar. The round silky-oak table beside her mum’s chair was a favourite memory for Callie.
Over so many Christmases that table been home to a small, neat tree of white painted twigs covered in twinkling lights. Tonight, it held the stained-glass lamp that her dad had learned to make at evening classes.
‘This is a lovely surprise, Callie.’ Her mum was as smiling and warm as ever. ‘How are you all up there?’
Callie assured her they were well and then checked that her parents were fine, before moving on to all the Sandy Findlay news – which was received with predictable gasps and exclamations.
‘Gosh, I can certainly understand what a shock it’s been for you all,’ her mum said. ‘I do feel for poor Nora and Keith. But it’s actually quite wonderful, isn’t it? So generous of that man. And such a relief for you to know your children will have a financial safety net in the future.’
After weathering the storm of reactions here in Townsville, Callie had almost forgotten that there was a good side to this bequest. ‘You’re right,’ she said now. ‘But it’s taking a while for everything to sink in.’ Then she went on to tell her mum about Amelia’s response and the whole hair saga with the twins.
‘Poor darlings.’ Over the years, her mum had taught a few sets of identical twins, and she understood their emotional ups and downs. ‘They’ll probably be excited once they get over the shock of a surprise grandfather.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Did you say this farm is quite beautiful?’
‘Yes, it’s gorgeous actually.’ It was only now, as she described Hawkridge for her mum, that Callie realised how little interest the girls had shown in the property. Perhaps she hadn’t tried hard enough to tell them about it?
‘Sounds as if the bequest was a very generous gesture from this Sandy chap,’ her mum said.
‘I know, Mum, it’s amazing.’
‘Are you going to take the children up there to see the property?’
‘I’d like to at some point, but I expect we should wait till probate is settled.’
‘Yes, I guess that’s wise. Perhaps the Christmas holidays would be a good time?’
This suggestion was so unexpected, Callie felt her jaw drop hard. ‘But, Mum, we’re coming to the Sunshine Coast with you.’
‘Well, yes, I know that was the plan, Cal, but we do that every year and this summer might be your only opportunity to spend time at Hawkridge. Didn’t you say that you and this Scottish fellow were planning to sell sometime next year?’
‘I did, yes. We can’t sell for twelve months – so the earliest would be next July.’
‘Which means these summer holidays are probably your best chance for a decent visit. That’s if you’d like to let the kids stay there for a bit and get to know the place.’
Callie tried to picture this scenario, her thoughts seesawing between the fun they might have at Hawkridge and the inevitable tears over cancelling the Sunshine Coast plans. ‘Mum, do you really think it’s a good idea, when we’re going to sell anyway?’
Instead of answering, her mother asked, ‘What’s this Ben Galbraith like?’
And now, Callie wished she hadn’t chosen to FaceTime. She caught sight of the small pic of herself in the corner of her screen and she was sure her cheeks had gone deep pink. But if her mother had noticed the flush, she was diplomatic enough not to mention it.
‘He’s – er – he’s quite nice,’ Callie said. ‘Very helpful, actually.’
‘And you say he has his own separate accommodation on the farm?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you and the children could stay in the house. Have fun, possibly doing a spot of painting. Get the girls to help.’
‘Perhaps.’ Of course, this picture had huge appeal – for Callie, at least – although she wasn’t sure the girls would be quite so enthusiastic. ‘But, Mum, you’ve already booked the whole house at Sunshine Beach.’
‘Oh, don’t let that bother you. I’m sure Sue and Tony, or Bryony and Jim, would leap at the chance to join us there for Christmas.’
These couples were long-time friends of her parents, and Callie knew that if they weren’t free, there’d be others, which left her yet again envying her mum’s strong social network.
‘Look, Callie. I know it’s not really any of my business, but this bequest is wonderfully generous. I understand that once the property is sold the money will go into a trust, which the children won’t be able to access until they’re old enough, and that’s sensible. But by then, it will simply be a lump of money with no special significance.’
‘I guess.’
‘Wouldn’t you like your children to understand that Hawkridge was a beautiful property? Sandy Findlay wasn’t just leaving them money, but a piece of countryside he almost certainly loved.’
Put like that, Callie realised her mum was making an important point. It would be so much better if her children had happy memories of Hawkridge and truly appreciated the historical significance of Sandy’s bequest. And, no question, she loved the idea of spending several weeks up there in the mountains, enjoying the weather that was bound to be cooler than on the coast, while also playing at a spot of renovating.
Her challenge would be convincing her daughters that this was any version of a good idea.
December
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Burralea markets were buzzing. The parklands were filled with rows of tented stalls and a veritable crowd of eager shoppers. Locally grown and processed tea and coffee were on sale, along with freshly harvested fruit and veg, and all manner of handmade crafts, pot plants, Christmas gifts and baking. And then there were the stalls selling second-hand books, old farm machinery and even chickens in pens.
At the main entrance, local choristers were singing traditional Christmas carols, while further along, a band made up of guitar, banjo and violin played old-time folk music with a distinctly cheerful vibe. Ben couldn’t help feeling upbeat.
He also felt surprisingly at home. There were many folk here at the markets that he knew, at least by sight, and quite a few stopped him to say ‘g’day’ and have a chat. In fact, these greetings happened so many times, he was beginning to fear that everything would be sold by the time he made his way to the Christmas baking stall.
Luckily, there were still a few Christmas cakes. Ben chose a big round fruit cake, rich and dark and wrapped in a decorative tartan frill pinned with holly.
The woman serving him was Marie Cairns, who also worked part time at a local café where Ben liked to drop in for a coffee and one of their delicious cheese scones.
‘This big beauty of a cake should keep you going till next Christmas, Ben,’ Marie commented, with a wide grin.
‘Oh, aye,’ he agreed. ‘But you wouldn’t have any spare puddings, would you?’
Marie’s eyes popped wide. ‘Pudding as well? You’re in luck, I do have one or two left.’ She lifted an item wrapped in red cellophane. ‘Made by the ladies in the CWA.’
‘Perfect,’ said Ben. ‘And what about fruit mince pies?’
‘Goodness, Ben, you’re going the whole hog, aren’t you?’ Then, with a smiling wink, Marie added, ‘You must be expecting company for Christmas?’
‘Yes, I am, actually.’ Ben hoped he didn’t look too pleased. In recent years he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the festive season. Last year with Sandy, Christmas had been very quiet, but even before he’d come to Australia, the cold war between his parents back in Scotland had managed to spoil any sense of festivity for his family.
This year, however, Ben was not only still in Australia, but Callie and her brood were coming to Hawkridge. Ben had found himself remembering the excitement of those times in his childhood when he’d gone to the Highlands to spend Christmas with his mother’s parents. Oh, the fun of those happy days. Fireside carols and storytelling, a tall, extravagantly decorated Christmas tree and a table laden with sensational food. Better still had been the opportunity to play hide-and-seek with his cousins, to go tobogganing in the hills and hunting with his grandfather. Most memorable had been that huge honour, at the age of twelve, when his grandfather had allowed Ben to carry his Purdey shotgun for him.
Ben realised that Marie was studying him now with her head cocked to one side and a narrowed gaze that held an unmissable sense of expectation. Clearly, she was waiting for details about his visitors.
He supposed there was little to be gained by not telling her. Word would soon be out, one way or another. ‘A woman called Callie Madden and her children are coming up from Townsville,’ he said. And then, in a bid to make light of it, ‘Escaping the heat.’
‘I daresay. And would this woman be Sandy Findlay’s secret daughter-in-law?’
Ben’s upbeat spirits plunged and he couldn’t hold back a sigh. ‘Might you have been talking to Hazel Baxter?’
Now Marie seemed to step back, as if she’d been momentarily caught out. But after a short beat of silence, she gave a shrug and then nodded. ‘Yeah, she did give me an earful.’
Ben would have liked to ask exactly what Hazel had been saying. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard suggestions that the woman was bitter about Sandy’s bequest. Des Barnes, who’d worked on the Hawkridge tractor, had intimated as much. It seemed Hazel was convinced that, as Sandy’s former lover, she was more entitled to an inheritance than some woman in Townsville that Sandy had never even met.
And Shirley, the real estate agent with the fluttering eyelashes, had also cornered Ben at the post office and tried to suggest she’d heard something similar. Ben had politely but firmly refused to express an opinion, adding that probate had been granted, so the matter was final.
He certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to that gossip now, especially when there were other customers crowding around the table.
‘So how much do I owe you?’ he asked Marie.
Luckily, she accepted there would be no further discussion about his interesting visitors. She did a quick calculation and Ben paid her in cash, then carefully stowed the Christmas goodies into the carrier bag he’d brought with him.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I probably won’t see you again before Christmas, so I hope it’s a merry one.’
‘And merry Christmas to you, too, Ben.’
He continued on, determined to forget about Hazel Baxter’s discontented mutterings. This was the first Christmas he’d ever volunteered to help with the food, and he needed to find a stall that sold jars of locally homemade chutney and Davidson plum jam – and perhaps even cranberry sauce, if he was lucky.
‘I was wondering if you could bring a few Christmas ornaments?’
This was possibly the last question Callie had expected from Ben, but it seemed he’d been putting quite a bit of thought into plans for Christmas at Hawkridge, whereas she hadn’t really got her head into that space yet.
Until very recently, her energy had been taken up with finishing off her end-of-year photography assignments, in between pleading with her daughters to be reasonable. As she’d feared, the girls hadn’t taken kindly to the change of plans for their summer holidays.
‘But what can we do up there with no beaches and just green grass and cows?’ Jenna had wailed. And then, half-joking, but still angry, ‘Just as well you stopped me from using Instagram. Who would have followed me? A chicken?’
It didn’t help that Footpath Boy’s family would be spending Christmas down at Caloundra, a fact Callie had discovered just last week. The other fact that Caloundra was a fifty-kilometre drive away from Sunshine Beach was apparently irrelevant. Clearly, Jenna had been dreaming of the two of them somehow catching up and spending plenty of time together.
And then Grace had joined in with her own complaints. ‘The wet season starts in December, so it will probably rain the whole time.’ Sometimes her daughter’s keen interest in geography wasn’t very helpful. ‘And there probably won’t even be wi-fi.’
‘Oh, I’m sure there’s wi-fi,’ Callie had assured her, although she hadn’t been certain.
Possibly it had been a mistake to wait until the girls’ end-of-semester exams were over before she’d told them they’d be going to Hawkridge and not the Sunshine Coast. But apart from wanting them to stay focused and calm in those important weeks at school, Callie had also been protecting herself.
Having come through the hair saga – and she’d be forever grateful to Kat at the Happy Snipper, who’d given Grace a lovely chocolate brown cover-up, while also reassuring her that making a bad hair mistake was a rite of passage – Callie had wanted to avoid yet another drama.
Now, school was almost over, her daughters were still grumbling about their spoiled holiday plans, and here was Ben, all upbeat and positive and asking about Christmas decorations.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Callie said, hoping she didn’t sound too caught out. ‘What a good idea. Were you thinking tree ornaments?’
‘Whatever you can manage. I don’t suppose you’ll have a lot of spare room in your car.’
‘No, not with everything the girls want to bring.’ Although Callie was also bringing bed linen and bath towels, as well as the usual clothes, plus a few toys for Joey. However, she quickly added, ‘But a tree would be lovely, Ben. We can let the kids decorate it.’ Anything to keep them busy and hopefully happy.
‘There’s a Christmas tree farm over near Atherton that I thought Joey might like to visit,’ Ben said next. ‘They have a Santa Claus there, as well, but I guess Joey might be almost too old?’
Callie wasn’t certain how Joey felt about Santa Claus, and she didn’t like to quiz him too closely and potentially spoil what remained of that fantasy for him. Joey was her baby, after all. Too soon, he’d be as grown up as his sisters. ‘I’m sure he’d be happy to play along,’ she said. ‘Even if it means pretending.’
‘Fair enough.’
She heard the smile in Ben’s voice and found herself smiling in response. ‘And that Christmas tree farm sounds like a lovely idea.’
‘It’s worth a visit,’ he said. ‘But we don’t necessarily need to buy a tree there. I think I should be able to find something suitable on the property.’
‘Oh, yes. That would be fun.’ Surely the girls would be excited to explore their own farm, hunting for a perfect Christmas tree?
To Callie’s surprise, Ben had already bought all kinds of festive treats at the farmers’ markets, but he reminded her that there were several good supermarkets on the Tablelands, so she certainly didn’t have to worry about bringing food supplies all the way from Townsville.
‘You sound happy,’ said Grace, who’d come into the kitchen just as the phone call was ending.
‘No happier than usual,’ Callie responded defensively. ‘But I’ve been talking to Ben about plans for Christmas. I know it’s going to be quite different for us, but it sounds like it should be fun.’
Right now, for Callie, being up there with those inspiring views and pleasant company and no work commitments or school runs and just long, lazy days was certainly her version of fun.
‘Ben?’ queried Grace. ‘Is he the Scottish guy?’
‘Yes. Ben Galbraith.’
Her daughter smiled cheekily. ‘Is he going to call us lassies like they do on that TV show?’
No doubt she was thinking of Shetland. ‘Would you want to be called lassies?’
‘Not sure.’ Grace’s mouth twisted in a playful smirk. ‘Maybe.’
At least she wasn’t scowling. Callie decided to take advantage of this. ‘I’ve been thinking that you and Jenna might like to think about colour schemes for the bedrooms at Hawkridge. You could even have a go at painting if you like.’
‘Painting the walls?’ Grace’s expression now was a mix of surprise and interest. But then she frowned. ‘We’ll be sharing a room again, I suppose.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Really?’
‘There are four bedrooms. Or at least three bedrooms and a study.’
Grace gave an excited gasp. Earlier in the year, there’d been discussions about painting their bedroom, but Jenna had wanted everything white and blue, and Grace had wanted green and hot pink. The girls had thought about dividing the room down the middle with a different colour scheme on either side, but even they could see that this would look disastrous.
‘Do you mean that Jenna and I could have each have our own room?’ Grace asked.
Callie nodded, pleased she’d saved this surprise for now. ‘You could, yes.’
‘Oh, my God.’
‘But the colour schemes would have to be tasteful,’ she warned. ‘We’re getting ready to sell that place, remember. So, no black caves.’
Grace sagged against the bathroom door frame, her expression one of such utter despair that Callie felt bad about leaving her.
‘While I’m gone, don’t do anything silly, will you? You might feel better if you tuck your hair up under a beanie or in a towel or something.’ She took Grace by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. ‘Okay?’
To her relief, her daughter gave a reassuring nod. ‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Good.’ Callie, relieved, was about to leave when she turned back. ‘I suppose you felt you needed to do this after what I told you last night? About Sandy Findlay and the red hair and everything?’
Grace nodded unhappily. ‘I don’t want to be related to some guy we’ve never heard of. I want to be Grandpa Keith’s granddaughter.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Callie hugged her hard.
The twins were tired after staying up so late the previous night, and all three children went to sleep quite early. Callie decided to check if her mother was available for a FaceTime call.
Her parents still lived in the house in Brisbane where Callie had grown up, and she was comforted by the sight of her mum’s happy smile as she sat ensconced in her favourite armchair in a corner of the loungeroom that still felt so familiar. The round silky-oak table beside her mum’s chair was a favourite memory for Callie.
Over so many Christmases that table been home to a small, neat tree of white painted twigs covered in twinkling lights. Tonight, it held the stained-glass lamp that her dad had learned to make at evening classes.
‘This is a lovely surprise, Callie.’ Her mum was as smiling and warm as ever. ‘How are you all up there?’
Callie assured her they were well and then checked that her parents were fine, before moving on to all the Sandy Findlay news – which was received with predictable gasps and exclamations.
‘Gosh, I can certainly understand what a shock it’s been for you all,’ her mum said. ‘I do feel for poor Nora and Keith. But it’s actually quite wonderful, isn’t it? So generous of that man. And such a relief for you to know your children will have a financial safety net in the future.’
After weathering the storm of reactions here in Townsville, Callie had almost forgotten that there was a good side to this bequest. ‘You’re right,’ she said now. ‘But it’s taking a while for everything to sink in.’ Then she went on to tell her mum about Amelia’s response and the whole hair saga with the twins.
‘Poor darlings.’ Over the years, her mum had taught a few sets of identical twins, and she understood their emotional ups and downs. ‘They’ll probably be excited once they get over the shock of a surprise grandfather.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Did you say this farm is quite beautiful?’
‘Yes, it’s gorgeous actually.’ It was only now, as she described Hawkridge for her mum, that Callie realised how little interest the girls had shown in the property. Perhaps she hadn’t tried hard enough to tell them about it?
‘Sounds as if the bequest was a very generous gesture from this Sandy chap,’ her mum said.
‘I know, Mum, it’s amazing.’
‘Are you going to take the children up there to see the property?’
‘I’d like to at some point, but I expect we should wait till probate is settled.’
‘Yes, I guess that’s wise. Perhaps the Christmas holidays would be a good time?’
This suggestion was so unexpected, Callie felt her jaw drop hard. ‘But, Mum, we’re coming to the Sunshine Coast with you.’
‘Well, yes, I know that was the plan, Cal, but we do that every year and this summer might be your only opportunity to spend time at Hawkridge. Didn’t you say that you and this Scottish fellow were planning to sell sometime next year?’
‘I did, yes. We can’t sell for twelve months – so the earliest would be next July.’
‘Which means these summer holidays are probably your best chance for a decent visit. That’s if you’d like to let the kids stay there for a bit and get to know the place.’
Callie tried to picture this scenario, her thoughts seesawing between the fun they might have at Hawkridge and the inevitable tears over cancelling the Sunshine Coast plans. ‘Mum, do you really think it’s a good idea, when we’re going to sell anyway?’
Instead of answering, her mother asked, ‘What’s this Ben Galbraith like?’
And now, Callie wished she hadn’t chosen to FaceTime. She caught sight of the small pic of herself in the corner of her screen and she was sure her cheeks had gone deep pink. But if her mother had noticed the flush, she was diplomatic enough not to mention it.
‘He’s – er – he’s quite nice,’ Callie said. ‘Very helpful, actually.’
‘And you say he has his own separate accommodation on the farm?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you and the children could stay in the house. Have fun, possibly doing a spot of painting. Get the girls to help.’
‘Perhaps.’ Of course, this picture had huge appeal – for Callie, at least – although she wasn’t sure the girls would be quite so enthusiastic. ‘But, Mum, you’ve already booked the whole house at Sunshine Beach.’
‘Oh, don’t let that bother you. I’m sure Sue and Tony, or Bryony and Jim, would leap at the chance to join us there for Christmas.’
These couples were long-time friends of her parents, and Callie knew that if they weren’t free, there’d be others, which left her yet again envying her mum’s strong social network.
‘Look, Callie. I know it’s not really any of my business, but this bequest is wonderfully generous. I understand that once the property is sold the money will go into a trust, which the children won’t be able to access until they’re old enough, and that’s sensible. But by then, it will simply be a lump of money with no special significance.’
‘I guess.’
‘Wouldn’t you like your children to understand that Hawkridge was a beautiful property? Sandy Findlay wasn’t just leaving them money, but a piece of countryside he almost certainly loved.’
Put like that, Callie realised her mum was making an important point. It would be so much better if her children had happy memories of Hawkridge and truly appreciated the historical significance of Sandy’s bequest. And, no question, she loved the idea of spending several weeks up there in the mountains, enjoying the weather that was bound to be cooler than on the coast, while also playing at a spot of renovating.
Her challenge would be convincing her daughters that this was any version of a good idea.
December
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Burralea markets were buzzing. The parklands were filled with rows of tented stalls and a veritable crowd of eager shoppers. Locally grown and processed tea and coffee were on sale, along with freshly harvested fruit and veg, and all manner of handmade crafts, pot plants, Christmas gifts and baking. And then there were the stalls selling second-hand books, old farm machinery and even chickens in pens.
At the main entrance, local choristers were singing traditional Christmas carols, while further along, a band made up of guitar, banjo and violin played old-time folk music with a distinctly cheerful vibe. Ben couldn’t help feeling upbeat.
He also felt surprisingly at home. There were many folk here at the markets that he knew, at least by sight, and quite a few stopped him to say ‘g’day’ and have a chat. In fact, these greetings happened so many times, he was beginning to fear that everything would be sold by the time he made his way to the Christmas baking stall.
Luckily, there were still a few Christmas cakes. Ben chose a big round fruit cake, rich and dark and wrapped in a decorative tartan frill pinned with holly.
The woman serving him was Marie Cairns, who also worked part time at a local café where Ben liked to drop in for a coffee and one of their delicious cheese scones.
‘This big beauty of a cake should keep you going till next Christmas, Ben,’ Marie commented, with a wide grin.
‘Oh, aye,’ he agreed. ‘But you wouldn’t have any spare puddings, would you?’
Marie’s eyes popped wide. ‘Pudding as well? You’re in luck, I do have one or two left.’ She lifted an item wrapped in red cellophane. ‘Made by the ladies in the CWA.’
‘Perfect,’ said Ben. ‘And what about fruit mince pies?’
‘Goodness, Ben, you’re going the whole hog, aren’t you?’ Then, with a smiling wink, Marie added, ‘You must be expecting company for Christmas?’
‘Yes, I am, actually.’ Ben hoped he didn’t look too pleased. In recent years he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the festive season. Last year with Sandy, Christmas had been very quiet, but even before he’d come to Australia, the cold war between his parents back in Scotland had managed to spoil any sense of festivity for his family.
This year, however, Ben was not only still in Australia, but Callie and her brood were coming to Hawkridge. Ben had found himself remembering the excitement of those times in his childhood when he’d gone to the Highlands to spend Christmas with his mother’s parents. Oh, the fun of those happy days. Fireside carols and storytelling, a tall, extravagantly decorated Christmas tree and a table laden with sensational food. Better still had been the opportunity to play hide-and-seek with his cousins, to go tobogganing in the hills and hunting with his grandfather. Most memorable had been that huge honour, at the age of twelve, when his grandfather had allowed Ben to carry his Purdey shotgun for him.
Ben realised that Marie was studying him now with her head cocked to one side and a narrowed gaze that held an unmissable sense of expectation. Clearly, she was waiting for details about his visitors.
He supposed there was little to be gained by not telling her. Word would soon be out, one way or another. ‘A woman called Callie Madden and her children are coming up from Townsville,’ he said. And then, in a bid to make light of it, ‘Escaping the heat.’
‘I daresay. And would this woman be Sandy Findlay’s secret daughter-in-law?’
Ben’s upbeat spirits plunged and he couldn’t hold back a sigh. ‘Might you have been talking to Hazel Baxter?’
Now Marie seemed to step back, as if she’d been momentarily caught out. But after a short beat of silence, she gave a shrug and then nodded. ‘Yeah, she did give me an earful.’
Ben would have liked to ask exactly what Hazel had been saying. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard suggestions that the woman was bitter about Sandy’s bequest. Des Barnes, who’d worked on the Hawkridge tractor, had intimated as much. It seemed Hazel was convinced that, as Sandy’s former lover, she was more entitled to an inheritance than some woman in Townsville that Sandy had never even met.
And Shirley, the real estate agent with the fluttering eyelashes, had also cornered Ben at the post office and tried to suggest she’d heard something similar. Ben had politely but firmly refused to express an opinion, adding that probate had been granted, so the matter was final.
He certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to that gossip now, especially when there were other customers crowding around the table.
‘So how much do I owe you?’ he asked Marie.
Luckily, she accepted there would be no further discussion about his interesting visitors. She did a quick calculation and Ben paid her in cash, then carefully stowed the Christmas goodies into the carrier bag he’d brought with him.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I probably won’t see you again before Christmas, so I hope it’s a merry one.’
‘And merry Christmas to you, too, Ben.’
He continued on, determined to forget about Hazel Baxter’s discontented mutterings. This was the first Christmas he’d ever volunteered to help with the food, and he needed to find a stall that sold jars of locally homemade chutney and Davidson plum jam – and perhaps even cranberry sauce, if he was lucky.
‘I was wondering if you could bring a few Christmas ornaments?’
This was possibly the last question Callie had expected from Ben, but it seemed he’d been putting quite a bit of thought into plans for Christmas at Hawkridge, whereas she hadn’t really got her head into that space yet.
Until very recently, her energy had been taken up with finishing off her end-of-year photography assignments, in between pleading with her daughters to be reasonable. As she’d feared, the girls hadn’t taken kindly to the change of plans for their summer holidays.
‘But what can we do up there with no beaches and just green grass and cows?’ Jenna had wailed. And then, half-joking, but still angry, ‘Just as well you stopped me from using Instagram. Who would have followed me? A chicken?’
It didn’t help that Footpath Boy’s family would be spending Christmas down at Caloundra, a fact Callie had discovered just last week. The other fact that Caloundra was a fifty-kilometre drive away from Sunshine Beach was apparently irrelevant. Clearly, Jenna had been dreaming of the two of them somehow catching up and spending plenty of time together.
And then Grace had joined in with her own complaints. ‘The wet season starts in December, so it will probably rain the whole time.’ Sometimes her daughter’s keen interest in geography wasn’t very helpful. ‘And there probably won’t even be wi-fi.’
‘Oh, I’m sure there’s wi-fi,’ Callie had assured her, although she hadn’t been certain.
Possibly it had been a mistake to wait until the girls’ end-of-semester exams were over before she’d told them they’d be going to Hawkridge and not the Sunshine Coast. But apart from wanting them to stay focused and calm in those important weeks at school, Callie had also been protecting herself.
Having come through the hair saga – and she’d be forever grateful to Kat at the Happy Snipper, who’d given Grace a lovely chocolate brown cover-up, while also reassuring her that making a bad hair mistake was a rite of passage – Callie had wanted to avoid yet another drama.
Now, school was almost over, her daughters were still grumbling about their spoiled holiday plans, and here was Ben, all upbeat and positive and asking about Christmas decorations.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Callie said, hoping she didn’t sound too caught out. ‘What a good idea. Were you thinking tree ornaments?’
‘Whatever you can manage. I don’t suppose you’ll have a lot of spare room in your car.’
‘No, not with everything the girls want to bring.’ Although Callie was also bringing bed linen and bath towels, as well as the usual clothes, plus a few toys for Joey. However, she quickly added, ‘But a tree would be lovely, Ben. We can let the kids decorate it.’ Anything to keep them busy and hopefully happy.
‘There’s a Christmas tree farm over near Atherton that I thought Joey might like to visit,’ Ben said next. ‘They have a Santa Claus there, as well, but I guess Joey might be almost too old?’
Callie wasn’t certain how Joey felt about Santa Claus, and she didn’t like to quiz him too closely and potentially spoil what remained of that fantasy for him. Joey was her baby, after all. Too soon, he’d be as grown up as his sisters. ‘I’m sure he’d be happy to play along,’ she said. ‘Even if it means pretending.’
‘Fair enough.’
She heard the smile in Ben’s voice and found herself smiling in response. ‘And that Christmas tree farm sounds like a lovely idea.’
‘It’s worth a visit,’ he said. ‘But we don’t necessarily need to buy a tree there. I think I should be able to find something suitable on the property.’
‘Oh, yes. That would be fun.’ Surely the girls would be excited to explore their own farm, hunting for a perfect Christmas tree?
To Callie’s surprise, Ben had already bought all kinds of festive treats at the farmers’ markets, but he reminded her that there were several good supermarkets on the Tablelands, so she certainly didn’t have to worry about bringing food supplies all the way from Townsville.
‘You sound happy,’ said Grace, who’d come into the kitchen just as the phone call was ending.
‘No happier than usual,’ Callie responded defensively. ‘But I’ve been talking to Ben about plans for Christmas. I know it’s going to be quite different for us, but it sounds like it should be fun.’
Right now, for Callie, being up there with those inspiring views and pleasant company and no work commitments or school runs and just long, lazy days was certainly her version of fun.
‘Ben?’ queried Grace. ‘Is he the Scottish guy?’
‘Yes. Ben Galbraith.’
Her daughter smiled cheekily. ‘Is he going to call us lassies like they do on that TV show?’
No doubt she was thinking of Shetland. ‘Would you want to be called lassies?’
‘Not sure.’ Grace’s mouth twisted in a playful smirk. ‘Maybe.’
At least she wasn’t scowling. Callie decided to take advantage of this. ‘I’ve been thinking that you and Jenna might like to think about colour schemes for the bedrooms at Hawkridge. You could even have a go at painting if you like.’
‘Painting the walls?’ Grace’s expression now was a mix of surprise and interest. But then she frowned. ‘We’ll be sharing a room again, I suppose.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Really?’
‘There are four bedrooms. Or at least three bedrooms and a study.’
Grace gave an excited gasp. Earlier in the year, there’d been discussions about painting their bedroom, but Jenna had wanted everything white and blue, and Grace had wanted green and hot pink. The girls had thought about dividing the room down the middle with a different colour scheme on either side, but even they could see that this would look disastrous.
‘Do you mean that Jenna and I could have each have our own room?’ Grace asked.
Callie nodded, pleased she’d saved this surprise for now. ‘You could, yes.’
‘Oh, my God.’
‘But the colour schemes would have to be tasteful,’ she warned. ‘We’re getting ready to sell that place, remember. So, no black caves.’
