Page 45 of The Vet from Snowy River
That would cover it; more than. ‘Thanks, Kev. I appreciate it.’
Poppy swung her way through the kitchen doors carrying a tray of the fruitcake she’d sliced earlier into finger-thin soldiers, and began passing them around. The girl had taken to café work like … words failed her. Like a goth to eyeliner? Like a teenage girl to mood swings? She watched on as old George accepted a slice of cake and promptly dropped it in his basket of thread.
‘I’ll help you, Mr Juggins,’ she heard Poppy say.
‘Cake disaster,’ Vera murmured to Kev and rose from her chair to rescue the rest of the fruitcake so Poppy could help the old man.
‘Call me George,’ she heard him say.
‘Call me Poppy,’ said Poppy.
‘Poppy! That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. Look out, don’t mess up my work, young lady. I’ve spent an hour sorting out this tangle.’
‘Yes, George.’
Vera could hear the girl giggling as she passed around the rest of the cake, filled water glasses, plucked cotton snarls from her black apron.
She smiled. So okay, maybe this community craft caper wasn’t all bad. And she’d taken three bookings for lunch next week from tonight’s guests.
Her thoughts drifted back to the half-made quilt she’d pulled out of one of Jill’s boxes. Maybe she should bring it along to the craft group and try to finish it; gussy it up a little. Take a seat at the table, push through her reluctance to get involved, and do something good for her aunt, at long last. Her aunt should have a little colour draped over her knees, not a bland beige hospital blanket.
Her eyes fell on Marigold. The woman was a dynamo, darting about the table, voicing her opinions as though they were commandments. She and her aunt would have bonded like fondant onto cake. Bringing Jill’s quilt along, and setting a few stitches in if the café was quiet, was doable. Winter would be a shock to both her and her aunt, this far up in the Snowy Mountains. She’d love to be able to tuck Jill’s quilt over her knees … all she had to do was get the thing finished.
Fabric, cotton, wadding, scissors. If she could make a lemon soufflé, surely she could bang together the other half of a quilt?
The guilt of all the things shehadn’tdone for Jill—like ensure she was in a safe home—came crashing into her mood and she reached out a hand to steady herself.
‘Vera, we’re out of cake, and that’s the last of the sandwiches, too. Do we have any more?’
She stared blindly at the girl for a moment.
‘Vera?’ said Poppy. ‘You okay? You look a bit funny.’
Pretending she was okay wasn’t easy, but she’d had plenty of practice. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about the food, perhaps just take the teapot around again.’
‘Sure thing.’
‘And, um, Poppy? Are you right to hold the fort for five minutes? I just want to duck out back for a second.’
‘Wow. I’ll be the boss? You know I’m fifteen, right?’
Vera forced a smile, pulled off her apron and set off through the kitchen and out the back, but the second the door closed behind her, she sank onto the back step and felt her dam wall of pretence break.
Shit. Shit, shit,shit. Why couldn’t this grief for her old life be done already? This guilt over stuffing her aunt into a crappy care home and making a total balls-up of everything? She was tired of crying, and having to make excuses, and run from rooms so she could hide what a total mess she was.
A bump at her elbow made her look down; the cat was there, its round furry face looking up at her expectantly.
‘I don’t have milk if that’s what you’re after,’ she sniffed. ‘And if it’s answers you’re after, I sure as hell don’t have any of those.’
The cat butted her elbow again as though to make doubly sure she knew it was there, then it curled itself onto the step beside her and commenced making a noise like it had a lawnmower tucked away under all that fur.
Was that … purring? Her life was swirling down the plughole into a sewer-stink of regret, and her new bestie thought this was something to purr about?
‘You suck at empathy,’ she muttered.
But the longer she sat on the step, the warmer her right hip began to feel under the cat’s weight, and the more that loud rumble of a purr began to sink into her soul. The tears had stopped. Her breathing had sorted itself out. She felt … a little wrung out, like she always did when her emotions found themselves exposed … but better.
‘I suppose I’d better go and rescue my fifteen-year-old employee from those tea guzzlers,’ she said to the cat.
