Page 22 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Eight

Running from my Holden ute, large raindrops attack me until I’m beneath the protection of the dark green awning over the door of the Harvest Café. People with umbrellas litter the footpath, Main Street coming to life with the usual Saturday-morning café hoppers.

When I head inside I receive warm greetings from the group, at the round table near the window. A coffee awaits me, and a vacant chair. When I cast my eye over the table, most of the other cups are half full. I’m instantly filled with regret.

“I got you a flat white. Hope that’s okay?” Hannah says.

“Yes. Perfect. Sorry I’m late,” I say, and grip the back of the seat. “I need something to eat. Does anyone want anything?”

No one takes me up on the offer, so I dash to the counter and order a slice of Nutella and white chocolate cheesecake. They plate it up for me on the spot, and I return to the group and set about stirring two sugars in my coffee. I don’t bother using an excuse, because I have none. I overslept, plain and simple. I’d even dreamt about my characters, but all they did was stand and stare at each other. They couldn’t even engage in a little chit chat.What hope have I got?

Rain trickles down the windows that face onto the street, a little piece of calm in the café that’s alive and humming with sounds from the kitchen and chatty customers.

“We’ve had a brief chance to catch up. Why don’t you tell us how your writing’s going, Jane?” Janine asks, tucking her personalised pen into the spiral of her matching notebook. “Did you get some good words?”

The question I’ve been dreading since I woke up in a panic. I should’ve been able to get at least a page or two last night, but after I caught up withThe Associateand ventured into my bedroom to get changed, Butch had shredded all my gossip magazines. By the time I’d cooked dinner and cleaned up, I couldn’t focus.

“I’ve been pretty busy with the new job. Still settling in.” I have writer’s block. I struggle writing my own bloody shopping list. “Haven’t had a chance to really sit down and focus.”

I’d be so embarrassed if I had to admit how much time I’d wasted on names and stupid towns called Mount TBA.

“It can be tough starting somewhere new. You like it there, though?” Britt asks, toying with a stray dreadlock.

“Yeah, the people I work with are really nice, and I enjoy the job. Some of the residents are pretty cool too.”Like Sam.

Do I tell them about him? Actually, I’d really like to know what they think.

“Can I ask you guys something?” I say, looking from face to face.

“Sure,” Hannah says.

“Fire away.” Leonie nods.

“Did you know there are young people living in aged-care facilities?” I ask, looking around to everyone. “Right here in Willow Creek?”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. I read an article about it online the other day. It’s happening all over the state, all over the country,” Hannah says, her groomed brows pulling together. She takes off her round glasses and cleans them on her black linen shirt.

“That actually happens?” Leonie asks in a higher-pitched voice.

“I know. I can’t imagine. There’s this guy, Sam. I’m not quite sure how he’s ended up at the home, but—”

“Is he cute?” Leonie asks, toying with the assortment of silver rings adorning her fingers.

Heat floods to my cheeks. Yeah, he’s cute. I almost creepy-touched him in his sleep last night. But should I be talking about residents like that outside of work?

Then again, he’s not your typical resident.

“He’s …”

“You like him,” Janice barks out. “Just admit it.”

“What? No. It’s not like that. I barely know him.”

Janice purses her lips. “You may not know it yet, but that look on your face? You like him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, aware of how foolish I sound.

“Thou doth protest too much,” Hannah says and tuts.

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