Miracle In March Page 4

  Chapter 6

  By eight the next morning, construction workers were already well into their workday, busying themselves with the new cabins and games room. Emma ducked over to the construction zone for a closer look.

  ‘Morning, Emma,’ said Bob, the builder. Yep, his name was Bob, and he was a builder. Emma had made a joke the first time she met him, comparing him to the children’s television character. Bob laughed it off, and no doubt was the butt of all jokes on a regular basis. To amuse Emma, whenever she walked past or came to visit he’d start humming the Bob the Builder theme song. She liked to start her day by going past the construction zone, it put her in a good mood.

  ‘Working hard, I see.’ She smiled.

  He tipped his hard hat like the perfect gentleman. ‘No other way to work.’ He smiled. ‘Roof will be installed next week, by the way.’ He gestured above the soon-to-be games room.

  ‘Oh good, let’s hope the weather stays clear then.’

  ‘Nothing but blue skies ahead, I hear.’

  She gave a nod. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day.’

  ‘You too.’ He waved, and Emma walked off. Despite the blue skies forecast for early March, there was no way to find out her life forecast. But grey clouds were certainly hanging overhead.

  Emma unlocked the reception office and entered, flooding the room in light with a quick tug of the cords on the blinds. A small posy of flowers sat happily in a vase on the counter, and Emma smiled. Amelia always left something on the counter at the end of her workday on Mondays; flowers, chocolates, a post-it note with a smiley face on it…small gestures that helped start the work week off right. Emma planned on leaving a gift of her own on Saturday afternoon for Amelia to find Sunday morning. Something to say thanks for all the extra help she’d given over the past month. She just had to decide on the perfect gift.

  The computer powered up and she checked the bookings for the next week. And the check-outs for Monday. Martin Gallagher from Welston had booked three cabins for seven nights. Cabin one for James Gallagher, cabin two for André and Lizzie Renault. Lizzie. The pregnant woman she’d spoken to yesterday. Emma remembered then that James had a sister. She’d been in primary school when they’d been in high school and they’d never met, and when James had moved back to Welston to open his law practice after living in Sydney, his family no longer lived in town.

  Did Lizzie know who she was?

  There were three guests checking out this morning, and three checking in this afternoon to take their place. The cleaners would be in at ten o’clock to prepare the cabins. Emma ran through her mental checklist. Running the holiday park was a nonstop business. There were always comings and goings, maintenance and repairs of the cabins and the grounds, cleaning galore, enquiries and bookings, and marketing and administration. The job was never boring, though could get overwhelming sometimes.

  Emma checked the answering machine and returned a few calls, then confirmed internet bookings that had come in overnight. The place booked out months in advance, a year or so for the beachfront cabins. The rental caravans were easier to book, often taking short notice reservations for people needing cheap, emergency accommodation, while others brought their own caravans and booked a patch of ground to park their van.

  The office door jingled and a young, tanned, and rosy-cheeked couple walked in. Emma flashed her best feature — so she’d been told — her smile, and stood tall behind the counter.

  ‘We’re just checking out,’ the woman said. ‘Sadly. This place is so peaceful.’

  Emma had thought so too, until yesterday. ‘I’m glad you liked it. How was the cabin?’

  ‘Very impressive,’ said the man. ‘And thanks for the bottle of wine and fruit basket you left in the room for us.’

  They must have been the honeymoon couple who’d checked in on Saturday night after hours. As she did for all guests expected to arrive after five, she left the cabin key with the local Mexican restaurant up the road who were open late, seven days a week.

  ‘Oh, you must be Mr and Mrs Granford,’ Emma said, remembering their name from last week’s booking schedule. ‘Congratulations!’ She held out her hand and shook each of theirs. ‘Are you heading home or is the honeymoon continuing?’

  Mrs Granford smiled wide. ‘It’s not over yet.’ She leaned in close and planted a noisy kiss on her husband’s cheek.

  ‘We’re heading further south to tour a few wineries, enjoy the fresh country sea air.’ Mr Granford spoke in a way that seemed like they hadn’t a care in the world. A pang of jealousy irritated Emma, and she mentally scolded herself for it. She was lucky. Damn lucky. Just because life had presented her and her family with a few challenges didn’t mean she had it tough. There was always someone worse off. But occasionally, she couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something, and waiting for the day when she could do things she wanted without having to structure her life around other priorities and responsibilities.

  ‘Sounds fabulous,’ Emma said. ‘Thanks for making the cabins part of your journey.’ She took their key and filed it away in the locked drawer, then settled their account. As was policy for all newlyweds, she gave them a ten percent discount voucher for a future stay which, given their long waiting lists, expired in two years time.

  ‘Thanks,’ the woman looked at Emma’s name tag, ‘Emma.’

  ‘My pleasure. Hope to see you again.’

  They walked out all relaxed and smiling and glowing, and Emma was glad that she was able to be a vehicle for someone’s happiness, if only in a small way, by providing a nice place to stay. She missed that about teaching; seeing the happiness on a child’s face when they achieved something, or when she made a funny joke in class. Other people’s happiness fuelled her own. In fact, she didn’t know if she could have true happiness in her own right without helping it blossom in another person. Part of her people-pleaser personality, she guessed. It was just the way she was wired, and the way she’d been brought up. Look after others, do what’s right for them, and life will reward you.

  When midmorning rolled around, she was about to boil the kettle for a cup of tea when the door opened. James entered the office, his son by his side, carrying a pink owl. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would feel awkward around James, she would have knelt in front of the boy and asked what the owl’s name was. Instead, she glanced at James then looked away, pretending to busy herself behind the counter. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked in a polite but measured tone.

  ‘I could answer that another way, but I’m here to ask if you have any fishing rods for hire. For my dad.’ His measured tone competed with hers.

  ‘No, sorry.’ Emma tucked a strand of hair back underneath her Tarrin’s Bay cap. ‘The general store up the road has fishing bait and tackle, but the marina in the heart of town will have everything you need. Here.’ She plucked a fishing brochure from a display stand and handed it to him. She glanced at his hand when he accepted the offering, remembered that same hand caressing her face, his thumb running across her lips…

  Emma took a calming breath and forced herself to remain focused and emotionally unaffected. She was in work mode, and had to stay that way till five pm.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. Jackson put the owl on the floor and spun it around in circles, the boy making rolling ‘l’ sounds. ‘I also need a hat. For my son.’

  ‘Of course. Right behind you.’ Emma stepped out from behind the counter and pointed to the revolving rack in the back corner. ‘Forget to bring one, huh?’ What was she doing, making small talk with him when he clearly wanted anything but?

  ‘No,’ he snapped, and Emma lowered her gaze. ‘I brought one, but Jackson…’ James ran a hand through the thick, dark waves of his hair. ‘If you must know, he half-flushed it down the toilet.’

  Emma bit her lip to stifle a laugh, then cleared her throat. ‘Oh. Right. Do you ah, need any assistance with plumbing?’

  James waved away her concerns. ‘No, I got it out. Threw it in the bin.
I think it was a bit tight for him, he has a few sensitivities with things like that.’ James put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight to one foot.

  ‘I understand. Well, there should be some here that are a bit roomier for a boy his age. Let’s see.’ She turned the rack around and appraised the options.

  ‘Jackson, do you want to pick a hat?’ James’ voice took on a lighter tone, a tone she’d never heard before. His son stayed put, not acknowledging his dad’s question. James gently grasped his son’s hand and led him to the stand, pointing. ‘Look, hats! Want to get a new hat for your head?’ He patted Jackson’s head, which was covered in a mop of waves like his father’s, though longer. James picked one and held it out to Jackson, but his son pushed it away and grunted. ‘Not that one? Okay. This one?’ He held out another and got the same response. ‘You need a hat, buddy. Stops you getting sunburnt.’

  Emma knelt before him, not too close, but enough to establish her presence. She patted her own hat. ‘I’ve got a hat,’ she said. ‘See? Want to touch it?’

  Jackson glanced her way but didn’t make eye contact. Emma took her hat off and put it back on again, demonstrating how it worked. Then she took a risk and put it on the owl’s head. She knew it could go one of three ways:

  1. Jackson would laugh or be perfectly okay with his toy wearing someone’s hat.

  2. He would completely ignore it.

  3. He would chuck a fit and have a meltdown, and Emma would have two reasons to feel guilty around James.

  Luckily, he chose number one. He patted the owl’s hat, took it off and put it on his own head, then continued playing with the toy.

  ‘You want a cap instead, huh?’ James asked, plucking one from the rack. The boy pushed it away. He grabbed his dad’s hand and made an urgent straining sound, pulling him towards the door. ‘Hang on Jax, we have to give the hat back and choose another one.’

  Emma flicked her hand. ‘It’s okay, he can have mine. I’ve got a couple of spares.’

  James looked troubled. ‘No, that’s okay. I’ll get him to give it back. Give me a few minutes.’

  ‘No really, take it. It’s his.’

  He took his wallet from his pocket.

  ‘James.’ She held out her hand to decline his offer of payment and their eyes met.

  ‘Well, thanks. I’ll give it back when we check out.’

  ‘It’s okay if you don’t.’ Was she trying to somehow make up for ending their relationship by giving her ex-boyfriend’s son a free hat? Ridiculous. A moment of awkwardness hung in the air when neither appeared to know what to say, then James turned for the door. Emma felt the need to say something. ‘Is…is there anything else I can help you with?’

  James looked her in the eye again. ‘Not unless you have something to tell me?’

  She opened her mouth but no sound came out, and she adjusted her ponytail.

  ‘Didn’t think so.’ He walked out, leaving more emptiness in the office than had been there when she arrived.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Looks like we’re going for a walk,’ James said to his father.

  ‘No fishing rods, eh? Did you talk to Emma?’

  He nodded. ‘Not about the past, just about hats.’ He pointed to Jackson’s head, covered with the Tarrin’s Bay cap that was a little too big for him. He didn’t care. Whatever worked. It did feel kind of weird though, knowing it was Emma’s.

  ‘I was worried he might come back with a pink one,’ Martin said.

  James frowned. ‘So what if he did?’ Gender-specific colours were not worth getting concerned about; there were more important things to consider in child rearing. If his son was made happy by playing with a pink owl, then that was perfectly fine. And if he’d wanted a pink hat, well, so be it.

  ‘Just saying,’ Martin replied. ‘Maybe it’s time to give him a few more boyish things and experiences. Take him fishing, kick a ball around, you know.’

  ‘I’d love to do those things with him, Dad, but he wouldn’t sit still for fishing, and all he does with a soccer ball is roll on top of it.’ James chuckled, even though his father’s comment was a bit annoying. Boy things. Like doing them would somehow make his son whole and normal. The sooner his father accepted that his grandson wasn’t going to be like James had been as a boy, the better.

  ‘Are we heading into town?’ asked Marie, emerging from the cabin wearing jeans and a drapey white shirt flapping in the breeze.

  ‘Yes,’ Martin replied.

  ‘You coming too, James? Will Jackson be alright?’ his mum asked.

  ‘Hope so. Worth a shot, and the walk might use up his boundless energy.’

  Marie checked in on Lizzie and André to see if they needed any supplies from the shops, then the group of four walked along the coastal track towards town, crossing over into the street as they neared. They walked past Tarrin’s Bay Medical Clinic, an old weatherboard cottage that had been renovated and looked crisp, clean, and comforting. A small town medical practice was no doubt busy, he could see a row of waiting heads through the windows. It reminded him of his old law practice in Welston. He’d done well, but sadly, had to hand over the reigns and sell the business to someone else. His attempt to return to work part-time after Jackson’s birth had resulted in a very unhappy little boy. A nanny was out of the question, Jackson wouldn’t settle with anyone but James or his grandparents but he couldn’t exactly hand over the parental role to his mum and dad, they deserved to enjoy their hard-earned retirement. James knew being a single parent would be a complete lifestyle change, but he’d gone into it willing and able, knowing his son’s mother would never be back on the scene.

  They turned into Park Street, the main street of town, planning to get a coffee before buying things they needed and hiring fishing rods. They passed a takeaway food shop, a restaurant, an old-fashioned bookstore, and approached a busy café with alfresco dining.

  ‘Café Lagoon. I’ve heard they have good coffee.’ Marie eyed the menu on a stand out front.

  James remembered coming here years ago. He looked at Jackson who’d done well to cope with the walk and the sensory stimulation that abounded in the street. His face was tight though, and he gripped Owly close to his chest. He made soft, high-pitched noises, and James knew they wouldn’t be able to sit in the café. ‘I’ll get something to take away and find a quiet spot in the park. But you two go in if you like.’

  ‘Oh, no, dear, we can’t do that. We’ll join you outside, won’t we Martin?’

  His father didn’t look overly pleased, but agreed.

  They approached the counter where three staff members bustled about, and a young man came up to the cash register. ‘Hi, mate, what can I get for you?’

  ‘I’ll have a cappuccino, and can I get a freshly squeezed juice for my boy? Apple and raspberry, thanks.’

  ‘Sure thing. Does the little man want anything to eat as well?’ The barista eyed Jackson and smiled.

  ‘Oh, no, he’s on a special diet. Unless you have anything gluten- and dairy-free?’ Worth a shot. So far, his attempts to buy things at cafés had met with the discovery that there was the odd gluten-free item, but usually things weren’t also dairy-free.

  ‘Yes, we do actually.’ Jonah — according to his name tag, pointed to the cake display. ‘Apple and berry crumble muffins. Would he like one of those?’

  James shrugged. ‘We’ll give it a try. I’ll have one too. Take away. Thanks.’ He smiled.

  ‘No worries.’ The young man exuded a calm but vibrant enthusiasm.

  ‘Mum, Dad, what do you want? I’ll get it all on my card.’

  ‘You sure, honey?’ asked Marie.

  James nodded, and his parents placed their order. Jackson tugged on James’ hand and he knew he’d have another few minutes before he got distressed.

  ‘Open for dinner, are you?’ Martin said, on looking up at the blackboard menu and café information.

  ‘Sure are, till late every night. No rest for me.’ Jonah grinned.

 
‘We should pop in for dinner, love, what do you think?’ Martin turned to his wife.

  Marie nodded. ‘Tonight, or later this week?’

  Jonah raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you come in on Friday, you’ll need to reserve a table. There’ll be some live music. I think it’ll make for a memorable night,’ he said.

  That counts me out, James thought. But most nights he was too tired to go out anyway, so a home-cooked dinner in front of the TV had become the norm. Though it would be nice to have someone to share it with occasionally.

  ‘Oh, sounds wonderful! Let’s book in, Martin.’ She rested her hands together on the counter. They put their names down and Jonah said he’d see them on Friday, and gave James a sticker of a smiley face in case Jackson wanted it.

  Even though Welston was a smallish city, nothing beat a true-blue small Aussie town like Tarrin’s Bay. The local business owners and staff were always friendly, and the air seemed full with peace and acceptance. Two things that scored high on James’ list of values nowadays.

  If it wasn’t for Emma, he’d possibly consider moving here. But if she was going to hang around long-term, it could get awkward. Welston was great, but maybe it was time for a change of pace. He could go up north where his parents had lived for a while when he’d been at university in Sydney. Or he could go further south. Wherever he decided upon, he’d have to decide soon, because with Jackson turning five at the end of the year he’d need to figure out his options for education. He’d wait till he was six before trying some sort of formal schooling, but next year he hoped to try him out at a small or special needs preschool and give him some experience being around other children, though the idea terrified him because he knew what he was like. Anyway, there was no need to decide immediately, he needed to enjoy a few days away and clear his head. Though how he would do that with Emma in the same vicinity he had no idea.