Christmas at Remarkable Bay Read online

  ‘I actually have a booking. Mara Blumberg.’ She had to raise her voice a little to be heard over the noise. It was clearly the place to be for Christmas lunch. It was packed, although not so much that the crowded tables completely disguised the daggy swirling purple and orange carpet in the dining room. The building was historic, with thick stone walls and heritage features inside and out, but it was in need of some love, which was probably hard to come by in a town that was quiet for most of the year. The ceilings were high and ornate, though the beige paint on the walls was a little dated, and the glistening leadlight windows cast a colourful hue throughout the room.

  The plastic name tag pinned to the waiter’s shirt pocket said ‘Angas’. He studied the clipboard in his hand.

  ‘If you could follow me, please.’

  They snaked through the dining room and Mara smiled at all the happy faces. Everyone had made a special effort to dress up for Christmas lunch, despite the heat outside. Grey-haired men wore ties that were probably still knotted from their first outing a couple of decades before, and there were older ladies who’d pinked up their cheeks and slipped on their pearls. Young children in their Sunday best sat amongst teenagers, all with their eyes focused on their electronic devices.

  ‘Here you go.’ The waiter pulled out a chair but Mara didn’t sit down.

  She leaned towards him to say quietly, ‘I think there’s been a mistake. Someone’s sitting at this table.’

  Angas looked at her, wide-eyed. His lips parted on a word he couldn’t manage to squeeze out. His face paled.

  The someone sitting on the other side of the table pushed back his chair and stood. Mara took half a second too long to shift her gaze from his broad chest to his face.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Angas studied his clipboard, flipping a piece of white A4 paper up and down repeatedly, clearly searching for some kind of answer.

  Mara looked up at the tall man with the one raised eyebrow. He was either trying not to smile or he didn’t have a smile in him. In fact, he looked downright annoyed. Couldn’t he sympathise with a staff member—clearly someone new—trying to do his best on one of the busiest days of the year?

  She straightened her shoulders, the way she did when she needed to make a point to a student who didn’t seem to want to hear that they actually had to do their homework. ‘There seems to be a mix-up. I had a booking for Christmas lunch for one. I’m sorry to bother you.’

  ‘I’m a booking for one, too,’ he said. Mara looked down at the table. There was a single place setting and a half-empty glass of beer in front of him.

  ‘Now that explains it,’ Mara said, smiling at Angas, trying to do her best to reassure him. ‘You must have confused the two bookings. Mine is Blumberg.’

  Angas studied the paper on his clipboard and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘I have to go and talk to my manager.’ They both watched as Angas loped off, darting around the tables as if they were obstacles on a course.

  Mara rearranged the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. The fabric of her new black, white and red floral dress was slippery and the leather strap refused to stay put. She glanced at the tall man, who was still standing on his side of the table, which made her feel even more conspicuous. She could hardly wander off to the bar and order a drink while she waited for her table to be free, because she knew from vast amounts of personal experience that a teenage boy could only concentrate on one thing at once. If young Angas had to solve the booking problem and then go searching for her as well, he might forget his own name. Growing up was hard, she mused. She wouldn’t be a teenager again for all the money in the world.

  Tall Man still hadn’t sat down. He seemed to be waiting for her. She took another glance. Dark, unsmiling eyes. Short hair, the kind of short that would never need a comb. A strong jaw and a slightly crooked nose. Broad shoulders and narrower hips, long lean legs. He’d slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His white shirtsleeves were rolled partway up his forearms, revealing tanned skin.

  ‘Please,’ she said, waving a hand at him, feeling embarrassed. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

  ‘Sit down while you’re waiting. I get the feeling the kid could be a while.’

  She glanced around the restaurant. There was no sign of young Angas. ‘Thank you.’ Anything to stop looking like a shag on a rock. Mara sat down. Tall Man with the tan waited until she was seated before he returned to his chair. Manners, she thought. She wrapped the strap around her handbag and set it on the table. He poured water into an empty glass and put it in front of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking a sip. ‘I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  ‘You’re welcome and … you sure about that?’

  Mara felt an urge to defend the young man. ‘He looks new to this. It must be hard for him being under so much pressure. This place is busy.’

  He leaned in. ‘What are the odds he doesn’t come back to the table because he’s too scared to tell us they’ve ballsed up the booking?’

  ‘I’m sure they haven’t.’

  ‘I beg to differ. Let’s see the evidence, shall we?’ He reached a hand across the table. ‘George Gray.’

  She met him in the middle. ‘Mara.’ She put her hand in his. Warm hand, firm grip, short and two shakes up and down. Businesslike, she thought. Perfunctory, almost. They let go.

  ‘Blumberg,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly, obviously noting the suspicious look on her face. ‘It’s a habit. I always remember people by both their names. Three if they have a middle one.’

  ‘Okay.’

  George raised his glass of beer. ‘Merry Christmas, Mara.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, George.’ She lifted her water and they clinked glasses over the white ceramic salt and pepper shakers. She took a sip, tried not to let her mind go to the place where it pondered why a man about her age, mid-thirties, was alone on Christmas Day. Perhaps he’d just been through a nasty divorce—ditto—and he was missing his kids who were with their mother. Maybe he didn’t have any friends to share the day with. She shook those thoughts away. He was probably wondering the same thing about her, deciding whether she was a cat lady or an orphan.

  They looked up from their glasses and their eyes met. Mara felt a blush in her cheeks and looked away just as young Angas returned to the table.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’m very sorry, but there’s been a mix-up with the bookings.’

  George raised an eyebrow at Mara in mock surprise.

  ‘Do I actually have a booking?’ she asked slowly, with great care not to sound too demanding in case it panicked the young man even further.

  ‘Well.’ Angas swallowed again. His Adam’s apple seemed to have grown in size during the time they’d been waiting. ‘It turns out that the person who took the bookings, Matilda, thought that it was okay to put two single bookings on a table for two. She quit yesterday. We’re really sorry. We’re all doing the best we can. It’s Christmas, you know.’

  ‘Oh, of course, it’s busy,’ Mara reassured him. ‘It’s no problem, really.’ She pushed back her chair and stood, quickly running through all her other options for lunch. Nothing else was open in Remarkable Bay—there wasn’t even another restaurant or pub—so it would have to be half a round of camembert and some water crackers she’d brought with her from home. She lifted her handbag from the table and slipped the strap over her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to it then, George.’

  ‘Oh, no. Wait a minute.’ He shot to his feet, still frowning. ‘Stay. Please. If you don’t I’ll be forced to stare at an empty chair all through lunch and people will think I’m a sad lonely guy.’

  Mara glanced at Angas, who seemed incredibly relieved at the idea that he wouldn’t have to go back to his manager and explain they’d lost a customer on Christmas Day. She looked back at George, who was smiling for the first time during this whole debacle.

  ‘No proble
ms from our end,’ Angas said, his voice breaking a little with the stress of it. Mara felt a wave of sympathy.

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to interrupt your Christmas?’ Mara asked George.

  ‘Please. I’d appreciate the company.’ He beckoned her to sit down.

  Angas breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll be right back with the menus.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘So, what brings you to Remarkable Bay for Christmas?’ George crossed his arms on the table. The move tightened his shirt around his strong arms.

  ‘Holidays,’ Mara replied. And to sort out the rest of my life, she thought to herself. But that wasn’t the kind of thing one said to a complete stranger at an unfamiliar table over an entirely unexpected Christmas lunch. ‘It’s a lovely little town, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very pretty.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m house-sitting,’ he said. ‘A friend of mine is away and I’m looking after her mutt.’

  Mara tried not to react. ‘You’re not a dog person?’

  He shook his head ruefully. ‘I quite like dogs. It’s just that I don’t think this particular one likes me very much.’

  ‘How can you tell? Maybe it’s just missing its owner.’

  George chuckled. ‘Oh, I can tell.’ He reached out a hand to her and she gasped. There was a circular bite mark at the bottom of his thumb, as if the dog in question had tried to gnaw it off and swallow it.

  ‘Oh, no!’

  He waved it away. ‘Only a flesh wound, but I got the hint. We now keep a polite distance from each other.’

  ‘Here are your menus.’ Angas was back at the table and passed Mara and George printed pieces of paper. ‘I’ll get you a plate and some cutlery, ma’am, and would you like something to drink while you’re waiting?’ Angas put the wine list on the table between them.

  George lowered the menu. ‘Care to share a bottle of wine? It is Christmas after all.’

  ‘I’m quite fussy about what I drink.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He passed her the wine list. ‘Let the lady decide,’ he told Angas.

  Mara scanned the wine list for a couple of minutes—she never rushed choosing wine—and finally selected a Clare Valley Riesling. She’d visited the small winery in the September school holidays with a group of teacher friends and she’d particularly liked this wine.

  ‘Nice choice,’ George noted. ‘And a nice part of the world.’

  ‘I make a practice of only drinking South Australian wine.’

  ‘What—no French champagne? You look like the type who would like French bubbles.’

  Mara shook her head. ‘I can’t do it. It seems ridiculous to put bottles of champagne on boats and sail them all the way to Australia when we have perfectly good bubbles made right here.’ Mara had principles. She recycled, she used a reusable ceramic takeaway-style cup when she ordered coffee at the cafe near school, she didn’t use a clothes dryer and she tried to never, ever throw food away.

  ‘No French champagne,’ he repeated, pondering what she’d said. ‘You’re a cheap date then.’

  Mara stared at him.

  ‘Shit, sorry.’ He held up his hands in a pleading gesture. ‘A bad joke. A really bad joke. This is obviously not a date.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ More like a hostage situation, Mara thought.

  ‘And you’re obviously not cheap.’ He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. ‘Hell, I think I want to start this conversation all over again.’ And when he laughed at himself, Mara couldn’t help but laugh along with him. It was interesting that he seemed nervous. Truth be told, she was feeling a little nervous, too. Who wouldn’t in a situation like this? Two strangers, stuck together for Christmas dinner. She felt as if they were stranded on an island and surrounded by bobbing boats full of happy families.

  Angas arrived just in time with the bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘On the house,’ he announced and they watched on in silence as he poured the Riesling, his hand shaking so much the bottle clinked against the delicate wine glasses. Mara and George shared a smile as Angas slipped the bottle into a bucket on the table before leaving them.

  ‘That kid looks like he’d be afraid of his own shadow.’

  Mara sipped her wine, savouring the taste on her palate. ‘They’re all like that at his age. He looks maybe sixteen or so. They’re like startled rabbits. It’s the hormones.’

  ‘You a counsellor or something?’ George asked.

  Mara couldn’t help but notice the way his back straightened.

  ‘No. I’m a high school teacher, actually.’

  He took a gulp of wine. ‘Right.’ Then he found a smile again. ‘Do you like being a teacher?’

  I did. It was always my dream job. Out loud, she replied, ‘I love it.’

  ‘All those holidays, right?’

  Mara let out a frustrated exhale. ‘Look, if you only knew what—’

  ‘Kidding. My mum’s a chalkie. I know how to push those buttons. I get the same kind of thing in my line of work. People make assumptions.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  He met her gaze. ‘I’m a police officer.’

  Mara felt hot and cold all at once. She stared at her wine. There was condensation forming on the outside of the glass, creating streaks like tears.

  She heard a sigh from across the table. ‘Yeah and all we do is set up speed cameras and send people fines when honest-to-god, officer, I wasn’t doing a kilometre over sixty. Or we’re killjoys because we knock on doors at three a.m. and ask people to turn down their doof doof music.’

  Or you give up when young women go missing. ‘As you said, people make assumptions.’

  ‘If they want to believe all that, fine. It’s easier than knowing the truth.’

  Mara looked up. There was a shadow on his face.

  ‘I imagine it’s difficult work,’ she said with as much politeness as she could muster.

  ‘What you do isn’t a picnic, either. I don’t know if I could handle a classroom full of teenagers.’

  Before Mara could answer, the young waiter had returned with a notepad in hand to take their orders.

  ‘Roast turkey and the Christmas pudding,’ George said. Angas began to scribble down the order.

  ‘Same here,’ Mara replied.

  * * *

  By the time they’d scraped the last of the custard from their bowls of pudding, Mara didn’t know one more thing about policeman George and she’d not volunteered one more thing about herself. They’d exhausted the weather, the cricket season and cable TV’s latest offerings, which it seemed neither of them had actually seen.

  ‘I hear that Designated Survivor is really good,’ she’d said.

  ‘I’ve heard that, too,’ George replied.

  And so on.

  Mara couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  As soon as she’d swallowed the last piece of Christmas pudding, she pushed back her chair and reached for her bag. George got to his feet so fast she almost didn’t see him move at all.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to be off,’ she said. She didn’t want to meet his eyes in case he saw what was in them. She’d come all this way to escape her problems with her life, with her career, with what had happened to Abbie, and she ends up having Christmas lunch with a cop.

  George held out a hand across the table. ‘It was nice to meet you, Mara Blumberg. Strange circumstances, but thanks for the company.’

  She put her hand in his. Such a large, strong hand. ‘Same.’

  They let go. George’s hands dived into the pockets of his trousers. Mara adjusted her handbag strap on her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll see to my share on my way out,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘No need. It’s all taken care of.’

  ‘What? When?’ She’d gone to the toilet after the main course, to splash water on her face and will herself to keep going. He must have organised it then. ‘I can’t possibly accept.’

  He shrugged and smiled and for the first time
during the whole lunch she saw something of a real person underneath his facade. ‘Merry Christmas, Mara.’

  She stopped fidgeting and met his eyes. In her annoyance, she hadn’t taken the time during dinner to look at them—or him—properly. His eyes were the darkest brown, almost black, and they were framed by thick brows above and shadows underneath. His dark-brown hair was marked with touches of grey at the temples. There were hollows in his cheeks and he’d probably been clean-shaven first thing this morning but there were already shadows on his jaw. His full lips were held in a smile and his teeth were white.

  And he’d wished her a Merry Christmas.

  She found herself smiling back. ‘Thank you for lunch. And Merry Christmas to you, George.’

  He nodded and she turned to go, but stopped and looked back over her shoulder. ‘Good luck with the dog.’

  He laughed and the sound of it was lovely, like a fifty-year-old port sliding down your throat and hitting your belly and the warm feeling that followed. Like a glow from the inside.

  ‘Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.’

  Chapter Four

  The sun was blazing down on the main street of Remarkable Bay two days after Christmas. It was hotter than Boxing Day had been, when Mara had taken a leisurely and investigative walk around the small town, taking note of all the shops and historic buildings, the heritage-listed stone and brick council offices and the restored bed and breakfast which sat high on the main strip, Ocean Street, with the best views over Remarkable Bay. It was called Bayview and judging by the date etched in the stonework above the doorframe, it had been built in 1916. Mara had actually tried to get a room there for her holiday but it had been fully booked since July.

  She’d stopped on the footpath to take a closer look at the building when she heard women’s voices floating from the balcony at the front of the building. They must have noticed her because one of them, with dark hair and a warm smile, leaned over the railing and waved.