The Briny Café (29 page)

‘You heard the news?' Ettie asks, lining up two white china mugs, punching the espresso machine and plating up a raspberry muffin in one fluid movement that's as much about instinct as practice.

‘What news?' he asks, his neck twisted sideways so he can read the newspaper headlines without bothering to pick up a copy from the stack under the counter.

Ettie turns off the steam, wipes the spout: ‘They're going to build a bridge to Cutter Island then plonk a flash resort in the middle of Garrawi Park.'

‘Eh?' Sam jerks up from the headlines so quickly pain shoots up his neck to his head. ‘You're joking, right? Setting me up for some shocker community job like carting Portaloos to the next big fundraiser so it looks good in comparison.'

‘Serious as,' Ettie says. ‘Check out the development notice in the Square. Found it there first thing this morning. Thought someone was having me on but Fast Freddy says he ferried two dark-suited blokes with a fistful of posters and pamphlets around the public wharves in the dead of night. Looks like it's a fact all right.'

‘Where's Freddy now?'

Ettie slides Sam's mug across the counter and picks up her own. Takes a long sip, shoulders rounded, hands circling the hot creamy brew like it's winter instead of midsummer outside. In a dry voice, she says: ‘Think about it, Sam. He's a water-taxi driver who comes off a twelve-hour night shift at first light. He's where he is every morning by nine o'clock. Racking up the zzz's.'

 

 

Kate finds the address she's searching for located between a fast-food joint and a (borderline) porno lingerie shop. Limp hamburgers and even limper sugar-coated fries (to turn them golden instead of brown, according to a story she once wrote about the hidden ingredients in fast food) alongside fire-engine red frilly knickers, shiny black boots with metal stiletto heels, rubber aprons (not the kitchen clean-up variety), and lacy corsets. She checks the scribbled note in her
hand to make sure she's not mistaken and pushes open a dirty glass door. She wonders how on earth Emily, who revered glitz and glamour and judged everyone and everything by appearances, managed to put aside her prejudices to engage the services of Mr Sly. This is low-rent territory at best, slum territory at worst. Without the shadowy existence of a brother she's hoping to either confirm or deny, she probably would have done a runner. She tells herself to expect nothing, a lesson she learned early to avoid the disappointment of forgotten birthdays, worthless promises and – at best – an abstract acknowledgement of her existence. Out of the blue, she has a sudden and completely uncharacteristic compulsion to whitewash the facts – or did she mean acts? – of the dead. Dead. Not
passed
, which seems to be the new, dreadfully twee and slightly ambiguous euphemism for an essentially unambiguous state. What is, after all, uncertain about lying six feet under a marble slab? Emily hasn't
passed
by, she hasn't
passed
the salt and pepper, she will never again sail
past
in a froth of floral chiffon and a cloud of complicated millinery and heavy perfume. Kate angrily wipes a tear off her cheek. Surely she doesn't feel
guilty
for outliving her volatile mother. It is, after all, part of the natural order. Emily is dead. Move on. Survival of the fittest. It was ever thus. Law, according to Emily. So why the empty hole in the centre of her chest? The dull ache that constricts her throat? Why the awful, tippy feeling that nothing is quite in alignment any more?

Kate finds the office of Sly & Son easily. So absurdly Dickensian, she thinks, wondering whether names go hand in hand with careers or vice versa. She wonders if Emily was attracted by the irony of hiring a firm with a title that
accurately summed up the dodging and weaving that made up the fabric of her existence. Probably not. Emily was never a deep thinker. Devious, yes, but not deep. Kate swallows, clenches her fists and angrily wipes away another tear, appalled by the see-sawing going on between her head and heart, reminding herself of the pointlessness of regret. Death changes everything, she thinks, and nothing.

She knocks lightly. Opens the door swiftly and decisively without waiting for an invitation. ‘Hello,' she says brightly to the aged receptionist who points her index finger at a seat without a word of acknowledgement.

 

 

After a while a tall man, probably in his early forties, wearing a well-cut charcoal suit – Armani or a good copy that's lounge-lizard sleek – emerges from an office. Kate assumes he's a client on the way out. More well-heeled than she would've expected given the location. An observation, she reassures herself, not one of Emily's snap judgments.

‘Ms Jackson? Neville Sly. My father looked after your mother's affairs until he retired a few months ago. On the face of it, it all seems pretty simple. Would you like tea? Coffee? No? OK, let's proceed then.'

‘Great.'

‘It's not a complicated will,' Mr Sly adds. ‘She's left everything to you.'

‘No mention of anyone else?'

He looks surprised. ‘No. It's quite clear. Just you. As soon as outstanding debts are paid and probate is cleared, the estate will be settled.'

‘Thanks.' Kate gets up, holds out her hand politely.

‘Aren't you going to ask about the value of the estate?'

Mr Sly sounds less smooth, more shocked, which makes Kate wonder how most of his clients respond to the news they're sole beneficiaries. ‘There can't be much. Enough to pay your fees, I hope, but if not, don't worry, I'll settle the account.'

Mr Sly is thoughtful. ‘I see. Odd then. After everything is taken care of, our fees included, there should be a balance remaining of about $70,000.'

‘I beg your pardon?' It's got to be a cock-up, she thinks. He's muddled her up with some other client. ‘Are you sure? We're talking about Emily Jackson, right?'

‘We don't make mistakes, Ms Jackson,' he says tersely.

‘Sorry, I'm in shock.'

The idea of Emily hoarding cash when she had a lifetime history of scatterbrain financial profligacy that consistently involved running up debts and then stepping back until first Kate's father and then Kate bailed her out is baffling. Emily was a born squanderer. Unable to resist the sparkle of pretty trinkets, the lure of a silken fabric. Kate, who thought through the long-term ramifications of even the smallest purchase – an instinctive mechanism to counter her mother's extremes, in all probability – frantically scrabbles back through Emily's history, trying to find a possible source for this kind of windfall. As far as she is aware, the family fortune, such as it was (her father's small country grocery shop wasn't worth much in the days before they morphed into trendy bakeries serving exotic teas and a mind-boggling range of flavoured coffees), was frittered away in one failed Emily-inspired business venture
after another. To put it mildly, money turned to dust in her hands. At least that's what she'd thought until now.

‘As far as I knew, Emily never had two coins to rub together.'

Mr Sly remains silent, uninvolved in family drama. He closes the file. Folds his hands on top of it, signalling there's no more business to be done. Kate glances at her watch. The wrapping up of the final details of Emily's life has barely taken ten minutes. Her mother would have been outraged by the lack of flourishes and rigmarole, the rigorous attention to details unembellished by colourful asides. She would have said yes to the coffee, refused a biscuit and requested cake. Chocolate was her preference. It made her feel happy, she said. She would have taken two small bites. Left the rest. Then she would have embarked on a long account of the deceased's life, or more accurately, her role in the deceased's life. The reading of Gerald's will had turned into a circus, Emily giving an award-winning performance of a grieving widow, switching on tears as easily as a light. By the end of it, Kate, who never uttered a word throughout the whole shabby show, saw that the solicitor couldn't work out whether to applaud or commiserate.

‘By the way, you don't happen to know how Emily came to use this firm, do you?' she asks.

‘We're one of three recommended by the retirement village. Does it matter?'

‘Not at all,' she replies quickly. ‘It's just … I was wondering … Well, if there'd been a long association. Whether she kept old documents here, you know, such as birth and wedding certificates. For safekeeping, I mean.' She is tempted to tell him about Emily's deathbed (as it turned out) confession.
How somewhere deep in a past that Kate, and presumably Gerald, knew nothing about, Emily had given birth to a son and then – for all she knew – abandoned him. Her mother's periodic disappearances, which she'd put down to illicit affairs, could have been about the boy. Maybe he'd been institutionalised for some reason. Perhaps if Mr Sly searched Emily's file one more time, he might find a clue so Kate could nail the ghost and move on. Her thoughts remain unuttered.

‘This probably sounds odd, but there are huge gaps in my knowledge of my mother's life. I'm trying to unravel a few, er, complications she left behind. You're sure there's not another file lurking out there in one of those huge stacks …'

‘We have the current will and a copy of her earlier will. Nothing else. Is it possible your mother used the services of two solicitors at some time?'

‘I doubt it.' Emily would resent paying one bill, forget two.
How rude
, she'd explode whenever one popped up in the mail. Queen Emily. Bestowing favours. Her fingers holding the request for money like a bag of dog poo before flicking it towards her husband.

‘Yeah, well, it was a long shot.' Kate reaches for her handbag. ‘So it's all a mystery then.'

‘Lawyers tend to be incurious. It's often a mistake to know too much about your clients.' He smiles to show it's a joke. ‘Probate usually takes from one to three months, if anyone wants to challenge the will …'

‘Challenge?' Kate asks, too quickly.

‘As a general rule, only children and grandchildren have grounds, although theoretically anyone can challenge. In
your case, there shouldn't be any problems. Expect a cheque around late April. Sorry I can't be of more help.'

Kate turns back at the door, her hand already on the knob. Now is the time to mention a half-brother, she thinks. ‘I'm curious. When does time run out on challenging a will?'

‘Once probate is settled, it's very difficult to revoke the terms.'

 

 

On a street thick with exhaust fumes and rushing lunchtime crowds, the noonday heat hits Kate like a blow. She leans against the gaudy underwear shop window, her eyes adjusting to sharp sunlight. Feeling frazzled and confused, she ducks into a dimly lit and smelly basement pub next door, compelled by a force she can't define. She orders a cognac for the first time in her life. A tired barmaid, either drug or alcohol affected, pours what Kate recognises as a cheap brandy into a shot glass and slams it on the counter.

‘Fifteen bucks, love, on the nose.' The woman sways slightly. Kate fishes in her bag, looking around the room. Furtive men in raincoats – or the equivalent.

‘Oh hell.' She pushes a twenty over the counter, sculls the drink and flees. Outside on the street, she puts together the lingerie shop and the bar. If it's not a front for a brothel, her name's not Kate Jackson. Her stomach feels like it's on fire. Her mouth is raw. Too late, she realises she's just done exactly what her mother would have done in the same circumstances. Feel good? Order a brandy? Feel bad? Order a brandy. Feel hot, cold, happy, sad – order a brandy. Does anyone ever travel a long way from their original DNA?

She thinks: Seventy thousand dollars? There's got to be a catch. Nothing to do with Emily is ever clear-cut. There'll be a debt somewhere. An Emily-created catastrophe that will emerge one day – probably quite soon – and take every penny, and probably more, to put right. She grabs hold of anger like a lifeline, burying what she doesn't even realise is grief and loss under a blanket of rage and confusion.

E
TTIE'S
F
IERY
R
OGAN
J
OSH

Prep time: 20 minutes + overnight marinating

Cooking time: about 1 hour 30 minutes

Serves 4–6

Combine ground spices in a medium bowl then add the lamb and toss until the meat is coated. A dedicated cook will leave it overnight in the fridge but it's fine to continue cooking.

Heat half the oil in a large heavy-based saucepan over low heat. Brown the lamb. Don't put too much meat in the pan at once or you will stew it and it will become dry when slow-cooked.

Heat the remaining oil in the same pan and cook the onion, ginger, chilli and garlic until the onion is soft and slightly browned.

Add saffron, cassia leaves and cinnamon sticks to the pan. Cook for a minute or two, until fragrant. Increase the heat to high, add the tomatoes and meat. Add the yoghurt spoonful by spoonful, stirring until it blends into the sauce. Bring to the boil then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for about 1½ hours or until the lamb is tender. If you like, sprinkle a pinch of garam masala on the finished dish just before serving. Serve with basmati rice.

E
TTIE'S
L
AMB
B
URGERS

Prep time: 20 minutes

Cooking time: 8–14 minutes per batch

Serves 4–6

To make the patties, use your hands to mix all the ingredients together. Divide into four to six portions, depending on your appetite, and shape into patties about 2 cm thick. Coat in flour and shake off excess. Heat a little oil in a large heavy-based frying pan. Sear both sides on high heat then reduce heat to medium and cook according to taste. Rare takes about three to four minutes each side, well-done takes about seven minutes each side.

Combine the yoghurt, cucumber, garlic and mint. To assemble burgers, lay out toasted bread bases. Arrange lettuce, tomato and onion onto them. Place the burger on top,
add dollops of the yoghurt mixture and tamarind chutney, and finish with the top pieces of toasted bread.

E
TTIE'S
C
URE-ALL
C
HICKEN
S
OUP

Prep time: 15 minutes

Cooking time: 1 hour 5 minutes

For the stock, crush the bones and place into a large saucepan. Add remaining ingredients, and enough water to cover.
Bring to a simmer over low heat and cook, covered, for 1 hour. Allow to cool, then strain and discard solids.

To make the soup, transfer the stock to a clean saucepan and bring to a simmer. Add the wine and sauces. Trim the vegetables into bite-sized pieces. Add the beans and corn to pan and cook for a few minutes, until just tender. Add snowpeas and capsicum just before taking off the heat. Serve topped with rinsed bean sprouts.

Optional extras: Add a serve of cooked ramen or udon noodles. Don't be tempted to cook the noodles in the broth, it makes it cloudy and slightly gluggy. Add chopped chilli to taste, which is great for colds and flu.

Note: Use 12 chicken drumsticks if you don't have cooked chicken carcasses. When the stock is done, remove cooked meat from bones, put in a separate bowl, and add to soup to heat through when you are ready to eat. Alternatively, use the meat to make sandwiches. The vegetables listed above are just suggestions, you can use whatever you have in the fridge.

E
TTIE'S
R
ASPBERRY
M
UFFINS

Prep time: 10 minutes

Cooking time: 20 minutes

Serves 12

Preheat oven to 200°C. Prepare 12-hole muffin tin by greasing or with paper cups.

In a food processor, briefly whizz together flour and butter.

Tip into a mixing bowl and add sugar, buttermilk, egg, desiccated coconut and raspberries. Mix lightly and until barely combined (over-mixing toughens the muffin).

Sprinkle with shredded coconut.

Bake for 20 minutes or until lightly browned on top. Leave in the muffin pans for about five minutes before turning out to cool on a wire rack.

L
EMON
D
ELICIOUS
P
UDDING

Prep time: 20 minutes

Cooking time: 45 minutes

Serves 6

Preheat oven to 180°C.

Grease six 1-cup ovenproof ceramic bowls.

Combine butter, rind, sugar and yolks in a mixing bowl. Stir in sifted flour and then add the juice. Stir in the milk in small amounts until the mixture is smooth but still runny.

Beat egg whites until soft peaks form and then fold into lemon mixture.

Divide mixture between the dishes and place in a large baking dish with enough boiling water to come halfway up the sides.

Bake for about 45 minutes and serve immediately with lemon butter and blueberries on the side.