Chapter Seven
“Morning Sam,” I said as I hurried through the front door of the bookstore once the last of the tourists finally moved along. The air conditioner was running inside and offered instant relief from the hot, humid weather outside.
“Morning Alexandra,” he answered from where he usually sat—behind his desk at the front of the store.
Sam’s desk was made of dark mahogany, and in the middle of it sat an old-fashioned cash register that you had to hit in just the right way to make it work. I had tried to convince him to get a computer, explaining how much easier it would be, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. ‘Unreliable heaps of junk’ he called them.
In many ways, I was happy for him not to invest in a computer, because it meant I had to sit at the desk for longer. I loved sitting there, looking through the huge windows, watching everyone walk by; mostly they were tourists—people who lived their lives in the cities. They didn’t share the same practical approach to everything as outback folk. To me, a pair of jeans with holes in them would be set for the rag bag, or at the very least, be shoved behind the seat of my ute for when it broke down on the side of the road and I didn’t want to get my good clothes dirty. But so many of the female tourists walked up and down the streets of Warrangatta wearing pants with huge gashes in them—the latest trend—as they fervently texted on their phones.
“What a morning!” I complained as I hung my bag on the rack in the entry. “Had trouble—again— getting my old ute to start, and then I had to wait forever for those bloody tourists to move. Jesus, Julie drives me insane!” My jaw clenched as I thought of her. “I swear her sole purpose for existing is to be a pain in my ass! One day I’m going to snap; I am going to kill her! Her and her fat fingers, carrot hair and nasal voice. I mean really, any wonder no man wants her! Ugh!”
“Oh, go on. You love her. You’re just jealous you don’t look as awesome as she does,” Andy called out, stopping my rant.
Andy was a few inches taller than me, with short brown hair. He often wore a stubbly beard; not because he wanted to look sexy or rough, just because he couldn’t be bothered shaving. He spent most of his time behind the ‘tech desk’ at the side of the store behind the book shelves. His desk was filled with computer gadgets, none of which I had even the simplest understanding. “Yeah, she’s a sexy beast,” he continued. “It’s the hoobs that do it for me.”
“Hoobs?” I asked as I screwed my nose up at the thought of anyone finding Julie attractive.
“Yeah, hoobs! It’s when your boobs are so saggy they reach your hips, so they are hoobs.” He nodded enthusiastically at his terrible joke.
I shook my head in disgust. “Anyway, moving right along from hoobs, I hope that water pump comes in soon because that other ute is terrible,” I complained to Sam as I slumped into the swivel chair by his side.
“Ally, why don’t you just get a half decent pick-up—one that actually goes?” Andy leant against Sam’s desk as he stuffed a cake in his mouth.
“Pick-up? Are we suddenly in America? It’s a ute, Andy!” I scowled at him, which I shouldn’t have because he only said it to get a reaction from me. “Anyway, weren’t you only going to be here for like a week until your new thermostat came in …? About two years ago?” I retorted. “I mean really, why are you here Andy? You spend all your time on computers. Have you ever even read a book?”
“Oh, he’s not here for the books.” Sam threw me a sideways look as he continued to read his newspaper.
I ignored him. He didn’t understand that Andy and I were only friends. We could never be with each other romantically.
“I’m here because I’m bringing Warrangatta into the twentieth-century. It is my duty.” He stood to his feet and held his hand over his chest as though taking a vow.
“Andy, we are in the twenty-first century.” Sam pushed his small, half-mooned spectacles up his nose.
“Whoa! Let’s not go all crazy! I think just getting Warrangatta to the twentieth-century is a feat all in itself. Besides—books? Seriously, who needs them? Everything that can be found in a musty old book can be found easier and quicker right here.” He tapped his laptop. “That newspaper for example—yesterday’s news. The net is always up to date.” He folded his arms and leant back on the desk.
“Not today it’s not,” Sam said as he looked up through his glasses.
“And why is that, Old Man?” He blinked his eyes smugly, referring to Sam with the pet name he frequently used, hoping all the time for Sam to rise to the bait and tell him off. Sam, of course, never did.
“Storm took out the wi-fi tower on Barri-Barri. No phones either.” Sam lifted his eyebrows at Andy. “You’ll have to resort to reading these things.” He held up the newspaper.
Andy’s manner changed from good humour to agitation immediately. “What?” he groaned. “No! No wi-fi?”
Mobile phones and wi-fi were the only source of communication and internet available in Warrangatta, as no telecommunication company would run cables hundreds of kilometres.
“Yep, Tech Boy. Welcome to the nineteenth century.” I spun on the swivel chair to see Andy more clearly. “Speaking of the internet, please tell me you ordered more of my medication online before the tower broke?”
Due to the remoteness of Warrangatta and our lack of a pharmacy, my doctor had written a specific prescription for me that allowed me to fill the script online. I barely knew how to turn a computer on, so I had Andy take care of it for me.
“Crap!” He slapped his hand over his mouth. “No, I didn’t. Damn it! I’m so sorry Alex.”
“Really? Urg,” I groaned. “Well, Tech Boy, you have the pleasure of taking me to Poonaburra so that I can fill my script.” Poonaburra was larger than Warrangatta, with a few more services and amenities available, but it took about two days’ travel to get there, assuming the roads were open.
“Oh man, I have to put up with you for four days straight!” He pulled an exaggerated face of pain, and then smiled. “Nah, that’s fine, we’ll take the swags—you can have my old one,” he jibed.
“And people say chivalry’s dead,” I retorted.
“Well, it takes two days to get there. We should head off first thing in the morning. Just my luck I’ll get a flat tyre, you’ll run out of meds, and I’ll be stuck with you seeing flying monkeys.’
“Shut up! Idiot!” I threw a piece of scrunched up paper at him, which he smugly dodged.
“Alright, you two!” Sam interjected. “No one’s going anywhere until the forecast storm has passed. Oh, Alexandra, before I forget ...” He rummaged through a drawer in his desk. “Remember this?” He handed me the parcel I had been given on the bus by the woman with the strange eyes. “I found this under the dresser in the upstairs room when I was cleaning up last night. It must have dropped on the floor or something the day you arrived here. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, yeah. I completely forgot about that!” I said as I took the parcel from him, trying to remember the circumstances of that day and how I could have forgotten about it.
I scooted forwards on my swivel chair and placed the parcel on the desk. It was still tied together with string with the letters ‘DRIA’ written across it.
I untied the string, which fell away easily, and pushed back the thick, rough paper. It wasn’t like regular paper or anything like what I had seen before.
“What you got there?” Andy asked as he sat on the desk beside me.
“I don’t know. There was some crazy woman on the bus with me when I came to Warrangatta. She was really, really weird. I had completely forgotten her. Anyway, she left this parcel for
me ...”
“Some stranger leaves a parcel for you, and you forget it?” Andy scoffed.
“Yeah, well I kinda had a lot going on, you know, arriving in a strange town after the loss of my family and waking up from a two-year coma ...”
Andy threw his hands in the air to signify surrender. “Calm down! What is it?”
&nbs
p; I pulled the item from the paper. “It’s a book of some kind. Eew, it feels awful,” I said as I ran my fingers across its black leathery cover. There were several curious symbols pressed into the leather. Unlike the coarse touch of the cover, the symbols felt smooth; almost like silk. “I wonder what language it’s in. Sam, do you recognise these symbols?”
Sam pushed his glasses up his nose further and took the book from me. “Hmmm, it does feel odd, doesn’t it—like scales. I’ve never felt anything like this.” He slowly turned open the front cover. The leather also covered the inside of the book, but the pages inside were entirely different. They were made of a rigid material that was the colour of ivory. Perfect black writing scrolled across the pages, each character appearing to be pressed into the rigid surface. Sam ran his fingers gently over the pages. “It’s like no language I’ve ever seen before. At first observation, one could be forgiven for thinking it was Arabic, but the writings are more like symbols. And, it doesn’t look to be written or printed. Look at these pressed markings ...” Sam’s mouth was ajar as he moved his head up and down looking for anything slightly familiar. He stood up and started to pace up and down as he studied the strange book he was holding.
Andy took the book from him and ran his fingers over the cover. “Don’t think it’s a witch’s book, do you?” he asked excitedly.
“Oh come on.” I rolled my eyes and took the book back. I’d never believed in witches or anything else supernatural. No matter how unbelievable something seems, there’s always a logical explanation for it.
“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I’m not saying it’s a magical book. But back in the day women believed themselves to be witches, they made books—books of spells.” He wiggled his fingers in the air and pulled a ghost-like expression. “There were a few books made of ... human skin,” he whispered creepily.
“Human skin? Come on, Andy. You don’t believe in that rubbish, surely?” I threw him a disapproving look.
“He does, and so should you,” Sam said seriously, as he took the book back from Andy and placed it on the desk, tapping the closed cover lightly with his fingers. “Books bound in human skin are not a myth. Although not as common as Andy would have you think, there certainly are a few. Not to burst your bubble Andy, but this is not one of them. Funnily enough, human skin and standard leather feel remarkably similar. This book is not human skin.” He stood back, folding his arms as he kept frowning at the book. I could tell it was irritating him not being able to identify it.
“It scares me, Old Man, how you know that. Not planning on having an Andy wallet are you?” Andy asked with one eyebrow lifted.
“I might if you keep calling me Old Man,” he retorted as Andy chuckled. Sam took his glasses from his nose and pinched the bridge between his closed eyes. “Andy, I know this because I actually read books. I don’t spend all my hours playing floppy duck on the computer,” he said exasperated at Andy’s nonsense.
“Makes a nice change from playing with his floppy disc.” I pulled a smile at Andy.
He responded to my banter. “It’s loads of fun to play with. You can come to my place tonight and play with my floppy disc—turn it into a hard drive?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.
“I think you’re doing enough all on your own. These things are getting huge.” I reached across and squeezed his biceps. In the last few weeks, they had almost doubled in size.
“Yeah, I know!” He twisted his arms around and flexed his upper arm muscles. “I don’t know why—but it’s bloody awesome!”
“I didn’t think young people used floppy discs anymore. If you enjoy using them I’ve got a whole box full,” Sam said, completely oblivious to our referencing.
Andy put his hand over his mouth as he tried to hold back from laughing. I responded to Sam in as normal a voice as possible. “No thanks, Sam. If I need a floppy, I’ll ask Andy.” I patted Andy on the back. He stopped laughing and threw me a dirty look.
As I picked up the book to place it back on the brown paper, I noticed a small inscription written on the inside of the wrapper.
“Hey, look at this.” I tapped Sam on the shoulder.
He turned and looked at the wrapper I held in my hand. He slipped his glasses on again and read the inscription:
‘Run as you might,
Escape if you may.
Destiny with fate,
Wait shall they lay.’
“What on Earth could this poem be referencing?” Sam scratched the back of his head.
Andy reached across and grabbed the book, along with the wrapper. “Everything is on the net; I’ll research it for you as soon as the wi-fi’s back.” He carefully folded the paper around the book and walked it to his satchel, which was hanging by the front door.
“Yes, I am highly interested in any information you may find about this ...” Sam spoke absentmindedly, as he stared after the book.
“Don’t look too hard,” I said. “I seriously doubt you’ll find anything. The woman who gave it to me was strange. It’s probably a book from a cheap city shop.” I shrugged. “Well, that’s about enough crazy for one morning. I’m going to get myself a coffee before I start the rest of the day. Would you like one too, Sam?” I called over my shoulder as I walked towards the staffroom.
“Better make mine a tea. Doctor says the old ticker isn’t in tune.” He tapped his chest with a pencil. Sam was fit for his age, and as such, I would often forget he was in his mid-seventies. Every now and then something would happen, like the comment his heart wasn’t in the best of shape, and I would be reminded he wouldn’t always be here. Such reminders hurt.
“I’ll have a hot chocolate, three sugars. Thanks for asking,” Andy called after me as I disappeared into the staffroom. I ignored him, but he knew I would reappear holding his drink.
The staffroom was located at the rear of the long and narrow store. It was a reasonable size room with enough space for a small table and a kitchenette. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I noticed the local newspaper opened to the horoscope page. I always thought horoscopes were corny, but I decided to peek at mine. ‘Soon you will discover yourself,’ it read. I rolled my eyes—what a load of rubbish!
The kettle clicked off as it reached the boil. I pushed the newspaper away, stood up to the sink and made the drinks. Placing the mugs on a tray, I carefully balanced them as I walked down the two steps to the store. As I turned a corner of one of the aisles, I bumped into a customer, knocking the mugs from my hands and spilling their contents over his shirt.
“On my God! I am sooo sorry!” I exclaimed as I automatically started to wipe the spilt liquid from his shirt using my bare hands. Two black hands gently wrapped themselves around mine, stopping me from touching the shirt.
I looked at his hands around mine. They were the darkest black and felt rough on my soft skin. My eyes lifted to meet his; they were dark brown and full of warmth.
“Do not be concerned. It is okay. I am sure the rain will rinse me well enough.” He spoke in a deep African accent.
It took me a moment to process what he said. “Rain? Can’t be, it was roasting hot out there just minutes ago.”
“Yes. It is raining heavily.” He pointed to the front window.
I craned my neck over the bookshelves. Sure enough, the weather had altered—again. The heavens had opened, and rain pelted heavily against the window.
“I can’t keep up with this weather.” I shook my head as I watched tourists run for shelter in every direction.
I looked back to him. He was very broad and masculine. His hair had been almost completely shaven, and he had a slight shadow of a beard. He was wearing a pair of dark cargo pants with a wide black belt, and a black shirt that outlined the shape of his well-defined body. His dark skin glowed gently under the dimly lit bookstore lights. But it wasn’t just his appearance that had me transfixed; it was the smell of his aftershave. It smelled of trees—ancient forests. I had to force myself not to close my eyes as I breathed it in; it
was intoxicating.
“Alexandra … Alexandra!” Sam called to me.
“Huh?” I answered vaguely, as I continued to stare at the man.
“Alexandra! There are towels in the staff room,” Sam said in a loud whisper.
“Right ... towels.” I turned awkwardly on the spot as I realised how ridiculous I must have looked. I quickly bent down and picked up the mugs. “Um ... this way.” I beckoned him to the staff room, and he followed without speaking.
Next to the sink was a stack of small hand towels ranging in colour from hideous to horrendous. I pulled the least offensive towel from the centre; it was lime green with a purple border.
“Sorry. Usually customers don’t see our towels. I’m not in the habit of throwing boiling drinks over complete strangers.” I smiled as I handed him the towel and leant against the cabinets.
He took it and folded it in half. “Well, I should feel privileged. I am receiving special treatment.” He smiled as he blotted out the dark liquid from his shirt.
There was an awkward silence. I tried to think of something witty or charming to say, but my mind had gone blank.
“Have you always lived in Warrangatta?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
“No.” I cleared my throat. “No, I used to live in New South Wales. I’ve been here for about two years now.” I tucked my hair behind my ears then quickly pulled it out again—I felt gawky either way. “What about you? I’m guessing Africa?” I said, as nonchalantly as possible. I searched for a position to rest my arms that would not make me appear ungainly, but every position felt unnatural.
“You guess correctly. What was the giveaway?” He smiled widely.
I half laughed, and half tried to speak, which sounded more like a snort. “Are you staying here?” I spoke quickly, trying to hide my ridiculous snort. “I mean, not here in the bookstore, I mean here in Warrangatta.” I stumbled over my words, and I could feel my face begin to burn.
“I am travelling through Warrangatta. I am searching for a lost friend,” he answered as he continued to blot his shirt.
“Oh, any luck in finding him?” I didn’t mean to emphasise the word ‘him’, but I had said it before I could stop myself.
“Her. And perhaps. Much time has passed, so I am not certain she would recognise me.”
The word ‘her’ struck a nerve, one that I wasn’t used to feeling. I had only just met him, but I didn’t want him to belong to another.
“I’m sure she would recognise you.” How could anyone forget him?
“Perhaps. But she may not want to.”
“Ah, ended badly?”
“You could say that, yes.” He promptly changed the subject. “New South Wales to Warrangatta? That is quite a change. What caused you to move?” He folded the towel to a clean section and continued to dab his shirt clean. I was getting the impression he was intentionally taking a prolonged time to clean it.
“Yeah it was. I used to live there with my family … but there was a house fire … I was the only one who made it. So after I got out of the hospital, I jumped on a bus and somehow ended up here. I met Sam, Andy and Emilee. And, well, this is my new home.” I fidgeted with my fingers as I spoke.
“You do not appear to have been burned?” His eyes ran over my body, examining me.
I shook my head. “It was more of an explosion. I have a doozy of a scar on my stomach.” I pulled my shirt up just enough to expose a long, winding scar that ran from my belly button to just above my pant line.
“Where did you get that scar?” he asked.
“I don’t exactly know what happened. I guess something jabbed into me during the explosion. It would have healed while I was in the coma.”
“Coma?” His eyes widened with surprise.
“Yeah, after the explosion I was in a hospital for about two years.”
“I am sorry. I did not know.”
“How could you have known? We’ve only just met.”
“But you are lucky not to have died.”
“A lot of people have said that. I’m grateful now that I’m alive, but for a long time I resented the fact that I survived when they hadn’t. But, it’s getting easier. I mean it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore.” I shrugged.
“Death is not easy. I, too, have lost people I love.” He looked at me as though he had known me for years. His eyes were warm and soft. They didn’t match his hard, masculine body. I had to resist the urge to fall into his arms and beg him to hold me.
“Time is a good healer,” he said, drawing me from my dazed state.
I smiled. “Yes, it is. Well, if you need anything else, I’ll be on your disc, my disc...” I could feel my face burn hot. “I will be at-my-desk,” I said precisely.
He smiled widely. “Thank you.”
I nodded once, turned and walked back towards the desk and sat on the swivel chair. I was still trying to catch my breath.
“Hey, Alex,” Andy called as he strolled around the corner of the desk.
“Yeah?” I composed myself as he dragged another chair around behind the desk to sit next to me.
“I’ve searched around for info on that book.”
“What? Already? I thought there was no internet.”
“Yes, well we’re not all snails. And you’re right; there’s no internet. No phones either, but I was able to connect to Mooribilli’s tower just long enough to get a few emails through to a friend of mine in Melbourne. He’s got this wickedly fast computer. I mean it’s crazy! The processor in it is ...”
“Andy! Get to the point.” I interrupted his excitement. I wanted to know what he had discovered, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes from the African man, who was now browsing the books.
“Right, this guy has written his own program. The algorithms are insane!” He saw my raised eyebrow. “Okay, I won’t go geek on you. The program essentially scans all images over the internet and is crazy quick.” His eyes lit up, as they always did when he was speaking about anything new in the world of technology.
“Is that legal?” I cupped my hand to the side of my mouth in case somebody overheard me, even though the only customer in the store was the African man.
“Well, it depends on which way you look at it. Anyway, I sent him images of the book and he ran it through this program. He said he checked everywhere, and—nothing.” He pulled his mouth to one side. “I think you might be right. The book’s just a fraud. You want it back?”
“No, you keep it.” I slumped back in the chair. I was more disappointed than I expected I would be. “It can go with the rest of your weird collection.”
Andy had a large assortment of weapons; mainly swords he had collected over time. They hung on his lounge room wall, and at night, the moonlight sleeked through the window and the swords glistened; it was as though they were alive. Being near the swords was unnerving for me, so I tried to avoid visiting his house at all so I wouldn’t have to see them. The side of town where he lived was beautiful. His house was surrounded by trees, which were kept alive by water from the underground spring that fed into Warimudga. Ordinarily, I would have been happy to drop in to have a chat or share a meal, but not if it meant being near those swords and listening to him talk about his latest acquisition.
“It’s not weird. I’ve tried to tell you so many times ... they’re weapons that were used by some pretty amazing people. They’re artefacts,” he said defensively.
“Come on; they’re junky swords and knives you picked up from the internet. They’re probably mass produced in a factory in the middle of China,” I chortled. I’d never let him know how the weapons affected me; he’d never let me live it down.
“You know nothing of history.” He held a blank face and shook his head.
I sighed and leant my head on my hand. “What about the cover on that book? That material must be something weird, right?” I asked hopefully.
“Alex, I know you are bored and want to believe there is some incredible advent
ure out there for you, but you’re out of luck here. My best guess, a cow and a snake had a wild night and the cover is made with its love child.” He slapped the table a couple of times, stood up and walked back to his tech desk, book in hand.
“That’s a terrible analogy,” I called to him as he disappeared around the book shelf.
I turned back to see the African man standing behind the desk, waiting to be served.
“That man, Sam, told me he did not know how to operate the register and to bring the book to you.” He shrugged a shoulder.
I looked past him to see Sam leaning heavily on his cane, smiling and nodding enthusiastically at me.
The man smiled a little and handed over a book: Cake Decorating for All Occasions. I looked up at him surprised and a little disappointed. I had envisioned him as a soldier or warrior. Without thinking I said, “Cake decorating? Seriously?” As soon as the words came out I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it. You bloody idiot, Alex.
“Yes. I enjoy cake.” The man responded without humour, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh, I’m sorry ... I just wasn’t expecting … I shouldn’t have ... ” I stumbled over my words.
He began to laugh, a deep rolling laugh. “I would not know where to begin with cakes. It is for my sister.”
“Oh ... right.” I could feel my face burn again. “Well I have been told it’s an excellent book for beginners—not that I’m saying your sister is a beginner, of course. I’m sure she’s very experienced … oh, but not like that! I don’t mean experienced with men, I mean … cake.” I closed my eyes as I said the last words.
He just smiled.
“Well, anyway, that’s $15.50 thank you,” I mumbled.
“Thank you, Alexandra,” he said as he collected his book and walked towards the exit.
His walk was more of a march; each step firm and strong. It took me a few moments to realise that he had used my name.
“Sam, how did that man know my name?”
“Oh he was asking me loads of questions about you—very interested he was. Wanted to know your address, phone number, car rego …” he said with a smile as he slowly limped behind the desk. Before I could respond he added, “Or it could be your name tag—that’d be a giveaway!”
He landed his hand on my shoulder for a moment, gave me a wry smile, and walked back into the shop to arrange some new kangaroo merchandise.
I looked out the window in the hope of seeing the man one last time as he walked down the street. The rain had stopped again. Steam was swirling up from the hot road. Across from the bookstore, there were a few female tourists sitting outside Emilee’s café. One of the women noticed him walking past where they sat. She nudged her friends, and they leant in eagerly to each other, bantering as he marched past. One of them, a brunette with dark gorgeous skin, stood up, adjusted her already low-cut floral dress so it was a little more revealing, checked her reflection in the café window and strutted on over to him. Her movements were light and graceful. She quickened her pace a little and in doing so her beautiful hair bounced gently around her soft face. Her dress appeared to swim over her slender body.
I had no idea what she was saying to him, but I was filled with a sudden jealously at the attention he was paying to this pretty woman. I felt inadequate against such a woman, and it burned deeply.
She smiled as she chatted to him and put her hand on his arm. I glared at her through the panes of glass. I really wasn’t that angry at her; rather, at myself. I wanted desperately to look like her and to have the sex appeal and confidence to walk up to a complete stranger and introduce myself with clear intentions of what I wanted.
I could see he was speaking to her, but of course, I couldn’t hear even a whisper of it. I knew he would leave with her; who wouldn’t? She was beyond stunning. But ... what was happening? Instead of her accompanying him, she instead turned on her pointy high heels and sulkily strode back to where her friends were awaiting a report.
He had just rejected her. Elation filled my body—he didn’t accept her! That elation was soon relinquished, however, with the realisation that if he had rejected her, what chance did I have? Not that I was likely to see him ever again.
I turned back to the store. Two people stood at the counter, a woman and a man. The man was medium height, stocky with short brown hair and had a jagged scar on the side of his face. The woman was of similar height, with wavy black hair that sat neatly by her white marble-like face. Her lips were accentuated by the bright lipstick she wore. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, although I was disappointed I couldn’t see her eyes behind the darkened sunglasses she was wearing.
“Can I help you?” As taken as I was by her beauty, I was no longer startled by strangely dressed people; tourists from all over the world flocked to see our outback town, each looking vastly different.
“I am wanting to acquire book.” She spoke in a heavy Russian accent. “It is of great importance.” Her voice was cool, her demeanour solemn.
“Well, I’ll do my best. We do have a lot in stock. But if the book you are looking for isn’t in, I’m afraid it will take a fair while to get it,” I said as I pulled the list of our stocked books from under the desk.
“The book in which I am referring would be very memorable,” she said in a low voice.
“Okay—memorable, how?” I squinted as I tried to recall all the books I had recently catalogued.
“Do you recognise me, Alexandra?” She tilted her head slightly.
I must have served her before. All tourists who re-visit Warrangatta expect me to remember them, but I saw so many faces each week, I rarely paid any attention to any of them.
I stepped back to take all of her in. “No, sorry. I serve a lot of people here.”
“No matter. Long time has passed.” For the first time she pulled a slight smile.
I looked at her again. I had a vague feeling of déjà vu but it floated away before I could register any true memory of having met her.
“Hey Ally,” Andy asked as he walked behind the desk, putting some books away in a cupboard. “Emilee is run off her feet over at the café. She’s asked if I can give her a hand. Sam says it’s okay. You’re right here for the rest of the day?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I have some paperwork to do after hours tonight so I won’t be across to have a coffee with you both. Oh, and I won't be up at Warimudga either. Tell her to bring me my coffee in the morning instead.” I smiled a cheesy smile. I had tried to get Emilee to deliver my morning coffee for many months and, so far, hadn’t had any success.
“Ha, ha. I don’t like your chances.” He lifted his eyebrows and shook his head as he walked around the desk and out the door. I watched him through the window as he wrapped his arms over his head and dashed across the street. He was drenched by the time he reached Emilee’s café.
I turned back to the couple who were looking for a memorable book, only to see them both leaving the shop.
I rolled my eyes. Bloody tourists—they’re all weird.