Page 6

MILLIE

I don’t like your tone

By the time I make it back to Beans , I’m soaked to the bone.

It’s blessedly warm inside, the smell of fresh coffee and lilacs filling the now empty main room. The gold, lantern-style lights around the space give the timber floors a golden hue, my soaked shoes dirtying them as I thud across the floor.

I love this place. This store has been in my life since I can remember. I grew up running around the tables of items for sale, drinking coffee from way too young an age and sneaking slices of banana bread from the cabinet.

My aunt Donna opened it when Ellis and I were toddlers, creating a cosy, artsy space where people could drink caffeine and peruse items made by local creators.

Paintings, photographs, books, flower arrangements, hand-knitted baby clothes, jewellery and trinkets, stickers and stationery.

Nothing was off-limits for Donna. She welcomed every local with a smidge of talent and spent all day upselling their items or simply encouraging people to hang out in the lounge area to their heart’s content.

She even quietly encouraged me to share my art, but I’ve always preferred to share it without my name and face attached.

A chocolate-brown blob makes its way over to me and I lean down to pet Winston, assuring my cousin’s labrador he didn’t miss out on a good walk. No. He missed out on my near-death experience and a run-in with a knobhead from my high school.

Winston follows me outside onto the sheltered balcony, where streams of rain seep through the cracking cover. Ellis sits at our favourite corner table, staring out at the gum trees with her hands around a half-full tumbler of amber liquid.

Growing up with a cousin who is only nine months older is like having the sister you never had and always wanted.

After my parents died in the aforementioned tragic boat collision when I was three, I moved in with Donna and Ellis.

Donna raised two girls as a single parent, whilst running a successful, beachy thrifty art store, right near the state line between New South Wales and Queensland.

Before she got sick, anyway. It’s crazy to think it’s been a year since cancer took her.

Ellis tilts her head towards me as I approach. “How was your beach walk? Did it solve our problems? Did you snap a photo that’s going to make us millions?”

“Hardly,” I grumble, hopping onto the stool next to her. I can’t bring myself to tell her about the camera yet.

“The rates are going up again.”

I sigh. “Of course they are.”

Ellis stares at her glass. “Maybe we should rethink selling this place?—”

“No way.” I shake my head. “It would break my heart.”

Ellis gives me a gentle smile. “It would break my heart, too, but everything is so expensive right now. The house, Mum’s medical expenses, this place. I know we love it, but it’s not what it used to be.”

Beans was already on the downward slope for maintenance and competing with other local businesses before Donna died.

She couldn’t stay on top of things as her sickness worsened.

Ellis took care of her, and I worked overtime in the bar on Hamilton Island to save every penny I could in anticipation of her passing.

I was trying to figure out business loan repayments, funeral arrangements, how I was going to emotionally support Ellis and not have a breakdown myself.

I wish I’d spent more time asking Donna about what she wanted to do with the place, how she kept the place afloat, managed a small team of staff, paid the bills, and still had time for me and Ellis for nearly thirty years.

Now Ellis and I are in charge, and although it’s been a year, we have no idea what the hell we’re doing. Things appear to get a teensy bit worse every day.

Despite Ellis staring at me, it’s clear she doesn’t notice I’ve recently been submerged in water. Her grey eyes are glazed and bloodshot, and I hazard a guess she’s too emotionally drained to register my soaked appearance.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

She gives me a tired, half smile. “It’s not like we didn’t know this day was coming.” The pain in Ellis’s eyes evident as she stares down into her glass, swirling her drink slowly.

“Planning a Happy Death Day because your mum ordered it in her will and carrying it out are two very different things,” I point out.

Ellis reaches out to pat my arm and stills. “You’re drenched .” Her gaze drags over my body. “I know it’s raining, but why?—”

“Do I look like I went into the ocean?” I grab my hair and twist the ends, wringing out what feels like a litre of water. It’s going to need a shit-tonne of detangler when I wash it. “Because I went into the ocean. Involuntarily, I’ll add.”

Ellis smiles and grabs her phone, snapping a photo of me. “I want to remember this when I’m not drowning in misery.” I stick my tongue out at her as she giggles, and I smile at the sound.

She’s handled the past few years with more grace and strength than I thought possible in a person.

People often pity me when they learn I lost my parents at such a young age, but I sometimes wonder if the universe was looking out for me by taking my parents before I got to know them.

For sparing me the pain of watching them wither and wilt in front of me.

“Millie?”

“Hmm?”

“Your walk was insightful, huh?”

My gaze snaps to her face. “I don’t like your tone.”

Ellis waves her phone, and I snatch it to peer closely at the screen. Photos from one of the many online gossip sites Ellis frequents stare back at me, but it takes my brain several seconds to compute what I’m looking at.

It’s me. From today’s misadventure. I’m in my saturated raincoat, sitting very close to a tanned, muscular, shirtless man who’s smiling at me. It looks too intimate. Like someone snapped a cute moment between newlyweds who were fooling around in the water.

Both of us are smiling in the last photo. I might even be laughing. The way his body turns towards me makes it look like we’re familiar with each other. It’s alarming how misleading these are.

“What is going on?” I croak, scanning the words accompanying the photos. “ Playboy Noah King spends time with local business owner, Millie Schofield, as he tries to re-connect with his roots .” I glance at Ellis. “How do they know who I am? Who took this?”

She squints at me, almost as if she can’t believe I’m in front of her. “I’ll be asking the questions, thank you. Did you sneak off to meet him?”

“What? No! I don’t even know him.”

“Well, we both know that’s a lie,” Ellis quips. “You were in the same grade.”

My mouth drops open. “You remember Noah?”

“Ha! So, you admit you know him?”

“Yes. Well . . . no. We barely knew each other at school. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. He pulled me out of the waves, hence me being soaked through.”

The rage that flashes in Ellis’ eyes almost barrels me over. “Are you trying to join my mother in the afterlife?”

“It was his fault I fell in!” I cry.

A smirk of disbelief spreads across my cousin’s face.

“You genuinely have no idea, do you?” She takes her phone back.

“My dear, sweet, na?ve little darling. This hunk of man meat, smiling at you like you’re the love of his life, is Noah Joseph King.

Fellow St Xavier’s graduate. Surfer extraordinaire. Page six man-whore.”

I blink at her. Ellis is a big fan of celebrity news and an even bigger fan of sports. When I’m watching re-runs of The Office or Friends on my phone , she’s watching highlights of hockey, Formula One, rugby and, as it turns out, surfing.

“How did I not know this?”

Ellis lifts her glass to her lips. “I’ve mentioned it.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m always updating you on the sports world.”

I wave a hand. “I tune out half the time because I don’t care, but I would’ve remembered something like this. ”

“Apparently not.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I did not expect this plot twist.”

“It’s not a plot twist. It’s not anything. I fell in and then pulled me out of the water. I said thanks and realised he’s still the same cocky guy I went to school with. The end.”

“And yet, whoever took these photos has made sure it’s not the end,” Ellis says, a smirk forming on her face. “These photos would suggest something is afoot.”

“I’ll give you a foot up your ass if you don’t drop this.” I rise from my stool. “I’m going to start cleaning up. You need to drink some water.”

Ellis rolls her eyes. “Party pooper.”

“We re-open tomorrow and need to be here early to tidy up before the cleaners come,” I remind her.

Ellis finishes the rest of her glass and stands up. “What’s the point of having cleaners if we pre-clean?”

“We tidy, so they can clean.”

“You’re so bossy.”

Ellis drinks an entire pitcher of water while I clean up the main room, collecting half-empty platters of mini-quiches and spring rolls and rolling up tablecloths to be washed at home.

Ellis passes out as soon as I help her into my car.

Winston stretches out across the back seat and starts snoring before I even turn the engine on.

Everything starts to catch up with me as I pull out of the parking lot exhausted, and head towards our shared home.

The day started with celebrating the life of one of my favourite people and ended with my face splashed across a gossip website along with the jerk who helped send my camera to the bottom of the sea. Dick.

Money’s tight enough as it is. There’s no way I can replace it any time soon.

Not only is it an expensive vintage camera, but Donna gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago.

She selected the amber-brown colour because it reminded her of me and had my name engraved on the bottom.

That personalised touch isn’t replaceable.

I’ve got another camera I can use in the meantime.

I don’t love it as much, but the quality of the photographs I’ve taken with it are still good.

Lots of the photos on my anonymous Instagram photography page @soursnaps were taken with that camera and it might be a nice idea to mix up the photo types on my feed.

Photography has been my happy place since I was in high school and learnt to use a clunky, slow camera in an art class.

Observing things through a lens helps me see things from different perspectives, capturing moments never to be repeated.

I like that idea, of capturing a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

I’m so grateful to the early pioneers and inventors of cameras, as I have the luxury of seeing my parents and my aunt on some of their happiest days, despite them being gone.

Uploading my photos online is my way of sharing that with the rest of the world. It’s liberating sharing art when no one knows who you are. I have over twenty thousand followers on my Instagram account, and I love connecting with others through it, even if people don’t know my real name.

Sometimes I wonder if I should publicise my identity or attempt to sell my work, but I always decide against it. I’m happy to keep that little piece of escapism only for me. I don’t care if people don’t like my work, but I don’t crave the spotlight. Unlike some people I’ve recently run into.

How the hell did I not know who Noah King had become?

“Whose idea was it to re-open the day after the party?” Ellis moans.

“Yours,” I reply, setting down the box of napkins in front of her. “You said you wouldn’t drink much because you didn’t want a hangover. You wanted to wake up fresh and welcome the locals back in, remember?”

“I hate that version of myself,” she groans.

“I see you’re going to be a fat load of help today.”

“Don’t be mean to me. My mum died.”

“That excuse has officially expired.” I smirk at her annoyed expression.

“Plus, I’ve got two dead biological parents and a deceased surrogate parent, so I’m going to win every time.

Now, could you please restock the napkins behind the counter while I take care of everything else?

” I wait for her to snipe at me, but I don’t think she’s listening.

“Ellis? You’re not going to be sick, are you? ”

Ellis turns to me with a grin. “No, but you might be.”

“Why?”

Ellis tilts her head to the entrance. “Because Noah King just walked in.”