Meet Me in Bendigo Read online

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EVA has been telling stories since she could hold a pencil. Growing up in multicultural Melbourne, Australia, Eva developed a wanderlust. Fueling her passion for culture and language, she travelled the world before returning home to study anthropology — the art of collecting other people’s stories.

  Eva’s own storytelling style has grown out of her love of 1990s romantic comedies and her need to learn, and share, as much as possible about Australia. Her stories mix the unlikely situations found in romcoms with Australiana, exploring social commentary on contemporary issues along the way.

  Eva wants you to laugh, cry and fall in love all over again as you connect with her characters and shared experiences.

  romance.com.au

  For Bek

  CONTENTS

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Extract from The Goldfields Gazette, Wednesday 10 September 1856:

  R. CAPPELLI—MINING PROVISIONS, GENERAL SUPPLIES & BARBER

  Having witnessed the dreadful scenes of the feud between the diggers and the Government at the Eureka Stockade on 3 December 1854, Mr Cappelli—lately of Venice, Italy—has wisely exchanged the occupation of miner for that of store proprietor. The best value mining provisions and general supplies are available at Mr Cappelli’s store in the township of Wongilly. Quality continental barber services are also available.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Annalisa Cappelli stood with her hips pressed against the kitchen bench, absent-mindedly eating her toast and letting the crumbs fall into the sink—something she did every morning. Her eyes watched the sky, still dark except for a sliver of shimmering moon.

  The low, dense morning mist covered the paddock and a stillness held the land in its grip, as if the whole world had paused to take a deep breath before the day began. In a minute or two the sun would rise above the horizon and flood the fields behind the little house with golden light.

  She loved this moment. Here, in the magical space between night and day, she could believe that everything would work out fine, that she wasn’t as in over her head as she knew herself to be. The borrowed hope lasted exactly one precious second, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  August was nearly over and the promise of spring was highlighted when the sun rose a little earlier every day. The liquid amber tree in the garden would soon begin to grow its bright green leaves in contrast to the rich, jewelled autumn colours she loved so much. Before she knew it, the spring wildflowers would be covering the fields she used to play in as a child.

  Annalisa checked her watch. Nearly seven. Just enough time to watch the sunrise, finish breakfast and tidy up the store before everyone arrived.

  The sun flashed its rays as it crested the horizon, filling the fields with soft, buttery light. The day had officially begun.

  Dusting crumbs off her fingers, she tightened the hand-knitted scarf around her neck. The weather was not quite chilly enough for a jumper, especially once the wood stove in the store was up and blazing. In Victoria you never really knew what weather you were going to get from one hour to the next. You had to be ready for all four seasons in one day, maybe even within one hour. She’d always marvelled at the variety of gear for all weather conditions Ben could carry in his motorcycle panniers.

  Her craft project spilled across the kitchen table, taking up every conceivable space including the chairs. Scraps of material, bits of plywood and globs of craft glue told the story of a late night creating what she hoped would be magic. Annalisa decided against cleaning it up. No one would see the mess and she’d be at it again later after she’d finished selling hardware for the day.

  She turned off the lights in her little house and stepped through the connecting door into her other world, the family’s hardware store.

  The store lay in darkness, watercolour-like sunlight struggling in through the windows while a leaden cold filled the air. Not her favourite time of the day. Here, in the moment before the shop opened, the ghosts of her family wandered the aisles filled with chisels and hammers, screwdrivers and dusty spirit levels, all waiting for their forever home. No doubt disappointed in the dwindling sales and the lack of business acumen of this establishment’s current proprietor.

  For over a hundred years Cappellis had kept this store going in one form or another. They’d faced all sorts of hardships, from rebellion on the goldfields to war and recession. What advice would they give her? What would they make of the coronavirus and online shopping? Surely they’d have some useful wisdom to impart?

  Before she turned on the lights, she closed her eyes and her fingertips automatically found the gold locket that never left her neck. As part of her daily ritual she listened for a whisper of the past. Thoughts of Ben, whose photo nestled in her locket like a talisman against loneliness, took over.

  Her thoughts turned to her father. To how he’d hum as he moved about the store getting ready for the day, checking the till for change, dusting the shelves and setting things to rights before opening for business. How he’d challenge her to catch dust motes as they danced in the morning sun before she left for school. He’d had a comforting presence. A jovial man with a hearty laugh and enormous heart, Alberto Cappelli had left very big shoes she struggled to fill.

  Summoning his strength, Annalisa flicked the switch. Fluorescent lights shuddered into life, dispelling the ghosts of loved ones and the ancestors she’d never met. They’d be back the same time tomorrow, just as useless as today.

  First thing, get the wood stove operating before the old guys arrived.

  Clearing the ash from yesterday’s fire had to be the saddest, most depressing job she could think of on a frosty morning. Knowing that there would be a cheerful fire crackling away in ten minutes made the job doable.

  She crouched down in front of the stove and scraped out the grate, making the inevitable mess she did every time. The stale smell of old ashes made her work quickly. Maybe one day she’d get the hang of clearing the grate out without getting any of it on the floor. Or maybe never.

  She’d finished stuffing kindling in the stove and had just got it lit when someone rapped on the front door.

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your hat on,’ she called as she secured the stove door. The heat began to seep out into the room. Before long the whole place would be toasty.

  Behind the frosted glass door loomed a shadowy figure. Only one person ever turned up this early.

  Annalisa swung the door open and ushered the old man in. ‘Good morning, Joe. Fresh this morning.’

  ‘You’re late.’ Joe Kelly shuffled inside, clutching his thermos to his chest like a hot water bottle.

  ‘I am not.’ Annalisa rose to the bait as part of their daily custom. ‘You’re early. Again.’

  Joe shrugged and divested himself of his hat before putting his thermos down so he could take off his coat. Annalisa held out her hands for his things. He passed them over, inspecting her, his keen faded blue eyes missing nothing.

  ‘You got crumbs.’ He indicated her scarf with a flick of an arthritic finger.

  ‘I was eating my breakfast.’ She hung his belongings up on a p
eg on the wall.

  ‘Toast over the sink.’ He hmphed, as if she’d committed a breach of decency. ‘Again.’

  ‘Have you had breakfast?’ she enquired sweetly, ignoring his grumpiness.

  ‘At my age, you don’t need breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll make you some toast. You want coffee?’ They played out the same script each day. She knew her lines and she waited for him to deliver his. He’d been a part of her life ever since the day she was born, playing the role of an elderly uncle, always keeping an eye on her.

  ‘You still got that stuff in a jar?’ He made his way over to his chair located next to the fire. She noticed he favoured one leg and moved carefully as if he were spun from glass.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Then no. I got my own.’ He raised his thermos in salute before plunking himself down with a sigh.

  She didn’t have to ask to know the weather would be inflaming his arthritis. They had an unspoken agreement to never mention each other’s ailments or problems, one she was happy to uphold.

  ‘Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll hold the hordes at bay. Don’t be long or they might overwhelm me.’

  Annalisa shook her head and left him to it, returning to her kitchen out the back to make Joe buttered toast and get him a mug for his coffee.

  She couldn’t be certain he ate properly and while a piece of toast wasn’t much, it was all he’d accept from her. He’d rejected meals she made for him in the past. Out of pride or the fact he didn’t like her cooking, she couldn’t tell. After popping the bread in the toaster, she took the opportunity to shake the crumbs out of her scarf into the sink.

  The sun had well and truly breached the horizon and filled the kitchen with the illusion of warmth. The shop itself faced west and missed out in the morning although the afternoon rays made the place cosy. How wonderful it would be if she could spin the building any way she liked to catch the sun.

  She buttered Joe’s toast and stacked a tray to take through to him. He’d been her grandfather’s oldest friend and even though Lorenzo had passed away years ago, Joe and the other old guys still came every day to drink coffee, play cards or dominoes and talk rubbish.

  Annalisa had been very small when Lorenzo’s heart had failed him in his prime. She loved the stories his friends told, about the old days and how happy Nonna and Poppy were together. They’d known her father, Al, from the day he was born and had been there to support Nonna when he’d died all too young.

  One thing she realised was she needed these old guys as much as they needed her. She gave them a place to come to, a sense of continuance, and they gave her stability and staved off the loneliness that haunted her day and night.

  ‘Thank you.’ Joe took the tray she offered him and placed it on his lap. ‘You should get a proper coffee machine like they have in the cafés.’

  Annalisa unscrewed his thermos and poured the hot coffee into his mug. He never asked her to, or mentioned the kindness, but they both knew some days his hands were beyond the task.

  ‘I don’t need a coffee machine, Joe. I can’t afford one. I can’t even afford to put the heater on in the house.’

  The last twelve months had been hard. She’d grown up in that shop and thought she knew all its ins and outs. Running the hardware store proved to be tougher than she’d known. She couldn’t remember her parents struggling like this. Maybe she’d simply not paid enough attention. What kid did?

  The fact that the hardware retail chain, Carpenter’s Warehouse, had chosen to build a new store in the Goldfields area did not help her stress levels. A store that big could swallow her business whole and not even notice.

  ‘What do you need a heater for? You got that great scarf.’ Joe took a bite of his toast.

  ‘You can have it if you like it so much.’

  ‘Then where are you gonna put your lunch?’

  ‘Very funny. And speaking of comedians,’ muttered Annalisa as the door opened, bringing in the rest of the old guys on a gust of chilly wind.

  Terry and Dave bundled into the store, carrying all the things they needed for a morning’s entertainment: newspaper, thermos, sandwiches and cards.

  ‘I see you’re still above ground,’ said Terry, the rangiest of the three men. As time passed he seemed to bow more, as if the weight of each year cumulated in burden.

  ‘How are you this morning?’ Dave, completely bald except for tufts of hair that grew out of his ears, wore a black and yellow striped Tigers beanie pulled down tight.

  ‘Great. Just taking criticism from the walking cliché over here,’ said Joe, gesturing in Annalisa’s direction.

  ‘You guys want coffee?’ She ignored Joe’s jibe.

  ‘Got a coffee machine yet?’ asked Terry as he settled himself into one of the chairs around the card table.

  ‘Not since yesterday.’

  ‘We’ll pass, thanks.’ Terry rubbed his hands together. ‘Who’s got the cards?’

  ‘I got enough coffee for everyone,’ said Joe. ‘Can we get some more cups please?’

  The old guys turned their attention to setting up for their card game, bickering amongst themselves as they had for the last fifty years.

  Annalisa smiled, glad to have them here even though they were a bunch of wiseacres. She headed back to her kitchen to fetch some more cups.

  The temperature dropped several degrees as she pushed through the dividing door from the now warm hardware store into her little house. The cold only made the place feel lonelier. Maybe a coat of paint on the walls would help, something in a cheerful colour. Perhaps she should get a dog.

  Her mobile phone vibrated where it sat on the kitchen bench. She picked it up in anticipation. A DM from GardenerGuy94. She shoved the phone in the back pocket of her jeans, grabbed the drinkware and hustled back to the store.

  ‘Here you go.’ She deposited the cups on the table and reached for her phone. GardenerGuy94’s messages had become the highlight of her day.

  Annalisa couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face as she opened the message. How could a perfect stranger make her so happy? It probably indicated a thousand things wrong with her that any good psychologist could diagnose. She hooked a long, dark curl behind her ear and read avidly.

  GardenerGuy94 TUE @ 8:05 AM

  Cold in my neck of the woods. How about yours? Got a business meeting with my siblings today. Would rather stick needles in my eyes. What are you doing?

  She laughed out loud at the unexpected imagery. It took her a moment to realise the room had gone quiet and the old guys were all staring at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the new boyfriend,’ said Joe out of the side of his mouth as if she wasn’t standing there.

  ‘The one that sends messages but never shows up?’ Terry sniffed his disapproval as he shuffled the cards.

  ‘Catfish,’ said Dave as he tapped his finger to his nose. ‘Take my word for it.’

  ‘What has Annalisa’s pretend boyfriend got to do with fish?’ asked Joe.

  ‘He’s probably some bloke in West Africa pretending to be a prince and trying to get money out of her. Same thing happened to Daphne over at the retirement village. You wait, he’ll sweet-talk her, tell her he loves her, then hit her up for money.’ Dave picked up his cards as Terry dealt them.

  ‘Slim pickings here,’ said Annalisa. ‘I haven’t got any money. All I’ve got is hardware which nobody seems to want. And those kinds of scams come from all over the world these days.’

  ‘So, the scammers have gone international. Don’t go getting your heart broken,’ said Terry as he fanned out his cards, inspecting them through his bifocals.

  ‘He’s just a friend,’ she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. ‘Someone I met on the Goldfields community page. We chat. So what?’

  ‘Just a friend,’ said Joe as he reordered his hand.

  ‘Yeah, good friend I bet.’

  ‘How about you guys focus on your game and leave m
e alone?’ She slipped behind the counter, putting a barrier between them and her.

  She typed in her response quickly. From now on she’d wait until she was alone to read the messages. Some of the old guys’ digs had landed a little close to home.

  What if GardenerGuy94 really was some scammer after her fortune? Maybe she should tell him upfront that all she had to offer was a selection of screws, bolts and nails in various sizes—and that she’d have to charge him for postage.

  The two of them had exchanged messages nearly every day since he’d contacted her over one of her posts on the community page, sliding into the personal as if they’d been lifelong friends. She knew he was about her age, but she had no idea what he looked like. Handsome, she hoped. His Goldfields community page profile picture showed a smiling chocolate labrador wearing a red bandana.

  Annalisa read her return message again. She wanted to sign off with a kiss. They’d become so close recently, sharing their innermost thoughts and flirting outrageously, that she’d begun to wonder if it was time to move things to the next level. Uncertainty held her back.

  They’d been chatting for so long—months—that it felt as if the time for asking about his real name had passed. A bit like those casual acquaintances you met where years went by and somehow you still didn’t know their name and now you couldn’t ask. One day soon she’d gather up the courage to broach the subject, but until then his daily messages cheered her up and made her feel less alone.

  She pressed send.

  Suddenly her day had got a whole lot brighter.

  Ed Carpenter turned up the collar on his coat against the wind that blasted him as he left the train station. He jogged down the steps of Flinders Street Station towards the tram that would take him to Docklands. When he’d left his mother’s house at Brighton Beach half an hour ago, the sun had been out. Now a light drizzle had begun to fall, coating everything in a fine mist. Welcome to Melbourne.

  He jumped on to the tram, finding a strap to hang on to as the doors shut behind him. The ride took fifteen minutes, giving him just enough time to grab a coffee before heading up to the office. How did his siblings plan to torture him this time?