Chapters (50)
- Cover
- About the Book
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by Sandie Docker
- Book Club Questions
- Welcome to the Kookaburra Creek Café
- Prologue
- One
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Trees cracked beside her. Branches exploded, sending hot black shards into the air. She ducked. She weaved.
Be brave.
There in the clearing she could see a quiet shadow.
‘There you are. Silly boy, running off. It’s okay. I’m here now. But we have to go.’ She could see fear in his eyes. ‘Are you hurt? Can you walk?’
He whimpered. She fell to her knees and ran her hands through his thick coat.
Tears started to fall down her face, before evaporating into the hot, dry air. ‘It’s okay. I’m here.’ She coughed again. Each breath was harder than the last.
‘We’ll be okay,’ she said, as she lay down in the dirt beside her best friend. He nuzzled into her arm. ‘We can rest a little bit, then we have to go.’
She closed her eyes, coughing, wheezing. A minute was all she dared rest.
One
Kookaburra Creek, 2018
Alice Pond opened the door to the Kookaburra Creek Café and the brass bell hanging from the entrance frame didn’t clang. Most people entering the café wouldn’t have noticed the absence of the bell’s ring, but for the last fourteen years every morning of Alice’s life had been exactly the same. Nearly every morning. And that meant Alice certainly did notice.
The oven timer’s discordant buzz, in contrasting harmony with the door chimes, should have assaulted her ears as she opened the door. But there was only silence.
The smell of freshly cooked bread left to bake overnight should have greeted her. But there was no delicious doughy aroma wafting through the room.
Something was wrong.
Alice looked above her head to see the bracket holding the bell to the door frame was slightly bent. Her eyes darted around the room. Everything else seemed to be in place. The green gingham curtains were drawn shut, the piles of serviettes were on the counter where she’d left them the night before, the chairs were still atop the tables.
Then her gaze fell on the counter. The register was open.
Alice’s stomach tightened as she moved slowly through the diningroom.
Carefully she inched open the white shutters that divided the dining room and kitchen. The oven was off. She frowned. The pantry door was slightly ajar and she picked up the rolling pin as she tiptoed past the bench. Not that it would do her any good against a band of thieves, or even one thief if they were serious. But false confidence was better than none.
She stepped towards the pantry door. The sound of something hitting the floor, a lid perhaps, made Alice jump. The buggers better not be into her flour. Surely no one would think to look in there for her stashed savings. Well, whoever they were, they picked the wrong café to break into.
She pushed the slatted door open. A crumpled mess of grey spun round to face her.