CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Mitch needed to see Sarah but couldn’t just turn up to her house a stranger. If the last trip, the one he constantly felt in this lower leg worked, that’s all he ever would be: a stranger. Another problem was Allesandro not taking kindly to an unannounced caller. Sarah once spoke of her husband’s jealous nature and Mitchell couldn’t afford any more trouble. The safest option was to visit the café. It had been too long since he’d had a decent cup of coffee anyway so if she wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be a compete loss.
The doctor suggested Mitch walk as much as possible to strengthen his leg so he grabbed his new walking cane and headed up the road. The first steps were painful, each thereafter more so. He knew in time that would reverse but for the moment it was an effort. He once made the trip in little time, in fact could run the distance quite easily, but today was a slow, tedious process. But no complaints, it had to be done and Mitch enjoyed the autumn weather taking time to ‘smell the roses’. Silently he thanked Peanut for teaching him such a simple pleasure. The walk was quickly peaceful, his leg seeming to ache less. Perhaps it was numb he didn’t know. And he didn’t care.
Habit took him on a familiar path, his body almost knowing where to go. To the the small hill with the plate at its crest. He couldn’t see it from below but knew where it was. Mitch stopped to lean heavily on the walking cane. Should I go around the long way avoiding the plate. Or visit again? The answer came simply. While the plate had caused some trouble it brought more happiness. He needed to see it again.
Nestled in the concrete path the sheets of checker plate bounced sunlight to all angles. Shining brightly despite the rusty lustre. It remained unchanged, maybe undiscovered. Memories flooded as he counted the times he’d stepped over its’ threshold. How many journeys taken to the past. And all in only five months.
None today though. Mitch had higher priorities. It was difficult just walking, and although promised, the pain wasn’t subsiding. He wondered if he did take a trip would his leg be healed like Albert’s eyesight. It made sense. Mitch considered the theory but closer to the plate noticed something unusual. Markings on one of the four metal plates. It appeared to be graffiti but lacked the urban script of the tagging found on fences and signposts nearby. The closer Mitch got the more easily he recognised it. Spray paint. Bright yellow and freshly laid. But it wasn’t graffiti and looked professionally made. It was a code as best he could tell consisting of three digits and a letter, 311J.
Mitch stood over the plate, his cane resting on the metal surface, trying to remember where he’d seen the lettering before. The colouring looked familiar; the number sequence stored somewhere in the back of his mind. Subconsciously he rubbed his temple suspecting it would come eventually.
Continuing to the café Mitch passed another manhole cover not noticed before. It was smaller than his plate and lay to the side of the path amongst a small crop of shrubs. The bright markings though caught his attention; yellow spray paint clearly visible from the pathway. It was the same as the previous pit but read 310J. Mitch thought it odd seeing the same set of numbers in such a short distance but nearing the café, and Sarah, paid it little attention.
The aromatic scent of coffee welcomed Mitch the moment he entered the shopping centre. That alone aroused familiar feelings exciting him to see Sarah. Shoppers and vendors went about their daily tasks as he walked past slowly hobbling on his shattered right leg sensing a few wayward eyes watching his awkward gait. That didn’t matter; he was focused on the café almost fifty metres away. When rounding the centres’ forecourt Mitch saw the café packed with patrons. Nothing out of the ordinary, but something was very different today.
The café looked similar but with a change in colour scheme. The once orange and white colours of How’s Your Day Bean? were replaced by a red, green and white motif. The sign too running along the upper facade was different and read Cristiana’s in large cursive lettering. There’d been a change of name. An earthy faux brick pattern covered the back wall and rustic wooden tables replaced the previous hard metal ones. The look was very Tuscan and it didn’t take Mitch long to work out why.
It had been Sarah’s dream to own her own café: and clearly her dream came true. When Mitchell threw himself in front of the car it set into motion a course of events he hadn’t entirely foreseen. Alessandro’s guilt of the accident led him to leave, but with that avoided the family stayed together going on to better things. Just as Megan Bartholomew had benefitted from Lyle’s saving, so had the Martinellis from Christina’s.
Mitch saw a strikingly handsome man serving customers he assumed was Allesandro. When peering further through the busy kitchen, he spotted Sarah directing a small team of chefs and waitresses. The café was theirs now. They’d acquired it sometime over the past five years and judging by the rebadging, named it after their daughter: Cristiana being the Italian variant of the English Christina.
Sarah had started working at How’s Your Day Bean? as a barista and slowly built clientele through her endless passion and devotion. The owners were more than thankful of that devotion and gave Sarah the freedom to manage the business as if her own. She revelled in the opportunity and introduced many ideas she’d picked up while living in Italy. The café quickly became a popular venue and the aging owners saw a logical chance for succession. They’d offered Sarah and Allesandro a staged buyout of the business which they quickly accepted. Sarah’s dream was now a reality.
The Martinelli’s were a popular couple and well respected throughout the community. Sarah was the main attraction, but patrons loved Allesandro too. He was both charming and witty as he floated between counter and tables. Even Christina was often seen propped up behind the counter on a wooden box just as her mother had done with her great grandmother years before. Cristiana’s was the hub of the suburb and very well patronised.
Mitchell was overjoyed. Pleased the Martinellis were a family again, even happier Sarah realised her dream. He remembered her talking about that dream. Of serving others, bringing joy to their lives. From the outside everything appeared perfect. Mitch gazed at his right leg thinking everything had been worth it.
Sarah busily put the finishing touches on some dishes then barked directions to the wait staff to which table they belonged. Among the flurry of restaurant chaos Mitch could see she looked different. Her features where the same, her hair maybe slightly longer, and if nothing else she looked slimmer. But her eyes looked heavy. She appeared to have been crying such was their redness. Puffy too. Sarah looked sad.
Perhaps she was just tired Mitchell thought. Running a business was exhausting but this was something else. When he reached the counter Mitch had been starring for minutes. She’d glanced up occasionally to check the front of house and each time he tried grabbing her attention. Just a slight smile or nod of the head. Each time she didn’t notice, and if she did, ignored him entirely. He didn’t take offence; he understood Sarah wouldn’t know him. Nonetheless he searched for any recognition.
Allesandro took his order and nowhere near as charismatic as Sarah once described. He too looked sad and merely going through the motions. It seemed odd given they appeared to have everything they always wanted. Perhaps things between them weren’t as Mitch suspected. Maybe Sarah and Allesandro had been fighting again? He would never know, nor could he ask. It was none of his business anymore. A young waitress handed him coffee and he turned to leave the café. As he did, Mitch noticed for the first-time flowers sitting on almost every table. Not small posies often found in restaurants, but large bunches, different arrangements, different varieties. The type received as a gift or in condolence. Something wasn’t right.
Now concerned, Mitch as quickly as he could manage made his way to the outside courtyard to take a seat. His coffee was expertly made and the best he’d had in weeks…at least that hadn’t changed…but the look in Sarah’s eyes were haunting. What happened during his stay in hospital?
He called Albert again hoping the disconnection was a service fault. It wasn’t. He got the same message stating the number had been disconnected. That worried Mitchell too but truly believed Albert would never have left without letting him know. The coffee calmed a little as he pieced together everything. Sarah wasn’t herself and Albert un-contactable. As much as needed to see Sarah, he had to see Albert too. It was the only way of knowing for certain what was going on.
The walk to Alberts was longer than remembered and the pain from his leg wasn’t making things any easier. Mitch persevered with his newly developed hobble but wished he could move faster. As a distraction he thought of the time spent with Kym and Thi and the look on Albert’s face when meeting at the airport. He’d never seen him happier. He focused on that happiness, and what Christina’s life had become too. Those thoughts dulled the pain and steadied his concern.
But when he turned the corner to Alberts street, every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
A Pantech van was parked out the front of his home with a small team of sweaty men trekking between them. A Department of Veteran Affairs vehicle was parked across the street, and a man dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and tie seemed to be directing the operation. The men carried plain cardboard boxes, and in pairs, large furniture items. They were removing Albert’s possessions from the house. Mitch quickened his stride and approached the man in the tie.
“What’s going on,” he asked.
“We’re moving house. Obviously,” he replied rudely. The comment shocked Mitchell. Not the tone, but the answer. He didn’t know what to think and asked the question he was dreading.
“And what about the owner, where’s he going?”
“You mean the old man who lived here? Well he was never really the owner, but he died.”
Mitchell almost fell and leant heavily on his cane. Albert was dead.
The man turned to give more orders to the workmen leaving Mitchell stunned by the news. The officer had no idea what affect those three words were having and continued without another thought. Mitch called to catch his attention.
“What are you doing with all of his things?”
“They’re going to charity. Our records show no next of kin. Did you know him?” Mitch was too shocked to answer properly and merely replied ‘no’ before turning from the heartbreaking sight of Albert’s life being hauled away by strangers.
Peanut must have sensed something wrong as her welcome was subdued when he returned home. Mitch didn’t notice and poured a generous scotch to join her on the veranda. He toasted the loss of his best friend and shot the glass in one throw. He’d been out of hospital for less than twenty-four hours and his world was upturned. Even more than when Juliana left.
“What is going on?” he asked Peanut rhetorically. Albert was dead and Sarah anything but her usual, vibrant self.
Mitch replayed the phones messages looking for clues. On the second playing, only after refreshing his glass, he jotted down each of the messages and the dates received in his tiny notebook.
The emerging list of calls showed a distinct pattern he’d previously identified. Excluding the unknown number from the police, all were Albert asking where Mitchell was. At first the calls were daily, every few days thereafter. They eventually only came on a weekly basis before suddenly stopping entirely. The level of frustration in Albert’s tone increasing with every message; he was definitely eager to see Mitch.
Mitch suspected it was about destroying the coil. He’d delayed that until saving Christina and now could go through with it. But with Albert gone what was the point. Mitch had failed Albert and felt horribly sick. He sat back on the couch and soon drifted to sleep.
A sharp knock on the door roused him. Mitch thought it imaged it but it came again. This time louder. Peanut beat him to the door that when opened revealed Ethel smiling as always.
“Hi Ethel. What a nice surprise,” Mitch said still a little dazed from just waking up.
“Hello Mitchell. I thought I would pop in to see how you were today. If you were feeling alright.” He invited her in offering a cup of tea to which she gratefully accepted. He thanked her for the food she’d left and asked her to thank Lyle for maintaining the garden.
“The yard looks amazing Ethel. I really can’t thank you enough for your help.”
“Nonsense Mitchell, it’s the least we could do after what you’ve done.”
With the kettle boiled they sat down to chat. Peanut sitting at Mrs Bartholomew’s feet obviously taking a shine to the woman during Mitchell’s stay in hospital.
“So how are you feeling Mitchell?” Ethel asked taking a sip of tea. Although slight, her wince suggested it wasn’t to her usual standards.
“I’m really good. My leg still hurts, but I took a small walk this morning as the doctor suggested.”
Ethel appeared pleased he was recovering well and taking things easily. But the look on Mitchells face spoke another pain.
“And is everything else fine Mitchell?’ she enquired knowingly.
“Yeah, I suppose, however I did receive some sad news this morning which has thrown me a little,” he admitted.
“I recently befriended an elderly gentleman who lived not far from here. It was purely by chance, but we became close over…over a common interest you might say.” Mitch was unsure if Ethel understood his guarded words but certain she would put the pieces together.
“Well, I discovered that while I was in hospital he sadly passed away. And unfortunately, I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.” The look on his neighbour’s face, while sympathetic, was also one of shock.
“Do you know how he died Mitchell?”
“No, regrettably I don’t. But I am certain it was sudden.”
Ethel put down her teacup and said,
“I think I do.”
She rose from the couch to enter the kitchen. Mitch had yet opened his mail so meticulously laid out, and among the letters were copies of The Vanguard; the local newspaper delivered every week. Ethel grabbed the second to last edition and handed it to Mitchell. On the front page in large bold letters was the headline FIRE IN MUNICIPAL LIBRARY. Mitch read the subtext, dismayed by every word.
Less than two weeks ago a fire swept through the local library resulting in the unfortunate death of two persons. Everyone else, the librarian included, escaped the blaze but the building was gutted and would need to be entirely rebuilt. The report continued that investigations were still underway, however it appeared a fault in the alarm system delayed the evacuation hindering any chance of survival. The deceased were an unnamed local male aged in his seventies and a young girl who’d turned twelve only two days before.
Mitchell was devastated.
He knew the mans name if the paper didn’t and suspected who the young girl was. Ethel took Mitchell’s hand expressing her sorrow. Seemingly unrelated clues now made sense. The apparent sadness of Sarah and Allesandro, the flowers on the café tables. Alberts messages suddenly stopping and the swift action of the Veteran Affairs department in clearing out Albert’s house. Thank Christ I didn’t destroy the coil.
Ethel stayed a little longer leaving only when confident Mitch would be all right. She sympathised with everything that happened over the past few weeks but had no idea of what he was really dealing with. Mitch tried to use the plate to help as many as possible, to put some lives back on an even keel. To make them good again. But the results were far from inspiring. He had a severe limp, Albert was dead, and Christina most probably. Lyle was his only success. What had he done?
Mitch had to fix this latest problem and sat solemnly with Peanut thinking how best to start. His first step was learning more about the fire, and in particular how it started. Perhaps he could even stop it happening. If not he might help Albert and Christina escape the blaze. Every possibility was considered. He re-read the Vanguard article noting the librarian survived the trategy. Albert had mentioned her before; they’d become friends over the years but Mitch couldn’t recall her name. In time he might.
Mitchell decided to visit the library and pay his respects to Albert and Christina.