‘Can I get this almond latte to go, please?’ I ask the waitress. ‘And my son’s milkshake?’
The waitress looks momentarily confused, then bustles away.
‘I’m sorry, Pamela, but… er… I have to get ready for work and… I need to buy Jackson some new soccer boots this morning. He’s growing so quickly. Can I leave the girls with you for a little while?’
Milla’s trying to catch my eye while I’m deliberately avoiding hers.
‘Now?’ asks Pamela. ‘You need to go and buy soccer boots now?’
‘I’m afraid so. Jackson’s got soccer training later this afternoon, you see. Then he’s going over to his friend Digby’s place…’
I’m waffling.
‘Soccer training on a Sunday afternoon?’ Pamela frowns. ‘On Mother’s Day?’
‘The coach is very committed. Training every Sunday, no exceptions. Monday afternoons too, he works the boys very hard. He’s a diehard football nut.’
‘Oh dear.’ Pamela tut-tuts into her glass. ‘And your boots are too small for you already, Jackson?’
Jackson leans his head against his grandmother’s shoulder. It’s a tender gesture that makes Pamela’s face soften.
The waitress returns with our drinks in a takeaway tray.
‘Why can’t you just… get the boots for Jackson tomorrow, Mummy?’ presses Ruby.
‘It won’t take long. Jackson’s restless anyway. I’m sure Nanna Pam doesn’t want to see any more… café yoga. Enjoy your Mother’s Day morning, Pamela.’
I push back the stool and stand up.
‘You too,’ she replies. ‘I’ll drop the girls back in about an hour. Do you still need me to come over this afternoon while you’re at Care Cottage?’
‘Yes, please,’ I say, feeling suddenly churlish. ‘Thanks a lot, Pamela. Have fun at gymnastics today, girls.’
‘Bye!’ they call, before turning back to Pamela’s iPad.
On the way home, we stop at Captain’s Corner to buy flowers – a mixed bouquet of hardy natives – to cheer me up. Their fresh bushland scent buoys my spirits.
As we wander back along Seaview Street, Jackson turns to me. ‘Are we really buying soccer boots, Mum?’
‘Let’s just see how training goes today,’ I reply. ‘If Coach Steve says you need them, we can go shopping tomorrow after school.’
Jackson seems relieved about this. He’s never enjoyed shopping trips.
‘So why did you tell Nanna Pam that we were?’
I feel my face flush.
‘I just really needed some air, Jackson. I didn’t want to be in that café any more, but I didn’t want to… hurt Nanna Pam’s feelings, either.’
Jackson nods slowly. ‘You remembered your manners,’ he says, referencing our fourth family rule.
I smile. ‘I guess I did.’
We traverse the length of Seaview Street, past sprawling Hamptons-style mansions, angular villas of polished concrete, and a dwindling number of post-war red-brick cottages.
‘Is Queenscliff growing on you?’ I ask Jackson after a while. ‘It’s not quite hipster Erskineville, is it?’
Jackson links his fingers through mine. ‘What’s hipster?’
‘Oh, let’s see… Trendy, I suppose. A bit alternative. Lots of skinny guys with big bushy beards.’
My phone chimes. Reading the message, I can’t conceal my disappointment.
‘Dad’s going to… call us tonight.’ I watch Jackson’s face fall. ‘It’s getting late in New York now. He’s had a very busy day.’
We all have, I think.
Jackson’s lips begin to tremble.
‘Let’s go breathe in the sea air,’ I say, sounding more upbeat than I feel.
At the very end of the road, we climb the grassy hillock overlooking the beach and stand together, watching the waves roll into Queenscliff. The vast green expanse beckons, whitecaps glinting under a cerulean sky. A lonely gull hovers over the dunes, riding invisible eddies above us.
The beach is almost empty, bar a cluster of surfers bobbing near the break. They sit motionless on their boards, contemplating the horizon, before leaping to their feet and carving elegant trails across the waves.
Growing up in the land-locked western suburbs, I never imagined a distant adulthood in which I’d have such ready access to the ocean. Yet since moving to Queenscliff, I’ve barely even taken a casual dip.
Filled with a sense of yearning, I turn to Jackson. ‘Want to learn to surf with me next summer? I’ve always wanted to stand up on a board.’
Surfing has always seemed a rare and exotic skill reserved for cooler, sportier women. It’s thrilling even to entertain the idea.
Jackson sniffs. ‘Dad took me surfing last Christmas holidays. It didn’t work out.’
‘That’s right.’ I’d forgotten Andy’s efforts to teach Jackson to surf last summer. Their second attempt at Coogee Beach had ended abruptly with Jackson’s incapacity – or refusal, Andy deemed it – to take instruction.
‘Dad hated surfing with me.’
‘No, he didn’t.’ I wrap an arm around Jackson’s shoulders. ‘He was probably just… frustrated.’
‘Dad hates me.’
‘No, he doesn’t. Dad loves you. It’s just that sometimes, he… runs out of patience. We all do. We’re human, right?’
Jackson shrugs.
I scout for something else to console him.
‘You know, learning to surf might feel different if… Dad isn’t involved. I mean, it’s probably a bit like learning to drive a car. That usually works out much better when parents don’t do the instructing. Maybe we should find someone closer to your age to help you learn?’
Jackson considers this for a full minute, then his mouth curves upwards.
‘Maybe Riley could teach me?’ he suggests. ‘He’s really good at surfing. His dad used to be a pro-surfer. Riley might say yes, because I’m Milla’s brother…’
I’m trying to piece all this information together, but I’m stymied.
‘Who’s Riley?’
‘Oh, Milla’s new friend,’ he explains. ‘They hang out at the bus stop before school. He’s super cool.’
‘Milla’s new friend?’ I’m wondering how it is that Jackson knows more about Milla’s burgeoning social life than I do.
‘Riley might teach me to surf!’ Jackson begins bouncing up and down on his toes, the words flowing with uncharacteristic fluidity. ‘Maybe he could teach you too, Mum?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ I say, delighted by his enthusiasm. ‘If Riley’s a friend of Milla’s, then he’s a friend of ours.’
Humming a Beach Boys tune, I launch myself into an awkward sideways surfing pose. ‘Ready for some barrels next summer?’
It’s not the most convincing surfer impersonation, but Jackson laughs all the same.
‘Epic, Mum.’ He grins. ‘I can’t wait to learn with you.’
These words deliver me the sweetest Mother’s Day gift of all.