Someone Like You

Chapter Eleven

Brea

Within thirty minutes, I have a uniform shirt on, and I'm wandering between the tables. My eyes roam over the faded wallpaper, the scratched tables that have certainly seen better days. The windows are foggy and covered in grime, hardly allowing much natural light to filter through. The carpets are faded and way overdue for renewal, but despite all its flaws, it's a warm, cosy space. It's rustic and unintentionally vintage. I kind of love it.

Cassie disappears out the back, calling out something to me that I don't catch.

"Hi, Darlin," an elderly man with a straggly grey beard smiles at me. "I haven't seen yer around here before."

"I'm new," I reply. "Well. I grew up here but haven't been back for a long time."

The man looks taken back by this. "You grew up here, diddya'? What's yer last name?"

"Lancaster."

He jolts as if having stuck his finger in a power socket. "Lancaster?" His booming voice collects the attention of nearby tables. Eyes swivel in my direction to see what the commotion is. "Yer not ol' Mick Lancaster's daughter? The one who left all those years back with yer Ma?"

Silently, I nod, feeling a little overwhelmed at the scrutiny I'm now receiving. Murmurs break out amongst the small cluster of people spread out across the small eating area. Wide eyes, whispering behind hands, shocked gasps, and exclaims. Heat rises in my cheeks.

"I'll be damned," the man mutters, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Yeah," I say softly. "I never had plans to return."

The curiosity in his expression is totally transparent. Everyone must wonder why my mum fled in the middle of the night and only took one of her children. I presume it was the talk of the town for months. Maybe years.

Even I don't know the true answer to that. It wasn't worth the headache and the drama of asking. Her overreaction was enough to silence me. She turned into a different person when I mentioned this place and asked her questions she didn't want to answer. I learnt to accept it, but now that I'm older and back here, I wonder how the hell I ever sat idly by and never demanded the information from her. Maybe because I knew she never would have told.

"Why are yer back, then?" he eventually asks after the silence has stretched on too long to be considered not awkward. I straighten my spine, a little startled out how openly nosy this man is. It appears everybody in Glendale is enjoys getting into other people's business. Small towns, I suppose. People in the city don't have the time to care. Even if they do have the time, they simply wouldn't ask. It's certainly different out here. In a way, I like that this place has character, and the people want to know about you. I just wish I didn't have such a secretive background that everyone is dying to know about.

"My father," I answer. "He's in hospital. Nathan told me to come home."

His white eyebrows rise, almost disappearing into his bushy, unkept hair.

"Mick?" he echoes. "In hospital?"

I nod.

"Is he all right?"

"I think so," I say. "He seems better."

"Well. That's good news, then." He nods, taking a sip of his beer. "So, yer must be staying a while, if yer working here?"

I lift my shoulder, offering a half-shrug. "I'm honestly not sure of my plans right now. I thought I may as well save some money while I'm here."

Folding his arms across his chest and resting them on his rotund belly, he nods, seeming happy enough with that answer.