Excerpt From My Upcoming Release Titled 'Scattered Scones'

The next morning, they set out on the final leg of the highway. The lush green of the mid-north coast slowly giving way to industrial outskirts as they neared the Hunter region.

Hamish tapped the steering wheel as he took the exit ramp. ‘One final pit stop. Newy. We need fuel, and my stomach is staging a protest.’

They pulled up near the revitalised Newcastle Foreshore. Coal ships sat like steel islands on the horizon, waiting to enter the port. They walked along the water towards the bustling strip on Wharf Road.

Penny watched a ferry crossing the channel to Stockton. Her hands remained steady in her pockets—not to hide a tremor, but simply to keep them warm. They grabbed an outdoor table under a large umbrella at a café overlooking the water’s edge. Hamish immediately ordered an enormous chicken schnitzel burger, while Chloe opted for a chicken salad. Penny stared at the menu. Fatigue threatened to drag her under again.

‘You okay, Pen?’

‘Just thinking about Sydney.’ Her voice could barely be heard over the screech of a passing flock of seagulls. ‘It’s so close now. The closer we get, the more real it feels. What if Emma rejects me. I don’t think I could take it.’

The food arrived. Penny took a bite of her gourmet toastie. As they ate, they watched joggers pass by, families walking their furry friends, and the rise and fall of the tide against the harbour wall. Newcastle wasn't home, but in that moment, it felt like a safe harbour. A place to stop and breathe before the final push down the M1, through the Hawkesbury, and into the chaos of Sydney.

Hamish wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaned back, and checked his watch. ‘Alright, team. Toilet, then next stop, Sydney.’

Penny leaned her head against the cool glass of the passenger window and let the vibration sooth her troubled mind. Her memory felt like a jigsaw puzzle that had been violently shaken inside its box. Some pieces were perfectly intact, while others were missing entirely. Some were just warped along the edges.

Why could she remember the exact track listing of a forty-year-old favourite album, but struggle to recall what she had for breakfast two days ago? The inconsistency frustrated her. If only she could remember her grandma’s old recipes like she could music.

Hamish searched for a clear radio station as they got closer to the end of the Freeway. A bright, unmistakable drum roll, followed immediately by a horn section and that iconic guitar riff. Katrina and the Waves. Walking on Sunshine.

Chloe instantly let out a cheer from the backseat. ‘Oh, yeah. Absolute classic.’

The upbeat energy of the nineteen eighty-five hit filled the car, and for Penny, the positive effect was instantaneous. The song acted like a master key, unlocking a vault of memories that were warm, vivid, and completely untouched by the trauma of her diagnosis.

Suddenly, she wasn’t a fifty-two-year-old mother and café owner with dementia. She was ten years old again, her skin tingling with salt from the ocean, running across the scorching white sand of Brighton-Le-Sands.

She could smell it. The scent of the sea mixed with the greasy aroma of hot chips from the takeaway shop across the Grand Parade. She remembered her mother slathering thick, bright pink zinc cream across her freckled nose, and the carefree bliss of a summer growing up in Sydney by the beach.  

A genuine laugh bubbled up from Penny’s chest. ‘We used to dance to this in the living room, remember Chloe?’

Hamish joined in. ‘You would both jump off the coffee table during the chorus. Mum was terrified you’d break it.’

‘But we never did,’ Penny smiled, looking out at the road ahead. The memory was whole. It wasn't broken or hazy. It belonged to her. The girl who loved the beach and danced to the music of the eighties. The girl who grew up in the southern suburbs of Sydney was still very much alive.

Hayley Walsh (c) 2026