Red Herrings for Breakfast by Annabet Ousback
‘Anders was one of the most influential restauranteurs and chefs of his time and his legacy lives on today.’ Neil Perry ‘Such an insightful and hard hitting book… Bravo [to Annabet] for writing such a powerful work. It took a lot of courage.’ Mary Moody He was a Swedish Maritime Naval Officer who wanted to marry her; she was not at all interested but thought his lovely uniform was rather nice. Both had been raised in difficult and challenging households, growing up with hard work as the maxim, inflexible attitudes and exacting parents. Annabet was the first-born child, unwanted, grudgingly accepted and cared for; Anders, born prematurely, sickly and difficult was the second born; Amanda the third born child, several years younger, was their fathers’ favourite. Annabet Ousback recounts her childhood growing up in what is now the iconic Balmoral Boatsheds, owned for many years by her parents, through whose hard work, took the business from a post-war run-down outfit, to a thriving undertaking.
‘Anders was one of the most influential restauranteurs and chefs of his time and his legacy lives on today.’ Neil Perry
‘Such an insightful and hard hitting book… Bravo [to Annabet] for writing such a powerful work. It took a lot of courage.’ Mary Moody
He was a Swedish Maritime Naval Officer who wanted to marry her; she was not at all interested but thought his lovely uniform was rather nice. Both had been raised in difficult and challenging households, growing up with hard work as the maxim, inflexible attitudes and exacting parents. Annabet was the first-born child, unwanted, grudgingly accepted and cared for; Anders, born prematurely, sickly and difficult was the second born; Amanda the third born child, several years younger, was their fathers’ favourite.
Annabet Ousback recounts her childhood growing up in what is now the iconic Balmoral Boatsheds, owned for many years by her parents, through whose hard work, took the business from a post-war run-down outfit, to a thriving undertaking.
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1
Saturday 29 May 2004
A flash of white caught my eye as I switched on the hall lamp. I bent
down and picked up a business card that had been flicked under my front
door. It looked official. I fumbled in my handbag for my reading glasses.
‘Oh God.’ A sense of doom pierced me.
‘What is it darling?’ said Ken, my partner, who had moved in just four
days before. We had returned from a dinner celebrating our new life
together.
‘A Constable Smith from Chatswood police station wants me to contact
him as soon as possible. Please, please,’ I cried, ‘don’t let it be one of the
children.’ Fear was painting a serious car accident.
I called the police station and spoke briefly to a young-sounding
policeman.
‘No-one knows anything about it.’ I told Ken. ‘The constable’s shift
finished hours ago. I have to phone back tomorrow.’
I rang the kids’ mobiles. Please answer pounded through my head as I
phoned my daughter Elin. Relief when she picked up. Elin was out
clubbing with girlfriends.
My son Tony responded within minutes. He was home in bed, safe. Thank
you, God. Even with both children in their late twenties, I was anxious for
their safety.
I checked on Anders. My brother’s home answering machine cut in. His
voice was clear, present. ‘I’m not home. Please leave a message after the beep.’
‘Hi Anders! It’s urgent,’ I said. ‘Please call me back. I need to clear
something up.’
A fresh wave of fear threatened. ‘The police wouldn’t leave a card for
nothing, would they?’
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