Matilda Next Door

by Kelly Hunter

  ‘You expect me to know that?’

  ‘Well, yeah, Mr Puritanical Sock Drawer.’

  ‘Don’t mock my sock drawer. And I think the sheets came from Harrods.’

  Expensive.

  Dammit.

  ‘I’ll send you some,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘What else did you like over there?’

  ‘Your wine was pretty good. Not that I’m a connoisseur.’ She chased the last few morsels around her plate, then pushed it away. ‘Did I tell you Maggie found a hidden wine cellar at Wirra Station homestead when she was renovating? All these dusty bottles of wine in an underground cavern. She does tasting evenings for them these days, and what’s not vinegar is good. I’m a member of the Smart Ladies’ Supper Club—don’t laugh—I like to think I earned my place legitimately.’

  ‘Not laughing. Enjoying.’

  ‘Enjoying what?’

  ‘You. Tell me more about your supper club.’

  ‘Well, it mainly consists of Wirralong businesswomen who share their knowledge and experience, successes and failures. They encouraged me to expand my catering business. My first standing order for cakes and sweets was with Maggie for her homestead B & B. Now it’s wedding functions and plated desserts for three hundred people.’

  ‘Does it make you happy? Your work?’

  ‘Yes.’ No second guesses. ‘Doesn’t run to Harrods sheet sets or Mercedes four-wheel drives—which I truly cannot accept as a gift—but I’m happy with it. If nothing else, London showed me just how much I value my friends, my family and the life I’m living. I can’t complain about that.’

  ‘But you are still on holidays. Technically. And you’ve no burning desire to return to London? Because there’s a first-class airfare with your name on it, if you do want to head back there and finish out the month.’

  ‘No.’ She tried to summon the enthusiasm she’d once had for London adventures and came up empty. ‘I’m done.’

  ‘Your room here’s booked for the next three days,’ he told her. ‘You could stay on.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged as if he didn’t quite know the answer. ‘Self-interest is part of it. You could help out with Rowan. Keep her with you when I take Joe to the hospital tomorrow. I wouldn’t say no.’

  ‘Oh. I guess self-interest is all well and good.’

  ‘Making amends is part of it, too. If you stay on and have fun in Melbourne, I won’t feel quite so bad about derailing your holiday.’

  ‘Oh, I think we both know I wasn’t exactly having a ball over there.’

  ‘But you might have a ball here. You don’t know yet. Use me and Joe and my … Rowan as a familiar base to strike out from.’

  It was starting to sound tempting. ‘How many extra days did you say you’d booked the apartment for?’

  His smug smile shouldn’t have been so endearing. ‘However many you want.’

  *

  The next few days passed in a blur of window shopping through the alleyways of Melbourne, babysitting Rowan whenever Henry and Joe were both at the hospital, and bringing back luscious takeaway meals for everyone to share. Both apartments Henry had secured had balconies that overlooked a leafy green park, and as far as Tilly was concerned those balconies became her favourite places to be. They ate there as a group and caught up with the doings of the day. It wasn’t a farm kitchen table, but it was close.

  Rowan hadn’t taken too well to jet lag or the change of hemispheres. She had a tendency to sleep during the day and stay awake at night. Joe went to bed at around eleven, and Henry kept Rowan with them until then, but if she fussed after that both he and Rowan would like as not end up in Tilly’s apartment so Joe could get some sleep.

  They’d set her living room up as baby HQ.

  It had made sense at the time.

  It made considerably less sense that her late-night disaster times with Henry and Rowan were the very best part of her day.

  She had to leave, and soon, because this was not her family. Henry was not her beloved, Rowan was not her baby, and getting too attached to them would only set her up for a world of hurt.

  ‘I’m thinking I’ll head off tomorrow,’ she said at dinner on Sunday night and stopped the chewing dead. Grandfather Joe said nothing.

  Henry swallowed hard and reached for his beer. ‘Any particular reason why?’

  ‘Homesickness?’ She tried it on for size and found it a fair enough fit. ‘Not that I haven’t enjoyed this, or London.’ She cast a quick glance in Joe’s direction. ‘Which I enjoyed immensely.’ Still rocking that lie.

  Henry’s level glance challenged her need to do so, but he kept his word.

  ‘You guys have everything under control here,’ she continued. ‘Beth’s improving every day, yay, and I really should be moving along.’

  ‘You underestimate your contribution here,’ said Joe finally. ‘It’s been our pleasure and our very good fortune to have you stay on this long.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘Always the flatterer.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’ Henry, for whom the truth was sacrosanct, was a little harder to dismiss.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed it too, don’t get me wrong. But if anything, this trip has taught me that Wirralong’s my home, and I need to get back to the big blue skies and an open horizon and the way it makes me feel.’

  Henry pinned her with his overwhelmingly intense gaze. ‘How does it make you feel?’

  ‘Fed.’ She couldn’t explain it any other way. ‘I’ll take the bus.’

  ‘Why take a bus when you have a car?’

  ‘Because that’s not my car. Henry, we’ve had this conversation.’

  ‘You should both go,’ said Joe. ‘Nothing to do here but wait until Beth’s fit to come home, and we all know that’s going to take some time, maybe months. Meanwhile, the farm needs seeing to and I’d appreciate your help with that.’ He was looking at Henry as he spoke. ‘Least for a while. Unless you’re looking to return to London.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Tilly didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath. She tried to let it out gently, but Joe might have caught her in the act. ‘I gave away all the food perishables before I left. Switched off at the power point anything that didn’t need ongoing electricity.’ His place would be okay without him for a while.

  Henry looked at her, his expression guarded. ‘We could all drive back together. You, me and Rowan.’

  What harm could it do? Spend a few more hours in his company, an afternoon at most, and then she would be free of him. No more sweet baby girl to cuddle and help with. No more watching Henry’s confidence with his daughter grow and grow. He’d been awkward at first, a little clumsy when handling her, and tentative when feeding her. That was fading and in its place was a tenderness that had always been at the very heart of him, even if he’d rarely let it show.

  She loved that about him.

  Loved to watch Henry Church’s daughter crack him open.

  She’d still see them if they stayed in Wirralong. She was Tilly next door and always had been. Reliable, sturdy, silly Tilly next door, with a crush on Henry that just wouldn’t go away.

  What would he say if she simply told him her dilemma?

  I like you too much to spend any more time with you, Henry.

  He’d probably try and tell her that made no sense at all.

  I’m becoming attached to your daughter and that’s not helping at all.

  I know I’m going to hurt like hell when you up and leave. And you will.

  He was waiting for her reply. ‘Head back to Wirralong with you and get you to drop me home?’ She dug deep for calm and slapped on a smile. ‘Sure.’

  Chapter Eight

  The trouble with returning to Wirralong, decided Henry as he nudged open the front door of the farm house with his shoulder, while balancing Rowan in his other arm, was that for the first time since all this began, there was no other adult to step in and help if he needed a hand. Not that he did need a hand, because he had fatherhood und
er control, thank you very much. Long as he kept young Rowan Aurelia Church fed, watered and dry, she didn’t fuss much. Long as he got enough sleep to stay functional, he didn’t get resentful of her presence.

  She was a bright baby, or so he thought. And even if she looked nothing like him, she might be his. The paperwork said she was his. Wasn’t as if he needed to take a paternity test.

  ‘Hey, little girl. We’re here.’

  He’d dropped Tilly at the Moore homestead yesterday and kept the car, promising to bring it over to her in the morning.

  Tilly had told him she’d run him off her daddy’s property if he dared, and with her next breath told him to call her if he needed anything. Sweet, generous Tilly with the golden hair and the smiling eyes and a fondness for feeding people.

  ‘Look, Rowan.’ He hefted the baby a little higher. ‘This is Red Hill Station. Come and let’s find you a bedroom. I’ll even let you choose.’ The homestead had half a dozen of them, but the one closest to his room would probably be the most practical. ‘Okay, I lied. You don’t get to choose until you’re older, and by then we could be living anywhere. How about this one? No? You’re right. Hot as hell in here this afternoon. Let’s head north-east.’

  The room he chose for her was across the hall from his. Set up as a visitor’s bedroom, it had a small double bed and one of his grandmother’s ‘good’ sheet sets and bedspread on it, but there was room near the window for a cot, and the bed could double as a change table if he used the portable plastic thing with buffered edges that Tilly had told him was essential.

  It took an age to unload the car, primarily because he did it all one handed while carrying the baby with the other. He’d packed the pram first and therefore it was the last thing out of the vehicle, and he was never going to make that mistake again.

  ‘Oh, don’t you dare whinge,’ he muttered when finally he put Rowan in the pram and set about putting the porta cot up.

  But Rowan did dare, and she was still screaming several hours later no matter what Henry did to try and calm her.

  A walk around the house paddock hadn’t stopped the screaming, although it did help soothe his frayed nerves. Feeding time had been a debacle. He’d figured an open mouth was an invitation to put food in it, but how wrong could he be? The tiny she-devil had spat mushy apple and pumpkin everywhere and screamed all the louder. The bottle, no. Putting her to bed, no. Doing that cradling two-step thing his grandfather did with her—hell no. Music, no. A bath? He didn’t even want to think about dipping that slippery, squirming body into water. A beer?

  Heaven help him he could use one.

  Six-and-a-half hours after dropping Tilly off at the door to what she euphemistically called her self-contained apartment—but that actually looked a lot like the western side of the main house—he was pulling up in next door’s driveway again. The verandah lights were off, but the kitchen ones were on and he left the baby in the car and the radio blaring as he cleared the steps in two bounds and lifted his hand to rap on the door frame.

  Tilly’s mother opened the door before he’d even had a chance to knock.

  ‘Henry! What a surprise.’

  ‘You don’t sound that surprised.’ Yup, that there was a bona fide smirk.

  ‘We heard you coming.’

  ‘I’m after Matilda if she’s around.’

  ‘She’s right here. Come on in.’

  ‘Can’t. There’s a screaming baby in the car. Somewhere underneath all that music. She won’t settle. At all.’

  ‘Oh, the poor darling. No wonder she’s out of sorts. So much upheaval for a baby to bear.’

  Henry nodded, not trusting his words, which went something along the lines of, Her? HER? What about me?

  ‘Henry! Come in.’ Now Tilly’s father was at the door. ‘Want a beer?’

  ‘Please don’t make me weep.’ He couldn’t have a beer ever again. Not and look after a baby as well. Spirits were out. Wines and liqueurs. He would never be able to drink again.

  ‘They’re teasing you.’ Tilly was in there somewhere, because that was her voice. ‘Come on in.’ And then Tilly slipped past them all and out the door and headed for the car. ‘I’ll bring Rowan in.’

  Five minutes later, Henry was on his second beer and Rowan was snuggled up against Tilly’s chest, fast asleep. He thunked his head down on the tabletop and stayed there, fully aware of his wrinkled shirt and unruly hair and those white blobs of milk stains on his crotch that looked like something else, and thank God he was sitting down. He thought longingly of his apartment overlooking Trafalgar Square, with his wine racked in alphabetical order and his clothes all clean, pressed and lined up in neat rows. Could be he’d started to whimper.

  ‘There, there.’ Someone was patting him soothingly on the back, and it was Tilly’s touch, he’d know it anywhere, and how come she could keep his baby quiet and multitask elsewhere? He sat up with a glare.

  Three pairs of eyes regarded him with various levels of amusement. ‘Where’s the sympathy?’

  ‘Oh. You want sympathy too? I thought you came here solely for the childcare.’

  ‘Matilda, please. Gloating is so unbecoming,’ admonished her mother.

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered Henry, feeling all of five years old himself. ‘Unbecoming.’

  Tilly snorted and gloated some more. ‘If you want me to come back with you and help tag team your fretful daughter tonight you’ll put up with my gloating and make me an offer I can’t refuse. Like bacon and eggs in the morning and bread fresh out of the oven.’

  He wished. ‘I’m good for whatever I can cook in a frypan. Also, teasing and gloating is even more unbecoming.’

  ‘Also twice as satisfying,’ she informed him.

  ‘Anyway,’ he began stuffily, because he was a stuffed-shirt ninety-nine per cent of the time and so be it. ‘I need your help. I can offer money, willingly. I can be your delivery pack horse if ever you need one.’ What else could he do? ‘A place to stay whenever you’re in London again.’

  ‘And don’t forget the car,’ her mother said.

  ‘Which I’ve already said I can’t accept and you agreed,’ said Tilly indignantly to her mother. ‘It’s too much.’ The baby in her arms stirred.

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed Henry, and held his breath.

  ‘To be fair, you phoned me six times on your first night with Rowan,’ Tilly’s mother told her daughter airily. ‘You could cut him some slack.’

  Tilly closed her eyes and the chest and the baby on it went gently up and down. He averted his gaze because of untoward speculation about the softness of said chest, and feelings he emphatically didn’t need to be feeling right now. In front of her parents. Who seemed particularly perceptive when it came to him and his unspoken thoughts. ‘One night.’ Who was he kidding? ‘Okay, one week’s worth of staying overnight with me and the demon child while she settles into a new routine, and you can name your price. I’m good for it. You could hold an IOU—it could stretch out years. When you call, I will come.’

  God that sounded wrong. ‘Bodies to bury. Banks to rob.’ Doubling down on the many faces of wrong.

  ‘Done.’

  He smiled out of sheer relief and gratitude. Tilly blinked. Her mother laughed. Old Man Moore shook his head and muttered, ‘I’m embarrassed for you, son.’

  But half an hour later, with Rowan sleeping peacefully in her new room and Tilly settling into the guest room next to that one, his gratitude came back in force. Enough to take him to the kitchen to pull out a few of his grandmother’s cookbooks and look for a recipe for baking bread.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  If he thought Tilly looked good in day clothes, that was because he’d never seen her in boy shorts and matching cotton T-shirt. Tweety Bird had never looked so good. ‘You said you wanted fresh bread for breakfast.’ He really hadn’t said it just to make her eyes start smiling, but smile they did.

  ‘Well if your grandmother still has some starter yeast in the cupboard beneath the sink—’ Till
y crossed to the cupboard, dug around inside and took out a brown ceramic coffee cup. ‘—which she does. I can help you there.’

  Henry had no idea where the flour was, but knew where the salt lived. He couldn’t find the cooking bowls but Tilly said that as long as it was glass, a salad bowl would do, and he did find one of those. The water had to be lukewarm. The dough had to sit in the water heater cupboard overnight. She didn’t measure anything, so chances were he’d never be able to repeat this experiment. Watching Tweety Bird on a nightly basis, however …

  ‘Are you attracted to me, Henry?’

  He’d forgotten how utterly direct she could be.

  ‘Because you’re looking at me differently these days and I’m trying to figure out why.’

  ‘You’re a very beautiful, generous and hardworking woman. I’d be surprised if I wasn’t attracted to you. It’s only logical.’

  Her wry smile did not suit her. ‘You left and barely spared anyone a backwards glance, including me. And it was never a secret that I worshipped the ground you walked on, so I have to figure that your new, improved way of seeing me has something to do with your new circumstances. Which leaves me with a problem.’

  ‘What kind of a problem?’ He wasn’t at his best with these kinds of conversations.

  ‘I’m scared I’m going to stay to help out here and end up becoming way too attached to you and Rowan. It’d be so easy to do, you see. I’m already halfway there.’

  She busied herself at the sink, with her back to him as she got a glass of water from the tap. He wondered if she realised he could still see her reflection in the glass of the nearby window. Such a vulnerable face behind those bold words. ‘And what would you like me to do about that?’

  ‘Be careful with me, I guess. Don’t lead me on with lazy smiles and greedy eyes if you’re not planning on becoming similarly invested.’

  ‘And what if I want to be similarly invested? What if I want to see where this leads in spite of everything else happening around us, rather than because of it?’

  ‘Do you?’

  He did. Heaven help him. ‘I’ve never forgotten you, Matilda, no matter how far I’ve travelled, so there’s that. I’m three years older than you, and while that doesn’t matter now, it did when we were younger. If I’d taught you anything more than calculus your father would have had my balls. I know this because he mentioned it a time or two.’