by Cathryn Hein
Jas rose from the table to lean against the kitchen bench with her arms folded. ‘He didn’t think it was fair on me that he still loved Felicity.’
‘Oh, Jas, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. What we had worked for the time we needed it to. Now we’re both moving on.’
Em tilted her head and regarded her with the sort of perceptive look only a best friend could conjure. ‘You’re being very rational about it.’
‘No choice.’
Em’s gaze narrowed slightly.
Jas flailed her arms. ‘Oh, all right. So I bawled all over Ox for a few days. But then I got over it.’ She looked down at her feet for a moment, kicking the heel of her sandal against the toe of its twin. ‘Have you any idea how much of my adult life has been dictated by men? Too much. I’m kind of sick of it.’
‘You’re not going to go all “I hate men” on me, are you?’
‘Hardly.’ Jas smiled wryly. ‘Not in my nature, unfortunately. But I think it’s time I thought of myself for a change.’
‘Good for you.’
Jas raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you wanted me and Dig to last.’
‘I did. But you’re forgetting that I’ve also had to stand by and watch you have your heart broken time and time again by that horrible Mike. I watched you give up on your study, cancel plans, and abandon the people who loved you on the off-chance he might be free. I’ve watched other decent men left by the wayside because you couldn’t stop believing Mike’s lies that he’d leave his wife. I never condemned your choices, but it hurt a lot to watch you being treated the way you were. To see you missing out on the love you so deserve. If Digby isn’t the one to give you that, then so be it. Find someone who will.’
‘Wow.’
Em blushed and busied herself with the tea. ‘Sorry. But I really hated your relationship with Mike.’
‘You never said.’
‘No. Because I know what it’s like to make a mistake. We women are good enough at loading guilt on ourselves without having our friends pile it on.’
‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Jas with a long sigh. ‘I’m still angry with myself, and with Mike. He really was a turd, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ Em handed her a steaming mug. ‘But he’s gone. The future awaits. In the words of Shakespeare, “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”’
‘Quite.’ Jas grinned, pressing her mug to Em’s in a toast. ‘And in the immortal words of the Tenth Doctor, “Allons-y!”’
Jas had expected to cross paths with Digby much more than she did but they had an uncanny knack of keeping out of each other’s way.
She’d run into him a couple of times since the Sunday he’d called it quits. Once, not long afterwards, when she was still feeling raw, she was hurrying up Levenham’s main street to the post office. Digby was inspecting something in a real estate agent’s window. It was impossible not to stop; not doing so would have been rude and silly, given they were meant to have parted friends.
After exchanging awkward ‘how are yous’ Jas found herself staring at him with terrible longing. To make the encounter more painful, it seemed Digby couldn’t resist either. Each time they tried to look away both would glance back, locking gazes again, as if neither could stop the pull of the memories they shared together. If Jas hadn’t been so desperate to make the post office in her scant lunch hour they’d probably have remained that way. When she finally mumbled an excuse and rushed off, Jas couldn’t help a last look over her shoulder, only to find Digby still anchored in place, hands in his pockets, staring after her.
The second time was not long after Em and Josh’s return, at Gavin Chalk’s property where Summer agisted her horse Binky. The entire wedding gang, including Granny B, who had taken it upon herself to supervise, had been roped in to a working bee to tidy and repair the neglected property. The day was a stinker, in the high thirties, and everyone was baking, but that didn’t deter any of them from their tasks. The boys focused on the dilapidated fences while the girls cleared rubbish. Jas volunteered for whipper-snipping, a job that gave her an excellent excuse to block her ears with earmuffs and her face with a guard, and spend all morning far away from Digby.
But it was Digby who came to fetch her for lunch, ordered over by Granny B, who’d been observing them both with pucker-mouthed disapproval since her arrival. Jas wasn’t impressed. She was covered in greasy sweat, melting sunscreen, dust, flecks of vegetation and chook poo. Her double application of deodorant was failing, and her hair was disgusting thanks to her sweat-soaked hat. To make matters worse, some of the debris had flown down inside her bra, causing her boobs to itch like crazy. Scratching had left dirty fingerprints all over her front, giving her the appearance she’d been molesting herself.
‘You look fed up,’ he said.
She’d switched off the motor, dragged off the mask and earmuffs, and was regarding him sulkily. ‘I don’t think he’s touched the garden for years. It’s never-ending.’ She wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her arm and grimaced at the scrape of dried salt on her skin.
‘I can take over after lunch.’
‘No. I’ll do it.’ Jas inspected the area she’d cleared and felt a surge of satisfaction. Then, remembering how awful she looked, she tried to brush past Digby.
He touched her shoulder, bringing her to a standstill. She stared straight ahead, heart thudding horribly, dismayed at what one touch brought alive in her. Wordlessly, he tucked a sweaty hank of hair behind her ear, the movement intimate and wrong, his curled forefinger lingering in the sensitive zone below the lobe.
Jasmine’s lips parted. She could feel his gaze zone in on them. The silence prickled.
His hand dropped and he cleared his throat. ‘Mum’s brought picnic food.’ He nodded towards the old stand of shady pines where the others were gathered. ‘We’d better hurry or we’ll miss out.’
Jas nodded like a wood-brained marionette. ‘Yes. Sure. Good idea.’ She took off, fists curled, determined not to touch the place his finger had caressed. Determined not to surrender to her heart-pounding want for more of him.
‘Jas?’
She slowed but didn’t stop walking. ‘Mmm?’
‘How are you? I mean really?’
She turned to look at him, forcing a smile on her face. ‘I’m good. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.’
He stared at the sky for a moment before making eye contact again. His silky-lashed gaze was soft and dark and sorrowful. ‘I do though. Still.’
‘I worry about you too,’ she said quietly. ‘But we’re done, Dig. The way we were, I mean. Don’t …’ She breathed in, silently pleading Digby not to make it harder, not to make her fall again when she’d only just learned to stand. ‘Just be happy, okay?’
To Jasmine’s dismay, barely a week later they accidentally bumped trolleys in the supermarket, leaving her pink with embarrassment. Their last encounter had left her feeling bruised and confused enough, but bumping trolleys in a supermarket was how Digby had met Felicity. After apologising, Jas pretended to be in a rush, quickly scuttling off and leaving half her shopping undone. Oblivious to her melting ice-cream and warming milk, she’d sat in the car with her head on the steering wheel, trying to pull herself together. By the time she’d started the engine and reversed out, Digby was coming out of the supermarket, head down and walking slowly, as if every step required concentration. She was halfway home before she realised he hadn’t been carrying anything.
What it meant Jas didn’t know, but she refused to dwell. As Em had quoted, it was Jas who controlled her own destiny and she had things to achieve. Everything else could wait.
After working right up until Christmas Eve, Jas spent Christmas with her family on their farm north of town. Her older brother Richard drove over from Melbourne with his raucous young family and her parents’ house was filled with the squeals of overexcited children. Jas took the Christmas to New Year gap off work, and spent most of it either m
ucking around with her nephews and niece on the farm or at Admella Beach, building sandcastles, swimming, and leading a resigned Ox around on horse rides, her niece beaming madly while her parents grumbled about having to suffer another horse-mad member of the family.
The arrival of the New Year set Jas on her action plan. After contacting the university to work out how much credit they would grant for her earlier studies, she re-enrolled in her financial planning course, taking on two subjects. Weeknights found her head down over her laptop, working on assignments and studying for exams, but mostly trying to learn as much as possible about the profession she’d identified as her future career.
Weekends Jas reserved for the outdoors. After obtaining several quotes and poring over designs, she contracted a local builder to restump her house and construct an extended deck. For weeks her home felt like a construction site, but by the end of February the footings were secure and her beautiful new deck finished. All that remained was for autumn to break so she could start work on the garden.
Not being a natural, Jas had long chats with Em over the subject. Bemused by Jasmine’s new-found interest in gardening, Em probed at the cause, eventually forcing Jas to reveal Digby’s plans.
‘I don’t want you telling him though,’ she ordered, once Em had finished singing the praises of the design.
‘Why not? He’d be happy to help.’
‘No.’ When Em kept protesting Jas held up her hand. ‘I need to do this on my own.’
‘But you’re asking me.’
Jas made a face. ‘Best friends don’t count.’
‘Digby’s your friend too, Jas.’
The familiar pang of loss tugged at Jasmine’s chest. She stared at the plans, the gift Digby had given her in thanks for her friendship and more. ‘That kind of got a little bit messed up.’
Em stroked Jasmine’s back in sympathy. ‘You miss him.’
‘Yes.’ She sighed and rolled up the drawing. ‘And I’m sure one day in the future we’ll be able to talk without it feeling awkward, but for now I’m sticking to my own company.’
Which wasn’t quite true. Part of Jasmine’s self-reinvention was to rediscover interests that had once made her happy but which she’d let slide during her relationship with Mike. She volunteered to help instruct at the pony club, where she, Em and Teagan had spent many joyous childhood days. Though Jas was nervous at first, it wasn’t long before she began to enjoy herself hugely. The children reminded her of herself with their enthusiasm and it was gratifying to see little ones improve under her tutelage.
She also came to the attention of one of the divorced fathers, a local sign-writer who brought his pony-crazy daughter along to the club every fortnight. Simon was friendly, attractive, and adored his little girl. On the occasions his ex-wife turned up to watch they were surprisingly civil to one another, which Jas took as a positive sign about his personality. Not that she brooded too much on him. She wasn’t ready to let Simon or anyone else into her new, self-focused world. Not romantically anyway. When he asked her out for a drink she declined, but in such a way that the door was left ajar.
‘I’m really busy with study and renovations at the moment, and I’ve just …’ She flushed with embarrassment. How to describe her and Digby?
‘Broken up with someone?’
Jas nodded.
‘No worries. It takes a while to get back into things.’ Simon stared at his daughter, cantering past on her glossy, round-bellied pony and looking adorably cute. ‘Took me well over a year to get back into dating after the divorce. Typical bloke, I never saw it coming.’ He grimaced. ‘Apparently we rarely do.’
‘Oh.’ Jas didn’t know how to respond to that. A year seemed a long time, then she thought of Digby and his grief and realised a year was nothing when it came to heartbreak. God knows, hers still lingered.
Simon regarded her. ‘It was my wife’s idea. The divorce, I mean. But if someone doesn’t love you …’ He shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Nah, don’t be.’ He grinned and eyed Jas up and down before winking, causing a thrill of sexual awareness to run through her. ‘Sometimes these things happen for a reason.’
Jas managed a half-choked ‘mmm’ before dashing off to help in one of the showjumping rings where she could work off her libido lifting dislodged jump rails back onto their brackets.
When she related the encounter to Em the following lunchtime at PaperPassion, her friend only laughed. ‘You and your sex drive.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Jas folded her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them. ‘He’s seriously cute too.’
‘So what’s stopping you from taking Simon up on his offer? It’s only a drink.’
Digby and her stupid pointless feelings for him, that’s what, but Jas wasn’t about to admit to it. ‘No. This is my year. The year I grow up and become an independent woman, beholden to no one.’
‘Stop being so hard on yourself. You weren’t beholden to anyone before. You were just in love.’
Jas rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, and look at the mess that made.’
CHAPTER
25
If Digby hadn’t been aware of how Jas felt about him already, meeting her in the supermarket cemented it. She’d barely mumbled hello before scuttling off, head down and arms braced, weaving her trolley like a Formula One driver through the other shoppers and careening around the aisle out of sight.
For a long time afterward Digby stood in front of the rows of breakfast cereals, lamenting the loss of the beautiful thing he and Jas had briefly shared, oblivious to the complaints of harassed mothers and post-work shoppers. Only a grey-haired man’s terse ‘Excuse me’ had shaken Digby from his stupor. He pushed his trolley up and down another two aisles before realising it was still empty. He gazed around at the normal people going about their normal lives, as Jas had been until she’d spotted him. As he was yet to manage.
That night he’d driven the coast westward for miles, away from Admella Beach, hunting for something, finding nothing.
Having used up every bit of leave he was entitled to, and with no urge to return, Digby resigned from the Department of Primary Industries and the job he’d held since leaving university over a decade before. He refocused on his neglected business holdings, but there was little to do other than monitor and trade the occasional share. Aware his nephew’s interests lay elsewhere, his uncle James had made sure Digby’s portfolio was well structured and managed—not quite set-and-forget, but as good as.
As the year faded away and January arrived, another feeling rose from the grief and apathy that had afflicted Digby since Felicity’s death: boredom.
His time with Jas had at least been exciting, but without her to make him laugh, burn with desire, or even lament his mistakes, there was nothing except his computer games and science journals, his few remaining friendships, Camrick’s garden, pointless roaming over the local landscape, and Felicity’s grave. In the peak of summer’s heat, even that lost its appeal.
‘If you’re bored, Digby,’ said his grandmother one afternoon when she encountered him meandering through the rose garden with a set of secateurs, listlessly dead-heading spent blooms. ‘Do something about it.’
He waggled the secateurs. ‘I am.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re wandering around like a zombie. If I didn’t know you any better I’d think you were on drugs.’ She shot him a disgusted look. ‘At least Jasmine gave you some life.’
Digby gritted his teeth, and snipped viciously at a stem.
Granny B relented a little and softened her tone. ‘I appreciate this has been a difficult period in your life but it’s time to move on.’
Another wilting bloom lost its head.
‘I don’t mean your love life, Digby. Clearly that’s beyond you at this point in time, but you cannot waste the rest of your days like a recluse. You’re a man with a brain. Do something with it. Find another job, help your community.’ Her voice rose to a le
ad crystal ring as he continued to snip and ignore her. ‘Buy a ruddy vineyard, if you want. Just do something with your life!’
Digby jerked his head up. Granny B never swore. It was beneath her.
Her eyes were glittering cold sapphires, her nostrils flared. A thwarted queen on the warpath. ‘You have left this family in complete despair. Your mother in particular. If you can’t think of anyone else, at least consider her feelings.’ With that, Granny B stomped off, snapping her lighter at the end of one of her revolting cigars as she went.
As much as Digby loathed being dictated to, especially by his grandmother, over the following week he found himself galvanised by her speech. It was the mention of a buying a vineyard that did it. Digby had been involved in the district’s fledgling industry almost since its inception, either via his Uncle James or through his own work with the department. He’d consulted on everything from irrigation design to the best treatments for downy mildew. Not that he was an expert, but as with most horticultural pursuits, viticulture was something he enjoyed, and the oenology side appealed to his left, science-leaning brain.
A few nights after Granny B’s harangue, finding himself bored yet again, Digby fired up his computer and began to search. With each click of the mouse, each scroll through the listings, his sluggish heart beat a little faster. A dream started to form, only in filaments at first as Digby collected and refined his half-formed ideas, until each wisp began to twist and mesh together into a clear design that begged for action.
Three weeks later, one of the land agents he’d been in contact with called. Two hundred and thirty acres to the east of town—twelve acres of which were already under vine and closely fitting the stringent topographical and soil profiles Digby had demanded—had come up for sale. The property was owned by a local pharmacist who was returning to Adelaide due to family commitments, and was keen for a sale.
Digby tried not to get his hopes up. There was bound to be something wrong—bad water supply, zoning restrictions, agronomic issues. He toured the property twice, did more research, had a few confidential chats with former colleagues and winegrowers he’d befriended. With each passing day his dream became sharper, his energy for it stronger. It would be a challenge, but a challenge was what he needed.
