Rose River

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘I’m competing,’ she said.

  ‘I just meant you don’t need –’

  ‘I’m competing, Stirling. End of story.’ Both he and her mother could go stick their reservations up their freckles.

  ‘Babe!’ Tiffany appeared out of nowhere and slipped an arm through Stirling’s. ‘I’ve just signed up for the concert. I’m determined to win the trip to a day spa on the Mornington Peninsula for Aunty Irene.’

  ‘A day spa?’ said Blanche, casting a glance at Jaime. That was her mother’s idea of heaven. ‘Does it also include a facial and manicure and pedicure?’ Blanche’s voice rose with each item.

  ‘And a mud wrap, waxing, tinting, spray tan – the works,’ said Tiffany. ‘For a whole weekend.’

  Jaime’s mother was scarlet now, her breathing coming in short pants. She managed to get out, ‘Who usually wins?’

  Tiffany pulled a face. ‘Well, apparently Valerie or Simon in recent years. Aunty Irene said they play the piano and guitar rather well. But seeing they’re not here this year, the glory will all be mine.’

  Blanche looked devastated. ‘I knew I should’ve done my belly dancing. Stirling, you don’t happen to have access to a coin belt do you?’

  ‘No, Blanche. Not at this late hour,’ he said, the muscle at the corner of his mouth twitching.

  Despite herself, Jaime thought how downright edible he looked in his emerald shirt and denim jeans.

  Blanche slumped into Dave’s arms.

  ‘Come on, Stirling,’ said Tiffany. ‘Aunty Irene needs you to set up the microphone seeing as Ryan couldn’t do it. I don’t know why he didn’t meet you here. Must be because his new backpacker’s just left. He’s probably got his eye on someone else.’ Her gaze drifted to Jaime as she started to drag Stirling away. ‘Oh, and by the way, ummm …’ She waved a hand in Jaime’s direction.

  ‘My daughter’s name is Jaime,’ said Blanche sharply, who seemed to have rapidly recovered thanks to Dave telling her they’d visit a spa together.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Tiffany. ‘Anyway, if you plan on entering you’d better do it now. Entries close in exactly ten minutes.’

  Trust the Three Stooges to be sticklers for the rules, Jaime thought.

  ‘My daughter is very good at playing the spoons,’ said Blanche with an edge to her voice.

  Jaime couldn’t decide whether to say, ‘Go, Mum!’ or die on the spot for being caught out with such a ludicrous act. She flicked a glance at Stirling. He was staring straight at her. Her heart immediately gave an almighty thump, leaving her breathless.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Marty, coming up beside Jaime and giving her a slight shove as if they were flirting with one another. ‘I’m sure a rendition of “Edel–”’

  Jaime stuck her hand over his mouth and brought her Jimmy Choo heel down hard on the toe of his swanky boot. It wasn’t steelcapped and she thought she heard his bones crunch under the impact. Marty’s roar of laughter turned to a whimper in nanoseconds.

  ‘Let him go, Jaime, I’ll see he behaves,’ said Dave, coming to his nephew’s rescue.

  Jaime stepped away from Marty and glanced around. Stirling had disappeared.

  Chapter 25

  Jaime’s palms were slick with sweat. She could barely hold her instrument. She’d downed at least three glasses of wine for Dutch courage but had only succeeded in making her head feel fuzzy. She stood on the wonky little stage at the front of the hall with the whole population of Burdekin’s Gap – twenty-nine at last count, plus a few extras from Lake Grace – staring up at her, waiting for her to start her act. She must have been mad for wanting to do this. Plumb, straight-out crazy.

  ‘You’ve forgotten your spoons!’ Marty yelled.

  Jaime wondered how many years you got for murder in a Gippsland court.

  She gazed out across the people she’d come to know and like over the last month. Jean was nodding at her in encouragement. Bluey was beside her, eyes closed like he was already sound asleep. Behind them sat Blanche and Dave. Her mother was whispering in Dave’s ear, the big man smiling and blushing at what she was saying. Blanche was probably still lamenting her aborted belly-dancing opportunity. To their right lounged Ryan, all on his lonesome. Noticing her eyes on him, Ryan winked and raised a can in her direction. In the front row sat Irene and her cohorts. Sharyn was staring fixedly at a tiny DVD player on her lap, headphones over her ears, making little wriggling motions in her chair.

  Stirling’s parents, Marion and Robin, were there too. It was the first time Jaime had seen Robin without his faithful companion. Tuff must’ve been tied up outside.

  And right at the back stood Stirling, looking grim. His arms were folded across his chest, his handsome features scrunched into a frown.

  She opened the handbag at her feet and took out the instrument she was going to play – Plan B in her strategy to make sure Polly’s Plains could still hold its head high. She hoped she could do justice to the instrument she’d learnt as a teenager, even after the YouTube video she’d used to practise. It had been so long since she’d played, long before her dad had died, back when life had still been normal.

  As the first notes of ‘Edelweiss’ sang from the tin flute, she heard Bluey give a loud snort. She quickly shot him a look. He was definitely asleep. Then came a high-pitched giggle – Tiffany, for sure, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Kids were yelling and laughing outside the hall and it took all Jaime’s powers of concentration to remain focused on her task. She kept on playing until not a sound could be heard in the hall other than the piping of the flute.

  She flawlessly moved from ‘Edelweiss’ to ‘Amazing Grace’, and then to her very favourite Celine Dion track, ‘My Heart Will Go On’. Eyes closed, body now swaying with the music, she felt a thrumming through her veins.

  At the end of the recital, she slowly came back to awareness of the room. The crowd was sitting there dumbstruck. She could feel their disbelief hanging in the air. Had it been that bad? Had she just made a complete and utter fool of herself?

  ‘Bravo, lass! Bravo!’ shouted Bluey, leaping up from his chair and starting to clap.

  Jaime was surprised. So he had been awake.

  ‘Tremendous!’ called a woman Jaime didn’t know. ‘That was marvellous.’

  Really?

  The whole hall was clapping enthusiastically now. Marty stamped his feet and cried ‘Yahoo!’, and she could hear Ryan whistling and cheering.

  But what did Stirling think?

  Jaime cast her eyes to the very back of the hall. All she could see was empty space. He was gone.

  ‘Princess?’ said a voice at the side of the stage. And there he was, holding out a bunch of wildflowers. He’d obviously dashed out and picked them from the paddock next door, but they were flowers nonetheless. ‘That was amazing,’ he said. ‘You’ve done Polly’s Plains proud.’

  Jaime felt a burst of happiness swell from her tummy all the way to her ears. She was rooted to the spot, unable to reach out to take the flowers because of the sheer weight of the emotions overwhelming her.

  That was until Tiffany popped up beside Stirling, clapping her hands. Why did she always have to appear just when Jaime thought she was getting somewhere?

  ‘That was rather nice,’ Tiffany said. ‘Now it’s my turn.’ And she shooed Jaime off the stage like an errant sheep.

  Stirling went to follow Jaime, still clutching his ramshackle posy, but Tiffany lifted the bouquet from his hands. ‘I’m sure Jaime won’t mind if I borrow these.’

  The bitch had pinched her posy!

  ‘I just need them for my song,’ Tiffany said, clutching the flowers like they were a wedding bouquet.

  ‘Of course,’ said Stirling, sounding strangely formal. ‘Jaime doesn’t seem to want them.’

  What the hell? Of course she wanted them, but now that cow had them.

  Stirling followed Jaime down the hall, but scooted past her when Blanche jumped up to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Darling,’ she purre
d. ‘I didn’t know you could still play that thing after all these years!’

  Jaime hadn’t known she could still play either. Thank goodness for Valerie – she’d found the tin whistle inside the piano seat at the homestead – and for YouTube. She’d spent hours watching clips over and over after everyone else had gone to bed. Fortunately, Dave’s loud snoring had drowned out the sound of her practising.

  Marty was beside Blanche, bouncing on the heels of his swanky boots. ‘Great stuff, Jaime! That’s my girl!’

  She wasn’t his girl. Never had been, never would be. She was Stirling’s. But where was he? She needed to tell him she wanted his flowers.

  ‘Come and sit with us,’ said Blanche, gesturing to Dave to make room for Jaime and Marty.

  Jaime’s eyes flicked to the rear of the hall. Stirling was back in his earlier spot, his features impassive and uninviting. His gaze was directed towards the stage. Maybe she’d taken the flowers the wrong way. Correction. She hadn’t even had a chance to take them.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Jaime thanked her mother, ignored Marty and sidled up beside Stirling.

  ‘So what do you think she’s going to sing?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Can she sing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I guess you’ve heard her before?’

  ‘Not that much.’

  It was like getting blood from a stone. So different from when he’d called her Princess just minutes before and held out the flowers.

  Jaime tried again. ‘Didn’t she used to compete in the concert years ago?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So didn’t you listen to her back then?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m usually out there,’ he said, nodding towards a large fire drum burning brightly outside the hall.

  ‘So you liked my flute playing?’

  He turned his face towards her for a fleeting second. ‘Yes.’ Then his eyes were back on the stage. On Tiffany.

  ‘Where’d you get the flowers?’ she asked.

  ‘Paddock next door.’

  ‘They’re gorgeous. I was going to take them, Stirling, before she pinched them.’

  ‘Mmmmm.’

  GEEZ! Why didn’t he believe her? Jaime gave up. She just stood beside him in silence as, up on the stage, Tiffany gave the nod to Ryan who was standing next to her with a guitar. She didn’t know Ryan played the guitar. Then again, there were many things she didn’t know about this little community. Like the man beside her. Was he still in love with his ex-girlfriend? He was certainly giving the appearance of being so, the way his concentration was intently focused on the front of the hall.

  Ryan played the first few bars of a melody. Jaime tried to pick it. What was the wretched girl going to sing?

  There was a rumbling noise outside as a few more utes pulled up near the fire drum. Some young guys running late for the party. The kids continued to yell and scream – it sounded like they were playing football. To her credit, Tiffany ignored it all and launched into her song.

  Jaime recognised it as ‘Love Story’ by some country singer. Of all the banal, positively clichéd things to perform. But Tiffany was good. Very good, in fact. She was hitting all the right notes without wavering one iota. And she was clearly singing to only one man in the room.

  Stirling McEvoy.

  Jaime snapped her eyes sideways to see how Stirling was reacting. His face was still impassive, except for a slight frown above his flinty eyes. What was he thinking? Surely he realised this whole act was for him?

  Apparently not. At the end of the song, as the whole hall erupted into applause, Stirling moved to the exit. He halted to give way to an elderly lady also leaving. Afterwards, Jaime wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t been so polite. How would the scene that followed have played out then?

  ‘That song was dedicated to Stirling McEvoy,’ said Tiffany in a sultry voice. ‘Stirling, could you come up here, please?’

  The crowd turned and craned their heads towards the big stockman standing in the doorway, his back to the stage. For a moment Jaime thought he was going to keep walking. His body leant forward, as if seeking the fresh evening air. But then he slowly turned.

  ‘Well, come on,’ called Bluey. ‘The lady’s waiting.’

  He was immediately shushed by Jean, who was frowning.

  Tiffany beckoned to Stirling, who, after darting a desperate – or so Jaime liked to think – glance around, made his way up the short aisle.

  ‘I’d like to make a big announcement,’ Tiffany said, flinging her arms out wide. ‘Well, a big announcement for Stirling and me, anyway. Stirling McEvoy is the true love of my life. It’s taken me a long time to realise this, but now I have, we can finally get married and live the life we’ve always dreamed of at Polly’s Plains!’

  The room erupted into applause again, primarily led by Irene, who looked ecstatic, Susan and a tutu-flouncing Sharyn.

  Ryan slapped Stirling on the back. ‘Congratulations, mate. Geez, you kept that one under wraps.’

  He was interrupted by Bluey, also in back-slapping mode. Others crowded around Stirling, and Tiffany jumped off the stage and ran to meet her intended groom. She ducked her head into his big shoulder, clearly loving all the attention. Jaime even heard Blanche’s voice telling Irene that she knew of a marvellous bridal shop on Bridge Road in Melbourne.

  The only person still seated was Jean – and she wasn’t looking at the happy couple or their crowd of wellwishers. She was staring straight at a shattered Jaime.

  Chapter 26

  Jaime staggered from the hall, the heels of her Jimmy Choos snagging on the coir mat as she lurched through the doorway. A dog yelped. Tuffinator. She must’ve stepped on his paw!

  The fresh evening air slapped her across the cheeks as she half-fell onto the grass. Tuff licked at her face. She righted herself, wiped away the dog dribble and regained her balance. She brushed down her legs, now covered in little bits of flaky, dry grass, and stalked towards the fire, making an immense effort to keep her face impassive. She didn’t want anyone to see how completely and utterly devastated she was. She had given part of her heart to Stirling McEvoy and this was how he’d treated it? How could she have been so stupid?

  She circled the fire drum, her arms held out in front to catch the warmth. Her body felt like a block of ice, her mind a lump of lead. She couldn’t think about anything other than what had just happened in the hall. She inched a little closer to the heat for no other reason than to gain comfort.

  ‘That’s it, baby, give me a little space in beside you.’ Marty. Right behind her, his hands on her waist, fingering her bare skin in the gap between her top and skirt.

  ‘Let me go, you imbecile,’ she said in a low voice, not wanting to make a scene in front of half of Burdekin’s Gap.

  The crowd inside the hall was now piling out the door. The ‘Love Story’ show must be over. She could see the top of Stirling’s head above the locals’. Tiffany was a few steps behind him, speaking to her aunt.

  Marty’s hands were still on her waist. They started to move upwards. She wriggled sideways and slapped at his hands, but it made no difference. The idiot took her movements as encouragement. He craned his neck and planted a kiss on her lips. Jaime was so shocked she stood stock-still for a moment. Long enough for the lads on the other side of the fire to send up a ribald cheer. Long enough for Stirling McEvoy to look over and take in the scene.

  She felt Marty’s tongue trying to enter her mouth. His fat lips were slobbering at her chin, her nose. She wrenched her face away with a gasp of revulsion and her eyes met Stirling’s. Moments seemed like hours as she watched his reaction: a grimace, a tightening of his eyes. And then he was gone from her sight.

  ‘C’mon, Jaime,’ Marty was saying. ‘I know we’d be a great couple.’

  Something inside of her snapped. She couldn’t believe this man refused to get the message.
She jammed her spiked heel as hard as she could into Marty’s boot again, grinding it back and forth. His gasp of pain was hugely satisfying. Then she turned her body so her action was hidden from general view and jammed her knee into his genitals.

  She said in a low voice, ‘One. You will never, ever touch me like that again. Two. We will never, ever be a couple. Three. I hope the next time you go hunting, you shoot yourself.’

  She’d had enough of the New Year’s Eve fundraiser to last her a lifetime. She walked over to Dave, who was trading deer stories with a man in a broad-brimmed hat.

  ‘I’m going to walk home,’ she told him. ‘See you there.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to wait till they announce the winner of the talent quest?’

  Jaime had forgotten all about the competition. ‘What about Sharyn? Has she done her act?’

  Dave pulled a face. ‘She decided she was outgunned by you girls. Pulled up stumps at the last minute. I don’t think that other old biddy’s going to let her live it down.’

  Jaime felt a moment’s sympathy for Sharyn, but it was quickly swamped by the betrayal, hurt, pain and loss she was struggling with thanks to Stirling and Tiffany’s announcement.

  Correction. Tiffany’s announcement, she told herself.

  He didn’t have to go along with it. He could’ve walked out. He could’ve denied it all. Said ‘no’ in a big loud voice.

  But he was hardly likely to do that in front of the whole town, was he? He’s not that kind of bloke.

  Fed up arguing with herself, Jaime stormed across the car park to the Merc, flicked off her high heels and tossed them onto the floor. She hauled on her Colorado boots, grabbed a torch her mother had sitting on the back ledge, and started to hike it for home. Well, Polly’s Plains. She couldn’t even think of it as a temporary home anymore. Tiffany’s announcement had taken care of that.

  There was no V-Max roaring past her this time. No Stirling to offer her a lift, or return to hand her a more comfortable pair of shoes. The fact that she already had those shoes on her feet was beside the point.