by Cassie Hamer
As Cara picked up the phone and opened a new message to Will, she felt those butterflies again, having a field day in her stomach.
‘I’ve never been more certain.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex hurried down Beth’s front steps. At the bottom she stopped. The video had taken much longer than expected and the sun had already set, casting the close into darkness. James had fed and bathed the boys but his last text had sounded a little testy. Should she cut across the pristine lawn, perfect as a putting green, or take the carefully positioned pavers that Beth had laid out specifically to stop her precious grass from being trashed? In another life, Alex would have loved to be the kind of house-proud person that cared about every blade of grass, every peel of paint, every inch of rust.
But in this life she didn’t have time.
Removing her heeled sandals, Alex tiptoed across the grass and thought through all she still needed to do.
Firstly, she needed to double-check her socials accounts and make doubly sure that all references to the alleged food poisoning had been explained and responded to. What an epic fail! How could she have been so naive? Baby-brain, clearly.
Secondly, she wanted to nut out a detailed plan of attack for Cara to make sure she got that house. It was the least she could do after nearly ruining the poor woman’s business. Even though it had taken hours to film, the video had at least gone well. Cara and Beth had even been able to make a little joke out of the gastro palaver, in the midst of cooking a mouth-watering Moroccan tagine.
Now across the lawn and onto the nature strip, Alex’s guilt eased a little. The narrow grassy patch was public land and as such Alex felt no shame in walking freely across it. She picked up the pace.
‘Oh shit. What’s that?’
It was a person, that much was clear. A smallish, crying person that Alex had nearly trodden on in her haste to get home.
She leant down and squinted.
‘Talia, what are you doing out here? Are you hiding? I nearly stepped on you.’
The girl got up quickly and wiped her nose with her sleeve, keeping her eyes downcast so that Alex couldn’t quite see into them.
‘Sorry … I … I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll go now. Bye.’ Talia turned her back on Alex, her shoulders hunched but heaving erratically.
‘Wait. You’re crying. What’s wrong?’ Alex caught up to her and touched her arm. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
The teenager faced her and moonlight glinted off the passage of tears down her face. She’d obviously been crying for quite some time.
‘Mum won’t let me go to the movies with my friends,’ she blurted out. ‘At my last school she was always telling me to make more friends and be more friendly and get my head out of the books, and now, at this new school, I’m doing that and she won’t let me go anywhere.’
‘Did she say why?’ Alex folded her arms.
‘Just that, with the move and everything, we’ve had to spend a lot of money and she says we can’t afford unnecessary extras at the moment.’ Talia used air quotes around the words. ‘But she still has her gym membership, so I guess that’s a necessary extra.’
Alex’s heart twinged. How many times, as a teenager, had she missed friends’ parties because she either had a shift at Macca’s or her parents couldn’t afford the kind of gift or outfit that would allow her to hold her head up with pride? She knew that feeling, but she’d been able to survive it because her parents were always first to make a sacrifice. Yes, Alex had missed a fair few parties but her parents never went to any. She touched Talia’s shoulder. ‘I completely get where you’re coming from and it sounds really shit.’ She paused, trying to remember the things that had helped her at the same age. Not sympathy, that was for sure. But practical help. ‘You know, I meant what I said about babysitting for the boys. Maybe I could talk to your mum again, and that might be a way you can earn your own money.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ The girl’s eyes were round with hope.
‘Of course I would. We are neighbours after all, and I did nearly tread on you. It’s the least I can do.’ She gave what she thought was a reassuring smile, but even in the gloom of the evening she could see the girl was still unsure. ‘Unless you don’t want to babysit, of course,’ she added. ‘The boys can be a handful.’
‘It’s not that,’ Talia started. ‘It’s just … I need to tell you something … About your guinea pig. What really happened to her … You’ve been so nice to me and now I feel really bad about it all.’
Alex took a step back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was all my fault,’ she burst out. The streetlight accentuated the shadows on the girl’s face. Half in light. The other half in dark. She wiped at fresh tears that Alex couldn’t quite see. ‘When we arrived, Mum told me that if I wanted to go outside, I had to put Banjo in the cat cage because he’d run through the front door, and, anyway, she asked me to check the letterbox and I opened the door without thinking.’ She swallowed hard. ‘He went straight through my legs and bolted into your garden and a few seconds later he came back with your guinea pig in his mouth.’ The girl shifted her weight like she needed a wee. ‘It was awful, and I ran in to tell Mum but she said I shouldn’t do anything because it would make a bad first impression and you’d hate us, and we could just make it look like Henny wandered into our garden when she didn’t at all.’ Talia buried her face in her hands.
‘So when you came over to offer us help to find Henny, you knew all along she was dead.’
‘Yes,’ wailed Talia. ‘Mum told me not to go, but I wanted you to find her as quickly as possible.’
Alex gulped at the huge ball of pity stuck in her throat. She could have been angry at the child but she wasn’t. She’d never liked the guinea pig that much anyway. Talia, on the other hand … She seemed completely traumatised by the death. But she was only a kid and kids made mistakes. As for Charlie, she definitely should have known better than to make her daughter lie. If Alex was angry at anyone, it was her.
‘Look, Talia, I appreciate you telling me what happened.’ She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘But you’re not to blame. If Henny was in her hutch like she should have been, then none of this would have happened. It’s as much our fault for not keeping her safe as it is yours. Actually, it’s probably more mine than anyone’s. I knew the boys had left her outside but I was running too late for work to find her.’ Alex squeezed. ‘At least your mistake was entirely accidental.’
‘I should have told you the truth,’ the girl said miserably.
‘You have now, and that’s what matters.’
ThePrimalGuy.com.au
From: The Primal Guy
Subject: Taking Risks
Dear Prime-Ribs,
Okay, so all the lefty-ladies out there will want to have my balls for breakfast when I say this but I’m gonna say it straight out anyway – men are better at taking risks than women.
There, I said it, and before you hunt me down with your pitchforks, you better hear me out. I got science behind me. Evolutionary science actually. It’s kind of undeniable. The men went out and risked their lives to spear the bison, while the women stayed in the cave to keep the home fires burning.
I mean, look at me. I’m here, on this mind-bending trip, taking risks, making new moves, but it’s all about keeping food on the table (not bread though, right, the carbs!) while Mrs Primal Guy is keeping the home fires burning.
But change is a-comin’. Yes sir. I feel it in the wind. Women are getting out there. Sisters are doing it for themselves. They’re putting food on their own tables, partly ’cause they want to, and partly because their Neanderthal men-folk have let the side down.
Here’s the thing, though. What hasn’t changed are the genes. The ladies just aren’t programmed to take the leaps that men are, so they’re always gonna be a step behind. That’s if you obey your genes. You don’t actually have to, you know.
So – here’s my challenge. To any
of the dudettes who read these words of wisdom – I want you to hear this. Take that risk. Run at it. Leap. Jump. Get the biggest air on it that you can.
It’s the only way to touch the stars.
Peace out,
Ryan Devine (AKA the Primal Guy)
PS 20% discount on our 10 day detox teas for WOMEN ONLY this week. Okay, so maybe we can’t actually verify if you’re a woman or not in our online check-out. But there’s this thing called Karma, and she can be a bitch if you lie!
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cara clutched the picnic basket closer to her chest as the city rushed about her. Everyone was in such a hurry, and they were dressed so smartly. Tailored suits, crisp shirts and ties, shiny shoes and bags in gleaming leather. She looked down at her floral shift dress. When she wore it in Cuthbert Close, she felt like a nineteen sixties movie star. Here, in the corporate heart of the city, she felt completely out of place.
This was a mistake. This was all a mistake. She shouldn’t have asked Will Parry to meet with her for lunch. She shouldn’t have made a picnic and she certainly shouldn’t have worn this dress.
How could he take her seriously when she was dressed like Doris Day?
Cara went to dig out her phone. It wasn’t too late to cancel. She was a little bit early after all. She would say that Poppy was sick, that she’d received a call from the school and had to go immediately to collect her.
‘Cara, hi.’ Too late. It was him.
Her stomach flipped. Just nerves. Nothing to do with the way his pale blue business shirt so perfectly set off his eyes. Cara shook her head and squared her shoulders.
‘Hello, Will. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’ She went to shake his hand but he pulled her in to kiss her cheek. ‘Oh, right.’ She laughed nervously. He smelt good, too. Vanilla and cinnamon.
‘Can I take that?’ He gestured to the picnic basket.
‘Oh, it’s not that heavy.’ She smiled through the cramp in her arm.
‘Let me.’
He took the basket from her hands and gave a comedic grimace. ‘Yes, it’s not heavy at all. Light as a feather.’
‘I really don’t mind …’
‘Just kidding. C’mon. I have a feeling there’s a feast in here and I’m absolutely starving.’
He started walking towards the park, keeping up polite chat about the weather and Poppy and how he’d had an awful morning at work, starting with his train being cancelled which made him late for an important meeting with a major client who’d come in specifically to talk through some issues. He used air quotes around the word. This was a different Will Parry. This was a man at ease in his environment – the business heart of the CBD. Where was the gruffness, the abruptness he’d displayed when he first came to Cuthbert Close?
‘What is it you actually do?’ Cara asked.
‘I have a small project management consultancy.’ He delivered the words flatly, as if the title was completely self-explanatory.
‘What does that actually mean?’
He looked at her. ‘Well, it means that I identify the objectives of the project, engage the key stakeholders, co-ordinate the staff, set the budget and monitor the deliverables.’
‘Sounds a bit like cooking. You have a goal, and you have a recipe to follow, and it’s just about executing the steps.’
‘I suppose so.’ He smiled. ‘But I imagine your cakes don’t come with a two billion dollar budget and a lot of ridiculous jargon.’
‘Two billion dollars,’ she gasped.
‘The big ones.’ He shrugged. ‘But they don’t let me spend all the money.’
They were in the park now. Cara stopped to admire the elaborate water fountain with its bronze Greek gods and water spouts, catching the midday light like sprays of diamonds.
‘I used to bring Poppy here when she was little,’ started Cara. ‘The little tortoise sculptures were her favourite.’
Will followed her gaze to the static reptiles at the base of the sculpture, spitting continuous jets of water out of their mouths. ‘They’re pretty weird, aren’t they.’
‘She thought they were real. Sort of. She thought they’d died, and that’s why they weren’t moving. But they’d been alive, once.’
As Cara spoke, a little girl near them launched herself out of her mother’s grasp and sprinted towards the fountain, shouting, ‘I wannna touch the turtles.’
‘Sienna. Wait. Stop. You’ll fall in.’ A woman raced after her but little Sienna was climbing determinedly over the low wall, the only thing separating her from the pond.
Cara sucked in a breath. The urge to run to the child’s aid swelled like a wave inside of her. But she and Will were much further away than the little girl’s own mother and at the last moment, just as Sienna was about to launch herself into the water, the mum managed to pluck her daughter to safety. ‘Oh no you don’t, you cheeky monkey.’ The woman buried her daughter in hugs and kisses and the little girl shrieked in delight.
Cara breathed out and felt a pang. She missed those days with Poppy, when it was just the two of them, and they had the freedom to spend endless hours together doing whatever they pleased. Her grief over Pete’s passing was still raw, but there’d also been huge moments of joy as she and Pops discovered the city together, visiting museums and parks that Cara hadn’t visited since she was a child. Sometimes, it was even possible to forget, for just a moment, that Pete was gone.
‘Busy little beavers, aren’t they,’ commented Will, as the woman returned her child to her pram.
‘Last time you mentioned nieces and nephews.’ Cara wandered towards a shady patch of grass. ‘This spot do?’
Will nodded and set the basket down. ‘Two nieces. Three nephews.’
‘That’s quite the tribe.’
‘They’re great fun to hang out with. Much nicer than their parents. But, god, they’re exhausting. At least I get to hand them back. I don’t know how you parents do it. And on your own.’
Cara spread the blanket. ‘Sometimes, you don’t get a choice.’ She sat down, curling her legs under her bottom. ‘Does your family ever pressure you about children?’
Will sat close to her. ‘They did. But the divorce put a stop to that.’
What did that mean? That he didn’t like children, or simply hadn’t been in the right relationship to have them? Not that Cara cared …
She opened the basket and was hit by the aroma of chicken marinated in kecap manis. Her mouth watered.
‘I hope you like Vietnamese chicken salad.’ She passed him a fork. Alex had advised her to prepare something that was thoroughly delicious to eat, but not messy, which ruled out most of Cara’s repertoire of meals. Ordinarily on a picnic for her and Poppy she would have gone for sticky chicken wings, meatballs with lava-like tomato relish, a palate cleanser of chin-dripping watermelon hunks and a sweet finish of snowflake meringues that always left a trail of sweet, white crumbs on the upper lip. She and Poppy would return home, completely satisfied, with fingers that still tasted both tangy and sweet. Showering was almost a disappointment.
But that wasn’t the right approach for today. She couldn’t afford sticky fingers and tomato stains on her dress. Calm, cool, professional. That’s what she needed to project.
‘Chicken salad?’ Will’s face fell. ‘Okay.’ He nodded.
Cara held a fork in the air. ‘If you’re allergic or something you need to tell me. My feelings won’t be hurt. I’m a professional, remember.’
He looked down at the plastic container. ‘No, it’s not that at all. It’s just … after we met, I looked at your social media.’ A momentary expression of embarrassment flashed across his face. ‘You’re actually pretty talented … all those splodges and everything spilling everywhere.’
Cara laughed. ‘You make it sound like a hot mess.’
‘No, no. That’s not what I meant.’ He twiddled with the fork. ‘It’s decadent and luxurious, and … kind of wild, if that makes sense.’ He angled his head. ‘It’s passionate.
It’s not …’
‘Chicken salad?’ She passed him the plastic container full of polite, mess-free food and Will peeled back the lid. ‘You know what? It smells okay.’ He took a mouthful and munched. ‘Yep, it’s not bad.’
Cara took a bite and closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on what she was tasting. The first note was the coriander, followed by the sweet saltiness of the kecap manis, a little tang from the tamarind puree in the dressing and a small burn in the back of the throat from the chilli. She opened them. It was good. Hit all the right notes for Vietnamese food. Maybe not spectacular. But then again, Cara never felt her own food was spectacular, in the same way that a magician could never be surprised by their own tricks
‘It’s probably better than not bad,’ said Will. ‘It’s actually pretty bloody delicious.’
Cara smiled and watched him eat hungrily, a splodge of dressing running down his chin. So much for mess-free food. Without thinking, she took a napkin and dabbed at it, her fingers lightly brushing his skin.
Will flinched, frowning, and Cara withdrew her hand. ‘Sorry. Bit of a bad habit. Poppy’s always ending up with a messy face.’
Will closed the lid on the empty container. ‘Sorry for eating so quickly, but it was delicious and I was starving … I am conscious of the time too.’ He checked his watch. ‘And as much as I know you love cooking, I have a feeling you wanted to do more than just feed me.’ He paused, and as he did so, the sun went behind a cloud, and shadow fell across his face. ‘To be honest, I thought I’d never hear from you again after my family said no to buying the house,’ he said quietly. ‘I do feel bad about you having to move.’
Cara cleared her throat. ‘I asked you here today because I wanted to run another idea past you.’ She put the salad container by her side and wiped her hands on a napkin. ‘It’s a proposal for you. A business one that I think you’ll see can solve the problem of Cuthbert Close for both of us.’
Will nodded. ‘I’m listening.’
Cara had practised her speech with Alex. Clear and direct. No bullshit. No ums and ahs. Tell him what’s in it for him. Facts and figures, she drilled into Cara, until she felt almost frightened. No wonder Alex was so successful as a lawyer. The judges were probably scared of her.
