She blinked at the harshness of his tone. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ He closed his eyes, sighed and then ran a hand through his hair. ‘You didn’t deserve that. It’s been a stressful night but that’s no excuse to take it out on you.’
‘It’s fine.’ She looked down at her empty mug. ‘Would you like a top-up?’
He shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I think I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for listening.’ Then he stood, leaned over and kissed her chastely on the top of her head.
‘You’re welcome.’ Lauren only just managed to whisper the words as Tom walked out of the kitchen.
Chapter Sixteen
Lauren woke bright and early on Saturday morning, ready to play tour guide to her houseguest. After Tom’s stressful night she wanted to give him a day where he could forget his worries and simply enjoy the hidden delights that could be found if you knew where to look in Hope Junction.
After showering and dressing, she went outside to look in the shed for Frank’s old canoe.
‘Bingo.’ She ran her hand along the side, collecting a layer of dust, but even the thought of having to wash and de-spider it didn’t dampen her mood. With a little effort, she dragged the canoe out onto the lawn and blasted the hose into the web-infested corners. Then she went inside, leaving it to dry in the sun while she cooked a quiche and packed a picnic lunch.
It was nine o’clock in the morning by the time she’d finished. She’d set the esky, picnic basket and a rug by the front door and was waiting for Tom to surface so he could help her lift the canoe onto the back of his ute. Sitting at the kitchen table, drumming her fingernails on the grainy wood, she listened anxiously for sounds of life coming from his bedroom. But aside from the soft beat of her fingers, the house was deadly silent. If his ute weren’t still parked in the driveway, she’d have assumed he’d changed his mind in the middle of the night and decided to catch that flight to Adelaide after all.
It was still reasonably early for a no-work day and they hadn’t arranged a specific time to leave, but she was like a child waiting for Santa. The minutes ticked over on the microwave clock and her stomach rumbled. It had been hours since she’d scoffed a slice of toast. With her elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in her hand and sighed. Her mobile rang and, welcoming the distraction, she launched herself up and snatched it off the kitchen bench.
‘Good morning,’ she chirped, answering without even looking at the caller ID.
‘I want to know it all. Every. Single. Detail.’
‘You know, most people start a phone conversation with “hello”,’ Lauren chastised Whitney as she slumped back into a chair.
‘Who has time for that when my best friend and a hot guy ran off together last night like they were rushing to put out a bushfire?’ Whitney made a phwoar sound. ‘Give it to me straight. You could no longer keep your hands off him, could you? Or was it the other way around?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Lauren looked over her shoulder towards the door. It’d be just her luck if Tom made his appearance now and heard her say something embarrassing.
Whitney snorted. ‘You’re talking to me, Lauren. I’ve seen the way you look at him and everyone saw the way you left together. If tongues weren’t already wagging, they are now. There are lots of jealous ladies in town.’
‘Well, they’ve got absolutely no reason to be. Tom and I are just friends.’
‘Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?’ Whitney asked.
‘It’s true,’ Lauren pleaded, her heart cramping at the lie. As much as she’d tried to fight it, she had to admit that her feelings for Tom were growing into something irrepressible.
‘Whatever.’
‘Tom had a family emergency and he wanted to leave. Since we came together, we left together.’ She didn’t want to tell Whitney anything more than that. They’d always told each other everything but saying this much already felt like a betrayal.
‘Oh.’ Whitney’s tone changed to concern. ‘I hope everything’s okay.’
‘It is now.’
‘I must admit I’m disappointed. I was hoping he was maybe The One. For you.’
The One? Lauren wondered if such a thing, or rather person, existed. ‘I wish.’
She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the words were out before she realised she’d said them aloud. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Whitney, but she wasn’t ready to admit how much she liked Tom. She wouldn’t be able to stand her friend’s pity when he left like all the others had.
‘So you do like him.’
Lauren could almost visualise Whitney punching the air in victory. She stood and hurried down the hall and outside, as far away from Tom’s bedroom as she could get. ‘Yes, dammit, I do. He’s gorgeous and kind and funny and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed spending time with anyone quite so much.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ Whitney said, but she didn’t sound offended.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Lauren knew her friend was thinking about Rats. Although he was a rough-around-the-edges farmer, he adored Whitney and she adored him right back. They were like two peas in a pod and had exactly the kind of relationship Lauren longed for, which was why it was so hard to be around them while they were all loved-up.
‘But you can’t say anything to anyone.’ Lauren panicked, imagining word getting back to Tom. He’d been clear he had no such feelings for her and she didn’t want things to get awkward between them. ‘Promise?’
‘I’m a vault. You have my word. I won’t tell a soul,’ Whitney professed. Lauren knew that didn’t include Rats, but that was okay. She loved him like a brother and if Whitney told him to keep mum, he would.
‘Thanks.’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the house, wondering if Tom had risen yet. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘Oh, not much. Rats is still harvesting so I might cook him something special and take it out for lunch. Do you know we’ve discovered there’s ample room in the header for a quickie?’
Lauren snorted. ‘I thought you’d have discovered that years ago.’
Whitney laughed. ‘We just have to time it right, when his dad is on a trip to the bins.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Hey, I don’t want to waste a month of prime conception time because Rats is too busy harvesting. Farming controls our lives enough.’
Lauren wanted to be patient with her. She could understand that once you’d found Mr Right, you likely wanted to make little carbon copies of him. But right now, she was still hung up on the finding part.
‘What about you?’ Whitney asked, changing the subject at Lauren’s silence.
‘I’m going to take Tom out to the lake and try our luck with Frank’s old canoe.’
‘You’re brave taking that thing out.’ Whitney was obviously recalling the number of times they’d upended themselves on the lake as teenagers. ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t disintegrated.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Pity. I reckon Tom wouldn’t be able to resist if you tried the old wet t-shirt trick.’
‘Whitney!’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’
The truth was, Lauren wanted Tom to fall for so much more than her body. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, thinking he’d surely be awake by now. ‘You have a good day.’
‘You too. And good luck.’ Whitney, the eternal optimist.
Lauren rolled her eyes and disconnected the phone. However, as she walked back into the house, she couldn’t help but feel excited again at the prospect of spending the whole day with Tom. Her heart danced when she found him pouring a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly.
‘Hi.’ He barely looked up, pouring milk over his cereal instead.
She scrutinised him, noticing he didn’t look his usual debonair self. In fact, with his scruffy hair and the dark bags under his eyes he loo
ked like he’d been run over by a bus. And he was still wearing last night’s clothes.
‘Did you not sleep well?’
He shook his head, slumped into a chair and then took a first mouthful of cereal.
‘Oh.’ Her heart sank. Of course he hadn’t slept well. And of course he wouldn’t want to go out after his emotional trauma last night. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. ‘Can I get you a Berocca?’
‘Thanks.’ He nodded and continued eating his cereal.
Hoping the fizzy shot of vitamins B and C would help lift his mood, she poured a cold glass of water and dropped in a tablet. She stared as it dissolved, handed it to him and then watched as he downed it in one gulp.
‘Better?’
‘A little. What I really need is a shower and a long nap.’ He still wouldn’t meet her gaze. That and the fact that her plans had just been sent to hell in a handbasket left her feeling as if someone had scraped out her insides.
Should she remind him about their day out? Maybe he’d simply forgotten after everything that had happened. Getting out of the house and taking his mind off his dad could be exactly what the doctor ordered.
Tom started to stand and as he picked up his empty bowl, Lauren couldn’t help herself. ‘Maybe the fresh air by the lake will make you feel better?’
He dumped the bowl in the sink and met her eyes for the first time that morning. ‘Shit. I forgot we were supposed to be going out. Do you mind if we take a raincheck? I wouldn’t be the best company right now.’
‘Of course,’ she managed. Inside her heart was stamping up and down like a hard-done-by toddler.
Tom started to rinse his bowl and he looked so defeated, so woebegone, that her rejected heart turned over in her chest. If only there was something she could do to make him feel better.
‘Leave that,’ she said. ‘Go take that shower and get some rest. I’ll make us some lunch for when you wake.’
‘Thanks, but don’t bother. I think I’ll be out for the count.’
Tom retreated to his room and Lauren unpacked the esky, loading the salads and quiche back into the fridge. She filled the rest of the day with a trip to the supermarket, a little cleaning, a movie and finally finished Bridget Jones’s Diary, which she felt as if she’d been reading forever. The whole time she was on edge, hoping Tom would re-emerge. Twice she heard him go into the bathroom and held her breath waiting for him to come and chat, but he never did.
At about 10:00 p.m. she sighed and went to bed, hoping that tomorrow Tom would be back to his normal, jovial self.
Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the front door shut early on Sunday morning and Lauren’s car come to life in the driveway. She had the early shift at the hospital. For the first time in twenty-four hours, he’d be able to venture out of his bedroom for longer than it took to go to the bathroom. Starvation roared in his stomach and he reckoned the only thing that might sate his hunger was a full fry-up breakfast. The last thing he felt like doing was making small talk with anyone but as this was the country and the supermarket didn’t open Sundays, he had little choice but to go next door and sweet talk Mrs Crouch into lending him some bacon.
Sighing, he dragged himself out of bed, groaning at his reflection in the mirror. He rubbed his chin, two days worth of growth rough against his fingers. The last time he’d paid such little attention to his appearance had been just after the metaphorical tornado slammed through his life, but the shock of almost losing his dad and then spilling his guts to Lauren had hit him hard.
He’d spent most of Saturday secluded in his bedroom but hadn’t slept a wink. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, thoughts of his dad—or worse, Lauren—invaded his head and all chance of slumber vanished. Never in his life had he been as terrified as on Friday night when Monica called. Fear had caused him to open his heart to Lauren in a way he hadn’t to anyone since his dad’s diagnosis.
He’d been that close to telling her everything. And that would have been a mistake.
She was a kind, caring, gorgeous person and for her own good, he needed to keep his distance. And for his own good too. He could fight the attraction, could handle the heartbreak of not being able to have what he wanted, but he couldn’t bear having to witness pity in Lauren’s eyes if she knew the truth about him.
He jumped in the shower, washed his hair, shaved and then went next door to beg for bacon.
‘That girl not feeding you properly?’ Mrs Crouch tsked at his request and then grabbed hold of his arm and drew him inside her cottage.
‘It’s not Lauren’s job to feed me,’ he replied, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his cool. He wanted bacon, for fuck’s sake; he didn’t want the Spanish Inquisition, or to have to listen to another small-minded local indulging in salacious gossip. ‘But as it happens, she’s cooked for me on a number of occasions.’
‘Yes, but that vegetarian stuff isn’t real food,’ Mrs Crouch scoffed. ‘A man like you needs meat. Let me cook you up a proper breakfast.’
Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of fussing over someone and he didn’t want to disappoint anyone else this weekend.
Reluctantly he followed Mrs Crouch into her small fibro cottage and obeyed when she told him to sit at the table and read the paper while she cooked. She poured him a large glass of what looked to be freshly squeezed orange juice.
‘My Harvey used to read the paper every Sunday,’ she said, as she started bustling round the kitchen. ‘And then we’d do the crosswords together after breakfast.’
‘Has he been gone long?’ Tom asked, sensing she wanted to talk.
‘Ten years, bless his soul. Heart attack. He was sitting in that chair one minute—’ she pointed to his seat and then clicked her fingers ‘—and gone the next. He didn’t even get to eat his dinner. And it was lamb chops, his favourite.’
Luckily Tom wasn’t queasy about sitting in a chair where someone had died. ‘That’s terrible. You must miss him a lot.’
She sighed. ‘At the time it felt like I’d lost a limb, but it does get easier. I keep myself busy with weekly bowls and the CWA. I’m not an idle old woman, you know.’
‘I didn’t imagine you were.’ Tom stifled a smile. ‘Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?’
‘No, no.’ She waved a tea towel at him. ‘I’ll have it all cooked in no time.’
True to her word, she prepared a feast so fast he almost wondered if she’d used magic to do so. On the table she laid out bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes, beans and even some fried bread. He inhaled deeply, salivating as his tastebuds came alive. And then he realised she’d only put down one plate.
‘Aren’t you having any?’
‘Me?’ She tsked again. ‘I can’t eat food like that anymore. Clogs my arteries and threatens my svelte figure. But you dig in. I like cooking for a man again.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Still, the mass of food before him could have fed the local football team. Twice.
Mrs Crouch stared expectantly at him as he lifted a forkful of egg to his mouth. He’d barely swallowed it before she wanted approval. ‘Well, is it good?’
‘Delicious.’ It was the truth. He shovelled in another mouthful and tried not to feel self-conscious with her eyes still trained on him. He took a bite of the toast, which was spread with his weekly requirement of fat, and then went for a longed-for piece of bacon.
Taking a bite and chewing the first mouthful, he waited for that hit that only a slice of bacon could offer. But it didn’t come. He persevered, knowing his morning rendezvous with a pensioner would be in vain if he didn’t eat it, but it didn’t improve. All he could think about was Lauren’s story about her little lamb and how she’d likened it to the pig from Charlotte’s Web.
He shook his head, trying to shake that ridiculous thought, but each new mouthful made him more nauseous. He couldn’t get the image of that cute little piglet out of his head.
‘Are you okay?’ Mrs Crouch asked, the deep lines around he
r eyes creasing even more in concern.
‘I’m really sorry Mrs Crouch, but I don’t think I’m feeling very well.’ If Lauren had affected him so much that he could no longer enjoy bacon, then she was really getting under his skin.
‘Oh, that’s no good, dear. I hope it’s not my cooking.’
‘Definitely not. Your cooking is the best. I feel terrible, but I think I’d better go.’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
He stood and she did so at her slower pace.
‘I hope you’ll come back again when you’re feeling a bit better.’
‘I will. Another day,’ he promised, and then made a speedy exit.
‘What’s that gorgeous doctor up to today?’ Barbara asked, as Lauren sat down on the stool to start the weekly manicure session.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, trying to sound like she didn’t care. In truth, she hadn’t been able to think about anything but him since she’d arrived at work that morning. His hermit behaviour worried her. To be so far away from his family during such a crisis had obviously ripped him apart more than he wanted to admit. She wished he’d open up and let her support him, but instead she got the distinct impression he was avoiding her. Most days—even his days off—he came to visit the residents, to play a game of something or other with Ned and flirt with the ladies, but he’d been conspicuously absent today.
‘Aren’t you living with the man?’ May tried to lean forward in her recliner but her centre of gravity had other ideas.
Lauren took the lid off a bottle of yellow polish and dipped in the brush. ‘He’s staying with me. We’re not living together.’
‘Living together wasn’t the done thing in our time,’ Barbara announced.
‘So I’ve heard.’ Lauren focused on the old woman’s shaky hands, trying not to get yellow all over her cuticles.
‘If you ask me,’ May said, ‘you young things have it easier these days. You’re allowed to have fun—to try before you buy, so to speak. If I’d been able to live in sin first I’d have never married my George.’
‘Yes, well, your George was a bit of a wanker,’ Barbara declared.
The Road to Hope Page 16
