Starting from Scratch

by Penelope Janu

  ‘Don’t, Sapphie.’

  I clear my throat as I fold my hands neatly in my lap. ‘You want me to trust you, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There are some things I don’t want to tell you, but that doesn’t mean …’ I undo the bottom button of my shirt. ‘I can show you this.’

  He puts his hand over mine. ‘That’s not about trust, Sapphie. You don’t have to show me anything.’

  ‘You don’t want me to?’ My voice is too high. My fingers tremble under his.

  He closes his eyes and when he opens them, I can’t read them at all. He’s frowning and tense and …

  ‘I don’t know what you want,’ I whisper.

  ‘I want you.’

  A tight knot of need unfurls in my heart. When I kiss his mouth, he groans and kisses back. I put my hands on his chest and pull back a little.

  ‘I want to get this over with.’

  I undo the next button and then two more. When I reach the top button, I fumble.

  He covers my hand. ‘You’ve told me how you were hurt. I don’t care about the rest.’

  My breasts are still hidden. ‘How do you know that?’

  He pulls me down so my head is on the pillow. His tongue strokes and caresses and curls around mine. The kiss is possessive. He gathers me closer, his erection pressed between us. He runs his hands across my shoulders, his touches whisper soft. I’m warm and needy, aroused.

  He rolls me onto my back again. Keeping his eyes on my face, he puts his hands inside my pyjama top and trails his fingertips down my sides.

  I freeze.

  He buries his face in my hair and talks against my neck. ‘Tell me how to touch you.’

  I swallow. ‘That was okay.’

  His palms glide softly. On my right, the skin is smooth. On my left, it’s rough and bumpy. I breathe deeply as he strokes.

  ‘Sapphie?’

  When I look up, he stares into my eyes. Grey and blue. Blue and grey. He kisses me again, short and hard. He undoes the final button, opens my top and eases it back. I look at the ceiling as he looks down. He cups my cheek and puts his thumb on my chin, turning my face towards him.

  ‘How long before you got help?’

  ‘Two days. That’s why the scars are so bad.’

  He dips his head. He kisses the nipple of my good breast, an open-mouthed kiss.

  I almost shoot off the bed in surprise. ‘Matts!’

  He holds me firmly by the tops of my arms and kisses my nipple again. He sweeps his tongue around it. He looks at me innocently. ‘What?’

  ‘You … you—’ I glance down at his erection. ‘Nothing.’

  This time I watch him. He cups my right breast. And then he cups my left. The scars end a millimetre from my nipple. He circles the areola with the pad of his thumb.

  I squirm. ‘Matts?’

  ‘Is that uncomfortable?’

  ‘It’s embarrassing, but … No.’

  He licks the nipple and sits back. ‘Tell me when to stop.’ He puts the pad of his thumb on the dampness. He frowns and kisses my nipple again, this time with his tongue. Afterwards, his thumb glides easily.

  ‘What—what are you doing?’

  He kisses my right nipple and my left. His lip lifts in one of his almost smiles. He looks from one breast to the other. He kisses them again like he’s known me this way forever.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  By the time he kisses my mouth, I’m hot and shaky with lust. I yank down my shorts and he eases them over my bandage.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  When I lie on the pillows, he fans out my hair and props my bandaged foot on the cushion he finds on the floor. He kneels at the foot of the bed and kisses my ankle above my bandage. He kisses my other ankle. He kisses my calves. He lifts my good leg and bends it so he can access the back of my knee. He kisses up the insides of my thighs with soft, wet lips.

  ‘Matts.’

  He smiles. ‘More?’

  My toes curl into the sheets. The rooster starts up again, pealing long and loud. I groan. ‘It must be getting late.’

  He mutters appreciative sounds as he kisses the insides of my legs. He makes patterns with his tongue as he kisses higher.

  I moan his name. I stroke his hair. ‘Please.’

  He kisses around me and inside me, teasing and playing until all I’m aware of is the movement of his lips and the strokes of his tongue, the rumble of his voice and the touch of his hands. I groan and I pant and I climax.

  ‘Matts!’ I reach for him.

  He crawls up my body, puts his hand between my legs. He nibbles my neck as if pleased with the tremors. When his fingers slide inside me, I tighten my thighs around them.

  ‘Please, Matts.’ My voice is husky. ‘Do it properly.’

  Making love last night was falling over a waterfall and plunging down a river —exciting, dangerous, intoxicating. This morning is a stroll by a gently flowing stream. We hold hands and face each other. Our eyes are wide, our mouths are soft, our movements slow. When he climaxes, he mumbles words into my mouth. I wrap my legs around his hips and hold on to him firmly. He carries me into the sunshine.

  Honey, dandelion, bumblebee, butterscotch. Gold.

  The edges of his face are softer when he sleeps. I trace the arcs of his brows. I trail my thumb across his cheekbone.

  ‘You’re beautiful, too,’ I whisper.

  The front gate squeaks on its hinges.

  Children’s chatter. Footsteps on the stairs. A tap on the door. ‘Miss Brown.’ A girl’s voice. ‘Are you awake yet?’

  CHAPTER

  39

  By the time I reach the front door, there are two sets of knocks. I open it to see Mary, her hair neatly tied in two long plaits, bobbing up and down on the doormat. Archie, looking at his feet but smiling, stands next to her. Barney leans on the gate next to the kangaroo paw bush. The flowers are deep tones of mustard, bright against the fence.

  ‘Dad said you hurt your foot,’ Mary says, looking at the bandage and frowning momentarily. ‘Gus tried to call but you didn’t answer so he called Dad. He’ll be here at eight o’clock.’

  ‘Gus or your dad?’

  ‘Gus.’ She grins. ‘Dad’s ploughing early because he thinks it’s going to rain soon so he took me to Archie’s house. But his mum had to go to work too, so Barney is taking me and Archie to the horses.’

  I look over her head to Barney. ‘It’s only seven o’clock.’

  ‘They were driving me nuts so I said I’d take them early.’

  ‘They need supervision. I’ll tag along with whoever Gus gets a lift with, but the other volunteers won’t be there until nine.’

  ‘That’s why we came here first.’

  By the time Matts appears, dressed in jeans and the T-shirt he threw into the corner of my bedroom last night, Mary and Archie are sitting at the kitchen bench eating toast and Vegemite, and Barney is sitting on the floor near the fridge with a bowl of Weet-Bix in his lap. Tumbleweed is curled up next to him on his mat. I put a hip-length waterproof jacket over my pyjamas before I answered the door. Matts glances at it and raises his brows.

  ‘Good morning, Sapphie.’

  ‘I know you!’ Mary says, licking Vegemite off her finger before holding out her hand like Matts did when he introduced himself in the paddock at the youth centre.

  He shakes her hand solemnly. ‘Good morning, Mary.’ He looks around and frowns. ‘You have forgotten Mischief again?’

  She grins. ‘He had to stay home.’

  When Barney puts down his spoon and holds his hand above his head, Matts high-fives it.

  ‘How’s the climbing?’ he asks.

  ‘Better than it was.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Archie asks Matts.

  ‘His name is Matts,’ Mary says. ‘He was at the farmhouse when you got into trouble for scaring the horses.’

  ‘Where’s he from?’ Archie asks, hopping off his stool.

  ‘I’m f
rom Finland,’ Matts says.

  ‘Finland makes Nokia phones,’ Archie says. ‘Do you make Nokia phones?’

  ‘Matts is an engineer,’ I say. ‘You like building things too, Archie. That might be something you and Matts can talk about. Would you like to introduce yourself before you ask any more questions?’

  ‘My name is Archie.’ He jumps up and down on the spot. ‘Finland is the biggest manufacturer of paper in the world.’

  Matts talks to Archie, in a very serious way, about renewable pine forests. And he’s no less serious when he says goodbye to the children and Barney and tells me he’ll see me at the door. When we step over the threshold to the porch, I close the door behind me. His overnight bag is at the top of the steps.

  ‘Don’t go to the farmhouse,’ he says.

  ‘I go there every Saturday.’

  ‘Your foot is painful.’

  I lean my bottom against the desk. ‘I’ll ice it before I leave, and restrict myself to the office once I get there. I can put it up on a chair.’

  We stare at each other, but I don’t know that either of us knows what to say next. I look away first, facing the desk and running a finger along the indentation at the top.

  He comes closer, leaning over my shoulder to straighten the collar of the waterproof. When the tips of his fingers brush my neck, warmth seeps through my veins.

  ‘I don’t want to leave like this,’ he says.

  ‘You were supposed to be in Canberra yesterday. What time is your flight?’

  ‘When I cancelled, they put me on the next one. Ten.’

  A flock of lorikeets rise up from the trees in the playground and fly towards the creek. Will they squawk all the way to the farmhouse?’

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Things …’

  He strokes my hair, wraps a lock around his wrist. ‘The farmhouse?’

  ‘It’s always meant a lot.’

  He releases my hair and puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘I could stay here until the end of the week.’

  ‘What? When I have to be back at work on Monday morning?’ I shake my head. ‘Anyway, I don’t need to be looked after.’

  He growls as he turns me around. ‘That’s not what I’d be here for.’

  When I stroke the crease between his brows, he kisses my wrist. ‘I’ll miss you, Matts, but you’re already later than you thought you’d be. And you have meetings all this week, don’t you?’

  ‘I can reschedule.’

  ‘Your schedule was arranged months and months ago.’

  ‘Don’t do anything about the farmhouse until I’ve seen Robert.’

  It’s tempting to lean against him. He’d wrap his arms around me. He might even tell me that things will work out. The desk nudges the tops of my legs when I step back.

  ‘My father plays games. He makes deals. I refuse to do that. I’ll have to find somewhere else.’

  He runs his hand through his hair. He walks to the other side of the porch. ‘If I go,’ he says, ‘I won’t be back until Saturday night.’

  ‘I know that already. I’m fine on my own.’

  He mutters under his breath. ‘Long term, Sapphie. Remember that?’

  My throat tightens. ‘I need to think things through.’

  In two long strides, he’s standing as close as he was. ‘Be more specific.’

  An old truck, open at the sides, honks as it turns off the loop road. It’s Freddie and Gus so it must be eight o’clock. I glance at my waterproof and the hems of my cream pyjama shorts.

  ‘I have to get ready. You have a flight.’

  The sun streams onto the porch, so why are his eyes so inky and dark? He takes my hands. ‘Reassure me.’

  I thread our fingers together. I stroke the back of his hand. I lift it and kiss the scratch on his wrist. ‘Last night and this morning was …’ My skin warms. ‘It was—I’ve never had anything like it. I’ll miss you and I hope that … It’s just that …’

  He rests his forehead on mine. ‘You’re worried about the farmhouse and what your father might say about your mother. And whatever it was that scared you this morning.’

  ‘I wasn’t scared.’ I push back his hair. ‘But I can’t tell you about it and you resent that.’ When I kiss his cheek, his bristles are rough. ‘It’ll be settled by the time you come back. I’ll tell you everything then.’

  ‘One day, you’ll trust me.’

  I nod bravely. ‘I’ll see you next Saturday.’

  His car is parked a little way up the road, under the ironbark tree. Fallen leaves, green, brown and grey, are sprinkled all over the bonnet. He runs down the steps, lifting a hand to acknowledge Gus and Freddie. He shades his eyes from the sun and then he turns to me. He doesn’t wave. I don’t think he smiles.

  Dark hair that lightens in sunshine.

  CHAPTER

  40

  I was fast asleep when we drove onto the loop road last night. Today, sitting between Freddie and Gus in the truck, I feel …

  ‘Not too bad.’

  Gus takes off his hat and puts a hand to his ear. ‘What’s that, Sapphie?’

  ‘Just talking to myself.’

  Freddie didn’t have safety seats for the children, so I asked Corey to pick them up from the schoolhouse on the way to collect Joel. The minibus hasn’t arrived yet, but a four-wheel drive with a Dubbo zoo logo on the door is parked at the side of the road.

  ‘Who is that?’

  Gus grins. ‘Who do you reckon?’

  Keep away from the flowers or else! This is Miss Brown’s (Sapphie’s) room. Private!

  When I push open the door to the flower room, Jet is bent over double and sweeping under the bench. She spins around, her sparkling eyes as brown as mine are blue.

  I burst into tears.

  She doesn’t say anything, but hugs me tightly. She brings me a chair and sits opposite. And then she gets up again, returning with a box of tissues and balancing it on my knees.

  Jet isn’t much older than me. She was only seventeen when her father died and much younger when her mother passed away. When we first met, I was secretive and unhappy. I wanted to be left alone to work out who I was. She didn’t ask about my family, or why I’d left the city. I didn’t ask why she bit her nails, or never rode her horses.

  She’s thoughtful and smart.

  I sniff. ‘I thought my life was sorted, but—’

  She pulls her chair closer and plucks tissues out of the box, pressing them into my hand. ‘It’s not your foot, is it?’

  I blow my nose. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’ She smiles sympathetically. ‘I could do something about your foot.’

  I smile and cry at the same time. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if I couldn’t help, Finn could take a look.’

  ‘You married an excellent vet.’

  Jet would never ask why I’m crying. Which has the effect of making me tell her. ‘My father has bought the farmhouse.’ I blow my nose again. ‘He wants to make sure I don’t talk out of turn for a few more years. Everyone’s worked so hard to fix this place up and I have to tell them I’ve made a mess of things.’

  She touches my arm. ‘No one’s worked harder than you. And what do you mean, he’s bought—’

  ‘You can’t say anything, Jet. There’s something else as well. I’m not sure what to do about someone. Someone I like a lot.’

  ‘Is he tall?’ She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. ‘With billboard good looks and the weight of the world on his shoulders? I saw him here earlier.’

  ‘Matts?’

  ‘He was leaning against the fence and lecturing Prima.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He introduced himself to Finn and me.’ She scuffs her boots on the floorboards. ‘Then he left.’

  I wipe my face with the tissues. ‘Do you remember our Pride and Prejudice conversation? It was after Finn came to Horseshoe.’

  She smiles. ‘I paraphrased Mrs Bennet, didn’t I? I said no one coul
d be as good and kind and pretty as you without a good reason.’

  ‘And I told you that I only ever have sex with men I never want to see again.’

  She nudges my good foot with her boot. ‘Do you want to update that?’

  ‘He said he wanted long term. What do you think that means?’

  She laughs. ‘More than one night.’

  I press my hands between my knees. ‘I was happy before. I was happy at the farmhouse. I was happy with the horses. I was happy at school and on the committee. I was happy making flowers.’ The headdress and buttonholes I made for April’s wedding are lying on the bench where I left them. Only a week has passed since we went to the wetlands. It feels like a lifetime.

  ‘Will you see him again?’

  ‘Next Saturday night, assuming he’s still talking to me after this morning.’

  We look towards the door when we hear footsteps. Finn is six foot two, thirty-three and extremely good-looking.

  ‘Is this a private conversation?’ He’s Scottish, but has a posh English accent.

  Jet stands and smiles. ‘It is.’

  I hobble to Finn and hug him. ‘Thanks for coming to help today.’

  ‘It’s good to see you, Sapphie.’ He glances at my foot. ‘Well done on the rescue.’

  ‘We could have done with your help.’

  ‘Is the climber all right?’

  ‘I think he will be. When are you home?’

  ‘By Christmas.’ When Jet holds out her hand, Finn takes it. ‘Jemima and I are looking forward to it.’ He smiles into her eyes and kisses her. ‘Freckle needs a trim and Strider needs shoes. I’ve put your tools in the yard.’

  ‘Duty calls,’ Jet says as she walks to the door. ‘Finn will keep you company.’

  When Finn holds out a chair, I sit down again.

  ‘Besides your injuries, are you well, Sapphie?’

  ‘Are my eyes red?’

  ‘Slightly.’

  ‘I have a few problems.’

  He leans forward so his arms are on his knees. ‘I’m listening.’

  I sniff. ‘You and Jet … It wasn’t easy for either of you, was it?’

  He frowns, as if uncertain how to answer. But then he shrugs. ‘I loved Jem from the beginning. Now I love her more. But, no, it wasn’t easy.’