Starting from Scratch

by Penelope Janu

  I want more.

  By the time I arrive at the pub the following Friday evening, Gus is already there, sitting at the table by the window and peering at his notebook. Leon lifts a hand.

  ‘Hello, Sapphie. Your drink is on Gus. I’ll bring it over.’

  I sit heavily in the chair opposite Gus. ‘Sorry I’m late. I can’t believe how many kids turned up to climbing tonight. And we’re fully booked for the equine activities tomorrow morning, so I had a pile of paperwork to finish. But now all I have to do is get Sonnet and Strider to the youth centre by eight. Peter Honey will pick up Freckle and Lollopy in his float.’

  Gus harrumphs. ‘You’re meant to be winding down for the holidays, not picking up the pace.’

  ‘I like to be busy.’

  ‘My Maggie would say you’re too busy. And the committee’s giving you more work than ever. Raising funds for this and lobbying for that.’

  ‘It’s the others who do most of the work.’

  ‘You’re the one who brings it all together.’ He sips his beer and wipes foam from his mouth. ‘Haven’t seen Matts in quite a while. Is he back from the continent yet? What’s he been up to?’

  ‘I think he’s in Canberra again.’

  ‘It’s about time he came back to Horseshoe, to see what it’s like in the summer.’

  ‘I’d like to see him too.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  I seem to have a permanent lump in my throat. ‘What do you think of him, Gus?’

  He scratches his head. ‘Reckon he knows more about rivers than the rest of us put together. He’s a bit stiff, but he’s always courteous and respectful. I like him. Maggie would’ve liked him too. Reckon he’s an honest bloke. A good steady bloke.’

  A group of grey nomads gather on the footpath in hats and sturdy shoes. There’s a couple holding hands. When the man tips back the brim of the woman’s hat and kisses her soundly on the mouth, she laughs.

  ‘Does he fit in here, do you think?’

  ‘Reckon he could fit in anywhere, a man like that. Why do you ask?’

  You never lost me, Sapphie. You never could.

  Peter Honey walks into the bar with Molly, his pretty eldest daughter, and gazes right and left as if on the look out for trouble. Leon catches my eye and lifts a glass, asking if I’d like another drink. I shake my head and turn back to Gus.

  ‘I thought, once I had the farmhouse, I’d be happy. But something’s missing.’

  Gus nods wisely. ‘It’ll be like having a baby, I reckon.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For the nine months she carried him, Maggie hankered to see our first child. But once he arrived’—he winks—‘there were things she hadn’t taken into account.’ He links his hands on the table. ‘You’ve put a lot of time into that place already, Sapphie, but there’s plenty more work to do yet.’

  ‘What I meant was … someone is missing.’

  Gus nods slowly. ‘Ah. Now I see.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  He sits back in his chair. ‘No bloody idea.’

  There’s an ice cube in the bottom of my glass and I poke it with the straw. ‘Matts says I take too many risks.’ I push the glass away, put my hands on the table and stand. ‘But I don’t see a way out of this one.’

  From: Sapphie

  To: Chambers, Cassie, Luke, Gus, Matts

  Clause 6.8 of the committee’s code of conduct states: ‘To guard against potential conflicts of interest, relationships (both professional and personal) between members of this committee must be disclosed to other committee members.’

  When I was seven years old and Matts had just turned ten, our mothers became best friends. For eight years, first in Buenos Aires and later in Canberra, Matts and I saw each other almost every day.

  I loved him.

  We had a terrible argument when I was fifteen. By the time I’d turned nineteen, Matts had accepted that I’d turned my back on our friendship. Earlier this year, he found me at the farmhouse and over the past five months …

  I’ve fallen in love with him.

  Good corporate governance dictates that I put this disclosure on the record. So that it may be minuted appropriately, please acknowledge receipt.

  Gus: Maggie would approve.

  Cassie: You deserve the best.

  Chambers: Receipt acknowledged.

  Luke: Ha!

  Matts: Noted

  CHAPTER

  46

  Twenty-four hours have passed since Matts wrote Noted in response to my message.

  Not a word since.

  A few people smiled at me shyly at the youth centre today, and the Hargreaves barely complained when I told them I wouldn’t be attending trivia tonight, so I suspect Gus might have said something. After I ride Sonnet and lead Strider back to the farmhouse, I shower and change in the refurbished bathroom at the end of the hallway. I haven’t moved into the farmhouse properly yet, but it won’t be long.

  The westerly wind is picking up so I stand on tiptoes at the flower room window, push my palms against the frame and press down. It almost closes.

  ‘That will have to do.’

  I straighten the mirror, stand back and straighten it again. My hair was wet so I’d left it loose, but it’s hot on my neck so I plait it, securing it with a piece of ribbon left over from April’s headdress, and throw it down my back. The bookcase is bright with stacks of crepe and shoeboxes. I search one of the lower shelves and find my small curved scissors.

  Myriad strips of crepe are strewn across the bench. The blue fairy flower I brought home from the river, softly faded now, lies in a tissue-lined box. It has one dorsal sepal, two lateral sepals and three petals, each of them long and narrow like the points of a star. The labellum, a tiny pouch, sits in the middle of the petals.

  Jacqueline said the colours of the crepe were beautiful.

  Midnight, royal, navy, peacock, sapphire.

  I’ve made five flowers, each a slightly different shade. I line them up on the bench. ‘Now you need something to hold you up.’

  I wind green tape around floristry wire to make the stems. For the elongated leaves, I use a template to cut the crepe into shape, lay a fine piece of wire down the spine and glue it into place. I stick another leaf-shaped piece of crepe on top.

  Moss, army, grasshopper, jungle, olive.

  As I lay the stems and leaves on the bench next to the flowers, there’s a knock on the front door. I look up as the key turns.

  ‘Sapphie?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I’m in here.’

  The door clicks shut. Footsteps in the hallway. Matts stands just inside the door, his blue linen shirt light against the black of his jeans. He hasn’t shaved today. His mouth lifts in an almost smile as he holds up Gran’s old keyring. The enamelled rosebuds are pale against his fingers.

  ‘I let myself in.’

  Good-morning kisses. Laughter and tears. Wading through water in sunshine. Children and ponies and flowers. Is that what he wants too?

  The red gum rustles. The window rattles. Wind sneaks through the gaps in the frame. Crepe paper flowers fly across the bench and flutter to the floor.

  Matts gets to them first, carefully picking them up and putting them back on the bench. He glances at the window.

  ‘Should I shut it?’

  ‘It sticks.’ As he walks to the window, I back away. ‘I have to wash my hands.’

  By the time I get back, he’s standing at the bench and looking closely at the flowers. When he holds out his hand, I take it. Our palms press together as we stand side by side. He links our fingers.

  ‘Eastern tiny blue china orchid,’ he says.

  ‘Or blue fairy.’

  ‘You found one at the river.’

  I look down at my jeans and boots. Should I have worn something prettier? ‘I’m surprised you remember. Lisa had her hand on your thigh.’

  ‘Sapphie?’ He puts his hands on the tops of my arms and I turn and face him. ‘I only wanted you.�
� His serious eyes search mine. ‘Always.’

  When I lay my hand on the side of his face, he kisses my wrist. ‘I’m sorry about Inge, Matts. Did Gabriel call you? I didn’t think he would.’

  He frowns. ‘I hadn’t talked about my mother in front of my father for eighteen years. That meant we never talked about Kate—even after my father had found the key. But after I left here, I stayed with him in Helsinki. One day at breakfast, he asked why I’d been a bastard for the past few days.’ He kisses my forehead. ‘I told him I was missing you.’

  I put my head on his chest. ‘Sorry.’

  He wraps his arms around me. ‘I also told him what Robert had done. And by chance I asked whether he knew anybody from Hernandez Engineering.’

  ‘Oh!’ I look up. ‘Did he know—’

  ‘In deference to my father, Garcia had stayed away since my mother’s death, but my father had suspected it was him. He’d tried to forget.’

  ‘He wanted to remember Inge in the way he’d always known her. Your father loved her very much.’

  ‘I’d asked him a direct question. He’s an honest man. He couldn’t refuse to answer.’

  ‘You’re like him.’

  ‘He gave me Garcia’s name but nothing more. I called him.’

  I blink. ‘He told you?’

  Matts nods. ‘I asked for proof. He showed me a copy of the withdrawal slip, and a receipt for the sapphire.’

  ‘He didn’t want to hurt you, Matts. That’s why I knew I could trust him.’

  ‘My father should have told me.’

  ‘He was protecting you too.’

  He presses his lips together. ‘Kate paid the price.’

  I don’t want to leave the circle of his arms for a tissue, so I wipe his eye with a fingertip. ‘No one knew how bad it would turn out. Mum didn’t—’ I shake my head. ‘She didn’t want help, from my father or anybody else. She refused to share her burden.’

  ‘I was with you and Kate every day. She was forced to remember.’

  ‘She wanted to remember. Inge was kind and gentle and caring. It must have been so hard for her to—’

  ‘Be unfaithful.’

  I take his hands and yank until he looks at me again. ‘You weren’t a snob like my father. You respected my grandmother.’

  ‘You remind me of her.’

  ‘She talked about perfection. When we made flowers together, she said I was far too fussy, that it was the imperfections that made the flowers perfect. Bruised and faded petals, softly bowed heads and crinkled leaves, that’s what made them real. People are like that too.’

  ‘This is my mother?’

  ‘Perfect imperfection. My mother too.’

  He runs his thumb over the tops of my hands. ‘Garcia had no letters from Inge, but he told me she gave him a gift.’

  ‘Oh.’ I whisper. ‘What?’

  ‘In Inge’s personal items, my father found the key to the box, but also cards, jewellery, mementos and the flowers you made.’

  ‘The bougainvillea?’

  ‘Garcia had one too.’

  ‘I didn’t give him—’

  ‘She was pregnant and he was going away. She sent him a flower.’

  ‘He kept it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I grasp his shirt with one hand and put my other hand on his cheek. ‘She loved you, Matts, more than anything else in the world. Nothing changed that.’

  His eyes still shadowed, he steps back. He takes my hand in his. ‘And you, Sapphie?’ he says quietly. ‘What do you feel?’

  ‘Didn’t you read my message?’

  He touches my mouth. ‘I want to hear it.’

  ‘I adored you.’

  He growls and pulls me close. ‘Not that.’

  I repeat the words he used the last time we spoke: ‘I think you already know.’

  He kisses me swiftly but firmly. And then he kisses me again, running his lips over mine and warming my body. I open my mouth and sigh. Our kisses are careful then careless, savage then sweet. We’re both breathing deeply when he lifts his head.

  ‘As a child you were fearless.’ He loops his finger through my ribbon and lifts my plait over my shoulder. ‘You sat still only to make your flowers. Anyone you met—my classmates, babies, old people—you were their friend. You were physically beautiful, but that held no meaning. You wanted to be known for other things.’

  ‘I followed you around like a kitten.’

  ‘When I came back, I told myself we would have little in common. You taught young children. You lived a quiet life.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘You totalled your car.’ He tightens his arms. ‘You ride wild horses.’

  ‘Not wild.’

  ‘Disobedient horses. You scale cliffs without ropes.’

  ‘Rarely.’

  ‘That first night, why did you climb the tree?’

  ‘I thought you might be up to no good.’ I undo one of his buttons before fastening it again. ‘You need me to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘We climbed well together.’ He’s very serious.

  ‘I was more flexible. Your reach was better. We complemented each other.’

  He puts his hands over mine, still on his chest. ‘I had a choice of twenty committees, Sapphie. I couldn’t go past yours.’

  ‘They’re good people.’

  ‘The land, the river, the wetlands. I work from the ground up too.’

  ‘Are you saying we do have things in common?’

  ‘Too much.’

  ‘We always did.’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘Tell me our age difference.’

  ‘A little under three years.’

  ‘Two years, eight months and four days. I had to wait.’

  ‘You had so many girlfriends.’

  ‘You should have had boyfriends.’

  ‘So you could be jealous too?’

  ‘I wanted you to be certain. I wanted you to choose me over the others. You never did.’

  Strong and sensitive. Arrogant and vulnerable. I stand on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t want the other boys.’ I kiss his mouth. ‘I only ever wanted you.’

  CHAPTER

  47

  As if afraid to let go, we hold hands as we walk down the hallway. When I lock the door, he stands behind me, an arm across my breasts. I put the keyring in my bag and he takes my hand again. It’s dark now. Eucalyptus perfumes the air. There’s scratching in the red gum.

  ‘That will be the possums.’

  When I turn towards his car, he pulls me back. ‘Can we walk?’

  Once we’re away from the shadows of the house, it’s easy to see the path. The moon, a shimmering sphere, hovers over the hill.

  Silver, brilliant, argent, pearlescent.

  There’s mint in the herb garden but very little else. I have to replace the old lemon trees, mulch the vegetable garden and have the glasshouse repaired …

  The farmhouse alone won’t make me happy. I need him too.

  ‘Matts? Can you explain what you mean by long term?’

  He squeezes my hand but says nothing.

  When we reach the paddocks, Lollopy leaves Freckle to nap and bustles to the fence. He tips his head sideways and pushes it through the wire.

  I laugh as I scratch under his forelock. ‘You have to wait till breakfast.’

  Sonnet and Strider stand on the far side of the paddock. Strider nickers a greeting. Prima, ears pricked, walks cautiously to the fence and stands next to Lollopy.

  ‘Hello, girl.’ I turn to Matts, still holding my hand. ‘She’s much more confident than she was.’

  When he extends his hand, Prima lowers her head and brushes her muzzle against his palm. ‘Don’t fucking bolt again,’ he mutters.

  ‘You’ll get used to—’ I frown up at him. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  He tugs my hand and we walk towards the creek, but just before we get to the gate he reaches for me. I lean my back against his front. We face the farmhou
se together, his arms around my middle. He kisses my temple and trails kisses to my jaw. He nuzzles my neck.

  He smells nice. His body is hard and warm against my back. Desire ripples over me in waves. But when I try to turn, he holds me still. He kisses my neck again.

  ‘Do you want my answer?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Please hurry up.’

  He rests his chin on my head and points to the farmhouse. ‘The weathervane was at a thirty degree angle. Now it’s at ninety. Why?’

  ‘It was years ago I tied it to the chimney. The wire must have loosened.’

  ‘You need a new roof.’

  ‘It can be patched.’

  ‘It can’t. The house needs gutters, downpipes, drainage and solar panels. It needs new floorboards and better ventilation. New posts and boards for the verandah. The windows, skirtings and cornices have to be replaced.’

  I spin around. ‘I’ve spent all my money. I’ve borrowed money. I have to save up.’

  ‘I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘Marry me.’

  ‘To get my roof fixed?’

  ‘So I don’t fall through your floor.’

  ‘It’s not a good enough reason.’

  ‘Will you make flowers for your hair? Will you dance to that song?’

  I laugh. ‘“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”?’

  The light is fading but his eyes are bright. ‘I love you, Sapphie Brown. Marry me.’

  Good-morning kisses. Laughter and tears. Wading through water in sunshine. Children and ponies and flowers.

  I smooth his dark, glossy hair where it kinks behind his ear. I press my palm against the bristles at his jaw. I feel the texture of his mouth and his breath on my fingertips.

  I stand on my toes and softly kiss his mouth.

  As I fumble with the lock of the schoolhouse front door, Matts kicks off his shoes and puts them on the rack with my boots. He pulls his T-shirt over his head and throws it onto the desk.

  ‘Matts!’

  His skin glows bronze in the shadows. His nipples are dark, his muscles defined. There’s a thin line of hair from his navel to his jeans.

  His lip lifts. ‘Hurry up.’

  ‘I’m doing my—’

  Tumbleweed meows.