The Greatest Gift

by Rachael Johns

  ‘Accountant.’

  ‘Do I look that boring?’

  She laughed. ‘Dentist.’

  ‘Not even close.’ He grimaced and then ran his tongue over the front row of his teeth. She noticed that they weren’t perfectly straight, but they were still nice teeth.

  ‘I give up! What do you do for a crust?’

  He leant forward ever so slightly across the table and whispered. ‘I’m a balloonist.’

  ‘What?’ The image of him dressed in a clown suit landed in her head. ‘You make little animal models out of those long, skinny balloons.’

  ‘No!’ He laughed as if this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘I’m a hot air balloonist.’

  She let out a long breath. The air was suddenly hot out here. ‘Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg?’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. Honest to God, I’m a hot air balloonist, or as some of us in the industry say, a balloonatic.’

  ‘Wow.’ Now, not only was he one of the best-looking guys she’d ever met, he was definitely the most interesting.

  She needed all the answers. ‘How does one get that job?’

  ‘Well,’ he began, leaning back in the seat as if settling in for a long story. ‘I come from a long line of hot air balloonists …’

  And for the next hour or so, Jasper told her the fascinating history of his family. They were French—she should have guessed from the way he pronounced his surname—and apparently his ancestors were some of the earliest hot air balloonists, descended from the Montgolfier brothers. ‘Or so my dad reckons—he’s obsessed with tracing our family tree.’

  ‘Did the Montgolfier brothers invent the hot air balloon?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No. The first known balloon flight, carrying test animals—a sheep, a duck and a rooster—was in a balloon invented by Pilatre de Roziar, a scientist, in 1783.’

  Claire laughed, half amused, half horrified. ‘Those poor animals!’

  ‘Hey,’ he shrugged. ‘They went down in history—they’re probably the most famous sheep, duck and rooster of all time.’

  She shook her head, chuckling. ‘I think Dolly was the most famous sheep.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he conceded. ‘Anyhow, not long after Pilatre came Joseph and Etienne Montgolfier. They flew from Paris and are considered the forefathers of hot air ballooning. Apparently Joseph first got the idea of building a flying machine when he noticed laundry drying over a fire form pockets that billowed upwards. He was the inventor in the family, but his brother Etienne had a brain for business.’

  He paused a moment. ‘Am I boring you yet?’

  ‘Not at all.’ His voice relaxed her and the story was fascinating. ‘Tell me more.’

  And so he did—giving her a crash course in hot air ballooning and his family’s passion for the pastime. Although Jasper still had relatives in France, his great-grandfather had married an English girl and set up a ballooning business with her in Cornwall.

  ‘That company grew and is now run by my great uncle and his family. They’ve got outlets in Devon, London, Hampshire, Oxford, York, the list goes on.’

  ‘I never knew ballooning was such a big business.’

  He grinned. ‘Probably because big business isn’t usually synonymous with fun, and ballooning is quite possibly the most fun you can have with your clothes on.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ she asked, her mouth going a little dry at the thought of Jasper naked.

  He nodded.

  ‘So how did your family end up in Australia?’

  ‘Love,’ he said. And then elaborated. ‘My dad came down under to compete in a ballooning competition at Canowindra and met my mum.’

  ‘Was she a balloonist too?’

  ‘No, she worked at the hotel he stayed in. And by the time he was due to fly home, he was smitten. They were married six months later and my sister arrived five months after the wedding.’

  Claire laughed. ‘Did he win the competition?’

  ‘No, but whenever he tells the story and anyone asks that question, he looks at Mum and says he still got the prize.’

  ‘That’s sweet,’ she said. If Jasper’s dad was half as good-looking and charismatic as him it was easy to see why his mum fell hard and fast.

  ‘There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ came Polly’s slurred voice from the direction of the verandah. Claire’s heart sank a little that this magical time with Jasper was likely over.

  She turned to see her friend and the redhead stumbling over to them. If the hot pink lipstick all over his face was anything to go by, they’d gotten up close and personal already. Claire and Jasper stood as the drunken duo arrived in front of them.

  ‘Jasper, I’d like you to meet my friend, Polly, and her … friend, Scotty.’

  Jasper tipped his head. ‘Nice to meet you Polly, and as it happens, Scotty and I are already acquainted. His is the couch I was telling you about.’

  ‘He’s your cousin?’ She couldn’t hide her surprise. Obviously Jasper had gotten the lion’s share of the handsome genes.

  ‘Don’t hold it against me,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘Can ya giz Pol and I a liftbacktomyplace,’ Scotty asked, his head lolling a little from side to side. ‘I’m gonna show her my bedroom.’

  He and Polly laughed as if this was the most hilarious thing in the world. Claire and Jasper exchanged the knowing look of two people who were the only sober ones in a sea of drunks.

  ‘Yeah, mate,’ Jasper said, clamping his hand down on his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Do you think you can make it to the car?’

  Polly spun around quickly and threw up into a nearby bush.

  Claire sighed. ‘I think maybe it would be better if I took Polly home to her own bed and they reconnect another day.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Jasper nodded.

  ‘How did they get drunk so fast? What have they been drinking?’

  Jasper glanced at his watch. ‘Wow. We’ve actually been sitting out here for almost four hours.’

  ‘What?!’ Time had never gone so fast in the company of another person before.

  ‘I know,’ he said, his eyes meeting hers as if he were thinking exactly the same thing.

  Polly chucked again and Claire, remembering her duty as the doting friend, rushed forward to hold her hair back from her face.

  ‘I’ll go see if I can find some water,’ Jasper said.

  When he returned, they helped Polly clean up and then supported their friend and cousin as they negotiated their way through the crowd inside, down the hallway and out the front door. It turned out Jasper had parked a lot closer, so they put Polly and Scotty into the back seat and then Claire climbed in the front next to him.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t throw up again,’ she said.

  Jasper chuckled. ‘This is Scotty’s car.’

  ‘Oh! Hah! Good.’

  After the short drive down the road, Jasper helped her transfer Polly from Scotty’s car to hers. When he shut the back door, the two of them stood on the side of the road looking at each other. It almost felt like the end of a first date—if she could forget about her drunk friend only centimetres away. She wanted to kiss Jasper again, but more than that she wanted him to ask for her number.

  You could ask him, said a pesky little voice inside her head. She wasn’t sure whether it was her good or bad conscience because another voice also sounded—This will only end in tears.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve really enjoyed talking to you this evening, Claire.’

  ‘Me too,’ she rushed. ‘I’ve never met a hot air balloonist before.’

  ‘About that,’ he began. ‘I was wondering … would you like to go up in a hot air balloon?’

  ‘With you?’

  He nodded. ‘That was my idea, but if you’d rather someone else, I can get Mum or Dad to take you.’

  Alarm bells rang inside her head—not because she thought Jasper dangerous in a serial killer type of w
ay but because she knew if she saw him again, she was likely to start falling in love. Hell, it might already be too late.

  And she didn’t do relationships.

  When she was still deliberating after a few moments, he shook his head and his cheeks turned beetroot under the street lights. ‘Sorry, stupid idea. Forget I asked.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. She would never be able to forget, and she knew if she didn’t say yes, she’d never forgive herself either. So what if she was playing with fire? She’d always wanted to go up in a hot air balloon and here was a gorgeous, lovely man offering to take her up for free. He wasn’t asking her to marry him, just taking her for a joyride. ‘I’d love to. Yes, please. When? Where?’

  Now she was babbling. She sounded like an idiot but he didn’t seem to care.

  The colour softened in his cheeks and his mouth twisted into that beautiful smile again. ‘When’s your next day off?’

  Chapter Three

  JULY 2016

  Thank God it’s Friday, Harper thought as she turned her key in the front door of her Paddington town house and dumped the pile of reading she’d brought home on the hall table. Usually she spent her weekends enthusiastically devouring background research on upcoming guests, but right now all she wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a big bowl of Coco Pops and watch old episodes of Friends until she fell asleep or Samuel came home. Whichever came first.

  She dropped her keys and handbag, toed off her high heels and shrugged out of her winter coat. As she walked towards the kitchen, she reached around under her shirt and unclasped her bra. She manoeuvred her arms out and slipped the undergarment through her sleeve and then draped it over the back of a stool alongside the breakfast bench.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said aloud as she opened the cupboard and retrieved a carton of Coco Pops from its hiding space behind rows of tinned tuna. She was in dire need of her go-to comfort food. After some nasty dental work yesterday, Lilia hadn’t been able to eat anything but mush today, so Harper had done her best not to eat too much in front of her at work. Now she was hungry enough that she could eat the box as well as its contents.

  She grabbed a bowl, a spoon, milk from the fridge and took these items and the cereal to the coffee table in the lounge room. After setting up Friends series five on the DVD player—thank God for the box set—she curled up on the couch and proceeded to devour her first bowl of Coco Pops.

  ‘Man you taste good,’ she said, gazing lovingly at the little brown bubbles as she lifted the spoon to her mouth.

  How sad to be having a one-sided conversation with my cereal. Maybe I should get a pet.

  It would give her someone to talk to during the evenings Samuel worked late, which was most evenings. Surely talking to an animal was better than talking to cereal. You’d think because she spoke to people for a living, she’d enjoy a little solitude at night, but lately she’d been feeling a little off-kilter.

  Harper sighed and tried to focus on the screen where Chandler and Monica were sneaking behind their friends’ backs trying to keep their relationship a secret and Phoebe was giving birth to triplets. Even Phoebe—one of the least together characters in the history of TV—was doing something amazing with her life. What was Harper doing?

  Today she’d interviewed Sophie-Anne Romero, a woman she’d gone to school with and who now volunteered in Niger as an obstetrician. During the interview, Sophie-Anne had spoken about her passion for improving conditions for pregnant women and new mothers in third world countries. Afterwards, when she’d said farewell and wished her a safe return trip, Harper had felt an aching hole inside her.

  The hole had been growing for months—every time she met another selfless person doing something wonderful to make the world a better place, she couldn’t help wondering what the hell her role was? When the people she interviewed died they’d have remarkable epitaphs on their gravestones, and what would she have? Sure, people enjoyed listening to her show, and yes, she had a great reputation as a journalist and an interviewer, but all she did was report on other people’s lives.

  If Lilia presented her as an interview candidate, Harper would knock herself back for being boring.

  When her spoon scraped the bottom of the empty bowl, she refilled and then leant back against the couch, trying to focus on the screen and not on the nagging feeling within her that something wasn’t quite right. If only her friends were available for a night out, but Lilia was out of town for a weekend on one of her frequent recharge trips and Harper’s other close friends—Juliet and Renee—had both recently become mothers within a matter of months. Even if they could come out, all they’d talk about was how little sleep they were getting and their fears they’d never fit into their jeans again. Lord, the way new mothers spoke about babies, it was a wonder anyone willingly got pregnant.

  She could call her sister, except Willow was in the throes of a brand new relationship and thus spent every evening, especially Fridays, with her girlfriend.

  She could call her mum. Now you really are scraping the bottom of the barrel, Harper.

  Instead she went out into the hallway, retrieved her mobile from her bag and took it back to the couch where she texted Samuel:

  Hey honey, hope your day was good. What time do you think you’ll get home? Want me to order takeaway? xo

  Neither of them ever felt like cooking on work days so he wouldn’t read anything worrying into her message. What she really wanted to write was: Please come home. I think I’m having a midlife crisis and I need distraction.

  Samuel was very good at distracting her but she didn’t want to sound needy. Part of their attraction to each other was that both were diehard workaholics and neither minded the other one putting work first.

  The episode of Friends had ended, the next one started and she’d eaten another bowl of cereal before he replied.

  Sorry babe, think it’ll be a late one tonight. But how’s breakfast in bed sound?

  As she read his message, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away angrily and then punched out a reply.

  Fresh croissants from the bakery?

  Is there any other breakfast?

  She forced a laugh, telling herself to stop being such a wet blanket.

  That sounds wonderful. Love you.

  Love you too.

  With another long sigh, she tossed her phone aside and turned back to the TV screen. Sometime before midnight, she woke up on the couch, her neck hurting from lying at an awkward angle and a little puddle of drool on the white cushion beside her. Friends series five had ended and the house was dark, except for the TV screen frozen on the episode list.

  Harper stood, stretched and then picked up the empty box of Coco Pops, the milk carton, and the other damning evidence from the coffee table. The lounge room perfect again, she got rid of the box, put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and then went upstairs to bed.

  ‘Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.’

  Harper woke to Samuel’s ridiculously chirpy voice as he peeled back their bedroom curtains. Lying at the bottom of his side of the bed was a tray laden with croissants, butter, jam and two champagne flutes. She sat up as her husband came to join her. In his hand was the bottle of the champagne they had been keeping in the back of their fridge in anticipation of a very special occasion.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve made partner?’

  Samuel was employed by a prestigious law firm and had been working his arse off for the last decade in the hope of one day buying into the company. Their marriage had actually been part of this plan. Apparently the partners still thought a married man a better bet than a single one. As long as she could keep her own name, Harper didn’t see how a wedding ring could make much of a difference to their lives and so she’d agreed. Samuel had joked that to avoid all the family hoo-ha they should elope to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator. She’d surprised him by agreeing and in the end it had actually been very romantic.

&nbs
p; ‘No.’ Although he shook his head, his smile didn’t fade. ‘Not yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long. One of the partners gave me the heads-up that they’ll be promoting someone next year. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it in the bag.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said as he popped the cork. ‘And you totally deserve it. All that hard work has finally paid off.’

  ‘I know.’ He started pouring the fizz into their best crystal flutes and then offered her one. ‘I’d better not have too much of this as I’ve got lots of work to do today. Can’t afford to slack off at the last hurdle.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She held up her glass and forced a smile as she made a toast. ‘To my wonderful, intelligent, sexy husband.’

  ‘Thanks, babe.’ He took a sip and then leant back into the pillows beside her. She was happy for him, truly she was, but that niggling feeling that had eluded her during sleep returned. Samuel’s epitaph would also be impressive—he helped people get a fair trial in court and she knew, after listening to him for years, that there were a number of innocent people in this country (and others) wrongly imprisoned because they didn’t have good defence. So his job was an important one.

  As they sipped bubbles and devoured the deliciously light croissants from the fab French bakery just down the road, Samuel chattered on about current cases he was doing and Harper tried to make the right noises in all the right places, but she just couldn’t garner her usual enthusiasm.

  After about ten minutes, he put his now-empty flute down on his bedside table and turned to face her better. ‘Babe, is something wrong? I noticed an empty box of Coco Pops in the bin when I came in last night and I saw the Friends box set on the coffee table.’

  Sprung. She obviously hadn’t covered her tracks as well as she’d thought. There hadn’t been many times during their ten years together where Harper had needed a double dose of comfort in the form of Friends and bad-for-you cereal, but whenever she had a particularly draining interview at work or her mother was being more demanding than normal, she often turned to one or the other to make her feel better.

  She shrugged and took another sip of champagne. ‘I can’t really explain it but I guess I’ve been feeling a little flat lately.’