He gave her a wink. “Your very own piece of Australia,” he said. “Who knows where it will turn up, and who will find it, say, fifty, a hundred years from now? Of course it will only be a stone to them, but we will know that it is a lot more than that.”
“You’re being very philosophical, Mr. Parker.” She looked across at him.
The look that passed between them was almost palpable, and she found herself catching her breath.
He smiled, looking as if he felt the exact same way.
They walked the rest of the journey in companionable silence. When they reached the car a short time later, Gary opened the door for her. She thanked him with a grateful smile. He nodded, then closed the door behind her.
The narrow road dipped and curved. One moment, their journey was shaded by a canopy of trees, then the next, they were on open road, surrounded by grassy green slopes pin-cushioned with clumps of trees. On the crest of a hill, a solitary house stood proud and as watchful as a shepherd guarding his flock. “How far to the swimming hole?” Becky asked, piercing the silence.
“Not far at all. A few more bends and we’re there.”
Fifteen minutes later, true to his word, Gary pulled up beneath a shady tree down by the lake’s edge. He hauled the eski out of the back of the Ute, and found a flat, grassy spot. “Can you grab the blanket and towels?” he asked, putting the eski at the base of a big, shady tree.
“Sure.” She grabbed the towels, then unfolded the blanket, and spread it out beneath the tree. “What a brilliant spot,” she said, straightening her back and glancing around.
Sunlight glistened off the lake, momentarily blinding her. She looked farther along the water’s edge. “Whose house is that?” she asked, raising her hand to point at a small timber cottage surrounded by tall trees.
The exterior of the house was in desperate need of some serious maintenance. The window frames on the side of the cottage were clogged with leaves, and cobwebs were in ample supply. The glass panes were grimy, and thick with dust. A long, timber veranda ran across the front of the cottage, overlooking the lake. A pair of old wicker chairs sat either side of an upturned timber crate acting as a makeshift coffee table. On the far side of the house, an open carport housed a sleek looking speedboat.
She held her hand up to shade her eyes. “I half expect to see Goldilocks and the Three Bears tumble through the front door,” she said, sitting down cross-legged on the blanket.
Gary had already begun to unpack the eski, and had an array of Tupperware containers spread out before them. “Mum loves her Tupperware containers.” He handed her a plastic plate. “It’s mine,” he said without looking up at the cottage.
He handed her a container of buttered bread slices and continued taking lids off the various containers. Salad leaves, cold meats, sliced tomatoes, Spanish onions and cheese. In other plastic containers there were sweet spiced gherkins, pickled onions, pâté, crackers and olives. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, popping an olive into his mouth.
Becky continued to look at the little house. “The cottage? It’s yours? Really? It’s so charming.” She took out a slice of bread and began to layer it with salad, ham and cheese. She pressed a piece of bread on top of it, and then handed it to Gary.
“Thank you,” he said, surprised that she had made it for him. “I’ve been working on it during my spare time.” He bit into the sandwich and nodded. “Nice.” He leaned back, resting on one elbow, to eat his sandwich. He finished eating before Becky had even finished making her own. “Drink?” he asked, taking a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses out of the eski.
“Sure. Thank you. Would you like another sandwich?”
“Yes, that would be great, thanks, but you eat yours first. I’ll get the wine sorted out,” he said, using the eski lid as a table for the glasses. “I’ll give you a tour of the house after lunch, if you like.”
“Sure, I’d like that.”
“It isn’t much to look at, at the moment. But when I’ve finished it, it should be okay.”
“So, basically, we’re sitting in your back yard right now. Or front yard, depending on which way you look at it.”
He glanced around approvingly. “Yep.”
“You’ve got a whole frigging lake in your back yard.” The sound of a speedboat somewhere out on the lake grew louder. A moment later, a boat roared around a bend in the lake. A man on two skies skimmed effortlessly over the water’s surface behind it, sending up a spray of water as he changed direction.
“Yep.” He handed her a glass of wine, then picked up his own glass and looked around. “It doesn’t get much better than this,” he said, holding up his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she replied, holding his gaze, then turning away just in time to see the speedboat, and the skier, disappear around another bend. Moments later, ripples of water lapped at the water’s edge like a thirsty dog.
“Do you ski?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I can ice-skate. That’s not the same though, is it?”
He smiled at her. “Not even a little.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, content with the majesty of the view surrounding them. Gary marvelled at Becky’s ability to just sit in silence without the necessity for continual chatter. Wendy, on the other hand, would chatter relentlessly about the first thing that popped into her head. He imagined that she spoke all of her passing thoughts, without questioning them, no matter how mundane they might be to listen to. Shoes, hair, handbags, the hair colour of the woman who had just made them their lunch, breast implants, past boyfriends… Very rarely had anything come out of Wendy’s mouth that was of any interest to him.
Wendy’s emotions were a roller coaster ride at best. One moment she was happy, smiling and giving everyone a high-five. The next moment she would be scowling and snapping at everyone who merely gave her a sideways glance. Keeping up with her moods was a fulltime job, without holidays.
As a favour to a friend, he had reluctantly agreed to go on a double date, and harangued himself the moment he’d heard the words come out of his mouth. “What have you got to lose?” his friend had said.
His sanity, he thought wryly to himself. Wendy had morphed into the kind of girl you would joke about chewing your arm off to get away.
The last time they had spent the night together was when Wendy had turned up at his cottage at two in the morning - uninvited.
Six weeks earlier.
Gary flicked the bedside lamp on, then sheltered his eyes with his hand as he adjusted his vision to the sudden flood of light.
“Wendy, what are you doing here? You can’t just turn up-”
She held a finger to his lips and pouted. Her makeup was smudged, and her breath smelled like the damp carpet in a nightclub, all cigarette smoke and liquor.
“Why not? I wanted to surprise you, baby. SURPRISE!” She reached under the sheets and grabbed his penis. “I want you inside me, baby. Now.”
He winced as her fingers found purchase, then wrenched her hand away. “I told you, Wendy. Not now.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” She giggled. “Oh, you’re not wearing any.” She snuggled into his chest. “We can just cuddle. At least I know you don’t want me just for my body,” she cooed.
He stared at the ceiling. “How did you get here, anyway?”
She traced a long red nail down his thigh. “I drove, of course.”
Gary shook his head disapprovingly. “Well, that was a fucking stupid thing to do.”
She glared at him, digging her nail into his flesh. “I’m not drunk.”
He rolled his eyes, and went back to staring at the ceiling.
“I’m not,” she said, kissing his skin where she had dug her nail in.
“Yeah, right.”
What was the point in arguing with her when she was drunk? They would have the this-relationship-isn’t-working-talk in the morning. He sighed, then rolled out of the bed and grabbed his pillow, letting he
r head fall back onto the mattress.
“Hey. Where ya going?” she asked, propping her head back up on the second pillow.
He strode across the room. “I’m sleeping on the couch,” he mumbled, closing the bedroom door behind him.
She sat up in the bed. “I hate you!” she shouted at the closed door.
“If only,” he breathed. On the kitchen table, he spotted her keys and picked them up. He flicked through them, found the one he was looking for, then removed the key to his cottage that he had given her three months ago.
Becky’s fingers traced idly through the grass beside her as she sipped her wine. She breathed in the woody, earthy smells, appreciating the open spaces around her, and thinking how everything was so different here to London. The Australian bushlands and forests had a unique smell all of their own. It was still hot sitting in the shade beneath the tree, but it was a welcome change from the bitter cold back in London.
In London, the sky would be iron-grey. Snow would be plastering the city from head to toe in a white blanket. Traffic would be backed up on the highways, passengers would be stranded, their holiday plans ruined. It was only by some miracle that the weather had cleared for her own departure from Heathrow. A small part of her was feeling guilty, as she lounged in the shade of the tree, drinking up the sun’s rays. Even the trickle of sweat that ran down her spine had ceased to be a discomfort, or dampen her mood. Birdsong drifted through the clusters of tall trees, adding to the natural ambience surrounding her.
Gary leaned across her, and picked a dandelion growing in the grass beside her. “Some see a weed, I see a wish,” he said, holding the dandelion out in front of her. “Make a wish.”
Becky slipped the cap and bandana off her head, then sat them down beside her. “I’ve seen Elise do this,” she said.
He nodded. “Elise has been making wishes on dandelions ever since I’ve known her. It’s almost a daily ritual, where she is concerned. She swears by it, so I figure, what have I got to lose? Are you ready to give it a go?” he asked, still holding the dandelion up in front of her.
She rested her fingertips on his hand, then, drawing in a long breath, she leaned forward and, closing her eyes tight, she exhaled, sending hundreds of tiny aigrettes coiling whimsically into the air. She opened her eyes a moment later. “Your turn, she said,” withdrawing her hand from his, then turning to face him.
Gary kept his eyes fixed on hers and exhaled, expelling the last of the aigrettes into the warm air.
She held her breath as she watched him, then said, “So, what did you wish for?”
He looked at her for the longest moment, his eyes unashamedly taking in every detail of her face.
“If I tell you, my wish won’t come true.” He jumped to his feet, then held out his hands. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour of my little castle before we have a swim. It’ll give our food time to digest.”
Becky jerked her hands free.
His looked at her, his eyes widening.
Suddenly she turned around, running towards the house, laughing as she went. “Race you,” she called back over her shoulder.
The breeze soared through the loose strands of her hair as she ran, and for a moment she felt like a child again, freed from adult heartbreak, expectations and responsibilities.
He passed her seconds later.
Leaning up against the front door, he put a hand over his mouth, and pretended to yawn. “Took your time, didn’t you? I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.” He pushed open the paint-peeling blue front door, the hinges creaking in protest.
“Must do something about that squeak,” he murmured, holding the door open wide for her. “After you.”
“The last time someone said that, which was your mother, by the way, I thought I was walking into a snake pit.”
“No snakes here,” he said. “Well, not since the last time I checked, anyway.”
“Not a very convincing statement,” Becky replied, ducking swiftly under his arm to enter the room. “Wow. Have you done all this by yourself?” She walked attentively around the small, open plan living room. She was expecting to see a sparse interior, furnished with old furniture, dusty and threadbare, and a kitchen overflowing with piles of dirty dishes. She could not have been more wrong.
The first thing she noticed was a Christmas tree, tastefully decorated with colourful decorations. She glanced up at Gary, a quizzical look on her face. Was the Christmas tree the doing of a girlfriend, she wondered.
“Mum,” he said, as though guessing the questioning look on her face.
Becky nodded. “I love Christmas trees, always so pretty.”
On the right hand side of the door sat a comfy looking sofa with plump pillows, which overlooked a bay window. An old acoustic guitar was propped up in one corner.
“You play the guitar?”
“A little,” he replied.
“Would you play something for me?” she asked, glancing around the rest of the room.
In the centre of a timber coffee table was a pile of home decorating magazines, a pen, and an open note pad, its pages covered with handwritten notes. Next to the pad sat an empty coffee cup, and a plate with half a piece of toast. A stack of rolled-up blueprints sat jumbled at one end of the table. He’d been working here earlier today, Becky thought, smiling to herself, her fingers sweeping lightly over the back of the sofa. She could imagine him sitting there, sipping on his morning cup of coffee, as the sun came up over the lake.
“Sure. I’d love to, sometime.”
She smiled at him. Not pressing for a time.
To one side of the comfy sofa sat a small pot belly stove beside a small stack of timber.
“Do you ever use that?” she asked. Not for one moment could she imagine it ever getting cold enough to warrant using it.
Gary nodded. “You’d be surprised at how cold it can get up here, by the lake, in the dry season.”
She nodded. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for that. I won’t be here long enough to find out for myself.”
“You’ll just have to come back and find out, won’t you?” he said.
Becky shrugged. “Maybe I will.”
He smiled. “Maybe you should.” He picked up the empty mug and plate off the coffee table, then walked into the kitchen and rinsed them under the tap in the sink. “Feel free to take a look around.”
Becky stood in front of a tall bookshelf stacked with paperbacks and hardcover books. She tilted her head slightly, and read the spines. Stephen King, George R.R. Martin, Jeffrey Archer, Clive Cussler, Sidney Sheldon, Ken Follett. “You’ve got an impressive collection of books here. You obviously like to read.”
He looked up from the sink. “I do. Mum used to read to me every night when I was a kid. I can’t tell you how many nights I sat up in bed with the blankets pulled up over my head, to hide the torchlight.”
Becky laughed. “Me too.” She picked up a framed photograph of a little blond-haired boy, about four years old, holding tightly onto a woman’s hand, a wide grin on his face. She recognised the young woman in the photograph to be Polly. “This is you and your mother, isn’t it?”
Gary walked up behind her and, at six foot tall, he looked easily over her shoulder. “It was taken at the Darwin Show. It was the first time I got to ride on the merry-go-round by myself. Pretty exciting stuff, when you’re only four.”
The nearness of him had her inhaling sharply. After a moment, she said, “If that grin you’re wearing is anything to go by, I’d say you’re right.” She put the photograph down.
“Ready for that swim?” he asked, pulling his t-shirt up and over his head in one fluid motion, then tucking it into his shorts.
Her eyes drifted over his chest, then she quickly looked away before he could see her blushing.
“Can I use your bathroom first?”
He backed away from her to let her pass. “Sure. It’s just down the hall and to your left. I’ll go pack up the food, then meet you do
wn by the lake.”
Becky walked slowly down to the water’s edge. She removed her runners, tossed them onto the blanket, then stripped down to her bikini. “The water feels great,” she said, stepping into the shallows, then wading out to where Gary was standing in knee-high water.
He smiled, then sat down in the water. “Take a load off,” he said, his eyes flashing over her bikini-clad body.
She sat down in the water beside him, relishing in the sensation of the warm sun on her arms, and the cool water washing over her legs. “You’re lucky, it’s so beautiful here. Living here must feel like being on vacation every day of your life.” She marvelled as dragonflies flitted overhead, their transparent wings illuminated by the sun. One rested briefly on her shoulder before flitting away and re-joining the others.
“I can assure you that it doesn’t feel like that when I have to get up at daybreak to start work, but I can see how you would think that. There are certainly a lot of worse places to live in. What about you? Where do you live? I mean, I know you live in London.”
She squinted from the sun’s reflection dancing on the water’s surface. Even the sun was brighter here, she thought, luxuriating in the golden rays at it soaked into her skin.
“In an apartment in London. It’s really nice, and close to everything. Work, shops, pub, home. Well, it was really nice, but, well, after the whole cheating boyfriend thing, I don’t really want to live there anymore. Too many bad memories.”
“Where will you go?”
“Maybe sell up and find somewhere else. I don’t know. If dad hadn’t re-married, I would probably have moved back home for a while.” The whole moving thing wasn’t something she really wanted to think about right now.
“You don’t like your father’s new wife, by the sounds of it.”
She shuddered. “Nope. Not at all. She’s a stuck-up gold-digger.”
“Oh. That’s not good.”
“You have no idea.” She glanced at Gary, who had picked up a handful of stones, and was skipping them across the surface of the water. “Did your mum ever remarry, after she and your dad separated?”
About Three Authors Page 19
