Jilted

by Rachael Johns

  Matilda just smiled.

  Despite not having a social life or a day job, Ellie kept herself busy looking after Mat, ensuring she ate a balanced diet and got enough rest, and doing what they did best whenever they were together. Talk. She therefore hadn’t finished the awnings as quickly as she’d imagined.

  ‘There,’ she said to Matilda, who was sitting in the wheelchair on the front lawn, catching some afternoon sun. Ellie climbed down from the ladder and admired her handiwork. ‘Finally done.’

  ‘And not a broken ankle to show for it,’ laughed Mat, knocking on her plaster cast. ‘What will you do with your time now?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ellie, dumping the paintbrush in the bucket of metho on the verandah, ‘I was thinking I might come and watch the rehearsals tonight.’

  Matilda gasped. ‘What? You serious?’

  Ellie shrugged. ‘Sure. How bad could it be?’ A smile lit Matilda’s face as Ellie pondered her own question. She didn’t want to count her chickens, but she hadn’t had an unkind word from anyone in town for over a week. Granted, she hadn’t left the house any more than she absolutely had to, but maybe it was time to change that. Maybe it was time to be brave. She was in a better mood than she’d been in for quite a while. With the benefit of time, she realised her conversation with Flynn had been cathartic. If he could forgive her, what right did anyone else have to harbour a grudge? And with her cheerful frame of mind, she might just tell that to anyone who dared get in her way.

  There was the added fact she was itching to be involved with some acting. She missed the comradeship of her colleagues back in Sydney. Hopefully watching the theatrical group would help alleviate some of the homesickness she felt for Lake Street.

  ‘It’ll be brilliant.’ Matilda clapped her hands like an exuberant child. ‘Let’s go get ready.’

  Ellie glanced at her watch and laughed. ‘We’ve got hours before we have to be there.’

  In those said hours she folded washing, ironed clothes and conjured up two-minute noodles for dinner while Matilda chattered on, telling Ellie the who’s who of Hope Junction’s reformed theatrical society.

  ‘Lucy Quartermaine pretty much plays herself as the teenage daughter of a farmer.’

  Ellie’s ears pricked up at the mention of Flynn’s sister, but she focused on emptying the seasoning sachet and hoped Mat didn’t notice her interest. What kind of person had she grown into? Was she good at playing her part? Was she as popular at school as Flynn had been? But she kept her lips firmly shut as she waited for the description of the next person.

  Ellie had told Mat the basics of her conversation with Flynn – and managed not to cry at the finality of it – but they’d pretty much gone back to him being a no-go subject since then. It was best that way. Ellie needed to move on, to destroy the stupid hope in her heart that the future may have had a happy ending for her and Flynn. It wouldn’t. Yet every mention of him was like a sugar cube dangled before a hungry horse.

  By the time Ellie and Mat arrived at the Memorial Hall that evening, Ellie thought she could write a book on the members of the group. They sounded like a quirky bunch of characters and she couldn’t wait to watch them from the sidelines. Trying to look inconspicuous, she wheeled Matilda into the hall and led her down to the stage. She sat on a chair next to Matilda and tried not to feel awkward as only a smattering of the people that greeted her godmother bothered to acknowledge her.

  Ellie was thankful when Mrs Ellery took centre stage and clanged an old tambourine to get everyone’s attention. The chairs around her filled quickly. She cast her eyes about surreptitiously and her gaze caught on the cold stare of Lucy Quartermaine. Her heart lunged towards her throat. If looks could kill, she’d have been sprawled across the wooden floorboards, dead.

  She turned back to face the front but could almost feel Lucy’s ice-blue eyes boring into her. It’s sweet, she told herself. Lucy was just being protective of her big brother. But somehow Lucy’s snub hurt more than all the others put together. Lucy had once meant the world to Ellie.

  ‘Okay. Before we start …’ Eileen’s voice carried right to the back of the hall, much farther than anyone was sitting. Ellie turned her attentions to her former teacher, attempting to forget about Lucy. ‘I just want to welcome our old friend Elenora Hughes to the group. All the way from Sydney, she brings a wealth of knowledge about the dramatic arts, and I hope you’ll all make her feel welcome and pick her brains for advice.’

  Eileen spoke as if Ellie were here to become part of the group. She thought she should put her straight, raising her hand to speak, but then realised how this might sound. As if she thought herself above everyone else. She withdrew her hand, nodded thanks to Mrs Ellery and looked around the room. Surprisingly, she met a few warm smiles. She memorised these faces, planning to approach them later. But there was little time to ponder who might be friend and who was definitely foe. Eileen tapped her tambourine again and most of the chairs were pushed back into a semicircle. Ellie felt the excitement pumping through her veins as the rehearsal began. Shifting Matilda back slightly, she stayed seated beside her, following the script in her godmother’s lap. Matilda had the role of prompting.

  At this stage of rehearsals, it was to be expected that they wouldn’t know their lines perfectly. Ellie expected some rustiness, but she was taken aback by just how bad the majority of the actors were. No one knew their lines. Some shouted loudly and others could barely be heard. None of them seemed to have been told not to position their back to the audience.

  ‘How long till the production?’ whispered Ellie to Matilda.

  Mat looked at Ellie and cringed. ‘They’re terrible, aren’t they?’

  ‘Wellll …’ Ellie wouldn’t say terrible, but diabolical came to mind. If there wasn’t a rapid improvement, the audience would be throwing tomatoes and demanding their money back.

  Matilda raised her eyebrows as if daring Ellie to sugar the truth.

  ‘Okay.’ Ellie nodded. ‘They’re terrible.’

  As the amateurs continued in front of them, Matilda asked, ‘Is there any hope?’

  ‘Sure. Some have real potential.’ She nodded her head at a middle-aged man acting out a scene with Lucy Quartermaine. ‘Those two are almost good. And I wouldn’t say any of them are complete write-offs. They just need a little tuition.’

  At that very moment Eileen Ellery happened to lean in and heard the tail end of Ellie’s assessment. Unfortunately, she jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  ‘Oh, would you mind? I seem to have lost my touch, but I’m sure if they had a professional like you instructing them, they’d catch on in no time.’

  ‘Umm.’ When she arrived two weeks ago, there would have been nothing on this planet – not even Matilda’s desperate plea – that would have induced her to join a community theatre. Nothing. But a fortnight was a long time. Facing up to Flynn had made her feel stronger. She couldn’t change the past but she’d made peace with him, and that, she felt, would make it easier to walk the streets of Hope with her head held high. And a fortnight was a long time to go without doing something you loved.

  Although she’d never planned on acting as a career, it had become everything to her. Her life was her job, and she missed being Stella Williams. The last few days she’d found herself surfing the Lake Street website, reading up on the latest news. She welcomed Dwayne’s emails every few days, his checking to see how she was, his persistent asking when she’d be ready to return to the show. She couldn’t go back yet, but she couldn’t just sit around either. Now the awnings were finished, she needed another pastime. And taking on this task would mean another arena where she got to spend time with Mat. That had to be a bonus. But then Ellie thought about Lucy’s cold stare. She didn’t want to thrust herself on people who didn’t want her.

  ‘I’d be happy to,’ she said finally to Mrs Ellery, ‘but I’d like you to talk to the group about it first. Let them decide if they want me on board. As you know, I’m not very popular around here anymor
e. I wouldn’t want to cause unrest in your group.’

  Mrs Ellery sighed and shook her head. ‘People need to stop holding grudges, but I do understand what you’re saying. You’re a wise young lady, Ellie. How about you take Mat home and I’ll have a quick meeting with the members? I’ll pop round for morning tea tomorrow and let you know the outcome.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Ellie picked up her bag and checked Matilda was comfortable in the wheelchair before walking them home in the fresh evening air.

  She thought she’d sleep well after the manual labour of the last few days, but her mind was abuzz, second-guessing what the members would decide. She tossed and turned, wishing Mrs Ellery had agreed to call her that night. The more she thought about this opportunity, the more she wanted it. She wanted the chance to show the town the real Ellie. She needed them to see that she could be a team player, that she could be an asset to the town.

  Chapter Nine

  Life went on post-Ellie, as Flynn had come to call the conversation they’d had by the waterhole. He thanked the Lord it had been busy on the farm in the lead-up to Black Stump’s annual ram sale. Getting organised for it had given him little time to think about anything but work over the last week. Aside from driving Lucy into town for rehearsals – so his mum didn’t have to drive late at night – Flynn had spent most of his days preparing the ram shed: clipping dags, making up the pens, checking for lameness, crosschecking data. Anything and everything to ensure it was all perfect on the day.

  This was also useful in his efforts to ignore the advances of Lauren Simpson. Since he’d fled two Sundays ago, she’d been like a persistent fly at a barbecue, hovering about him as if he were a piece of prize steak. Apart from phoning every day, she’d been waiting in town each time he dropped Lucy off, suggesting they get a drink while he waited. Aside from the fact he needed to stay off the grog, he came up with a number of creative excuses to politely decline.

  Yet part of him wished he could accept her offers. Once upon a time he’d craved a woman to love, to come home to, to have a family with. He loved kids. Flynn used to spend ram sales and country shows hanging with any little taggers-on, offering piggyback rides and dizzy-whizzies. But he’d completely retreated from such activities after Ellie left. And then when his dad was killed, he’d been forced back into the business side of farming, unable to mess about. But the desire to have a child of his own hadn’t left him like Ellie, or died like his dad. The problem was finding a woman to have children with. And while he dealt with many eligible women – an agronomist, his auctioneer, a number of female farmers, as well as the gorgeous girls he met at football games and social events – he just didn’t feel enough for any of them to take things further than a quick roll in the hay. He didn’t feel anything like the attraction he’d experienced the three brief times he’d been with Ellie since her return. An attraction that pissed him off and burned like a spotting bushfire. But even if he were willing to forget what Ellie had done, she now led a glamorous life in Sydney and he would never leave Hope.

  What the? Shaking his head at the crazy thought, he nicked his chin on his razor and cursed. The last thing he needed on sale day – today – was to have little red spots all over his jawline. And the last thing he needed at all was to start thinking he and Ellie had any sort of chance together. There were some things that just couldn’t happen. He ran the tap and washed the cut.

  A knock sounded at his front door, and whoever it was let themselves in before he could call out. He knew it would be his mum come to talk about the catering. Every second year Black Stump had the CWA provide the sale food as a fundraiser. The other years, Mum and Gran, and Lucy if she was in the mood for helping, did it themselves.

  Satisfied he had a smooth face and didn’t look like Edward Scissorhands, Flynn laid his razor on the vanity. He ran some water through his hair with his fingers and stepped into the hallway, whistling as if he hadn’t just spent the last half an hour pondering women and their future in his life.

  ‘Have you eaten breakfast?’ his mum asked as Flynn entered the kitchen. She had the kettle on and the fridge open.

  ‘I had a bowl of cereal.’ He strode to his boots at the back door and stooped to tug them on. ‘And I’ll sample some of your scrumptious cuisine later.’

  ‘Flynn,’ his mum sighed, ‘Froot Loops aren’t food, and you know you won’t have time to stop and eat something later. You know we’re going to draw a crowd today. You’ve done such a brilliant job with the SAMMs.’

  Flynn couldn’t help but smile at the compliment.

  ‘Your dad would have been proud. He was man enough to admit when he made an error of judgement. We’re both proud of what you’ve done to ensure the continued success of Black Stump.’ She walked over and embraced him.

  Flynn’s eyes watered. ‘Thanks Mum, but I wish I could have convinced him before he died. I felt such a prick going against his wishes when he was no longer here to argue for them. Thanks for trusting me.’

  She pulled back and looked in his eyes. ‘Of course I trust you, darling. I know that whatever you put your mind to, you’ll succeed.’ She paused a second, then, ‘Flynn, I …’

  He cut her off. The ponderous look in her eyes told him she was about to launch on her favourite topic of late. Happiness, and how she wanted him to find it. Another thing he didn’t need was a lecture on how to live his life. ‘Sorry Mum, it’s getting on. I better get things rolling.’

  Out of the house, he relished the hard labour that needed to be done. The sale was due to start at one. He had to put straw in the pens and then he and Rodger, his kelpie, and a couple of workers had the arduous task of collecting the rams from the yards. Potential buyers and company reps usually began to arrive a few hours before the auction kicked off. He needed to be on hand to schmooze – as Lucy liked to put it – and discuss the catalogue with anyone who wanted to chat.

  Luckily the auctioneer – the young and extremely efficient Hannah Edwards – had done his last few sales. She was familiar with Black Stump and its genetics, and wouldn’t need to take up much of his time beforehand. Not everyone approved of a girl with the hammer, but Hannah ran a clean, quick auction, ensuring plenty of time at the end for a good Aussie piss-up, where the buyers tried to get some of their money back in the form of beer. For this reason, most of the farmers had learnt to accommodate her. Flynn was confident that with Hannah’s auctioneering, his preparation and his mum’s catering, the day would be a success.

  Later, feeling good about the way the sale had gone, Flynn glanced towards the catering tent. The crowd was dwindling around the sheep pens now and following the aromas of the delights whipped up by his girls. His stomach growled at the thought. He just needed a quick word with Hannah and then he’d be there too, ensuring everyone was happy, well fed and offered a beer if they desired one.

  But his plan was interrupted when a group parted and a woman emerged, a pristine white apron tied around her tiny waist and a platter of food balanced on one hand. Lauren. What the hell was she doing here? Not to buy sheep, that much was true. Flynn was about to march up to her when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Great result, son,’ came his mum’s voice.

  He cleared his throat and turned to her. She wore a wide smile and an apron identical to Lauren’s. She spoke before he could.

  ‘She’s a gem, isn’t she?’ Her eyes trained to where Lauren was wooing the sale-goers with friendly banter and good food.

  ‘Umm …’ He couldn’t exactly tell his mum that Lauren was more of a pest.

  ‘We ran into each other in the Co-op the other day. I was in a bit of a tizz about how much I needed to organise.’

  Flynn raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t recall a day in his life when his mother had been in a tizz. Even at his father’s funeral, she’d been cool, calm and collected. Unnervingly so.

  Ignoring his sceptical expression, Karina continued. ‘I told her about the ram sale and she offered to give up her day off to help
Granny and I. I didn’t want Lucy taking more time out from study this close to exams. I mean, the play’s distraction enough.’

  ‘No, course not.’ He couldn’t argue with that. But Lauren?

  ‘You should go over and thank her,’ Karina finished with a gentle but firm, guiding touch on his arm. He knew matchmaking when he saw it and he wished to hell she wouldn’t bother. Lauren needed little encouragement.

  Even though it was the last thing he fancied doing, Flynn decided it best to get the conversation over and done with. He waited until the last piece of food had been taken from Lauren’s platter and caught her on her way back to the trestle tables.

  ‘Hi Lauren.’ It was the first time he’d approached her since that close-call night.

  She glanced up, her pale green eyes widening as if she were surprised to see him. ‘Flynn?’

  He bristled at her velvet tone. ‘Mum says you offered to help. Thanks.’

  ‘Not a problem. I love being out on farms and the atmosphere on these days is amazing.’ She gestured around at the jovial farmers, Akubras on their heads, bellies bouncing up and down as they guzzled grog and laughed and chatted. ‘I’d rather be here than just vacuuming at my place.’

  ‘Fair enough, but I …’

  She broke in, ‘Look Flynn, you don’t have to worry about me wanting anything out of this, or you giving me the wrong idea. I’m doing it because I want to help and I enjoy it. And I thought it might be the only way to get you to talk to me.’

  He opened his mouth to lay it straight, to tell her he was sorry, that he just wasn’t interested, but she held up her hand.

  ‘You’re gorgeous, Flynn Quartermaine – inside and definitely out.’ She winked and looked him up and down suggestively. ‘I’m sorry for egging you on with alcohol the other night, but I really, really like you. I know you think coming back to my place was a mistake, and since you do, I’m glad we didn’t actually do the deed. But I hate that you won’t talk to me, or even look me in the eye. We’ve got Rats and Whitney’s wedding in a couple of weeks – how will it look if the best man and maid of honour can’t even look at each other?’