‘Twelve whole hours,’ I said when I could talk again. ‘All by ourselves.’
‘I love the way your voice goes all shaky when I kiss you,’ he said, resting his forehead against mine. ‘You sounded like that the very first time, and I couldn’t believe I could do that to you when I’d spent most of my life trying to impress you.’
I smiled, and kissed him again. ‘But you were so much cooler than me. Let’s face it, you still are.’
‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘I’m a scruffy dairy cocky who tucks his jeans into his socks.’
‘Only slightly scruffy. You did shave.’
‘Only because I’m scared of your mother.’
‘Very wise,’ I said. ‘But don’t let her cut your hair, will you?’
‘God, no! You smell nice, Jose.’
‘Like peppermint?’ I asked.
He sniffed me. ‘No, just like you. Like – like sunshine or something.’
I tightened my arms around his waist. ‘What does sunshine smell like?’
‘You. Do pay attention, Josephine.’ He got Aunty Rose’s inflection perfectly.
I laughed and kissed him again. ‘Can we go to bed now, or do we need to check the cows?’
‘We’d better, but maybe we could put it off for a little while.’ He detached me and led the way into the kitchen, turning on a few more lights. The place felt chilly and unlived in, the mail was piling up on one side of the counter and the sink was half full of dishes. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said. ‘I’d have cleaned the place up a bit if I’d known you were coming.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Cup of tea before I start taking off your clothes?’ he asked politely. ‘Except I think I’m out of milk.’ He opened the fridge and peered in – inside was the end of a block of cheese, half a pound of butter and the ubiquitous softening carrots that collect at the bottom of everyone’s fridge. You probably don’t even need to buy them; they just arrive by some mysterious process of inter-refrigerator travel. ‘That’s poor, for a dairy farmer.’
‘Lucky you’ve got a couple of thousand litres just up the hill,’ I said. I shut the fridge door and turned him round to face me, undoing the top button of his jeans. ‘No thank you.’
‘No thank you?’ he repeated blankly.
‘I don’t want a cup of tea,’ I explained.
‘Fair enough,’ said Matt weakly. And then, as what sounded like a medium-sized tank turned off the road to storm the hill towards the house, ‘You have got to be kidding.’ He vanished hurriedly around the corner into his tiny lounge.
‘It’s not Cilla, is it?’ I hissed, appalled.
‘No! It’s bloody Scott.’
Scotty wasn’t on the bike this evening but driving an enormous jeep-like thing. He is always buying cars off mates, tinkering with their innards and selling them to other mates – you never know from week to week what he’ll be driving. He parked, turned off the headlights and clambered out to cross the lawn, a box of bourbon and cola pre-mixes under one arm.
‘I suppose he’ll stay and drink that entire box of Woodstock he’s carrying?’ I said.
‘Usually. And then he’s over the limit, so he sleeps on the couch. Don’t worry. We’ll tell him to bugger off.’
‘We can’t,’ I said glumly. When it comes down to it you can’t actually ask your friends to please go away so you can have sex. Seeing me through the window Scotty waved, and I waved back.
‘Watch me.’ He came back into the kitchen with his jeans restored to seemly heights as his friend climbed the back steps.
‘No, we really can’t. He asked me out a few weeks ago.’
‘Did he? Sneaky sod.’ He sounded amused.
‘Evening, people,’ said Scotty cheerfully, opening the door and letting himself in. ‘Hey, Jo, fancy meeting you here.’
‘Hey, Scotty,’ I replied. Matt said nothing – being male he was under no obligation to actually be nice to his best mate. ‘How’s the rat’s tail?’
‘Mint,’ Scott said, stroking the back of his neck. ‘Thanks for asking. Shit, it’s cold in here. Jo, you wouldn’t be able to have a look at my back, would you? I did something funny to it at motocross last weekend.’ And without further ado he began to shrug off his denim jacket.
‘What d’you think this is?’ Matt protested. ‘Some sort of free physio clinic for the mentally impaired?’
His friend ignored him. ‘Do you want me to take off my shirt too?’ he asked.
I laughed helplessly. ‘Go on then.’
‘You can touch the rat’s tail if you want,’ Scotty offered, pulling a particularly nasty purple T-shirt over his head.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘What an offer.’
Matt sighed and went into the laundry, picking his overalls up off the floor and beginning to put them on. I’m going round the calving mob,’ he said. ‘If you could
Scotty twisted round to look at me. ‘Is this true?’ he demanded. I nodded, and he shook his head in sorrow. ‘And you could have had all this,’ he said, gesturing towards himself. His chest was very pale and quite hairy, and he had the beginnings of a little potbelly from excessive Woodstock consumption.
‘You are gorgeous,’ I said gravely. ‘There’s no denying it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Lucky she didn’t see you without your shirt earlier,’ Matt remarked, doing up the zip on his overalls. ‘I’d have had no show. Right, chaps, see you in ten minutes.’
‘Hang on!’ I said. ‘Milk.’
‘There’s a plastic jug somewhere under the sink – that’s the one.’ He took it, smiled at me and let himself out into the dark.
‘Right,’ I said briskly. ‘So where’s it sore?’
‘All down the left side.’
‘Just when you’re up and moving, or does it hurt in bed too?’
‘Only when I roll over,’ said Scott. ‘Then it catches.’
Outside Matt started the quad bike and headed up towards the shed.
‘So,’ Scott continued, ‘you’ve gone for the King, eh? There’s just no helping some people.’
‘Scotty,’ I said impulsively, ‘you’re a star.’
‘Yep. Hey, you haven’t got any hot single friends, have you?’
AN HOUR LATER Scotty put down his second empty bottle of Woodstock, rearranged his pleasant features into a frightening leer and said, ‘I’m guessing you two would quite like me to piss off so you can have some alone time?’ He put air quotes around ‘alone time’ with his fingers.
Matt, who was lying full-length on his shabby sofa with his legs across my lap, grinned. ‘You guess right,’ he said. ‘Go on, bugger off.’
‘I just hope you’ll spare a moment to think of me, going home alone to an empty house . . .’
‘With only your rat’s tail for company,’ I said sadly.
‘I’ll probably cry myself to sleep.’
‘Either that,’ Matt agreed, ‘or you’ll put in a couple of solid hours downloading porn off the internet.’
‘I don’t know how you could suggest anything so disgusting,’ said Scotty piously. ‘It hurts, Matthew.’ He got up and stretched, revealing an inch of pallid stomach below the edge of his T-shirt. ‘Oh, well, goodnight.’
‘’Night, Scotty,’ I said. ‘Don’t lift anything heavy for a week or two, will you?’
Matt rolled off the couch and followed him out into the kitchen. As the roar of Scott’s jeep split the night he came back and held out a hand to help me to my feet.
‘Who do you think will pop in next?’ I mused.
He smiled. ‘They’ll be right out of luck. I’ve locked the door.’ And he pulled me down the hall to his room.
MATT ROLLED ONTO his side and reached out to pull me more snugly up against him, finding my mouth with his and kissing me with sleepy contentment. ‘What’s wrong, love?’
‘Nothing.’ I ran a hand lightly down his spine and back up again.
‘Your face is wet.’
‘Just happy.’
‘So happy y
ou’re crying?’
‘Yep,’ I said.
‘Girls are weird,’ he observed.
It was ten forty-seven according to the fluorescent face of the alarm clock beside his bed, and he had to get up at four-thirty. A really nice person would have let him go to sleep, but I couldn’t bear to just yet.
‘Why did you kiss me on Monday?’ I asked.
I felt him smile against my skin. ‘Rose told me to.’
‘Huh?’
‘She told me to stop devouring you with my eyes across the room and jolly well do something a bit more productive,’ said Matt.
‘Devouring me with your eyes,’ I murmured. ‘Crikey.’
‘I think we’d better cut back her Mills and Boon quota.’
‘You might be right.’
‘Then,’ he continued, ‘she said that after your lousy ex-boyfriend’s shenanigans you had the self-confidence of a flatworm, and that if I thought I could just say it with hideous nightwear I’d better think again.’
I considered that for a while, wondering whether to be offended. And then I decided that, seeing as I was currently the happiest girl in the observable universe, Aunty Rose could liken me to any invertebrate she liked.
‘Thank you for doing what you were told,’ I said.
‘Never been so scared in my life,’ he said. ‘And then you looked at me like I was some slimy prat who’d tried to pick you up in a bar.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did too. It’s a bit depressing to find that the girl you love thinks you’re a cheating scumbag.’
‘Only for about ten seconds,’ I said feebly. ‘It had been a particularly bad day.’
‘Hmph,’ said Matt.
I pinched the tender skin under his arm, which was nice and handy. ‘Don’t you hmph me, Matthew King. I’ve spent the last six months watching you go home with Farmer Barbie, remember.’
‘Farmer Barbie?’ he repeated.
‘Yeah, it’s childish, but I was bitter.’
‘Jose, I’m really sorry.’
I felt a sudden fierce pang of guilt. Aunty Rose was dying. His mother was of minimal use, so it was Matt who taught Kim to drive and shouted at her and worried about her and generally did all the things parents are supposed to do. He was the adored son and heir, and all his life he had known he’d have to take over the family farm or break his father’s heart. I don’t think it ever even crossed anyone’s mind to ask him if it was what he wanted. He worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week, and he never complained – he just quietly got on with it. It’s inexcusable to give someone like that a hard time for failing to guess the state of your emotions.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’ I rolled us both over so that I was lying on top of him, and hugged him fiercely. ‘You know that Rudyard Kipling poem “If ”?’
‘What about it, you strange and random woman?’
‘It’s you. It describes you.’
Matt laughed. ‘Sometimes, Josephine,’ he said, ‘I wonder about you.’
IT FELT LIKE about two minutes later when his radio alarm clock clicked on, and we were woken by some pillock assuring us that nothing beats a car from McGuire’s super-cheap imports. I fell out of my side of the bed and groped blindly for clothes.
‘Don’t get up,’ he said thickly. ‘It’s Saturday. Stay in bed.’
I banged my head on the corner of his dresser and sat down hard. ‘Shit.’
Matt turned on the light and we blinked at each other painfully. ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said, reaching for a shirt.
‘I want to. Have you got a spare pair of overalls?’
‘Yeah.’ He dug through the heap of clothes in the corner of the room and tossed me a pair, along with a polar fleece. ‘Socks?’
‘Yes, please.’
It was very dark outside, still and crisp and starless. Matt stopped the quad bike at the cowshed to turn on the lights, and then taking a big torch from the box on the front played the beam slowly across the neighbouring paddock. Cows’ eyes glowed green in the torchlight, and one very new calf was just staggering to its feet.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Nobody lying upside down in the hedge. Shut the gate across the track, Jo?’
SEVERAL HOURS LATER I kicked off my gumboots and went into Aunty Rose’s kitchen, newspaper in hand.
‘Good morning, love,’ said Mum, pouring tea into her cup. ‘Did you have fun?’
‘Good grief, Edith, what a question!’ Aunty Rose said. She was reclining on the chaise longue with a pen in one hand and pad in the other, wrapped in a fluffy green blanket. ‘Is that the paper, sweet pea?’
‘It’s a bit damp,’ I said, peeling off the wrapping and handing it over. ‘He got it right into the drain this morning. Where’s Dad?’
‘In the ceiling,’ said Mum. ‘Looking for leaks. Oh, Graeme rang.’ She cradled her teacup in both hands and looked at me over the top with a wicked smile.
‘What about?’ I asked.
‘Grammar, Josephine,’ Aunty Rose murmured.
‘I’ve no idea what he wanted,’ said Mum. ‘His exact words were: “Babe, we need to talk.” ’
‘Babe?’ I think the last time I was addressed as ‘babe’ was after about seventeen tequila shots at the Martini Lounge the night Graeme got his residency. Maybe Chrissie had traded him in.
‘Personally I prefer “love”,’ Mum said. ‘That’s what Matthew calls you when he rings. Anyway, I told Graeme you were spending the night with Matthew and he’d have to call back another time. Rose, what time is Art Cooper coming to get the chickens?’
‘Mid-morning. Do you think he might like a dog to go with them?’ She spoke lightly, but kept her face down to hide her expression.
‘Don’t split them up,’ I said impulsively. ‘I’ll look after them, I promise. And Percy.’
‘Sweet pea,’ said Aunty Rose gently, ‘you don’t want four dogs and a pig on your hands.’
‘I do.’ Well, I’d rather that than have Aunty Rose break her heart trying to rehome them.
‘Matthew certainly won’t.’
I smiled at her. ‘He’ll learn to love it.’
‘My goodness, Josephine, you grow more like your mother every day,’ said Aunty Rose.
‘That was a compliment,’ said Mum. ‘Just in case you didn’t notice.’ She reached for my hand and pressed it for a moment.
There was an ominous-sounding crash from above, and a shower of plaster fell.
‘Eric?’ Mum called. ‘What are you doing up there?’
‘Trying not to fall through the ceiling, dear,’ Dad answered, his voice just a little curt.
‘Jo, love, why don’t you take him to town?’ said Mum. ‘I’ve written out a list – it will be good for him to get out for a while.’
‘WHAT DID ANDY make you for dinner?’ I asked that afternoon.
Kim sat back on her heels and smiled. We were picking daffodils for Aunty Rose’s room, the old-fashioned ragged double kind that grow along the orchard fence. ‘Pasta,’ she said. ‘Lemon and chicken pasta, with salad and garlic bread.’
‘Wow.’ I hadn’t realised Andy was capable of such lofty culinary heights.
‘It was burnt,’ Kim said. ‘It all stuck on the bottom, and so he scraped it off with a wooden spoon and there were little flakes of charcoal all through it. And the garlic bread was still frozen in the middle when he unwrapped it.’
Ah. So he wasn’t capable of such lofty culinary heights. ‘How was the salad?’
‘Fancy lettuce leaves out of a bag, but they were a bit old and they’d gone sort of slimy.’ She laid down her daffodils and abandoned herself to laughter. ‘So we went to McDonald’s.’
‘It does sound like he tried really hard.’
‘Yeah,’ said Kim, smiling in a misty sort of way. ‘And I like chicken nuggets, anyway.’
Chapter 34
‘BYE, MUM.’ I hugged her hard, hiding my face for just a second in her warm shoulder. I was grown up, an
d presumably fairly capable by now, but it had been such a relief not to be the one who’s supposed to know what to do when things go wrong, just for a little while. ‘Thank you.’
Mum smiled at me, tucking the hair back behind my ears like she used to when I was six. ‘We are so proud of you,’ she said. ‘Aren’t we, Eric?’
‘Hmm?’ Dad said vaguely, slotting the last suitcase into the tiny space available in the boot of a Toyota Yaris. ‘I suppose she’s moderately satisfactory, as daughters go.’
‘There you are,’ said Mum. ‘Fulsome praise from your father. I am confidently expecting an epitaph reading “Could have been worse”.’ She sighed. ‘Well, love, I’ll be back in a few weeks. Or maybe earlier.’ She wiped her eyes impatiently on a scrap of tissue.
‘I’ve put a bit of money in your account to help with the flights,’ I said.
‘Jo, love –’
‘Look, you can pay me back if it turns out you don’t need it.’ Early spring is a particularly lean time of year for those who earn their living from seasonal milk production. You’d better go, or you’ll miss your plane.’ I kissed Dad’s
A FEW DAYS later I went down the hall from Aunty Rose’s room to check the progress of tonight’s casserole and found Matt leaning against the living-room sideboard, reading something in the dim light from the hall.
‘Hey,’ he said, closing his book hastily and standing up straight. ‘How’s the wood situation?’
‘We’ve got heaps.’ I looked round him towards the faded cloth cover of the book, and he stepped sideways to block my view.
‘Nosy, aren’t you?’ he murmured, bending his head to kiss me.
I smiled and kissed him back, slipping my hands up under his sweatshirt against the warm skin of his back. Then, attempting to emulate a sexy undercover KGB agent from a Bond movie, I eased one hand back down again and grabbed the book behind him. ‘Hah!’ I said in triumph, twisting out of his arms to examine it.
‘You’re such an egg,’ Matt informed me.
I put Aunty Rose’s Kipling’s Verse back on the sideboard and leant my forehead against his shoulder, touched by his actions if not his words. ‘I love you.’
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