by Cathryn Hein
‘I wonder why he did.’
Her mum gave her a sly look. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’
Elsa smiled. No flies on Shayna O’Donoghue. ‘I will if I get the chance.’ She twirled spaghetti on her fork. ‘Can you believe he’s never seen Casablanca?’
‘Never? As in not at all?’
‘Nope.’ She popped the pasta in her mouth and chewed, laughing inside as her mum’s expression morphed from horrified to excited. ‘Or High Plains Drifter, or Born Free. In fact, I got the impression he’s hardly seen any movies. Like I told Jack, he’s practically a virgin.’
‘Well then,’ said Shayna, her gaze shifting to the kitchen wall and the Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid movie poster hanging there, one of the many film and actor posters she’d collected, some original and worth quite a few dollars, ‘that’s something we’ll just have to fix, isn’t it?’
*
Elsa pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the salon window, inspecting the street from behind the safety of the mirror tint. Heat haze rippled across the bitumen. The leaves of the gums lining the street hung limp and grey in the late afternoon sunshine, and the few people she spotted hurried here and there, eager for cars and air-conditioned buildings, anything to escape the burning sun.
It was nearing five on Christmas Eve. In previous years, Elsa had done a terrific last-minute trade in gift vouchers, but the scorching weather had shoppers out early, and the afternoon had remained sluggish. Serenity had finished her last booking at three and, after hugs and a dozen sing-songed thank-yous and merry Christmases, had taken off. Elsa would have loved to have followed her, but her business wasn’t so prosperous that she could forgo any sales, even small ones, and she’d promised Serenity she’d take care of her voucher sales too.
Country music played softly through the speakers, the whoosh of aircon adding its own tune. Elsa hummed along to Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now,” one of her favourite songs, and thought vaguely about pulling down Christmas decorations. It was too hot and she’d save that time-killer for the Christmas–New Year break, when business was likely to be even quieter.
“Need You Now” ended. Elsa sighed and was about to start on reconciling the till when Jack walked out of the new florist diagonally across the road, carrying a bouquet wrapped in cellophane and tissue paper.
Flowers. For who?
Elsa waved but Jack kept his focus on the ute he strode towards. Not even a glance at the salon.
‘Silly girl,’ she muttered, realising he wouldn’t be able to see her through the window tint anyway, and after Al’s effort the previous week, who could blame Jack for being bitter? But Elsa needed him to know not everyone was like Al.
She swung open the door and skipped out onto the footpath, waving. ‘Jack!’
He looked up and for a moment she could have sworn he smiled, then his mouth thinned and he swept his gaze carefully left then right, checking the street.
Elsa made a beckoning motion.
Jack looked at his flowers, his car, the street again, and back at Elsa. Finally, he crossed the road.
‘Hi,’ she said, feeling suddenly shy.
No matter what he wore, Jack looked sexy. A plain red polo shirt stretched across his huge chest and revealed muscular, tanned arms. Blue utility shorts showed off long, dust-coated legs. His ankles and the tops of his boots were covered with elastic topped nylon guards designed to stop burrs and stones penetrating his socks. He looked like a farmer or tradie. Rugged, hard-working, solid and strong. It made her heart thump.
Jack’s gaze settled on hers with its usual intensity. Not unfriendly, but definitely wary. ‘Elsa.’
She indicated the flowers. Pink roses. ‘They’re pretty.’
‘For Mum. They won’t last but …’ He shrugged and returned to scanning the street. His squint brought small wrinkles around his eyes. They made her heart thump too.
‘I’m sure she’d appreciate the thought.’ Elsa touched his arm, urging his attention back to her. ‘About the other day, with Al. I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologise for him.’
‘I know, but I can’t help feeling bad. Look, it’s too hot out here. Come inside into the aircon.’
He refocused on the street. ‘Probably not a good idea.’
‘Why?’ She dropped her voice and leaned closer, biting her lip as she widened her eyes at him. ‘Are you scared? I know I’m pretty slick with a straight razor but I’m harmless.’ She winked. ‘Mostly.’
Jack’s mouth twitched. She was winning.
Elsa pushed the door open, grateful for the rush of cold air on her flushed skin. She stood in the frame, one eyebrow cocked. ‘Come on, Jack. Live a little dangerously.’
With a muffled snort of laughter, he followed her.
‘Here,’ she said, plucking the flowers from his arm before he could object, ‘let me put these somewhere cool. You take a seat.’
Elsa sneaked a sniff of the bouquet as she carried it to a basin, and was surprised by the fragrance. The new florist was certainly supplying quality flowers. No wonder he was making his mark. If he was open when she locked up, Elsa might grab something for her mum too.
Jack was still standing by the counter when she turned around. Elsa patted the barber’s chair and used her best, no-nonsense schoolmarm voice. ‘Come along.’
He hesitated, then crossed and sat, rubbing his jaw as he eyed her.
Elsa ignored the look and draped him in a cape.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Giving you a shave.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you look like you need one. And I want to. And it’s Christmas. Or you could call it getting my own back. You helped yourself to my clippers, now I’m helping myself to you. After all,’ she bent close to his ear, her tone low and teasing, ‘all’s fair in love and barbering.’
His chuckle tumbled warm things through her insides. Jack Hargreaves relaxed and laughing, and at her mercy. What a Christmas present.
Elsa worked his face with cleanser. Despite the heat, he only carried a thin sheen of sweat. Seemed he was still cool Jack Hargreaves, in more ways than one. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘Not much. Work.’
‘Work? That doesn’t sound like fun. What about Jesse? Not catching up with him?’
Jack’s gaze shifted sideways, the muscles in his jaw tensing under her fingers. ‘No.’
The word was softly said. Almost sad. Elsa wanted to probe but joking about getting her own back was one thing, nosiness about Jack’s relationship with his brother was quite another.
Elsa wiped his face clean and applied pre-shave oil. ‘You could come to Nan and Pop’s, out at the farm. The whole clan will be there and one more won’t make the slightest difference. It’s noisy and fun and there’s always more food than anyone could ever eat. Then after lunch we all slop about with our big roly-poly bellies, moaning about how full we are, and Uncle Evan will fall asleep on the lounge and snore like a chainsaw while everyone throws cushions at him.’
She smiled to herself as she worked the oil through Jack’s beard. From the feel of his heavy stubble, he hadn’t shaved since his last visit. She wondered if that meant anything. She tickled his cheeks with her fingertips before moving to his forehead, smoothing one hand upward over the skin in a fingers-to-heel of the palm motion, and immediately replacing it with the other in a continuous, fluid slide that she knew from experience felt wonderful.
‘Later in the afternoon when it’s cooled off, the young ones will mess around with the kids’ toys and generally muck around, while the oldies stand around drinking and reminiscing. And when it’s dark, Pop will turn on the Christmas lights for the last time. He spends ages on his lights. Not for anyone else, just for us, and they’re always magical. Then Nan will put on music from the fifties and sixties and she and Pop will dance cheek to cheek and we’ll all nudge one another and aww over how sweet they are. And then everyone else joins in.’ She sighed. �
�It’s lovely.’
‘Sounds it.’
‘Then you’ll come?’
He shook his head and for a moment Elsa thought he’d explain his refusal, but his mouth stayed closed and a little bit grim. Perhaps she overdid it. Made her family sound too full-on, too bright with O’Donoghue love.
‘That’s a shame. Mum’s so looking forward to meeting you.’
‘Your mum?’
‘Uh huh. You probably remember her from primary school. Shayna O’Donoghue? She taught Jesse. Year five she thinks. Anyway, I told her about you being a virgin.’ Elsa laughed as Jack made a strangled noise, and gave him a friendly bump. ‘A film virgin, silly. She practically clapped with glee.’
‘You told your mum about me?’
‘Only good things. I’ve yet to discover any bad.’
Jack was silent for a long time, his focus inward. Elsa continued with her massage even though it was more than done. She wasn’t going to let Jack avoid a response by her walking away.
When he spoke, his tone was dry. ‘I’m sure you’ll learn them soon enough.’
‘I hope so.’
Jack’s eyes flicked to hers.
‘Interesting people have all sorts of sides to them—good, bad, perfect, imperfect. That’s what makes them interesting.’ She smiled and patted his cheek. ‘Hot towel time.’
With the towel in place, Elsa fetched her stool and rolled it to Jack’s side. She reached beneath the cape for his wrist. Jack lifted his swaddled head and she gently pressed him back down.
‘Relax.’
She stretched out his arm until his hand rested on top of his thigh and left it there while she fetched a warm, wet towel to wipe it clean. Then she squirted a dollop of the new men’s moisturising massage oil Serenity had suggested she try onto her palm and picked up his hand, knitting her fingers with his as she slicked oil up and down his forearm.
Other than a brief tensing of his muscles, Jack didn’t object. She hoped it signalled his building trust. God knows she was working her hardest to earn it.
His bronze skin shone with the oil, highlighting the marvellous structure beneath. Elsa’s Pop had arms like this—wiry and strong, the result of years of labour. Elsa’s last boyfriend, a vineyard manager from Great Western, to the east of Wirralong, had been muscular too. He was a nice man, several years older than her in his early thirties, with his head in the right place and more than ready to settle down. Elsa had liked him a lot, as had her parents and brothers, but when one of the conglomerates offered him a job interstate overseeing not just one vineyard but a whole chain of them, with the added lure of a house and commensurate salary, Elsa had encouraged him to take it. Not doing so would only lead in the long term to regret for what could have been, and she wasn’t in love with him enough to follow along.
She lifted Jack’s hand and used her thumbs to massage the palm, smiling to herself as she worked. Having your palm massaged was a lovely feeling. There was something delicious about the play of one person’s touch against another, and she liked the way his hand seemed to engulf hers. As a tall person herself, Elsa’s hands weren’t small, but Jack’s was huge in comparison. Big hands. Safe hands.
Aware the hot towel would be cooling, she switched to his other arm, and when she could no longer afford to let his face get any colder, carefully replaced his arm over his lap and with a last, comforting stroke of the back of it, removed the towel.
He blinked at the light then lifted his hands to stare at them.
Elsa said nothing as she fetched warm water, but she watched him as she worked. His brows were knitted, his mouth crooked in one corner. He turned his hands front and back, as though in wonder, or perhaps disbelief. Then he seemed to shrug out of it, and buried them back beneath the cloak.
‘When was the last time you spent Christmas with your family?’ she asked, brushing his jaw with shaving cream.
‘All of us? Since Jesse left.’
It was Elsa’s turn to frown. That was years. ‘He never came home for Christmas?’ She knew she was being nosy but couldn’t help asking.
‘He was a kid. The farm was boring and all his mates were in Melbourne.’
‘You didn’t visit?’
‘For Christmas? Yeah, once. I didn’t like leaving Mum. I went other holidays, though. Easter. Mid-year.’ The flatness in his voice indicated they weren’t the best of times, making Elsa wonder what went on.
‘You were very close to your mum, weren’t you?’
He nodded.
‘It’ll be hard this time, without her.’
Jack shrugged but she could see a trace of grief in his expression. ‘We never spent a Christmas together after I left anyway.’
‘That’s sad. Christmas is for family.’
‘Daisy’s family.’
The shaving brush stilled. ‘Daisy?’
‘Yeah, my dog. She’s the best people, Daise.’
‘Oh.’ Elsa laughed at her own stupidity, the way her mind had immediately raced to conclusions about girlfriends or secret daughters at the mention of Daisy. ‘You sound like my nan. She says that about dogs too.’
‘It’s the truth.’
Elsa tapped the end of Jack’s nose with the brush, leaving a splodge of cream on it. ‘You’re only saying that because you haven’t met anyone better.’
He caught her gaze and for a heart-stopping second Elsa thought she could read his mind. That he was thinking what she wished so badly he would: that she might be the someone better.
God, she hoped so.
Elsa set the cream aside. Jack’s face was covered in so much lather he could substitute for Santa. ‘Daisy or no Daisy, you must have missed your mum.’
‘I did.’
‘But you didn’t come home.’
‘I should have, but …’ The chair creaked as he shifted. ‘She knew how I felt about this place.’
‘Wirralong? What about it?’
Jack snorted a small puff of air. ‘I’m sure you can guess.’
After Al’s rudeness and all the other gossip she’d been fed, Elsa could. Only too easily. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Like I said, you don’t have to apologise.’ He let her tilt his head so she could start shaving. ‘Mostly I didn’t come home because of the ratters.’
‘Ratters?’
‘Thieves. People who sneak on to your claim and steal your hopes. You know they’ve been there but you don’t know what you’ve lost. Could be nothing. Could be a fortune.’
‘This is your opal claim?’
‘Yeah. Near Lightning Ridge.’
Although Elsa had to pause shaving with each answer, she was too delighted that Jack was talking to end the questions. ‘Have you ever been raided like that?’
‘Yeah. After my first big find. Went to Brisbane for a week for a break. Bought a new ute. Had a bit of fun. First time in three years I’d done it. Came back to find I’d been hit. They watch for changes, then go in.’
‘Do they ever get caught?’
‘Sometimes. Not so much the gangs. Too organised. The sole operators sometimes do.’
‘What happens to them?’
‘Bush justice usually. Cost the last bloke his fingers.’ When Elsa winced, he shrugged. ‘The old-timers don’t take kindly to being ratted.’
‘Sounds like it. What about you? What did you do when you discovered you’d been ratted?’
‘Nothing. Damage was done and whoever did it was long gone. Never made that mistake again though.’
Elsa had a thousand questions but she needed Jack still while she shaved the last area around his mouth.
‘Aren’t you worried about being away now?’ she asked on her return from fetching the damp towel she’d placed in the freezer earlier.
‘Yeah, but not much I can do about it.’
‘I guess your future’s here, anyway. Now you have Strathroy. New home, new life.’ She winked at him. ‘Jack Hargreaves, gentleman farmer and Wirralong’s most eligible bachelor.’
H
e didn’t react to her tease, merely made a wry expression.
‘What? Please don’t tell me you’re not a bachelor? You’ll devastate half the girls in town.’
Jack shook his head and stared towards the street, back to his former close-mouthed self. Elsa wasn’t going to take it. Jack clearly had a chip on his shoulder. It was up to her to remove it.
‘Jack, not everyone in Wirralong is like Al. I know you find it hard to believe, but some of us are very, very nice.’
A claim she then completely and gleefully negated by draping a freezing towel over his sensitive skin and pressing it close, then giggling when he nearly jumped out of the chair.
‘There,’ she said, when she’d soothed him again with some balm and removed the cape. ‘All done.’
Elsa fetched Jack’s flowers and passed them to him at the counter.
‘No,’ she said, when he attempted to draw out his wallet. ‘I told you. You left more than enough that first time.’
‘Doesn’t feel right.’
‘Well, it is. You didn’t ask for a shave. I forced it on you.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘I don’t recall putting up much of a fight.’
‘Ah, but that’s because I’m very hard to say no to. Next time, okay?’ Elsa narrowed a look at him. ‘There will be a next time. We have a clean jaw and nice haircut to maintain.’ She waggled a finger. ‘Don’t make me come after you, Jack Hargreaves.’
He felt a rose petal, not looking at her. ‘Look, Elsa, I know you mean well but you’ve a business to run. Me coming here …’ He breathed in. ‘It’s better I don’t.’
‘Really?’ she said, folding her arms.
‘Yeah.’
‘Because of who your dad is?’
He nodded.
‘Jack, anyone with half a brain knows you’re no more your dad than I’m mine. We’re products of our parents, sure, but that doesn’t make us them. I know there are people in Wirralong like Al who think the worst, but most of us don’t, and it’s more than a little unfair that you think so.’
He stared at her, his expression unreadable, then at the roses. Perhaps she’d gone too far. Probably. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Oh well, as Elsa’s nan liked to say, in for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, it was Christmas and no one should be alone at Christmas. Especially someone who’d recently lost their mum.
