Elsa's Stand

by Cathryn Hein

  He glanced down the hall. Elsa was rubbing one arm and watching him.

  ‘It’s nice. Makes my room look like a monk’s though.’

  ‘A monk, huh? So long as that’s where the similarity ends.’ Then with a wink, she whirled around, pert bum wiggling.

  Jack’s jaw dropped. Christ on a bicycle, did she just come on to him in her parents’ hallway?

  He breathed out. Nope. Must have misheard. Or misinterpreted. Or mis-somethinged.

  Elsa’s mum was crouched at the oven when they arrived in the kitchen, poking at whatever was inside. Roasting lamb, if Jack’s nose was any good.

  ‘Jack,’ she said, smiling as she stood to greet him. Mother and daughter were eerily similar—same rose-gold hair and lightly freckled skin, and animated blue eyes that assessed him with great interest. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’ She wiped her hands on a towel, then held one out to Jack. ‘Shayna O’Donoghue.’

  She had a firm, businesslike handshake, probably born from countless parent–teacher nights and warning this wasn’t a woman to be messed with.

  ‘For you,’ he said, passing her the wine.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Shayna, inspecting the label. ‘It’ll go perfectly with dinner. Roast rack of lamb and salad. Hope that’s okay.’

  ‘Sounds more than good to me.’

  She set the wine down. ‘Beer? Elsa and I were about to have a glass of white, if you prefer that.’

  ‘Beer’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ said Elsa, opening the fridge door.

  The kitchen opened on to a large tiled living area with a dining table on one side and a lounge area on the other. On the walls, movie posters vied with family photographs for attention. Cricket and other trophies glittered from behind the upper shelves of a farmhouse-style dresser, the lower shelves stacked with a mismatch of china teacups and saucer sets, and an enormous antique-looking soup tureen. Large windows let in the early evening sun and gave a view of a lush back garden lined with well-tended beds in summer bloom and what looked to be an old walnut tree, a rope swing hanging from one of its thick branches.

  Everything was so different from his experience of home. Kate had been a good mum, but a distracted one. Her passion lay in the outdoors, in the hills and rocky earth. The house at Strathroy was serviceable, practical. There was always food, always clean clothes. Kate helped with homework, taught him how to cook and fend for himself. Manners. All the things a boy needed to grow into a decent man. She’d loved her sons, Jack had no doubt about that. He’d felt it, even if Kate never said the words. But Strathroy’s walls were colourless and cold. They didn’t ooze love and family the way the walls did here, didn’t wrap him in a sense of belonging. Of home.

  He wished it did, and as he looked around Jack felt a rush of desire to make it feel that way. To feel as good inside his own home as he imagined Elsa did here.

  Shayna led Jack to a fabric-covered couch and indicated for him to sit while she settled onto the edge of an armchair.

  ‘I was very sorry to hear of your mum’s passing. I knew her a little from school and had always found her an admirable woman. Intelligent. Fearless, too. Elsa tells me you were very close. It must have been a terrible shock to lose her so young.’

  Jack nodded to avoid speaking. Hearing his mum spoken about like that had made his throat too thick for words.

  Shayna reached across to pat his knee. ‘I lost my parents young too. I know how hard it is. They’re irreplaceable, of course, but I’ve been lucky enough to have wonderful in-laws to help make up for it. I can only wish you the same good fortune.’

  Elsa arrived with his beer and a glass of wine for her mother, then retrieved her own and nestled alongside Jack.

  ‘Now,’ said Shayna, ‘tell me how Jesse is? It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Is he still in Melbourne?’

  ‘Yeah.’ At least, the last Jack heard he was. He picked at his beer bottle label, hoping Shayna would get the hint and move on.

  Shayna eyed him when Jack said nothing further, then held up her glass for a toast. ‘Well then, a toast. To new friendships.’

  Toast over, Elsa replaced her glass on the coffee table, the stretch causing the neck of her top to gape and giving Jack a good glimpse of a lacy white bra. He knew he ought to make intelligent conversation, but the sight of that bra had blanked his brain.

  ‘Elsa tells me you’ve spent your years away digging for opals? Lightning Ridge, I understand.’

  Jack nodded, relieved by the easy topic. ‘I have a small claim, about an hour or so from the Ridge. Been there for seven years.’ He was about to take another drink and stopped. ‘Make that eight.’

  ‘It must be quite a different life to here, being so isolated.’

  ‘You get used to it.’ Jack hesitated. The urge to clam up was huge, but he didn’t want to come across as rude either, and the conversation was harmless. ‘There are people around, if you know where to find them. A bush pub. Some community stuff. People keep to themselves mostly. The claims tend to attract a unique class of person, not prone to socialising. Most of us are too busy digging or sorting to be social anyway.’

  ‘Still, it mustn’t be easy,’ she said, frowning a little, as though unable to fathom that kind of lifestyle. ‘What did you do for enjoyment?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I read a lot. The local library had plenty to keep me going.’

  ‘But no films.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Vi-i-i-rgin,’ whispered Elsa, nudging him in the side.

  He clenched his jaw. She was really pushing her luck with the virgin tease.

  ‘Your mum was mad about prospecting too,’ said Shayna. ‘Did she ever find those sapphires?’

  Jack made an embarrassing choking noise, and coughed to cover it up. He took a mouthful of beer to delay further. ‘Sapphires?’

  ‘Jack, half the town knows she was trying to find them. Strathroy has so many holes it looks as though a giant mole has been let loose in it.’

  ‘Right.’ He stared into his bottle, thinking of the gate he’d left open, the diary he’d left by his bed. Shit. If he’d known Kate’s obsession had been common knowledge he’d have taken more care with security.

  Shayna tilted her head to the side. ‘I remember my grandmother talking about the legend of Strathroy’s sapphires. Said it was a load of old codswallop. If there was anything there it would have been discovered years ago, during the gold rush. Your mum believed though.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Elsa.

  Jack stared at the backyard. This week’s diggings had so far proved as fruitless as the others. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  Elsa regarded him with interest. ‘Do you want them to be real?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, meaning it. ‘I do. For Mum.’ And for Jesse who felt second best to his mum’s and brother’s obsessions. ‘I’d hate that she spent all that energy and hope searching for something that never existed in the first place.’

  Elsa smiled and caressed her fingers across his shoulder. ‘Then I hope you find them.’

  ‘Who says I’m searching?’

  A knowing smile edged Shayna’s lips. ‘Oh, I imagine you are. I bet you can’t help yourself.’

  Jack said nothing. Elsa grinned.

  He made a mental note to be careful around the O’Donoghue women. Elsa was strong-willed enough, but together these two were scary.

  ‘You’re at Strathroy permanently now?’ asked Shayna.

  ‘Seems like it.’ Jack gave Elsa a look. ‘Apparently I’ve a new career as a gentleman farmer.’

  That made Shayna’s half-smile stretch full. ‘Is that what Elsa’s calling you?’

  ‘That and the virgin,’ announced Elsa, poking him in the ribs.

  Jack damn-near inhaled his beer. He narrowed his eyes but Elsa remained unrepentant. Fortunately the kitchen timer went off, saving him from more of Elsa’s teasing.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that,’ he said, when Shayna was busy in the kitchen.

>   ‘Stop being a sook. I told you, Mum already knows.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean you have to rub it in.’

  Elsa reached for her glass and took another sip of wine, regarding him over the rim as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  Jack closed his eyes, but the flash of skin and bra and smug Elsa remained. Yep, this really was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eleven

  It hadn’t been in Elsa’s plans to spend the evening teasing Jack, but she couldn’t help herself. Watching him grappling to keep control was too much fun and she sensed that, despite his outward discomfort, inwardly Jack enjoyed it as much as she did.

  Her heart fluttered each time he cast that pale, direct gaze on her, his expression full of warning. Whatever Jack’s retaliation, she had a feeling she’d like it.

  He was so much more relaxed with her mum, answering Shayna’s never-ending questions about his life over dinner. He wasn’t loquacious by any means, especially when the subject slid close to his dad or brother, but he was more verbal than he was in the salon. Strong, silent Jack was coming out of his shell.

  This Jack impressed her too. His answers were thought out, intelligent, and from her mother’s nods Shayna thought so too.

  Her mum shooed Jack away when he offered to help tidy up, and ordered Elsa to settle him into the theatre room.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said, hands on his hips and head swivelling as he took in the setup.

  ‘Dad had it built for Mum when they did the extension. Cool, isn’t it?’

  Although small, the room was arranged like a proper cinema, with a built-in surround-sound system and an expensive projector hanging from the ceiling. Shayna had camouflaged the wall speakers with enlarged classic movie posters. A recent addition were the theatre lounges, facing the enormous screen along the back wall—a plush two-seater in the centre for couples, and five individual recliners on a slightly raised dais behind.

  ‘I know you said Shayna loved movies but this is mad.’

  ‘Yep. Cost a small fortune too, but Mum loves it and that’s all anyone cares about.’ Elsa pointed to the front row. ‘Take a seat.’

  Jack sat, still looking around. Then he noticed the cup holder in the armrest and shook his head, chuckling. ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘Wait until you hear the sound. It makes your insides vibrate when you crank it up. The opening to Star Wars sounds brilliant.’

  ‘Don’t your neighbours complain?’

  Elsa rapped a wall. ‘Special soundproofing. More in the floor and roof too.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said again, running a hand over his head.

  Elsa fetched their wineglasses and deposited them into the safety of the cup holders, then kicked off her shoes and curled alongside him into the chair’s squashy contours.

  ‘Like it?’ asked Shayna, from the door.

  ‘Amazing,’ said Jack, smiling at her, his expression genuinely impressed.

  ‘Elsa tells me we’re going to have to start your cinephilic education from scratch.’

  Jack rubbed his chin and threw Elsa a worried look.

  ‘Don’t look so scared, we’ll ease you in gently.’ Shayna moved to the controls. ‘I thought we’d start you off with a western. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. A good boys’ film. Even the twins like this one.’

  Elsa groaned. ‘Not Paul again. I thought we were going to have Clint being sexy in High Plains Drifter.’

  ‘No, we’ll do that later, when we compare and contrast his spaghetti and American westerns.’

  Elsa flopped her head on the back of the chair and cast a pained look at Jack. ‘I should have known. Any excuse to watch Paul Newman.’

  ‘He’s my boyfriend,’ said Shayna.

  She rolled her eyes at Jack. ‘See what my dad has to put up with?’

  ‘I loved Paul long before I loved your father,’ protested Shayna.

  Jack cast them both amused looks. ‘Butch Cassidy sounds good to me.’

  ‘Suck-up,’ muttered Elsa, poking him.

  Jack just gave one of his trademark half smiles and focused on the screen as the lights dimmed and the room filled with the sound of rattling projector film and the slow notes of a piano. Elsa watched the light play across his face as the screen flickered with sepia-style photographs and credits, then glanced to the side as her mother slipped out, leaving them alone.

  The message was clear: Shayna approved.

  So did Elsa.

  *

  Elsa smiled at the surprise on Jack’s face as the final scene unfolded. The two outlaws exhausted and hurt, Butch trying to convince Sundance that their future lay in Australia, where there were horses and beaches and, more importantly, banks to rob.

  He glanced at Elsa and back at the screen. Then, as if he knew what was about to happen, Jack reached for her hand and held it. Elsa’s heart gave a funny lurch. She squeezed his fingers, half in thanks, half in sympathy for what he was about to experience.

  Jack’s grip tensed as the men staggered upright. The clip played out in its blaze of glory, the theatre thrumming with fusillades and barked orders. She watched him as his breath hitched with hope, despite there being none. Then Butch and Sundance, pistols drawn and charging, became still and the captured image slowly faded to sepia.

  The music waned and the lights began to rise. Elsa looked behind to find her mother had snuck in.

  ‘So,’ said Shayna, the sudden sound of her voice startling Jack into withdrawing his hand, ‘what did you think of Butch?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Good.’

  Shayna’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, yes, as its several Academy Awards and nominations suggest. It’s an interesting take on the western though, don’t you think? Unusual in its humour and charm. Perhaps even a little anachronistic with the score?’

  Jack blinked and shifted his bum.

  Elsa covered her mouth with her hand. Jack was about to learn that ‘good’ wouldn’t cut it with Shayna. Films needed to be dissected and discussed until they were no longer films that you watched for the fun of it, but lessons in everything from cinematography to sociology, acting, cultural influences, history, music and everything in between.

  ‘Cup of tea and we’ll talk about it,’ announced Shayna with a clap of her hands, and strode out.

  Elsa giggled and walked her fingers up Jack’s muscled arm. ‘You’re in for it now. Virgin.’

  He slanted a look at her, then rose. ‘Better get on with it then.’

  They were still discussing the film—rather, Shayna was—when the front door opened and they were assaulted with the unmistakable sound of the twins galumphing through the house, bodies ricocheting off the hallway walls as they pushed and wrestled with one another.

  They exploded into the kitchen in a red-haired bomb of testosterone, hugely freckled and cheeky, and startlingly reminiscent of the Weasley boys from the Harry Potter series.

  Spotting Jack, they came to an abrupt halt, and shared a glance. ‘Hiya,’ they said in unison, causing Elsa to cast her eyes ceilingward. The twins loved to do the twin thing.

  ‘Sam, Tim,’ said Elsa, ‘this is my friend, Jack Hargreaves.’

  Jack stood and shook their hands.

  ‘No Harry Potter joke,’ said Sam, and raised his eyebrows before chorusing ‘Impressive’ with his brother.

  ‘Probably because Jack hasn’t seen the films,’ said Elsa.

  ‘No, but I’ve read the books.’

  ‘We have all the films,’ said Shayna. ‘You’re welcome to watch them here. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on how the adaptations compare, particularly in the latter films. I do feel …’

  Fortunately for Jack, another monologue was waylaid by the arrival of Elsa’s dad.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you must be Elsa’s Jack. Bruce O’Donoghue.’ He shook Jack’s hand then walked over to kiss Shayna hello. ‘I hope you haven’t been boring the poor lad.’

  ‘Butch Cassidy,’ said Elsa.

  Bruce grimaced. ‘Suppose it coul
d’ve been worse. She could have made you watch It’s A Wonderful Life.’

  Shayna swatted him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s for Christmas.’

  The twins wandered off to raid the fridge, extracting beers and offering one to Jack, who indicated no, before carving slabs off a hunk of leftover corned beef and stuffing it into their insatiable mouths. Though in their early twenties, her brothers’ capacity for calorie intake had yet to descend from its teenage peak.

  Bruce eyed Jack up and down with interest. ‘I don’t suppose you play cricket?’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jack. ‘A bit of football and basketball, but that’s about it.’

  ‘Want to learn?’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘No harm in asking.’

  Elsa let out a long sigh. ‘As you’ve probably guessed, my parents are obsessives. Mum with movies, Dad with cricket.’

  Jack smiled. ‘There are worse things.’ He glanced at the oven clock. ‘I suppose I should get going. You all have work tomorrow.’

  ‘Not us,’ chorused the twins, holding up their beers in a ‘cheers’ gesture.

  ‘You’ll have to come back another night,’ said Bruce, ‘when we’re all home. Have a barbie.’

  ‘Follow it up with The Towering Inferno,’ said Shayna.

  ‘No,’ groaned three male voices.

  Shayna grinned.

  ‘Come on,’ said Elsa. ‘I’ll walk you out before you get roped into something you might regret.’

  She watched him as he thanked her mum and said his goodbyes. Jack was more at ease with men, she decided. Less wary. She wondered if it was because he was so big, so sure of his superiority in size and strength. Or maybe he felt they weren’t as judgemental of his father. That, as men, they understood innately that sons didn’t always bear their parents’ sins.

  The air was cool when they stepped outside, Jack’s ute luminous under the streetlight. Patches of colour spilled up and down the street from the lights of her neighbours. A ginger cat sat on the driveway watching moths. Figaro—named by her mother after Pinocchio’s cat—meowed as they approached. Elsa paused to pat him.

  ‘Dogs or cats?’ she asked, then laughed. ‘Sorry, I forgot for a moment. You’re from the “dogs are the best people” school of thought.’